#look at these noodly idiots I love them so much

[wonderful-bellies]

We *clap* need *clap* more *clap* naga *clap* Mike! <3

You're in luck! I happen to have a lil test sketch of naga Mike and Jeremy! Hekin dorks

[nukenai]

Having a bit of a Moment(tm) with loving all my stupid frogs so much so I will just randomly and quickly break down all of the pets I have just to remind people of the insane amazing zoo I live in

1 dog (border collie) 2 cats (one old and orange, one young noodly and black) 6 mice (5 female, one male, kept separately obviously) 1 hedgehog 2 crested geckos (one old and lumpy, one young and unhandle-ably hyperactive) 1 african fat-tailed gecko 1 red-eyed tree frog 2 dumpy frogs/white’s tree frogs 1 chubby frog 2 horses (one paint, one mustang)

They are all delightful idiots and I love them very much. Look at pictures of them here.

[spiritshaydra]

Looks like I haven’t posted art here in months and this is my fourth time trying to add a description to this because it keeps getting purged whenever I switch tabs >:( 

Anywho, here’s some Pokémon gijinkas I finished earlier in the week ^^

Additional info stolen from my amino post down below c:

Howdy!

This took me WAY longer than I thought it would. I started this group back in December, and only now just completed it ^^

I’ll be showing them off in the order I finished them along with some info on each character c:

✨Here they are!✨

🏙 Reshiram 🏙

She’s not as complex as the rest of the batch because she started off as just a headshot test and practice for drawing humans ^^’ then everything else kinda just got more complex. Her design is more of a work in progress than the rest.

She’s a living lie detector :)

🎆 Palkia 🎆

[

She took a LONG time to draw and is probably the most complex. Sorta. She’s also probably one of the first gijinkas I’ve designed so her design is pretty solid for now. She’s based off of Roman gladiators and Valkyries. Palkia is also a total jock with a short fuse that constantly gets in fights with her brother, Dialga. She’s kinda a loud idiot but that’s okay. She’s also very rash and tends to act before thinking. Will kick down doors and attempt to put brother in a headlock. Probably chugs sport drinks and punches drywall. Will challenge poor unfortunate souls into doing arm wrestling matches. Has very strong opinions on science fiction. (Stuff with space is superior!) Curses like a sailor and likes to get creative with insults. Cannot organize things at all. Room probably looks like a bomb went off. Has the worst handwriting in her family. Middle child and the shortest out of her siblings. Is uncomfortable around Giratina but feels bad about it.

🌄 Giratina 🌄

Giratina’s another one that I’ve had designed for a while and am pretty happy about it! I tried to give her a more inhuman and unsettling appearance (gaunt features, pale skin, sunken eyes, long limbs, digitigrade legs, four arms, etc) She’s pale from the lack of sunlight and her hair is borderline uncontrollable. It’s in a constant state of poofy rat’s nest.

Believe it or not, she’s probably the friendliest out of her family despite her off putting demeanor. She completely lacks social skills and is still trying to learn how to speak normally after being locked away for eons. She’s best friends with a Shaymin and has gardening as a hobby. She just really wants friends :( She likes stupid paranormal shows and animated movies. Not violent at all unless provoked. Absolutely fascinated by car windows and toasters. She’s the second tallest and the “baby” out of her family. She wishes to have better relations with her siblings and parent but struggles :(

🌺 Shaymin 🌺

Shaymin. Oh boy Shaymin. So with her I was wanting to do something completely different from the usual Lolita and cutesy based gijinkas. So I made her a punk :) Shay acts like she eats nails for breakfast and isn’t afraid to fight god. She’s short but by god, she’s going to go for the kneecaps. She has a nasty temper and is very protective of her strange noodly demon bestie. Taught her how to garden. She’s loud, argumentative, and ‘Tina’s siblings are probably more scared of her than the Terror of The Distortion World. Does not do well in cold weather. She rides a motorbike, and is the one who generally drags ‘Tina around to get her used to the normal world. Big fan of slasher films and loud aggressive music. Loves nature and is generally enthusiastic about funky plants.

Very short. Very aggressive. Wears stud covered platform boots.

🪐 Arceus 🪐

Oh boy. Arceus.

He was VERY hard to design but I think I’m happy with the results. For now. I wanted him to look somewhat regal and nasty, and not exactly human.

He’s a major asshole, prick, and elitist, and is petty to the highest degree. Got offended whenever someone suggests that he should go to an anger management class. Probably a Karen. He’s the type to wear a fluffy bathrobe while drinking box wine on a lawn chair on the porch to look scornfully at the neighbors whenever they get too close. Not a great parent. (Loves his gaggle of goblins in his own strange way) Kinda hates everyone. Rude. VERY VERY short temper. VERY stubborn. He’s short and is going to make it everyone else’s problem. (Refuses to just... change his height himself. ‘Cause he’s some primordial creation entity. He just... doesn’t) He woke up one morning and just chose violence. takes great pride in his creations. Awful taste in music. No sense of style. Cant dance. He’s offputting and unsettling to be around because he has a very “off” feeling about him. Really really likes to get the upper hand on others. There are a f e w times when he actually acts like a decent person. Likes to put an air of regality onto him even though he’s a total train wreck. Wears three to four inch heels.

🌌 Dialga 🌌

DIALGA. I also wanted to do something different with him! So I made him a nerd. He likes to take things apart and put them back together. Especially clocks. He’s more level headed than his sisters and has a longer fuse than Palkia. But he’s also very stubborn. He’s a total workaholic and perfectionist. He doesn’t sleep much and can be a nervous wreck whenever he’s behind on whatever schedule he runs on. He gets into fights with his younger sister a LOT and will often try to use her as a lab rat. They’re sorta like Yzma and Kronk. But he’s less diabolical and Palkia’s more aggressive. Like Palkia, He also has very strong opinions on science fiction (Stuff with time travel is WAY better!) he’s also very organized if not organized chaos. He wears a heavy pair of boots that one could hear from a mile away. Think large goth boots with metal in the soles somewhere. Also a metal head. He will blast loud metal or rock music (sometimes more classic rock. Depends on the mood) as he works on whatever insane project he decided to tinker on. He has a large collection of very cursed socks. Somewhat poor eyesight. Generally easier to get along with than Palkia who’s more abrasive. He tends to think more before acting upon things. Probably runs on entirely coffee and energy drinks. B A D taste in fashion. But not worse than Palkia. Likes to read. Not very good handwriting. Tends to bump his head on doorframes. Will walk into things if lost in thought. The tallest out of his family and the oldest out of his sisters. He’s somewhat afraid of ‘Tina.

Approximate Time Taken: About 27 hours

Program Used: Procreate

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 2

Stan’s head was full of cotton. He mumbled and buried his face into his pillow, wishing he could block out the world. Had he been hit in the head during gym class? He couldn’t remember, but that might explain the fuzziness in his brain and why his arms felt all weak and noodly.

Someone was talking to him, probably Ford, trying to get him up for school. Ew, school. Did he have a test today? Stan could have sworn there was one coming up but he never really paid attention to when. Not like studying would change his score much anyway. He had to squint to read the questions and it took him way longer than everyone else to answer anything at all. Pa said it was because he was stupid.

He didn’t want to go to school today. His head was all stuffy and he was tired. Was he sick? If he was sick maybe Pa would let him stay home. It was Ford’s schooling he cared about anyway.

But no, that would leave Ford alone all day! He couldn’t leave his brother with that stupid Crampelter. Ford tried to hide how the other kids picked on him when Stan wasn’t there, but Stan wasn’t a total idiot. He knew it got worse when he wasn’t by his brother’s side, fists clenched and rearing for a fight. They would take advantage of his absence to mess with his brother.

No, he’d have to go to school, for Sixer. Filled with indignation on the part of his brother Stan lifted his face from his pillow-

And froze.

He wasn’t in his room, on the bottom bunk while Ford leaned over from the top bunk to talk to him. He wasn’t in his room at all.

The bed he was on was big and messy with slightly grubby sheets. It sat in a weird room that looked like it was part of a log cabin, rife with random objects that sat on boxes or desks or were pinned to a corkboard on the wall. And there was someone standing over him.

Stan yelped and threw himself away from the reaching hand, only to topple off the bed and let out a pained cry when his elbows scraped the wooden floor. The person rushed around towards him. Heart pounding, Stan rolled under the bed and curled up as far in as he could get.

It was cold down here, and dusty, spider webs crisscrossing the beams above his head. Stan hugged his knees and gasped for breath.

Where the heck was he? Who was this guy? Where were Ford, and Ma, and his room and his house?

“Stanley?” A voice called. Deep and male and it sounded like Pa but not quite. Stan would have taken being alone with Pa over this. There was rustling as the person knelt next to the bed. Stan whimpered and curled up tighter. Maybe if he stayed still and very quiet, they would go away.

A man’s face peered into the shadows. His glasses reflected the light but – there was something familiar about those brown curls, the shape of his mouth, the concerned tilt of his brows.

“Ford?” Stan blurted. Ford – because it was Ford, wasn’t it, even though he was grown up? – nodded, seemingly at a loss for what to do. They sat there for a moment before Ford reached a hand towards him.

It was probably to help him out from under the bed, but Stanley took the chance to count his fingers. One, two, three, four, five, six. Yep, this was Ford alright. He grabbed the huge hand and crawled out of the dusty shadows.

Ford was huge. He looked like an adult, Stan realized as he shook dust from his clothes and sneezed. He looked like Pa, but without the sunglasses and the scowl and the grey hair.

“What happened to you?” Stan demanded. “You’re all – big.”

Ford’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t made a move to stand up from where he was kneeling. To be honest, Stan didn’t want him to stand up – he didn’t like the idea of his brother looming over him.

“You don’t remember?” Ford’s voice was deeper than he was used to. It still sounded like a nerd’s voice, though, so that was something. Stan frowned.

“Remember what? This isn’t home. Where are we? And you – you’re old. What’s going on?”

Ford ran a hand across his face and groaned. “Okay. This is fine. So you reverted to a child in memories as well. Just – great.”

And then he stood up and started walking. Stan trailed after his brother as he sat at a desk and started writing in a big book. Stan wasn’t tall enough to see what he was writing.

“Uh, Ford?”

No answer. Stan stood there awkwardly while Ford scratched away in his book. He really wasn’t liking how – how weird his brother was being. He felt like he’d missed something big. But with the way Ford was acting Stan was nervous to ask, and that made him even more worried. Ford had never been this distant before.

“I called you here.” Ford said suddenly, making Stan jump. The nerd still wasn’t looking up from his book. “I needed your help hiding my journals. You came to my house. Do you remember that?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” A thought struck Stan and he blinked. “Wait, are we in the future?”

“In a manner of speaking, you are.” Ford sighed. “Listen carefully, Stanley. I asked you to come, so you could take my journal far away and hide it.”

“Why?”

“It contains very dangerous information. I have to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

“Oh, okay.” Yeah, that made sense. That kind of stuff was always happening in the new Sci-Fi show Ford loved. Of course, that was a show, but they’d seen weird things before. Like the Jersey Devil! Plus, if anyone was gonna write something epic and powerful and smart, it would be Ford.

His brother sent him an odd look out of the corner of his eye but continued.

“When you got here – you were my age then – we got into an argument. You knocked into one of my samples and got it all over you. Then you turned into – this. A younger version of yourself.”

Stan blinked. “I was old?”

“We’re twenty seven, Stanley ­– or at least I am. I was investigating water from the spring of youth, but I only came across it recently so I haven’t had time to work out how to undo its effects. I’ll have to get a new sample to experiment on, since you destroyed the only one I had.”

Destroyed? Stan rubbed the back of his neck, shame twisting in his stomach. “Aw man, bro, sorry I broke your thing.”

Ford stiffened. Stan rushed to continue, afraid he’d said something wrong.

“But you can – can get a new one, right? And I can help. And then we can do the thing you wanted, hide the book, right? It’ll be like burying pirate treasure! Oh! If this is the future, did we get the Stan O’ War fixed?” He vibrated with excitement. “Is she seaworthy? Do we go sailing?”

“I’m trying to write, Stanley.” Ford said stiffly, coldly. He’d never used that voice with Stan before. It was unnerving. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get something to eat?”

“Uh… okay. Sure.” Stan mumbled, subdued. Maybe the Stan O’ War could wait.

For the first time he noticed the state of his clothes – well, cloth, since there was only one piece – a too-big shirt that hung off him like a huge smock. He considered asking for a change of clothes. But if he used to be a grownup, they would probably only have grownup clothes. Plus, Ford seemed pretty upset and Stan didn’t want to bother him.

So he held his tongue and wandered out of the room, into the rest of the house. It was big, and super messy. Stan passed what looked like a – a triangle shine? – as he explored a room that may have been a lounge. He poked his tongue out at it. The grumble of his stomach seemed very loud in the quiet. Ford was right, he hadn’t even realized he was hungry!

Eventually he found the kitchen. An investigation of the fridge showed it was empty except a quarter-full jar of peanut butter. Well, better than nothing. Stan found a spoon among the dishes and shuffled over to the dingy table to eat. He had to brush a few papers away to make space.

Okay. So this was really weird. Definitely not scary though. Stan refused to be scared. Even if he desperately missed the security of home, of having his brother by his side-

But this Ford was his brother –  just a bit older. And wasn’t that good? Ford was older, he knew what was going on, he could fix it. Stan just had to wait for him to make things go back to normal. And wasn’t it so cool that his nerd brother would grow up to be a nerdy scientist? He couldn’t wait to go back home and tell his Ford the adventure he’d gone on.

Secure once again, Stan decided to investigate this weird place. His Ford would wanna ask a lot of questions about it, after all. He shoved a final spoon of peanut butter into his mouth and jumped up to explore.

There was so much weird stuff here! Stan had no idea what half of it did. Though, that was true of a lot of things. He peered into some kind of office room with a chalk circle on the floor and candles scattered around, before deciding Ford probably wouldn’t like it if he messed with his stuff.

There was a door that, once opened, showed a dark, yawning staircase stretching out below. Stan peered around for a light switch. Finding none, he shrugged to himself and decided to brave it.

The stairs seemed to go on forever. Stan’s breathing and the tap-tap-tap of his footsteps seemed uncomfortably loud in the enclosed space. A flickering bluish light lit up whatever was below. Stan squinted to try and figure out what it was.

He soon found out, however, when he ended up in some huge lab. The majority of the space was taken up by some gigantic structure, a big circle like the kind you’d blow bubbles with but surrounded with technology junk. It looked like something straight out of Star Trek!

“Whoa.”

Stan walked over to a console to stare at all the buttons. Did Ford know how to use this thing? Did Ford build it? Jeez, he’d always known Ford was the smart twin but this was epic. And if Ford could build this thing, between the two of them the Stan O’ War was gonna be the greatest ship ever!

Stan paused. He knew he really shouldn’t be messing with Ford’s stuff, but that big red button was tempting him. Surely it couldn’t hurt to find out what this thing could do?

Stanley bit his lip, tossing up his options. He was spared from having to make a decision by stomping footsteps and a shout.

“Stanley!”

__________________________________________________________

In hindsight, letting a child roam freely around a house that doubled as a lab and testing site was… not the smartest move to make. In Ford’s defence he had been distracted when he suggested it. Stan had started talking about breaking projects, and that stupid boat, and it took every iota of Ford’s self-control to not snap and yell at him.

He’s a child. He has no memories of what happened. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

After about twenty minutes of writing observations in his journal Ford had come to the conclusion that letting a child – even worse, Stanley – loose in this place could be dangerous. He closed his journal and descended to make sure he was staying out of trouble.

But Stanley wasn’t downstairs. He wasn’t anywhere Ford checked. With increasing distress Ford stuck his head outside to see if the child had ventured into the woods. No sign of him, and the thick layer of snow was untouched. But the only other place he could have gone was-

The lab.                                                                    

Ford cursed himself for not noticing that the door to the lab was hanging ajar. Stupid sleep deprivation! Ford stormed down the stairs, caught between fury and concern. What if Stan hurt himself?

When he reached the bottom, however, and found his brother staring at the portal’s controls, fury won out.

“Stanley!”

Stan snapped around guiltily. “Uh, hey, Ford-”

“What are you doing down here? This is my lab, it’s dangerous! You can’t touch anything!” Ford marched over and snatched his brother away from the controls. “What if you broke something? Or got hurt?”

Stan yelped. Ford tucked him under one arm and started back up the stairs, gritting his teeth.

“From now on you are not to come down here. Understood?”

“Mm hmm.” Stan mumbled. Once at the top of the stairs Ford placed him down to close and lock the door firmly. He turned back to Stan to continue the scolding, but… Stan looked like he was about to cry. His face was screwed up and he stared at the floor as if he could will away the tears that Ford could see gathering in his eyes.

A surge of guilt washed over Ford, which was ridiculous, because he had nothing to be guilty about. He sighed.

“Stanley, I…” What was there to say? “It’s late. I’ll set you up in the spare room.”

Stan sniffed and nodded.

  Luckily Stan had always been resilient, and he perked back up while Ford went about preparing the bed in the spare room. He hadn’t had visitors for so long that he’d started using it as a workbench.

This had been Fiddleford’s room, back when they had worked together. The thought of his old research assistant sent a spike of guilt through him. Yet another warning that he had ignored, and in the process he’d destroyed the one human friendship he had.

No, he didn’t have time to reminisce. Not with Stanley to deal with and the threat of Bill looming over him at any given time. Ford harshly shoved all thoughts of Fiddleford from his mind and threw a blanket over the bed. It wasn’t very thick but it would have to do.

He was lost in thought as he absently picked up his brother and placed him on the bed. There, problem solved. Ford had more important work to do. For starters, he had to figure out some way to get the unicorn hair he needed for a protective spell against Bill. Until he could put up the barrier it wouldn’t be safe to dismantle the portal, which meant Bill had a much better chance of figuring out how to get in and activate it.

He paused in the doorway to glance at his watch. What was the time, somewhere after midnight? Two-ish apparently. At daybreak he could try again to get the unicorn hair. But he also had to figure out how to cure Stan. Would it be better to leave that until after he had Bill-proofed his house? Stan would be in the way the whole time, but he would be less of an obstacle than he would be as an adult.

But then again, an adult Stan could drive away and be out of the equation entirely. While he was a child Ford was stuck with him. Also, adult Stan also might agree to take the journal when he found out that Ford had cured him. Yes, it was probably better to do that first-

“I can almost see yer ears smoking!”

The chirp made him jump. Ford whipped around to stare at Stanley, who was blinking at him from his spot on the bed.

“Ya were standing in the doorway looking blank for like, five minutes.” The child explained at Ford’s stare. “Watcha thinking about?”

Ford took a slow, steadying breath. “Truthfully? The situation I’m currently in. I have far too much on my plate, and very little time to deal with it.”

“Well, is there anything I can do?” Stan tipped his head. The action made him look rather like a puppy. Despite his tiredness and frustration, the sight made Ford’s mouth tip into a smile.

“I don’t suppose you can charm unicorns as well as you charm old people into giving you sweets?”

“Hey, I don’t make ‘em give me stuff, they just wanna! All I gotta do is play it up a bit.” Then Stan seemed to register the first statement. “Whoa, hold up. Did you say unicorns?”

“Yes, but believe me, they’re not quite as pleasant as the kind you’re imagining. And they very much dislike parting with their hair.” Ford’s lip curled. “Quite irritating, actually.”

“Where did you find unicorns?” Stan demanded excitedly, slipping off the bed to rush to Ford and grab his coat in chubby fists.

“The forest, of course. Gravity Falls is home to numerous creatures not found anywhere else in the world. Why do you think I moved here?” Ford couldn’t quite hold in a snort at the way his brother’s eyes sparkled. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen any gnomes already. They often sneak in to raid the pantry.”

“Are they here now? Can I see ‘em?” Stanley gasped out in a rush.

“No. I do have some sketches in my journal though…”

Stanley let out a whoop and darted past him. Ford watched him scramble up the stairs to where Ford’s room was. How did he… no, he’d woken up in Ford’s room, of course he knew where it was.

“Stanley!” Ford called after him. “Stan, you should be in bed!”

“I’m not tired!”

Oh, for the love of…

Ford sighed and followed, albeit at a slower pace. He had no idea how they’d had that much energy as children. It seemed boundless.

At any rate, he doubted Stanley would be getting to sleep any time soon, and he had to keep an eye on the child to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble. At least his presence shouldn’t hinder Ford too much. Stan could draw or look at pictures or whatever children did while Ford worked on finding a cure.

“FO-ORD!” Stanley yelled. “Come on, hurry up! You got so many books here! Are there mermaids in this weird place too? Oh my gosh there’s mermaids aren’t there? Which one’s your diary thing? I wanna SEE!”

“Coming.” Ford huffed out another sigh and picked up the pace.

[yeetedintoouterspaces]

☁️💫 Sweetie- Lev Haiba x Reader ☁️💫

"Lev! Lev! There is a new ice skating rink in the mall! Should we go together?" Y/n cheerfully asked. Lev scratched the back of his neck nervously, "I can't really ice skate Y/n-chan but I can still accompany you!" Y/n pouted, "but it won't be fun to go myself~~"

Lev pinched both of her cheeks and sighed, "fine fine, but it won't come free~" "What do you mean?" Y/n asked as she cocked her head to one side. Lev tapped his cheek lightly and smiled. Y/n got the signal and tip-toed so she could reach his face. She placed a small kiss on his cheek and smiled, "so you will go with me now?" Lev, slightly nervous, answered, "sure!~"

The two made their way to the mall, arm in arm. They bought their tickets and rented a pair of skates each.

"Y/n-chan how do you put these on-"

"Lev you're just supposed to strap them in like this." Y/n says as she shows him. Somehow, because Lev is Lev, the straps got tangled. Y/n tried to hold back her laughter, "Lev what did you do oh god."

Lev managed to mess up the shoe straps. Yes, shoe straps. How? Y/n can't explain how or why. "Lev baby I love you so so much but, what on earth did you do. These are velcro-"

"Y/n I don't know but help me I'm begging you!!" Lev begged and pulled out his puppy eyes. Y/n fell weak and helped him out. They took forever but finally, Lev was free from the shoe monster.

The two got onto the rink and nervous Lev was holding onto the railing for dear life. Y/n being the best girlfriend, she snapped a picture of him for future blackmail.

Lev tried to skate away from the railing but failed. He slid across the rink and almost died ( not literally but yk yk ).

Y/n tried so hard not to laugh but ultimately failed. "Y/n-chan! Help me!" Lev cried out. Y/n skated over and tried her best to pull him up.

Oh god that was a mistake. Lev being 196 cm and Y/n being significantly smaller, this made poor Y/n fall onto the cold ice as well. Welp, this is fate. The two now stuck on the cold, ice floor together.

Eventually, the two got up awkwardly and Y/n held Lev's hand. "Just hold onto my hand so you won't fall again." Y/n said as she blushed hard. Lev nodded and held onto her smaller hands tightly. "Y/n you are such a tsundere." Lev commented. "Quit it baka I'm only trying to be nice!" Y/n retorted.

Y/n tried her best to teach her giant boyfriend how to ice skate. Let's just say it was an experience she wouldn't want to go through again.

After a few hours of the two having fun and mostly Lev slipping, they left the rink and made their way home. "Hold up Y/n I needa go to the bathroom real quick." Lev said. Y/n nodded and waited for him. Lev came back after some time but he was holding onto something. A plushie? "Y/n-chan~ Just a little something as a thank you~" Lev said in a sing-song tone.

Y/n's eyes widened and carefully held the plushie in her hands. It was a really tall giraffe with cute beaded eyes. Y/n hugged it tightly and blushed, "thanks Lev." Y/n kissed the plushie and gazed at it. It was so cute!!

But Lev was glaring at it in hate now. Y/n tilted her head and asked, "what's wrong Lev?" Lev pouted and looked away, "it's nothing. Hmph!"

Y/n wiggled her eyebrows and teased Lev, "Hehe are you jealous of Mr. Plushie?" Lev blushed and pouted harder, "Nope! Not even in the slightest Y/n!" Y/n chuckled and stood on her tippy toes. She kissed both of his cheeks and finally, his lips. Lev smiled and held her tightly in his long, noodly arms.

"Thanks for today Y/n! We should totally do this again sometime!" Lev said excitedly. Y/n sweat dropped and said, "maybe not anytime soon. I don't want to live through this trauma again." Lev pouted and sighed, "Y/n-chan is so mean to me! Hmph!"

Y/n fake gasped, "oh no! What can I do to make it up to my handsome boyfriend?" Lev smirked, "a kiss on the cheek should do the trick!" Y/n chuckled and kissed him once more. "Lev you big baby. I love you so much." Y/n said as she squeezed his hand.

Lev laughed and replied, "love you too my sunshine." The two made their way home while being cheesey idiots. Ah, what did Y/n ever do to deserve a sweet boyfriend like him?

Bonus!

"Lev! Look! Mr Plushie is so cute!!" Y/n commented as she hugged it. "Y/n I'm cute too!" Lev said as he leaned onto Y/n's head. ( yk cuz he is too tall for her shoulder ) "But Mr Plushie thoughhh" Y/n continued.

"But me thoughh" Lev retorted. Y/n rolled her eyes but she couldn't help but to smile, "Yes Lev you are my adorable boyfriend."

"Yay!!! I am cute uwu." Lev squaled in delight.

"When were you never cute my darling?"

[everykindofnerd13]

“Iwa...” Oikawa muttered from where he was sitting next to his boyfriend on the bench at volleyball practice.

“Yeah Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi asked after a moment. Not fully listening as he watched his Kohai on the court, practicing their serves mostly.

“Do you ever think about the captain vote?” Oikawa asked after a few seconds, and Iwaizumi cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Not really...” he muttered, looking at his tired boyfriend, they were taking a break as Oikawa was running himself into the ground again, “Why?” He asked and Oikawa took a deep, shaky breath.

“Don’t you think it should’ve been you?” He asked and Iwaizumi was immediately worried, he scooted a little closer to his boyfriend and wrapped one arm around him.

“No, I don’t, why would you think that Tooru?” Oikawa shook his head.

“Don’t you ever think about how you get along really well with all the other captains, and you all have really similar personalities, and even body types. You and all the captains have really bulky muscle, and I’m here looking like a tall noodly idiot...” he muttered, feeling tears begin to fall.

“Tooru being the captain has nothing to do with appearance or personality, you know that,” Iwaizumi stresses, one hand now sat on Oikawa’s thigh.

“You’re right, but you’re also more of team player, you’re better at communication, and you’re nicer to me. You’re better at training our Kohai sand you don’t start competitions every time you do, you’re so perfect Iwa-Chan...” Oikawa explained, pulling his knees to his chest. Iwaizumi panicked seeing his bestfriend and boyfriend in so much distress. He grabbed him, sliding his arms under Tooru’s knees and back to pick him up bridal style and left the gym, ignoring the worried calls of his teammates for now, he’d have to explain later. right now Tooru was his main priority.

Hajime brought him to the club room, laying him down softly on the bench before rushing to lock the door, his best friend would be overwhelmed quickly if everyone came rushing in with questions.

“Oikawa Tooru I swear to god, where is this coming from?” He asked as he climbed behind his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his waist. Oikawa took in a deep breath and acted like he was gonna talk before breaking down again in Iwaizumi’s arms. The Ace lifted his arms slightly allowing his boyfriend to turn around and bury his face in his chest.

“I just wanna be good enough for once...” he whispered and Iwaizumi’s heart breaks.

“Tooru, you’re more than enough for me, you’re perfect, you’re incredible, and as much as they mess with you the team loves you, don’t forget about it, okay?” Oikawa nods softly and curls even more into Iwaizumi’s chest. Hajime rubs his back and kisses his head every few minutes, waiting for him to be ready to return to practice.

“Iwa...” he says after a few minutes.

“Yes Tooru?” He answers and suddenly Oikawa is right in front of him, nose to nose.

“I love you, thank you,” Iwaizumi hums and presses a kiss to Tooru’s lips.

“I love you more, and any time baby,” Oikawa huffs and kisses Iwaizumi’s nose before standing up and walking to one of the sinks. He splashed water in his face to cool it down and clean it up. Once he’s dry he turns around and is met by a sickeningly sweet stare from Iwaizumi.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and Oikawa gasps and swats at Iwa’s shoulder.

“You’re a sap, don’t do that while we’re at school, but feel free once we’re all alone,” Iwaizumi chuckles softly but nods, kissing Oikawa’s temple one last time and squeezing his shoulder before they leave the club room together. The second they entered the gym Kindaichi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki came rushing over.

“Are you okay Captain?” Kindaichi asked alarmed and Oikawa hummed, reaching to to ruffle his spiky hair.

“I’m okay now Kindai-Chan!” He exclaimed, then turned to Matsukawa and Hanamaki.

“Thank you for worrying Mattsun, Makki, I’m okay now...” Matsukawa glared slightly but nods.

“Well as long as our captain’s okay we should be able to get back to practice, c’mon let’s go,” Matsukawa through his arm over Oikawa’s shoulder and lead him over to the group, where he watched Yahaba and Watari fret over the captain for a moment before Oikawa started talking with them and giving them orders. Hanamaki and Matsukawa approached him from both sides and laid a hand on each of his shoulders.

“You gonna tell us what happened?” Makki asked ominously and Iwaizumi sighed, he knew he’d have to at some point.

“Our beloved captain is feeling a bit inferior,” he informed them, glaring at the ground as he remembered their conversation.

“Inferior how?” Mattsun asked and Iwaizumi sighed again.

“Inferior to me, somehow,” he elaborated and their eyes widened.

“He was getting all worked up about how I’d be a better captain than him, he just kept going on and on about it, it was almost sickening if I’m honest,” Iwaizumi muttered and their eyes hardened.

“Where the hell did he get that idea?” Matsukawa growled and Iwaizumi shrugged.

“He wouldn’t tell me, I didn’t want to push in case he shut down...” Makki nodded.

“You did the right thing, but try to ask him before this gets worse,” Iwaizumi also nodded and they all walked over to the rest of the team. Iwaizumi kissed Oikawa’s shoulder in passing and moved into position. He needed to find out who was causing issues with his perfect boyfriend’s self-esteem.

[daebakinc]

Hero Among Thorns - Pt 4

Pairing: Hyunwoo x Reader Genre: Undercover Detective AU, Action, Romance Word Count: 2.5K Summary: When a mistaken connection results in your kidnapping by one of the city’s most notorious gangs, the undercover detective Hyunwoo has no choice but to rescue and protect you, and, most dangerously of all, fall in love with you. Warning: Mentions of violence and blood. Parts: See Masterlist for previous parts. (Sorry, but Tumblr won’t show posts with links in tag searches.

“But you have to.” Minhyuk stares you down, his happy demeanor gone without a trace. “Didn’t you hear what we just said Yew has done? You can’t just let him walk free.”

“I also heard that all your witnesses end up dead. Getting shot once is an experience I don’t want to repeat, especially if the next time ends with me not breathing.” You drop your face into your hands. Your heart beats in a rabid tattoo, hastened by imagining your dead body sprawled bloody in some dingy alley or dumped in some lonely shallow grave no one will ever find you in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Well I did, but I want to put this guy who can’t even do his homework and kidnaps the wrong person in jail, clearly. It’s just… do you have any idea how scary this is?”

“The other witnesses never had us. Our team is the best there is,” Hyungwon says.

“No one is getting close to you unless we let them,” Hyunwoo adds so firmly you almost believe him.

Almost.

You shake your head and hug your knees. It does little to comfort you. “I don't know.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, but you know everyone hears you.

Minhyuk lets out a huff that's somewhere between frustrated and disgusted. The legs of the couch squeak against the floor with the force of him standing. You instinctively pull your legs closer to distance yourself from his angry disapproval. Without giving you another glance, he crosses in front of you. A few seconds later, the door to the apartments slams behind him.

“Don't mind him,” Hoseok says, breaking the tense silence. “Min's just tired and ready to go home. This hasn't been the easiest mission for us.”

“I'm sorry,” you instinctively reply. You're already regretting your impulsive statement. A lot.

“Don't be.” Hoseok smiles, rolls his shoulders as he stands, and crosses the carpet to give your uninjured shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He'll be fine by the morning. Don't worry about all this. Just concentrate on getting better.”

Hoseok looks to Hyunwoo, asking, “We'll see you two at the shop tomorrow?”

Hyunwoo shakes his head. “I'll probably stay here with her for a few days. Might look weird if I go right back to work when my girlfriend was almost killed. Yew's going to be keeping a close eye on us for awhile. Watch your backs.”

“Always. Come on, Hyungwon. I'll give you a ride back.”

Hyungwon dislodges himself from the couch, flashing a salute at Hyunwoo and nodding at you before following Hoseok out the door.

“Guess I better head out, too,” Kihyun says, “since I open tomorrow. Need to be there early for that parts-shipment from Kyushu.”

Changkyun goes to the counter to slip his laptop and tablet into their respective cases. “Can you drop me by my place? I rode with Minhyuk but I doubt that asshole remembered and stuck around.”

“Sure.”

They both say good-night and leave. Jooheon follows, but only after checking your vitals again and repeating his instructions for your medication to Hyunwoo.

Silence fills the space left behind. Mentally exhausted from having to go through the night over and over again, you slump on the couch. Opposite you, Hyunwoo sits in his armchair, lost in thought or half asleep, you can’t tell. With being an undercover agent, keeping up chatter with someone not on his team probably isn’t a frequent occurrence.

As you open your mouth to ask if you can get more items from your apartment eventually, Hyunwoo gets up and moves toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” he asks.

You think about it before replying, “No, thanks. Do you have any tea though?”

“I should.” He squats down to look in a cabinet and you glance away from the lovely view provided by the sweatpants. Where isn’t this guy perfect? “Ah, yeah, here it is. There’s raspberry, green, and honey chamomile. Kihyun can pick us up more if you prefer something else.”

“Chamomile is fine for now, please. Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Curiosity gets the better of you after Hyunwoo turns the electric kettle on and sets out a green ceramic mug beside it. He starts rummaging through the refrigerator. You see him glance at you from the corner of his eye as you climb onto a stool on the opposite side of the counter. But he doesn’t comment, continuing to place different things on the counter.

A packet of kimchi. A can of spam. Eggs. Cabbage. Soy sauce. Sesame oil. Packaged noodles.

Your stomach gives a muffled gurgle. Maybe you will take him up on his offer of a meal.

With quiet competence, Hyunwoo moves around the kitchen with the uncommon ease of a man who knows his way around cooking, measuring, prepping. When the kettle boils, he pours the water over the teabag and sets the mug in front of you with a small bowl of sugar and a dainty bottle of honey shaped like a teddy bear.

As he turns, you ask, “You don’t talk a lot do you?” Realizing you sounded rude, you add, “Not that anything’s wrong with that. It’s nice being around someone who’s okay with not talking.”

Hyunwoo shrugs. “I’m not always good at it. I make things awkward when I speak sometimes, so I don’t unless I need to usually. Does it make you uncomfortable that I don’t?”

“No, no. Definitely not.”

He smiles and turns back to his work.

After fixing your tea to your liking, there's nothing else to do but wait. But you can only sit still so long. You never did do well sitting idle. “Can I help?”

“Sure.”

Despite his quick answer, Hyunwoo has to look around for something to give you. He finally settles on giving you some cabbage to shred for the soup. You clumsily grip one end of the leaves with your injured side’s hand as you tear, your tongue unconsciously poking out the corner of your lips. Quickly, the only noises in the apartment return to the clicks of utensils and rips of your work.

With how chaotic your days usually are, the majority of your hours full of people whining, yelling, and demanding in your ears, quiet when you get home is welcome. But it isn’t always so. More often than you would care to admit, when you’re alone in your apartment in worn pajamas, sitting on your couch with your laptop and a snack in peace, the quiet reminds you how alone you are. No roommate, not even a fish for a pet. Your dating life has been about as dead as Frankenstein's wife. For years now. An embarrassing number of years.

You had underestimated the comfort of having another living, breathing human living in the same space as you when you shared a room with a friend in university. The knowledge that someone else was there, that you could talk to them if you wanted, reach out to touch them. Someone to share your thoughts with that wasn’t yourself. Someone to just kick back and enjoy a movie and pizza with without having to deal with the pressure of maintaining the perfect, polite image work and dates demand.

Yes, you were lonely. Are lonely. If that somehow lowered your standards for human interaction, so be it. Yet, you didn’t feel like you were settling for Hyunwoo’s quiet. Like the man himself, it feels solid, wholesome. Even if it is literally now Hyunwoo’s job to keep you around, you appreciate his company. Watching his hands as he cooks and listening to him clink and bang around the kitchen, the normalcy of it, brings back the warmth to your bones as much as his hoodie does.

“You sure you’re not hungry?”

Meeting Hyunwoo’s eyes through the steam of the cooking ham slices, you shrug with a half-smile. “Maybe a little.”

“I figured you would be.” He takes two bowls from the cabinet. Smoothly, he deposits a healthy amount of noodles into one of them and puts it in front of you. The steam of the soup mingles with that of the two slices of ham he places on top of the noodles. Together, they may be the best thing you've ever smelled.

Kihyun's soup earlier hadn't been bad, but it'd been decidedly bland. Probably under Jooheon's orders. As soon as your spoonful of Hyunwoo's soup hits your tongue, it's heaven. Salty, earthy, noodly heaven.

You rush another spoonful to your mouth, happily chewing away at the ham. As you go for a third, you pause, the hair on the back of your neck tingling. Looking up, you realize Hyunwoo is watching you. He's leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth tilted in a smile that shows just a hint of teeth.

“That good?” he asks in an amused tone.

It takes conscious effort not to drop the spoon in embarrassment. You just stuffed your face like a heathen in front of one of the most attractive people you've crossed paths with in awhile. Like an idiot.

Lowering your spoon and your eyes, you sheepishly reply. “Yeah. It's really good.”

“Good.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Oh,” he sets down the bowl he'd picked up for himself and drags a bag of medication, “you should take these now. Jooheon said you should take them with food, remember?”

You nod and gulp down the pills as Hyunwoo serves himself. The earlier quiet descends again, broken only by your spoons clinking against the sides of your bowls and the occasional slurped noodle. It's beyond nice.

Just as before, it hits you how isolated you've been the last few months of your life. When you think about it, it's hard to tell if it was because of your job and its accompanying exhaustion or your personal choice. Maybe a little of both.

“Want more?”

Hyunwoo’s words break through your mood. Noticing your bowl is empty, you shake your head and push it away. “I’m good, thanks.”

“No problem.” He takes the dish and puts it in the sink, looking back at you. “Does your shoulder hurt?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re frowning.”

Not for the first time, you lament your utter lack of a poker face. Admitting just getting to eat with someone made you over the moon isn’t an attractive option. “No, it's fine. It feels pretty dull. I was just...”

You run a hand through your hair out of habit. The strands feel greasy. A perfect excuse. “I was just wishing I could wash my hair. But it'd be really hard to do without getting the bandages wet. Maybe we could cover it with something to keep it dry? Like wrap a garbage bag or plastic?”

“That should be okay. I might have a spare trash bag.” He reaches towards the cabinet under the sink, but pauses before opening the door. Hyunwoo straightens and says, “Or you could just wash it here if you just need to wash your hair.”

“Here as in the kitchen sink?”

“Why not? I’ll just move the dishes to one side. It has one of those hose things so that would make it easier to rinse. That way your bandages don't have to get wet at all. I've had to wash my hair in a sink a lot when a shower wasn't an option.”

“I guess that'll work...”

He smiles. “I'll get the shampoo and a towel for you.”

You refill the space in front of the sink after Hyunwoo vacates, eyeballing the hose. Maybe if you just bend forward with your face in the sink that could work. But then the shampoo would get in your eyes. You try bending backwards, but the height of the counter proves your undoing. Even with your flexibility, a must for a dancer, your head barely comes anywhere near the sink.

Still half bent over backwards, you glare at the upside-down sink. “Stupid,” you mutter.

“Is that comfortable?”

You stumble as you right yourself to find Hyunwoo returned with a fluffy black towel and a very large black shampoo bottle. “No. Maybe the sink isn’t such a good idea. Even with the hose, I think it would be too weird an angle.”

Putting the towel and bottle down, he studies the sink. His fingers drum against his hips as he thinks. Hyunwoo grabs one of the stools and pulls it around the counter. He moves around you to put it in front of the sink. “If you sit on this, I can wash it for you.”

“You’d do that?” you ask, caught by surprise. You haven’t had anyone else wash your hair since you were a child. Not even when you get a haircut. Certainly no past boyfriend had ever offered.

“It’s not like women wash their hair any different from men.” Hyunwoo says. “Or do they?”

You can’t help your laugh. “I guess not. Okay, thanks.”

He nods and hands you the towel. Once you have it draped around your neck with your bandaged arm safely covered, you slowly lean back until the back of your neck touches the cool metal of the sink. Hyunwoo leans over you to turn on the water. As you stare up at his chest, just how big he is hits you all over again.

Thank goodness he’s on your side. 

You jerk in surprise when instead of the warm water you were expecting, Hyunwoo’s palm comes to your forehead and pushes it back. Despite your discomfort, you keep your mouth shut. He’s doing you a favor afterall.

But when Hyunwoo starts trying to massage the shampoo into your hair like it’s a stubborn stain in a rug, you hiss and clap your good hand over his. “Ow!”

He stops immediately and asks in a worried tone, “Did I hurt you?” 

“Just a little softer, please.” Readjusting to a more comfortable position, you move your hand on top of one of his. It doesn’t quite fit, but Hyunwoo lets you manipulate his fingers in much gentler motions. He seems to get the hang of it after a few moments, but you keep your hand where it is a little longer than necessary. The warmth of his hand feels too good.

“Sorry, for hurting you,” he says. “Never done this before.”

Snatching your hand back into your lap, you reply, “So you're not like the Zohan.” You chuckle at your own joke.

“The what?” He stops.

“The Zohan. Zohan Dvir. From 'You Don't Mess with the Zohan.' The Adam Sandler movie?”

“Never seen it.” Hyunwoo shakes his head and shrugs apologetically.

“It’s okay. It’s kind of a lot of stupid, but it’s good for when you want to just laugh. You don’t have to think about anything. It’s about an Israeli special forces agent who fakes his own death so he can pursue his dream of being a hairstylist.”

“Seriously?” He laughs, which makes you smile. It’s too cute.

“Yeah. I haven’t watched it in forever. Too many movies to watch, too little time.”

“You like to watch movies?”

You’re grateful for the excuse to close your eyes when he starts rinsing your hair. “It passes the time well when you’re alone a lot.”

To your surprise, Hyunwoo answers, “I get that. I sleep or workout, but movies sound fun. Sorry, I don't have anything more girly smelling, by the way. I can ask one of the guys to grab you some of whatever you like using from the store and drop it off.”

“It’s okay. Yours smells good.” You open your eyes when you feel Hyunwoo lift the towel from your front so he can help you sit up. He drapes the towel around your shoulders and starts drying your hair. His hands are much gentler than before so you can’t help but sag into your seat a little. The simple comfort makes you feel like a cat, ready to curl in a purring ball. “Are you sure you’re a secret agent?”

“Pretty sure.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why?”

“You’re better at this than you think.” And despite his size, he has the personality of a teddy bear. It’s hard to equate the person tenderly drying your hair with the badass who rescued you.

“You have to be a quick study to survive at this job. Otherwise you don’t stay alive long.” His voice lacks any hardness in spite of the bluntness of his statement, as if he’s just stating a normal fact. Hyunwoo pauses, then says, “That was a little dark, wasn’t it?”

“A little, but I guess it’s true. You can’t deal with the underbelly of humanity and get by on a whim.” Hesitating, you add, “Thank you, by the way.”

“No need for that. It’s just hair.”

“I mean for saving me from those men.” You feel Hyunwoo’s hands slow, but keep your eyes straight ahead. “I don’t think I said that to you yet, but really, thank you.”

“It was nothing. Just another day for us.”

Just another day. And you’re just another mission, you remind yourself. Your gaze falls to your hands as you fight that tiny feeling of disappointment. “Oh. And I’m sorry for pulling the gun on you.”

That makes Hyunwoo laugh again. He comes in front of you and leans against the counter, still smiling. “It was empty, remember? No harm, no foul.”

“Still… it wasn’t nice.”

“Trust me, I’ve had much more dangerous people point loaded guns at me. I’ll take you pointing an unloaded one at me any day.”

“Are you saying I wasn’t intimidating?” you ask, only half-joking.

He smiles and walks away with the towel and shampoo. “Yes.”

[haloud]

many times, many ways

a malex christmas gift for christi @michaels-blackhat, who inspired me into holiday fluff and who spent this month writing wonderful gifts--I hope you enjoy this one in return! Happy holidays, everyone!

-- ao3 --

An unmarked package. An envelope, more accurately, hand-folded out of plain brown paper and left right in front of Alex’s front door. Buffy is sniffing at it before Alex can stop her; he snags her by the collar, heart in his throat, but she’s close enough to nudge it with her nose. Alex holds his breath, but she just lets out a soft boof, then loses interest and heads back inside. Alex, however, can’t be quite so cavalier. It may not have exploded when Buffy moved it, but there are ways other than explosives that a strange package can fuck you up. He fetches a pair of gloves and a particle mask before he even touches it. A small gesture toward security, maybe, but it makes him feel safe enough to work a pocketknife under the tape and slowly pull the paper apart.

Alex blinks twice at what’s inside. Pulls his mask off so it falls around his neck and blinks again. Reaches out to touch it.

It’s…a Christmas ornament. But not any, it’s—it’s light in his palm, a tiny thing, a miniature of a poster he had as a kid, the one Maria smuggled into his car after school and he hung up in the toolshed where no one would see it. Alex holds it up. Dangling from a scrap of black ribbon, the little orange rectangle catches the light, gleaming off the black enamel picking out the singer’s little face and the Danger! At the Picture Show lettering. It’s cold when he clenches it in his fist, heart pumping a hundred miles an hour.

For a second, he’s seventeen again, and he has to laugh at the memory of that kid he used to be, earbuds stuffed in his ears, knees jammed up against the desk waiting for the first period bell to ring. He grins despite himself, turning over the paper again, searching for any kind of note or indication who it’s from. Rosa, maybe? Secret presents are definitely her thing, and she was the one who gave him his first DatPS CD when he was fourteen. Maria is the other person who comes to mind, but Alex hopes she would just give it to him in person—he doesn’t like to think of her being too anxious to give him something like this face to face, what with all the mending fences going on.

He smooths his thumb over the ornament’s glossy surface one more time, then puts it on a shelf for safekeeping for lack of anywhere more festive to put it. He doesn’t really decorate for Christmas; the holidays were only ever more of the same when he was a kid, with a thin, grotesque veneer of family over the top of it.

Things get even more festive the next day, though, when he gets home from work and finds another package, in the same brown paper, sitting on the porch steps. It’s bigger this time, three dimensional, and after a moment of deliberation, Alex picks up the phone. Guerin might laugh at him, but that’s a price he has to be willing to pay.

He doesn’t laugh, though. He rolls up in his truck, that, despite the circumstances and the vaguely tipsy feeling of fear lurking in his blood, Alex has to laugh at—there’s a sprig of mistletoe wrapped in bright red ribbon hanging from the rearview mirror.

Michael bounds over to him and says, slightly breathless, “What did you need me to check out?”

Alex waves his hand in the direction of the stairs. “It’s probably nothing. I got something similar yesterday, and it was fine, I just—”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, I get it. Here, let me.” Michael squeezes Alex’s shoulder, a quick, warm, reassuring touch, then takes a step back. Focusing, he narrows his eyes at the little package, then wings it in an arc off into the empty desert.

A second passes. Nothing blows up. Michael pulls the package back in.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “Sorry if whatever’s in there broke. But whoever sent it to you should have known better. Fucking idiot.”

Alex lets out a long breath, forcing his shoulders to drop and his brow to smooth. “No, it’s okay. ‘Tis the season, right? It could be from anyone.”

“Still.” Michael’s mouth curls downward, like he tastes something foul, like he tends to look whenever he tries to make nice with Kyle. It’s exasperating. It’s also a little sweet, in a twisted way.

The box has the same wrapping, same tape job as yesterday’s envelope. It comes apart easily, and inside is—Alex pulls it out, holds it up.

It’s. It’s an alien, full-on little green man alien, holding up its noodly little hands in two peace signs. Wearing a Santa hat. Covered in gaudy glitter. And still intact—only one piece has snapped off, a little piece of red molding clay that someone clearly fashioned so an ornament hook could go through it.

After a shocked second, Alex lets out a very uncharacteristic giggle; then, face burning, he drops the little alien back into the box and glances up at Michael, who’s watching him with his head tilted and a shy smile of his own on his pink mouth.

Their eyes meet for a long, breath-catching moment, a spark jumping through the cold, dry air from one body to the next. Then they both look away, clearing throats, shoving hands in pockets, and looking up at the sky instead of back at each other, each of them so large in the other’s sight to block out the sun.

“Secret Santa?” Michael says, voice cheerfully flippant. He’s still grinning somehow. Alex wants to wipe that look off his face. With his own face.

“Something like that.”

“Next time try to get someone who knows you better than to get that touristy shit.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Michael leaves after that, making it both easier and harder to breathe. Touristy shit aside, Alex puts the Santa alien on the shelf beside the first ornament, and later that night, after tossing and turning for a little while, he grabs his crutches, goes to the shelf, gropes in Jim’s old toolbox for a tube of superglue, and hunches over the coffee table to fix the clay part, making it an ornament once again.

One is an event. Two is a coincidence. Three ornaments in three days, and it’s a pattern.

No brown paper package shows up the third day; rather, he finds the ornament when he checks his mailbox in town. It’s a little laptop this time, nothing special, but it still brings a smile to his face when he holds it in his palm.

Who could the mystery sender be? It turns into something of an obsession over the next few days, which see him receiving a log cabin, a beagle, and a beautiful handmade silver and turquoise songbird. It’s clearly someone who knows him now, and someone who knows him well enough to know his home, his pet, what he does for a living…it’s a narrow field, to be sure—basically just Maria, Liz, Kyle, or Rosa. He rubs his thumb over the beagle’s little painted nose while Buffy shoots it a suspicious look from the couch as he considers his options.

Whoever it is, Guerin must know, because since the second day, the ornaments have arrived in his mailbox or on his porch unwrapped or in clear plastic wrap if it’s raining out.

Of course, all the evidence could point toward it being Guerin himself. But…somehow, Alex can’t bring himself to believe it, if only because the thought of Michael thinking of him like this, over time, with dedication, makes Alex’s chest ache with longing to see him, to hear him, to feel him. Better it be some scheme of Rosa’s. It’s just…better that way.

The gifts keep coming. Day seven, it’s the Air Force crest; on the eighth and ninth days, he finds a sunbathing alien and a bowl of ramen on his front step. They both go on the increasingly-crowded shelf, though he shoots the ramen a nasty look when he puts it in place. Another point in the Maria column, considering last time he went to one of her movie nights, he was asked to put pizza rolls in the oven and managed to burn them despite absolutely following the instructions on the package.

The tenth day’s ornament arrives in a blue Tupperware container, just translucent enough to see the ornament inside, but not so much he can tell what it is.

He opens it and finds a ball ornament wrapped in strips of paper cut from dictionaries in ten languages he can identify, including all six he speaks. It’s sturdy papier-mâché, but Alex still holds it like it might shatter if he breathes on it too hard. Every line defines things like family, like love, like forever. He returns it to its box and puts it on the shelf with the others, but his fingers linger over the lid, because there are lines he hasn’t traced with his fingertips yet, and he can hardly tear himself away.

He goes into town later that day on a grocery run with words still swimming in his mind and his mouth fixed shut because he’s not sure what might come out. But no level of distraction or concentration could keep him from being blindsided when he runs into Guerin outside the Crashdown, their bodies catching shoulder to shoulder, Guerin’s hand on his arm to steady him—their collision almost knocked a big box out of Guerin’s hands, but he steadies it with a little help from his powers until Alex has his balance back and he can take it in both hands again.

“Alex,” he breathes, then clears his throat. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I could say the same to you,” Alex manages.

Guerin shakes the box lightly. “Liz wants to surprise Arturo with the decorations this year, so I figured I’d offer my services. I’m the only one who can get tinsel into all the hard-to-reach places, after all.”

“Oh, that’s—that’s really nice.”

“Nah, I’m getting paid. Mostly in milkshakes and fries, but who’s complaining?”

They stare across the box. It’s been like this, lately, a small talk stiffness to their interactions, and Alex doesn’t know how to make it stop. But at the same time, he isn’t sure he wants to. It’s almost…nice. A couple weeks ago Alex drove by the junkyard just because he could, and Michael smelled like snow and pine and commented on the weather, and that brief exchange left the both of them grinning like idiots by the time Alex drove away. They aren’t lovers again, not yet. But they’re something. They’re getting there.

“Want some help? I’m free tonight,” Alex says, and Michael smiles at him, and that’s that. Alex comes back late, once the Crashdown is closed and Arturo is in bed. Liz and Rosa come downstairs to work on the decorations too, and more hands makes for light work, though Michael does most of the work without using his hands at all. They’re finished in no time. Alex plugs the lights in, flips the switch, and Rosa laughs, real and unrestrained and tugging Liz into the middle of the floor, dotted with multicolored puddles of light, twirling her in a circle. Sometime during the decorating, Rosa managed to stick Michael with a present ribbon, and it bobbles on top of his curls as he slinks over to Michael’s side to knock their shoulders together. Alex lets him, in the spirit of the season, and because every time Michael touches him his body goes weightless.

Now is as good a time to ask as any.

“So, Guerin,” he says, “I’m still getting ornaments every day. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that you haven’t told me, would you?”

Michael shrugs and grins that cowboy grin. “Looks to me like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer.”

“Secret, huh?”

“Looks that way.”

And before Alex can say another word, Michael is walking away to join Liz and Rosa dancing, whistling Let It Snow. He gets away from Alex that time, but before their little impromptu party is over, Alex manages to steal the bow from his hair, just glancing his fingers off those curls, so lightly Guerin doesn’t even seem to notice.

Whether he’s the ornament giver or not, Alex puts the bow on the shelf with the others. Just in case.

The next day, there’s no ornament when he leaves in the morning, and nothing in his mailbox when he checks it that evening, either. He’s—frustrated, okay, rather than sad, because what was the point? Stopping ten days in, what was even the point? It leaves him feeling untethered, without that tiny little thing to look forward to each and every day. Somehow, without even really noticing, he’d kind of gotten into the Christmas spirit. He even, feeling ridiculous the entire time, went to the pet store and bought a couple gifts for his dog, because he’s in a gift-giving mood even if he’s not sure he’s exchanging gifts with anyone else this year.

He shoulders his way out of the office, avoiding eye contact with the clerk, who’s surely noticed him coming in every single day, when he used to only check his mail once a week at best. Whatever. Now he has no reason to come back so often, and they’ve got plenty of time to forget him, like the way things should be.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost smacks Maria right in the face with the door as he leaves. She yelps, and he catches it at just the last second, tripping over apologies while she flaps her hand at him dismissively.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, Alex, really,” she laughs. Alex steadies her with his hands on her shoulders, and she tugs him to the side, out of the way of the sidewalk traffic. “I was hoping to run into you anyway. I have something for you.”

Oh shit. Anxiety spikes, and Alex blabbers, “Oh, shit, Maria, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know we were doing gifts this year—”

Great. Their friendship is finally finding even footing again, and Alex immediately puts himself in the red again by hitting her with a door and tells her straight up that he didn’t get her anything for Christmas. Batting a fuckin’ thousand, isn’t he. No wonder his secret admirer or whatever got bored of him.

“Alex, seriously, chill.” She tweaks his chin. “No presents is one hundred percent fine. You think I’m all about worshipping at the capitalist altar that is Christmas? Hell no. Buuut someone asked me for a favor, and it just so happened that I had something for you anyway, so here you go.”

She grabs his hand and presses into it a beautifully beaded eight-pointed star, red and white and gold. Alex gasps, and says, “This is—”

“One of Mom’s, yeah.” That wry, sad smile Maria gets when she talks about her mother curls up on her face. “She makes a lot of them on her good days, and her nurse says it’s good that she’s working with her hands. And Mom specifically said this one was for you.”

“God.” Alex swallows and grips the star as tightly as he can without crushing it. “Let me know next time you’re going to visit her, okay? So I can thank her in person?”

“Sure thing.”

Maria blinks rapidly for a moment, and Alex, understanding, doesn’t mention it. She composes herself quickly, and then Alex just has to ask:

“So it hasn’t been you the whole time, has it?”

“What, leaving you the ornaments? I am not that sappy.”

“Come on, there’s nothing wrong with being a little sentimental,” he teases.

“Uh huh. Sure. I forgot I was talking to the master of fuzzy feelings himself.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

Maria laughs at that and, hooking her arm through his, starts off down the street. “Now, we may not be exchanging presents this year, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you help me with the rest of my shopping.”

--

The next day’s ornament is a classic Han Solo one, and if Alex lets out an undignified gasp when he sees it, Buffy is the only creature around to witness it. If he spends the rest of the day finding and watching the Star Wars Christmas Special, well, the same goes for that too, and his dignity is firmly intact.

The day after that, Liz texts him to come to the Crashdown, and since it’s a weekend he makes it there to meet her on her lunch break. The decorations look just as good in the daylight, if an inch or two less magical, and Alex has to duck his head to hide his grin when he remembers Michael very seriously placing a Santa hat on each individual alien in the place.

Liz beckons him over to a booth, two shakes and a plate of fries already in front of her. “Figured since I called you out, I could at least treat you,” she says. “On top of what I called you here for, which is….” She does a little drumroll on the table, then plonks an ornament box down on the table.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alex bursts out.

“I know, right? I couldn’t believe it when I found it.”

Laughing and shaking his head, Alex picks it up. It’s a cat wearing an antenna headband so, so similar to the one perched on Liz’s head—the wrong shade of green, but still.

“I don’t suppose this is your way of telling me you’ve been leaving me ornaments all month, is it.”

“Pfft, no way.” Liz steals a fry from his tray and crunches it smugly. “Secret admirer, Manes. It’s supposed to be secret.”

Day fourteen is something delicate, so much so he’s a little scared to touch it. It’s thin glass, deep blue, and when it catches a light source it sends shimmering blue all around the room. It’s the day Alex stops trying to guess who his mystery gift-giver is, because now he’s been given light to hold in his hands, and it makes him feel—makes him—

Someone thought he was worthy of this. Someone wanted him to have it. Whether or not they ever tell him who they are, that means something.

His fifteenth ornament is the third one to come wrapped in a package, but this time it’s in an actual USPS shipping box, and it comes with a letter inside, in handwriting he recognizes.

Captain, it says, we got pressed into service again, and I was the unlucky bastard who drew the short straw, so I’m sending this to you, along with a warning that you fucking owe me…

The ornament is basic, a decently pretty white and silver snowflake. He puts the letter on the shelf with it. If the season is forcing everyone else into a sentimental mood, he might as well succumb to it too.

He wakes up on the sixteenth day with a bit of a sentiment hangover and lets himself lie in bed for a little while longer than usual, fondling Buffy’s soft ears and cradling this lovely, bittersweet feeling inside himself. If Christmas is the deadline for this whole ornament thing, he’s over halfway to the end. He takes the morning slowly, lingering over his coffee and over the view of the desert through his kitchen window, the high def white-gray limning of the world you get with a serious cold.

That day’s ornament doesn’t match Alex’s mood at all, but he still chuckles and shakes his head when he sees it. It’s another patch job like the Santa alien, but this time some sort of Valentines leftover—a traditional Roswell Gray holding a big red heart that says you’re out of this world!, with a handmade place for ornament hooks to go. It looks absurdly out of place next to everything else he’s accumulated, but he gives it its place of honor anyway.

He doesn’t expect his seventeenth ornament to arrive on the doorstep or in the mail, and sure enough, the pattern holds and it’s hand delivered at like ten o’clock that night. He almost doesn’t answer the door, but to be honest he’d left his leg on after work expecting just this.

“Ho ho ho,” an exhausted-looking Kyle says, shoving a box into Alex’s hands.

“Dude, did you drive all the way out here after your shift? It could have waited.”

“Nah, this is my one good deed for the year.”

“You’re literally a surgeon. Your job is good deeds.”

“Fine—my one act of charity.”

Alex bristles at that. “I don’t need—”

“Not for you.” Kyle punches him lightly on the shoulder.

Cryptic bastard.

“Go ahead and open it,” Kyle says, “My blood is eighty percent coffee right now, and I want to get home before I crash”

“You know you can stay if you need to.”

“Yeah, yeah. Open it.”

Alex’s eyebrows go straight up when he does and pulls out a shimmery white ball with the Buffy the Vampire Slayer logo on it. “You didn’t pick this out yourself. You asked me why I gave my dog a porn name the first time you met her.”

“Hey! I listened when you explained—” When Alex fixes him with a glare, Kyle gives in with a laugh. “Okay, okay, Rosa helped. Oh ye of little faith.”

Kyle leaves after that, with a quick hug and a Merry Christmas, and Alex goes to his shelf to put the ornament away. He hasn’t been keeping them in chronological order, more a sort of a…thematic grouping. The Buffy ball goes with Maria’s star, Liz’s alien cat, and the snowflake from his unit.

He looks up and turns away, casting his eyes all around the room to hide from no one the fact that he’s getting a little bit choked up.

Maybe he’ll buy some lights tomorrow. Or tinsel or something. No reason he can’t go in on the decorating, right? Why is he still holding himself back?

--

He doesn’t make it to the store the next day, or the two after that, three days that see him receiving a coffee mug, a UFO that’s supposed to light up when it’s plugged in, and a little truck hauling a Christmas tree.

He wonders if maybe that last one is a promise.

The pattern of hand deliveries every other day has been broken. But, in the spirit of the season—Alex doesn’t dwell on the fact that he never got one hand-delivered by Michael and instead chooses to think about the other thing that could mean.

On day twenty-one, he gets a glass teardrop that shimmers purple and golden, and on day twenty-two he gets a golden disc engraved with a tiny, perfect star chart.

The day before Christmas Eve, he opens the door to find an acoustic guitar.

As if he didn’t already know.

--

Christmas Eve dawns gray and dismal with the smell of snow in the air. Buffy trots around the yard in circles, lifting her nose every couple minutes to sniff the cold, and Alex cradles his coffee in both hands to keep them warm while he watches her, content. Part of him regrets that he never went and got more decorations, but it’s okay. This whole month—it’s been such an unexpected thing to be able to accept a simple joy into his life, to let himself expect a little, uncalled-for gift every day, that all he can feel at this point is just…peace. He couldn’t have asked for anything else. He didn’t.

Buffy barks, and Alex looks up just in time to see a familiar truck coming down the road, the bed covered with a tarp. Alex puts his mug down on the railing and regrets it instantly for want of something to do with his hands as Michael parks, opens the door, and jumps out of the car.

“Hey,” Alex says.

“Hey. Merry Christmas,” Michael says in return.

They just stare at each other for a moment, something that happens a lot when it’s just the two of them. Like they have to steel themselves to speak. Like they have to make sure that no, it’s not, it’s not the time to take that step forward and drown themselves in each other. It’s okay, yeah, it’s okay to just be here. Like this.

“Want some help with that?” Alex tilts his chin in the direction of the tarp.

“Y-yeah. Sure.” He stumbles over the word and ducks his head, rounding the truck to reveal what’s underneath.

It’s exactly what Alex expected, and everything he never did. His heart in his throat, he touches one of the branches on the tree, needles pricking his skin, sap sticky on his fingertips when he pulls them away.

“You get the other end,” Michael says, and they carry it inside together, a crate full of other decorations floating along behind them, Buffy pulling up the rear, eyeing it suspiciously. She settles in the corner to watch as Michael sets the tree up, hammers it into the stand, and positions it in the corner where it’ll be out of Alex’s way.

Alex hovers in the kitchen, making them both more coffee, hands shaking a little bit on the grounds, on the filter, on the carafe. The tree still takes up too much room. Michael takes up too much room. He always has. In this tiny house. In Alex’s heart and in his head and between his ribs. Michael pulls things out of the crate one by one and hangs them in the air around himself—bundles of lights, a skirt for the tree, multicolored balls and delicate paper snowflakes to fill all the spots left between the ornaments in Alex’s new collection.

Their fingers brush when Alex hands him a mug, and Alex lets the moment hang there. Skin on skin in the most casual, innocent way, but with Michael’s golden eyes so close it still manages to heat his blood, dry his mouth, cover him in yearning.

“Thanks,” Michael says hoarsely. He drags his index finger along Alex’s as he pulls his hand away, sending a shiver through the both of them.

Decorating for Christmas shouldn’t feel forbidden, but it does. It does, as they circle around each other, spiraling lights around the tree, eyes catching on every pass, Alex’s face so warm every time he sees Michael’s answering blush, on his cheeks, on his lips. Once the lights are on, they start in on the ornaments. Alex picks them off the shelf in chronological order, passing half of them to Michael, keeping half of them—like Mimi’s star, Han Solo, and the guitar—for himself.

“How did you manage it?” He asks eventually, fixing the teardrop to a high branch so Buffy doesn’t get any ideas.

“A friend who knows how to navigate Etsy, a sister with Amazon Prime, and a little bit of old-fashioned gumption.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Sure am.” Michael grins with satisfaction at the Valentines alien. Then he sobers a bit and says, “Hey, look, I’m sorry about the packaging the first couple days. I wanted to surprise you—I wasn’t thinking, and I should have.”

“It’s okay. You changed it up, and…yeah. It’s fine.”

“Thanks.”

A couple minutes pass in silence as Alex searches for what else to say. To ask. Why did he do it? When did he get the idea?

He asks, “What about the others? The ones you had Maria, Liz, Kyle, and the guys pick out? Red herrings, or did you just run out of ideas?���

“Oh, I had lots of ideas.” Michael presses his shoulder to Alex’s, coming in close to hang the star chart right beside the silver bird. Nudging him shyly, Michael says, “But my favorite one was the one where you got reminded how many people care about you.”

Alex almost drops the UFO at that, at Michael’s absurd honesty. He has nothing else to say, and they finish decorating the tree in peaceful silence. When they finish, Alex turns the lights off, and Michael plugs the tree in, and the gray day is dark enough that everything lights up bright like it would in the evening, all the colors of the rainbow.

“Fuck,” Alex breathes. It’s like a punch to the gut, happiness and disbelief and the unavoidable need to hoard this feeling, this moment, that comes on the heels of those feelings.

“So you like it?”

“Fuck,” Alex repeats, “Michael. I love it. It’s…I just…”

“Good.”

Michael, hesitating all the way, reaches out and takes Alex’s hand, sliding their fingers home together.

“I have one more ornament for you.” And he reaches into his pocket.

Alex makes a strangled noise when he sees it. Instinct tells him to rip his hand out of Michael’s and flee to the other side of the room to regroup, but he stays rooted in place, struggling, grasping for anything to say.

The console shard—because that’s what it has to be, just with gauzy ribbon looped and knotted carefully around one end so it dangles neatly from Michael’s fingers—shimmers in the soft rainbow light. Michael’s eyes shimmer along with it, equally as alien.

“I can’t,” Alex blurts. “I can’t take it. Michael. No. It’s—”

“No, no, listen, please.” Michael tugs on his hand like he wants to pull him closer, but Alex can’t—he just can’t—

He can’t be what ties Michael to Earth. He can’t be the sole tether that keeps him here, to the world that hurt him again and again, even if it’s the thing he wants most in the world, to protect, to hoard him like he hoards every sliver of a happy memory, where no one can take it away from him. That’s why he—months ago, when he most thought Michael was slipping through his hands, he gave him the console piece he found so he could go if he needed to. And now Michael tries to hand another piece back to him again?

“I can’t,” Alex says again, stuck on repeat.

“Hey, hey,” Michael fumbles for Alex’s other hand, and Alex lets him catch it, because with Michael holding him in place he doesn’t feel as cold. “It’s not what you think. I’m not asking you to keep me here, or anywhere, just.”

He swallows. He’s beautiful, in this light most of all. The most beautiful thing Alex has ever seen. Shining in every way, from the golden brushstrokes of his hair to the heart of him, who knew that Alex must never have had much of a holiday and decided to give him one.

Alex wants to kiss him. Wants to swallow whatever words Michael is going to say next and end the conversation there.

“Look.” Michael squeezes his hands. “When my mom—when she died. And after. Everything I worked for, everything I built the console for and devoted my life to, I thought it was over. Useless. But…you told me you were my family. And I know it took me too long to believe it, but I do now.

“I built the console because I was searching for my family. And now that it’s right in front of me, I want you to have a piece of it. Want us to have a piece of it.”

Alex searches Michael’s face, every earnest, open inch, until he can’t stand it anymore, until he drops Michael’s hands in favor of cradling his face, pulling him in, and taking his mouth in a slow, deep, careful kiss, tasting coffee on his tongue, drowning in the coming home of him, of his mouth on Alex’s, the rightness of having him in his arms. Michael responds with enthusiasm, stroking his back with his broad hands, making eager little noises into the kiss, going along with it until Alex pulls away to look at him again.

“You’re unbelievable,” Alex breathes.

“Thought it was the season for believing,” Michael replies, a little smile returning to his face.

“That’s what they tell me,” Alex says, and kisses him again.

--

Michael stays the night, wrapped up in Alex’s blankets, wrapped up in every inch of space Alex has ever thought was empty or cold. He doesn’t even need to set the heater that night, kept plenty warm by Michael’s body all along his back, holding him so close.

They wake up slow in the morning, but Alex earliest, because…

Well, even after everything Michael has done this month and everything he said the previous day, Alex is nervous about Michael’s Christmas present. He needs those extra minutes, watching him sleep peacefully, to steel himself.

But when he watches Michael wake up, sees how the first thing he does is look for Alex so he can smile at him, he isn’t so worried anymore.

They bring the blankets out into the sitting room, bundling up under the tree. Buffy leaves her bed to lie beside them instead, on top of the blankets, effectively pinning them in place, so Michael has to use his powers to get the wood and kindling set and strike a match and get a fire going in the fireplace.

The light flickers like something living off the console shard hanging from one of the uppermost branches. Heart in his throat, Alex pulls the envelope—the same one that held the ornament he got on December 1st—out of his pocket.

“I have something for you, too.”

Michael takes the envelope, eyes locked on Alex’s like he’s waiting for permission to open it. When Alex nods, he slips the tape open carefully, almost reverently. Like Alex, he’s never really gotten a gift before. Not one he thought meant anything. Not one he thought could stay.

He shakes the envelope, and a key falls into his hand.

“It’s to the front door,” Alex says to fill the silence.

Michael’s fist clamps around it with a familiar desperation, like someone might come out of nowhere to snatch it away. He blinks glossy eyes, wet lashes up at Alex, his mouth open, closed, throat bobbing as he swallows. Alex reaches out to stroke his closed fist.

“You’re my family. You’re my home. I don’t ever want to shut you out; I want you to be here. With me. Together. And I think you want that too.”

“Alex,” Michael chokes, and then he’s in Alex’s arms, wrapped around him in a hug.

He stays like that for most of the day, handsy and gentle, reaching out to touch him whenever they’re separated even for a moment. The next day passes much the same—then the next they both have to go back to work, live lives outside of their little holiday bubble.

Alex gets home first. He takes the dog out, gets dinner out of the freezer. Then about an hour later, he hears a car outside, footsteps on the stairs, then, after a minute’s pause, a key slots into the lock.

And Alex knows.

[saint-patrice]

Tuukka Rask for the photos please!

this one was also requested by @tuukkaflask40 - thank you both!!! the goalie love is long overdue

Note: a few people have said they like these posts, so i’m happy to take requests if there’s a particular player you’d like to see! see this page (i don’t think it works on mobile because tumblr is a burning shitpile, sorry) for details, and a list of ones i’ve done so far :) i have quite a few requests rn, but feel free to keep em coming! 

is there any other way to start this post? one of the most iconic photos in recent hockey history, and an amazing moment (even if massively infuriating). i vote we get a statue of this made and put it up outside TD Garden, alongside bobby

he is one scary, scary man. i’ve come to the conclusion that hockeyplayers are either too stupid to have fear, or have the biggest balls.because i, for one, could not get on the ice and face this without crying, throwing up, or perhaps both

(gif via @so-hockey-eh) HOWEVER! he is actually a lovely guy, as demonstrated here with his adorable daughter!!! i love how she’s so young but already knows what tuukka is like on the ice lmao. seeing Big Scary Hockey Men™ with their tiny children is always such an experience 😭 extremely cute, 10/10

a wonderful image of pasta loving and appreciating his goalie - something i hope we are all doing on a regular basis. after all these years of continually proving himself as Elite and breaking all kinds of records, sports media still try to talk shit on him, which really is unfortunate because he deserves all of the praise and all of the appreciation all of the time, because we really would be lost without him!!!!

haha issa baby

he is Not Amused. tuukka always appears to have a vague disinterest in whatever scene is unfolding in front of him and i love that. he just doesn’t give a flying fuck   

further proof that he does not care: this interview. i’drecommend you watch the video, it’s about 2:15 in, but someone asks both Tuukka and Patrice a question, and Tuukka just points to Patrice, who then explains “Tuukka’s just here.” what a legend

(gif via @puckducky) although he is very scary, i cannot bring myself to be physically intimidated by him, he’s just so lanky. and i know that he could kill me in a variety of ways with extreme ease, but i just look at him and i’m like… you cannot hurt me noodly man. maybe that’s how he gets em though - get people to underestimate his strength and then bam!! …who knows.

he is also a legend off the ice. i dare you to find me someone else who would describe their crowd as being ‘plenty lubed up’

yet another example (around 1:20). tuukka really was representing every bruins fan in this moment 

this one feels like an unlikely friendship if i’m honest, but i’m a fanof it. this is so grinchy i’m sorry tuuks

(gif via @martieblogsstuff) definitely a favourite playoff moment -p*rron trying his best to intimidate our finnish brick wall, but tuukka is having none of it, just giving him that slightly depraved smile in return, knowing full well he could break that boy’s spine if he wanted to. i fucking love it. also sometimes i forget how sick his goalie mask is but damn it’s cool

actual question - do other teams do this christmas thing, or is it just our particular bunch of idiots? this is quite the outfit, but at last the pants match the jacket (lookin at you, brad). bonus points for matching scarf i guess

(gif via @gaudreau) i think about this literally every day of mylife. it’s fantastic. an excellent moment to show off the all round chaotic and dumb nature of the boston bruins

(gif via @lesbiandebrusk) okay real talk, i am a supporter of that white jacket,he suits it. tuukka always has this look in his eye that tells me he knows something i don’t. it makes me nervous

what in fresh hell is this… i am so uncomfortable

(gifvia @goaliefight) yes!!!! despite what shitty sports journalists have to say about him, this team loves tuukka so much. they know he saves their asses when they’re having an off day, and makes them look even better when they’re having a good one. and he loves them sm too so it’s just very sweet all round

paint me like one of your finnish goalies a quick aside about the physical spectacle that is nhl goaltenders though - they are so unreasonably flexible in a way i can’t quite express. i competed as a gymnast for almost 9 years, and some of the stuff they do blows my mind. not to mention they’re doing it all effectively wrapped in a duvet? (at least that’s how i imagine it feels with all that padding) we really don’t give them enough credit

contemplating the pros and cons of which opposing player he should brutally murder first

he is looking very pleased with himself, and rightly so

this one sent me - what a badass. tuukka does the best press stuffbecause he, apparently, just does not give a shit what he says. here he is, absolutely thrilled at only having to answer 2 questions in an interview one time

Murder Contemplation Time™

i will leave you to enjoy this young, sweaty, and windswept tuukka

thank you for the request!! i hope this did mr tuukka rask, brick wall and metallica superfan, at least partial justice becuase god knows he deserves more credit 

[veiledbyart]

Tell us 3 facts from 5 of your favourite OC's :3

THAT IS GONNA BE A LOT OH BOY HERE WE GO

Ainsel

- He has an older twin sister named Aisling! They went separate paths but are actually on very good terms (until she declares that she’s his ‘big sister’, then the bickering begins).

- Despite being part of the Drow community, Ainsel is in fact an Idiot and does not speak Undercommon. They spoke elvish at home and after that he spent most of his time in a monastery. He rather learned Sylvan (Fun fact; The idiot is ME).

- He is very Not Fond of alcohol and doesn’t touch the stuff. Partially because he legit dislikes the taste and partially because he watches half of his party get knock-out drunk regularly. He’s not about That Life.

Neah

- They are actually adopted after running away from a toxic biological family. Meeting them again is one of their biggest fears, but at the same time there is a lot of things they wanna tell them (mainly their father) personally.

- The star-speckled cloak they wear is a gift from their adoptive father and brother! It’s a cloak of billowing, that they then personally customized with the stars so it would fit the rest of their costume theme. It’s one of their most important possessions.

- While they had a few fleeting relationships (which were essentially friendships with benefits), they are very new to actual romance - so now that they have a girlfriend, they are super awkward and flustered which I hoNESTLY FEEL WITH ALL MY HEART. I adore that though– my noodly bard is so pure.

Takoyaki

- He is Very Tall and Very Cowardish and I love him. He looks cool but he’s literally the dorkiest, awkward and most shy noodle you’ll ever encounter. The kind of person you bump into and HE apologizes.

- Takoyaki has a huge crush on Spyke and actually works as a waiter in the café where Spyke usually can be found in Splatoon 2. By now the main focus is the ship with one of my other splatoon OCs, Ikameshi, though.

- His apartment is almost a jungle at this point. He has a bazillion of plants (mostly succulents) and keeps getting more and more. It calms him being surrounded by a lot of green and he’s actually really good at taking care of them!

Johan

- He’s an ESPer and a prime example of the yandere tropes. Seriously, he is easily one of my most messed up OCs, but I love him a lot.

- Before I turned him into this thinly veiled murder machine, he was actually just a comic relief character. I really made him solely to be annoying but funny… I guess I kinda got off-track with that. Whoops?

- He remembers all his past lives and essentially uses his different reincarnations to work towards the goal that he has. So dying is not a big issue to him.

Jatayu (this is gonna be tricky because he’s an NPC in my LoZ-Campaign, so I gotta be careful with what I reveal)

- He first showed up not in the main campaign but as the main villain of a oneshot actually! The players of that oneshot hindered him from getting his hands on a bunch of dragon parts. He has a very personal grudge against everyone included with that :)

- He became the current leader of the Yiga after he overthrew and killed the original (and much more chill) leader. He gained a big following among the Yiga after he spearheaded an attack that essentially wiped out one of the Sheikah villages.

- While it’s still not clear how exactly, he actually got those scars during that attack against the Sheikah village. Whoever was responsible for that is now either dead or sure to be hunted still.

[kae-karo]

Can you do an analysis on the last dan vs phil video?

hell yeah i can in the beginning…

nerds nerds nerds ‘in the beginning…..there was a tree…..’ cue phil’s lil laugh smh cowards release the footage of y’all recording this bit i would Die for it i wanna see y’all being cute-ass dorks together thanks

dan’s voice cracking tone when he’s trying to stop phil

‘n they didn’t tell anybody’ dumbasses u told three million people smh

the fucking dvp montage god this whole intro is just a testament to what dorks they are

‘emotional stability’ what the Fuck

we’re the only ones fighting for emotional stability here jfc

‘after,,,,,d- after da long ass time’ dan u spork

they pulled up the first clip of the dvp board i’m not sobbing ur sobbing

phil recognizing he’s doing the same intro voice i’m Soft

cute

dan forgetting what he was gonna say after his big ol dramatic ‘that is right everybody’ we stan a mess

“bitch there’s no space” did u mean

ahem anyway

phil ruining all dan’s dramatic storytelling gives me Life

how did i not know just dance 2 was one of their most popular vids???? it has 7.4m views??? (for anyone as curious as me, sims #1 has 8.2m and is the most popular, followed by just dance, then fnaf #1 with 7.2m then akinator of all things with 6.4m?)

phil liked yasuhati???? i stan immensely i loved yasuhati as y’all know

it’s a grand finale u spoons stop saying grand ‘final’ that just. sounds wrong lmao

dan spent an hour making that crown i’m crying he’s so cute as is phil’s reaction giggling at him 

they ran out of kitchen foil why did i need to know this

they literally fucking kept the present they crushed what’s wrong with them

‘look at what his ass did to this’ as if we don’t know what that ass do

dan keeping up the ‘i’ll ebay this’ joke i think someone’s catching the capita£ester

i love their adorable editing making each other disappear n phil chopping dan’s head off it’s endearing

cereal eating contest at least dan knows he’s lost (dan is the Actual psychic)

‘y’all fricken want us touching each other??? do you????? here ya fuckin go u animals enjoy’

me when dan makes bad innuendo puns

why does phil look so pleased with himself????

hi i know i say it every video but there is nothing more beautiful than phil looking at dan while he’s talking it just makes me weak????

he tongue

also important dan eye roll content

dnp each picking a game they think they can win and then they do win amazing

dan’s confused ‘should’ve put some in??? oh yeah i should’ve cheated’ immediately followed by his oh fuck yeah i probably should’ve

i would just like to point out that at this point we’re literally watching two dorks with their eyes shut psyching each other out for an entire thirty seconds

‘i’m getting so moist right now’ dan we already know ur kink is staring at phil okay we got it

phil looks like he knows he’s gonna win and i love him

why are they such dorks phil trying to make dan lose i’m being thrown violently back to pinof 4

also ofc dan has a strategy to win this of course he does of course i expect nothing less

i think dan,,,,,,broke the sound barrier there ;)

oi hi there lil rosy patch welcome back

caption this

‘it was the longest i’ve ever had my eyes open in my entire life’ dan is such a dramatic gay i love him like babe,,,,,,,u don’t have to hyperbolize everything okay

‘i don’t know why but i stared at u for like a minute’ ‘yeah’ 

dan screaming when phil touched the crown dan,,,,,,,do u have even one (1) ounce of chill

look i’ve never seen dan fixate so much on anything except phil

‘stop enjoying these rolling chairs so much’ hi daniel do u recall not a month ago when u wheeled ur bf around the flat bc i do recall u having a bit of fun there 

phil knowing he has noodly arms and dan immediately going ‘don’t u dare say that abt my husband’ is a mood

buster howell

dnp being terrified of snapping their arms in an arm wrestling contest is such a mood literally that’s like my reason for never ever wanting to arm wrestle

‘when i literally snap phil in half’ try not to look so pleased abt that dan

‘i’m not very good at fighting talk am i’ why did this immediately translate in my head to dirty talk katie u need to Stop with the phanfiction

oh my god they put the board down and my first concern was all the stickers were gonna get moved off or fall off or w.e

disappearing chins

sorry ik it’s been there but the cactus has fairy lights on it

nerds fighting over who moved who’s limbs

dan u can’t call phil out for leaning when ur leaning urself okay 

he looks exactly like he did in the dk vid

rosy patch, rosy patch, we love u lil rosy patch

hi phil’s lips look particularly pretty here

what’s wrong with them who gave them permission to be this cute n domestic

dan u can’t look that offended when u offered to play that game

(offended but fond is dan’s only mood toward phil)

doesn’t count what bloody doesn’t count daniel u dork

hi why are u so giggly looking at phil okay that’s not Legal

very dry eyes and an aching left arm, that’s how you know you’ve had a good time thanks dan thanks didn’t want that didn’t need it goodbye

the way he trails off into a laugh though that’s some good shit right there

“we said it at the same time” of course u did 

okay so pika @wlwphil​ said that dnp exist in a feedback loop of stupid bc they don’t talk to anyone but themselves i think this vid exemplifies that idea quite well tbh especially the rock paper scissors bit these nerds are so isolated in this lil loop that they massively psyche each other out over rock paper scissors i’m crying

“we know each other so well” hi yeah we know

i think it’s quite interesting that dan’s not interrupting phil like he usually would n talking over him? he’s letting phil talk? & waiting for a moment to interject?

dan puts in lil mind sneks does he phil does he really

dan having no plan which is his plan while phil’s got his first eight moves planned out 

dan’s lil shut up

okay okay okay hold up here i wanna talk abt this (hi anon who said i just like to talk abt everything u right son u right) these idiots are staring at each other n dan says ‘you should admit to them right now that i win most rock paper scissors’ and phil, whilst still staring at dan, says ‘he does’

phil. phil ur talking to ur audience. but ur staring at ur man. i’m just. this shook me. this truly genuinely shook me and idk i don’t even have a good explanation it’s just so,,,,,,,unlike them???? i guess??

phil nobody consented to this stop

i’m living for dan not realizing this

what,,,,,what

phil wins: face #1

face #2

break for the weird heartbeat in the background

phil trying to psyche dan out i love him

face #3:

if u notice we have a careful progression of dan going from slightly fond to more fond (but offended) to horrified but fond. phil goes from victorious to massively victorious to ‘i think the universe is about to explode from how victorious he is’

dan shouldn’t be allowed to sound so fond abt losing that’s illegal people can’t do that

the return of cannot believe

bow to me biatch

jiggly camera

i’ve invited ur mum ‘no u haven’t’ i find it super cute that literally every time there’s a ur mum joke directed at kath phil has to deny it?

dan’s sweatpants n slippers

dan pulling out the catti/bratty voices from undertale i love it

philip michael lester, with this…

oi don’t touch it!

now prance, king

dan’s cheeky lil grin

this guy

dan waiting patiently to be thanked

excuse me daniel and philip what did u cut out we went from y’all’s hands being down below shot and then they’re up next to ur face???? excuse me

hi we missed a lot that’s not allowed

cutes

sorry i love when dan does this with his lips it cute

phil has this incredible ability to deliver jokes with such seriousness i mean honestly it’s a genuine skill like???? when dan delivers jokes u Know it’s a joke but phil man,,,,,he could be completely serious if taken out of context

hi i just like that dnp called each other philip and daniel in this vid good content

yes phil all or nothings are valid

i’m here for them like indicating the other has to say some Significant thing at the end of the vids it’s real cute

[destiny-islanders]

You (Comrades Protag) + The Chocobros | Part II - Prompto

Part I - Gladio |

STRAP IN, FOLKS! I GOT CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS ONE. YOU AND PROMPTO ARE ABOUT TO GO ON AN ADVENTURE.

So after you eat Gladio’s I’m-Sorry-I-Gave-You-A-Concussion Cup Noodles, he gives you his phone number, just in case you figure out how to unlock your phone.

He knows that you’re a pretty big deal in Lestallum; people recognize you and know that you’re busting your ass to help keep the city safe. He asks you to keep him posted on Lestallum’s progress via Iris.

You and Iris become pretty good friends. And you take pictures of everything.

Pictures capturing the progress of construction projects around Lestallum

Pictures of your handwritten notes from your meetings with the elected leader of Lestallum, Holly, Cor, Libertus, Dave, and a handful of other key players in the power restoration efforts.

You even send him a photo of you and Iris posing in sweaters you knitted for each other by hand

Yes, you know how to knit now. When night falls, and the people of Lestallum are forced to hide within the safety of the city’s walls, they’re left restless, anxious, and with way too much time on their hands-- time to learn how to actually play a game of chess, time to learn how to play every single card game known to man, and time to hear just about everyone’s stories of loss and faint, fragile hope for a brighter future.

One day, Gladio texts Iris to let you know that a friend of his will be swinging through Lestallum soon, and that he might track you down for some combat practice.

Iris seems excited to see this friend of her brother’s. She says his name is Prompto and that you’re going to love him.

The name doesn’t ring a bell, and you have no idea what he looks like. You guess you’ll recognize him when he taps you on the shoulder and asks if it would be okay to beat you up behind the power plant.

Prompto shows up while Cid is tinkering with your favorite weapon, imbuing it with the power of that griffon feather you and your friends found yesterday. You take it from Cid and give it a few practice swings, testing out its weight, admiring its shine in the light.

Prompto: “Yikes. Hope you don’t end up hitting me with that thing lmao”

Turns out that, just like Gladio, you’ve seen this guy before. He’s another one of the prince’s royal retainers. He was a last-minute addition, with next to no formal training. But you guess he must at least have some kind of raw talent, to have survived this long as a hunter.

The extent of your former interactions with Prompto: You were collecting herbal ingredients in Duscae for a medicinal remedy that a sickly friend of yours desperately needed. You’d just about gathered everything you needed when you heard screaming from across the lake. You glanced in the direction of the noise and saw a cotoblepas charging towards two tiny figures standing way too damned close to the water.

You: “SHIT SHIT SHIT”

It’s a good thing you didn’t spare a second to think this through, because you would have realized how stupid you were being if you had. Instead of trying to warp around the lake, you decided to warp straight across it. Your intentions were noble; you wanted to help these people as quickly as you could.

But yes you fell into the water and approximately twenty-seven (27) gallons of it shot up your nose. But you chucked your weapon into the air and kept going 

You barreled into one of the people fleeing the cotoblepas and warped, putting as much distance as you could between yourselves and the beast. You put a hand on the person’s shoulder, shouted, “Stay!” and got ready to warp back for the other.

Turned out you didn’t have to bother; the other idiot could warp, too.

You: “...Prince Noctis?”

YEP! Prompto knew that you were a Glaive and was waaaaaay too intimidated by you to lie. He explained that they essentially Did It For The Vine. 

Did the key to the salvation of Eos almost get himself trampled by a cotoblepas for a photo?????

Prompto showed you the photo.

You: “Okay that’s actually pretty sick, bro”

Noctis: “Hell yeah”

You: “Oh shit my fucking weeds”

Prompto: “Your what now”

Prompto and Noctis understandably felt guilty when they realized that the herbs you had worked so hard to collect for your friend were soaked, dirtied, and ruined because you fell into the lake. They helped you collect more before you parted ways.

Prompto: “So... Gladio said you might be down for some sparring?”

You lead him to the Lestallum equivalent of the bicycle rack: the same quiet corner where Gladio had brooded in a constant state of exhaustion.

No one cleaned up the crates you broke with your body in the back of the alleyway...

Prompto: “Go easy on me, ‘kay?”

This guy is smaller and more noodly than Gladio. You hope that means you actually stand a chance this time.

Nope. Wrong. Bitch you thought. You don’t. One second you’re standing there, getting ready to fight, the next, you’re frozen in place and unable to do anything but watch as Prompto takes a selfie with your petrified body

No sooner have you regained yourself than he’s casting Starshell and inflicting you with confusion.

Where are you? What are you doing here? What day is it? Who’s President?

Why are you asking that? Lucis has a monarchy?

You literally end up putting your weapon down and sitting by a dumpster, your head spinning and your thoughts a muddled, confusing mess in your head

Prompto sits down next to you and listens to you rant and rave, riding out the status effect until it’s run its course

You, Confused: “Why do they call it instant ramen when it takes three minutes to cook”

You, Confused: “That’s not instant”

You, Confused:  “Does it hurt grass when we step on it?”

You, Confused:  “Why are bees”

Prompto: “Why are bees what?”

You, Confused: “Just. Why. Why are bees”

You, Somehow Even More Confused Than Before:  “Tissue fabric running tire folder clean”

Prompto: *Is trying so hard not to fucking laugh right now. Literally he has never seen someone react this way to the confusion status ailment* “That’s right. Let it all out.”

You finally come back to yourself and look at Prompto for what feels like the first time.

You: “Did... did I win?”

Prompto: “I’d call it a tie.”

You don’t spar again that day. You just hang out.

You will fight again a few more times! Turns out he’s not so tough once you manage to dodge his attacks and get in close.

Punch him! He bleeds!

Please don’t punch him. He bleeds. :(((((((

The score ends up being 4-3 in Prompto’s favor. You try to argue that the first fight shouldn’t count because of the Status Ailment Hell he banished you to, but Prompto won’t hear a word of it

You’ll get him next time

You think Prompto’s great! You can’t remember the last time you laughed this much. It feels good to laugh. There’s not much to laugh at in this dark day and age.

Prompto gives you his number before he leaves Lestallum. You promise you’ll text him when you remember your passcode.

That leaves Iris to once again be an intermediary between you and another Chocobro, though this one is more for fun than it is with Gladio-- since most of your communications are related to relief efforts around Lucis.

IRIS’S PHONE BECOMES A HUB FOR POST-APOCALYPTIC MEMES

It’s like a “laugh in one eye, cry in the other” situation

You guys end up texting so much that Iris can’t take it anymore. A friend of hers in Old Lestallum has an unlocked smart phone and gives it to you until you can unlock your own.

The meme-ing gloves are off now. Uh-oh.

Group chat with Gladio and Iris. Prompto names the group “Annoying the Amicitias”

Where has Prompto been all your life? You’re memesters in crime

Fast-forward seven months. Iris bursts into your tent in the middle of the night in tears.

Iris: “I just got a call from Gladio. Prompto went with some hunters on a supply run. They haven’t come back. They’re all missing.”

You’re getting out of bed and reaching for your jacket in an instant

You: “I’m going.”

Iris: “I’m coming with you.”

Gladio promises he’ll meet you in Hammerhead, and that Iggy’s coming, too.

You have no idea who Iggy is, but Iris looks happy about that news, so you will be, too

You don’t tell Gladio that Iris is coming with you.

He’s going to be PISSED.

AT YOU.

WHY DO YOU GO OUT OF YOUR WAY TO MAKE THIS GUY ANGRY 

HAVE YOU NO FEAR

Continued under the cut!

You and Iris meet Cindy in her garage, and she explains what had happened. She and Prompto had been talking about those special headlights that can be used to keep daemons away. If the possibility even existed that there were more in Insomnia, it had to be looked into. With the nights growing longer, it would soon become suicide to drive between safe havens without them.

A search party had been sent to Insomnia a week after the original group had left. They’d made it to the city, but they couldn’t find Prompto or the hunters anywhere-- alive, or dead.

You: “What if they never made it to Insomnia?”

Gladio: “Or they made it to Insomnia, but were on their way back when they were attacked?”

Cindy: “Will be a right mess if either one o’ them is the case. They could be anywhere between here ‘n there.”

Gladio: “And splitting up to cover more ground is out of the question.”

Iris: “So what do we do, Gladdy?"

Ignis: “We travel in pairs.”

You witness the True Power of the Amicitia Family when Iris and Gladio get into a spectacular argument about whether or not Iris should join the rescue mission.

You and Cindy kind of watch them bicker in awe. The way that I imagine one of the humans in Jurassic Park watched in awe as the dinosaurs fucking killed each other.

Gladio finally relents. BUT. Iris has to travel with him. Ignis, still trying to adjust to life as a blind man, will travel with them, as well.

Gladio hadn’t even tried to tell Ignis to stay behind for this one.

Ignis devises a plan for the rescue mission.

You all create five search parties and plan out the routes each of you will take with a map. At this point, there are only a few hours of light each day, so the plan is to drive out together in two trucks, fan out and search the area, and then return to the car and drive back as it starts to get dark.

The keys are left in the glove compartment of the unlocked car. Six forbid that the person with the keys gets killed or goes missing, leaving the survivors stranded without an escape vehicle

You get paired up with a hunter named Kravyn. You’d worked with him on a few hunts before. He’s as capable a hunter as anyone.

You both get out of the truck and head northeast. It already seems like the sky is growing darker. Are the days even shorter now? Will the time come when the sun doesn’t rise at all?

Iris and Prompto seem convinced that Prince Noctis will return before that happens. 

You do your best to not lose hope that he’ll return at all.

The clock is ticking. The timer you’d set on your phone shows that you only have fifteen minutes before you need to head back.

That’s when you see blood in the grass.

You follow it.

The trail leads you through the grass and into the woods. It’s so dense... you can barely fit between the trees. It’s so dark beneath the canopy of leaves overhead that you have to take out your flashlight so that you can see the blood splattered around.

The blood leads you to a corpse. It’s not Prompto’s.

You take the dog tags. They belonged to a woman named Janda.

Kravyn: “Fuck. Fuck. We gotta head back. This is way too dangerous.”

You: “I’m not leaving. We still have... seven minutes. The rest of them could still be alive somewhere.”

To Kravyn’s credit, he doesn’t abandon you. You can tell he’s terrified, but he stays by your side and helps you search.

The alarm on your phone starts to beep right when you see a boot jutting out from behind the trunk of a tree.

It’s Prompto. You’ve found him.

He’s covered in blood. His eyes are closed. He’s not moving.

You: “SHIT SHIT SHIT”

You snatch a hi-elixir from your back and break it over his head, since he’s covered in so much blood that you can’t even tell where he’s injured and you don’t want to waste time poking around trying to find out where.

He lets out a soft moan when you give him the curative. He’s still alive! Thank the Six!

Why didn’t you check for a pulse first? You could have wasted a precious curative on a corpse!!!

You: “You’re hurt, Prompto. Tell me where.”

Prompto: “Everywhere.”

You: “YOU ARE BEING VERY UNHELPFUL RIGHT NOW.”

You end up giving him two more elixirs. He’s still in a pretty bad way, but his breathing is significantly less labored, and his pulse feels strong enough to repair some of your confidence about his chances of survival.

Kravyn: “This is great that we found Prompto and everything, but we really should be heading back.”

You, Reaching to Pick Him Up: “Right. Up we go, Prompto.”

Prompto: “I can walk.”

He moves his right leg a little bit and stops immediately.

Prompto: “I lied.”

You: “As I was fucking saying. Up we go, Prompto.

Prompto: “Omg I’m so heavy you’ll never make it.”

Is Prompto heavy, or are you just really strong? Both? Neither? Who cares? What matters is that you’re able to pick him up and carry him without too much trouble.

You can pinpoint the exact moment he passes out because he stops apologizing for how heavy he is and for making everyone worry and for the fact that you risked your life to find him

You and Kravyn make it back to the truck. Everyone else has already returned, but the plan had been to wait an hour before heading back to Hammerhead, so they had all been waiting for you.

Iris starts crying again when she sees Prompto. Even Gladio gets really quiet and dewey-eyed. Ignis rests his hand on Prompto’s chest, as if to feel his heartbeat.

Ignis: “Bloody idiot. Thank the Six...”

Prompto is the only missing hunter the rescue team was able to find.

Iris found a dog tag. Including the dog tag you’d found, that leaves two of the missing hunters still unaccounted for.

You all agree that you’ll head back out again tomorrow to search further north.

You take Prompto back to Hammerhead to get proper medical treatment. He’s going to be okay.

[donutpwns]

Journey to the Roots Part 4

Part 3 - Part 5

When he was twenty-five, he’d been forced to make a deal with a high ranked member of a drug cartel that had shared his cell in a Columbian prison. They’d helped break him out of the prison and set him up with a new false identity and all he had to do was be his schmoozing, showman self to get a few things on a plane and into America. Stan had done it; prison was hell no matter the country. He remembered vomiting from the stress and the fear in the tiny toilet of the air plane. He could still feel the cold metal of a gun pressed to his side as he handed off the package to his contact in the states.; could still feel the white hot blast of pain to his face that had led him to waking up bound in the sunbaked trunk of a car. The way his jaw had ached and his stomach had cramped as he swallowed hard plastic and his own blood but kept biting. That all too familiar moment where you’re pretty sure you’re going to die and all the romance of the idea has fled. Stan had defined that as his quintessential rock bottom, the worse always implied when he assured someone that he’d had it. The pinnacle of fear.

But shit if this didn’t feel a thousand times worse.

Ten years. It had been ten long, long years since he’d last seen his brother closing the curtains on him. How many times had he tried to call Ford only to lose his nerve? How many times had he punched in all but the last number before his shaking hands slammed the receiver back down? Too scared to reach out to his brother, even when he’d finally escaped that trunk and made it to a new town where no one knew any of his names. Too scared to even look at the photo that was now folded up in his wallet at times.

He believed what he’d told Mabel, about the other person needing to love you enough to forgive you, but that didn’t make him want it any less. He’d been a stupid teenager and while he regretted what had happened, felt bad for ruining Ford’s shot at something better, he refused to accept that he’d deserved what he’d got. Looking at Ford’s house, while more than a little hermit-esque, he was sure Ford had been enough of a success without his big fancy school. Their parents must be awfully proud; though Ford never really spoke with any of the family. At least, that’s what Shermie had said the one time Stan had seen him in the last ten years.

Speaking of Shermie…Mabel is staring wide eyed out the window, face pressing up against the glass. Once this was all done, Stan really needs to reach out to his older brother. Properly meet his nephew; let him know that he’s a good kid and gonna do great things. He likes his future great niece and will admit, only to himself, that he might actually miss the knucklehead when she’s gone back home. But hey, he only has to wait a couple of decades to see her again. Stan’s good at waiting. He’s been waiting ten years to see Ford again, what’s that a few times over for someone that was actually happy to see him?

He’s making his way around the car to help her force her door open over a snow bank when the door to the house opens. Stan freezes with his hand on the door handle; he feels like a deer in the headlights. Which is pretty accurate, given there’s his brother with a crossbow pointed at him.

“Good to see you too, Bro.” He calls over to him because what else is there to say? He resumes pulling open the door for Mabel and steps aside to let her out. He almost laughs at the yelp she lets out when she jumps into the snow, white going up nearly to the edge of her skirt. “Wouldn’t suppose you have a time traveling kid that matches mine?”

“Grunkle Stan?” a boy pokes his head around Ford’s legs. He’s a lot paler and more noodly looking than Mabel, but the resemblance is otherwise uncanny. He’s got this stupid smile on his face when he meets Stan’s eyes; once he spots Mabel though his whole face lights up. Ford tries to grab him as he shoves past him, fumbling that stupid crossbow, but he’s too slow. “Mabel!”

Mabel lets out another one of those god awful shrieking squeals and starts kicking her way through the snow towards her brother. “Dipper! Oh my gosh! I knew you’d be here!” once she’s close enough she practically leaps, tackling the boy so they both hit the ground, sending up a puff of loose snow. “I missed you so much you dork!”

“I missed you too, you dummy!” they’re still on the ground, collapsing into laughter though what’s funny who knows.

Stan watches them with a fond smile before looking awkwardly over at his own twin. To his surprise Ford is watching him and another guy with, wow, the world’s biggest nose standing beside him. Unable to stop himself, Stan lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave. So. What was he supposed to do now? Was Stan supposed to go or…?

The kids are still laughing in the snow. Stan shoves all of the confusing Ford Feelings to the back of his mind and makes his way over to them. “Hey, c’mon, you knuckleheads. Mabel’s already sick, let’s not—”

“HAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“STANLEY GET BACK!”

He hears Ford’s shout about half a second before he feels the pain. He jumps back on instinct; when he lands his left leg gives out from the stabbing pain and he lands flat on his ass. Sticking out of his calf is a long, silver knitting needle, with a spreading circle of red staining his jeans. He stares at it before looking up at Mabel. What the actual fuck?!

She’s staring at him with a grin so wide it looks painful, especially coupled with her cheeks appled by the cold. And her eyes—one eye, the right eye; it looks like a cat’s eye, pupil slitted, and almost seems to be glowing a sick infected yellow color. She’s got Dipper’s hand in her own and he’s wearing a matching grin, only it’s his left eye that’s wrong. They stand together, hands never unclasping.

Stan tries to scramble back away from them, laughing nervously, “Hey, sweetheart! What’s going on? C’mon, it’s me, your favorite Younkle Stan!”

They throw their heads back and let out another laugh in sync and, okay, Stan is over this creepy ass Shining shit already. “WOW, I FORGOT HOW DUMB YOU WERE BACK THEN. NOT THAT YOU’RE NOT AN IDIOT IN THE FUTURE TOO! HA!” their voices sound off, distorted and just…different.

A bolt fires into the snow between where the twins stand and where Stan is on the ground. They all look at where Ford is loading another bolt into the crossbow while stepping down from the porch. Stan realizes that if it wasn’t for the bags under his eyes and insane scientist hair, his brother might actually look cool. When the bow is reloaded he aims it at the kids and growls, “Bill!”

Thank Moses the other guy, who is still on the porch, looks as confused as Stan feels.

The twins tilt their heads in Ford’s direction, grins stretching impossibly further. “FORDSY! GOOD OL SIXER! OOH THIS IS DEFINITELY MY FAVORITE VERSION OF YOU! HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN FOR YOU? NOT LONG ENOUGH FOR YOU I’LL BET!” The twins laugh Bill’s laugh together. Mabel starts tugging on Dipper’s cheek with the hand not holding his while she continues, making the skin painfully red. Does he not feel that? Do neither of them feel the cold? “OOH, ARE YOU GOING TO SHOOT ME?! GO AHEAD! I AM DYING TO KNOW WHAT PAIN FEELS LIKE WITH TWO BODIES! WELL, I WON’T BE THE ONE THAT DIES, BUT SEMANTICS, EH, SIXER?”

That’s Stan’s name for Ford.

Ford hesitates a few feet from them, crossbow wavering. He meets Stan’s eyes briefly before scowling back at the two kids. Dipper has started tugging on Mabel’s hair while the two of them say ‘ow’ in laughing tones. “How—I did the ritual!”

“SEE, THAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH YOU, FORDSY. YOU SEE WHAT YOU WANNA SEE!” Dipper shakes his hand, long brown strands falling from his fist. Each of their non-fucked up eyes are streaming tears down their cheeks, Stan notices. “YOU WANNA BE THE SMARTEST ONE IN THE ROOM SO EVERYONE ELSE IS AN IDIOT. WHICH THEY ARE, SO GOLD STAR THERE, BUT SO ARE YOU. THAT’S WHY YOU’RE SO EASY TO TRICK. YOU’RE TOO SMART TO FALL FOR EASY LIES SO YOU FALL FOR ALL OF THEM! AIN’T THAT RIGHT, STAN? THIS GUY KNOWS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.”

Having both yellow eyes on him is very unsettling, but Stan still hears the words. Number one rule to big cons: always let the smart ones lie to themselves. You give them a seed of something they want and they’ll make it blossom with their own rationalizations and justifications. Stupid people needed a story, a show, smart people needed to think it was their idea all along. If they don’t want to ask questions, they won’t.

Stan knew a thing or two about half ass cons.

Mabel lifts the hand holding Dipper’s and reaches into the sleeve, pulling out the knitting needle to match the one sticking out of Stan’s leg. Stan swallows around the lump in his throat as she touches it to her own throat. That yellow eye is open so wide; whatever is going on has to make them numb to feeling. Ford had said the name Bill earlier; was this what Mabel had been warning him about? Was this what Bill had done to Ford? The thought of it boils his blood because his brother is an ass but no one messed with the Pines family, not if Stan had a say in it.

Stan shoves past the pain in his leg to stand; he wants to pull the needle out but he doesn’t know how deep in it went, there’s a good chance it’s staunching the blood loss. He reminds himself that he’s had worse, reminds himself of the trunk, and convinces himself that this is no big deal. Time traveling niece and nephew apparently possessed by a conman demon. Alright. Stan can deal with this.

“Hey, uh, Bill, right?” he gives his best show grin, shoving all the anxiety and fear and general ‘what the fuck is my life right now’ to the back of his mind. There will be time for that later, there’s always time for everything later. “While I agree that my brother can be a dumbass, why don’t we put the knitting needle down?”

This time it’s Dipper that speaks while Mabel moves the needle to his throat. “AND THEN THERE’S THIS DOOFUS. LISTEN HERE, STANIEL, YOU WANT NO PART OF THIS. ALL YOU’RE GOING TO DO IS MAKE THINGS EVEN WORSE FOR EVERYONE, BUT HEY, WHAT’S NEW THERE?” Mabel twirls the needle between her fingers in a way that makes Stan think of when Ford and him would play board games as kids.

Stan’s jaw aches as he forces his grin to remain in place. He just needs time to think, just needs time. “Hey, you don’t know me.”

“OHOHO, I KNOW YOU MORE THAN YOU THINK. GIVE ME THIRTY YEARS AND I’LL KNOW YOU BETTER THAN YOU KNOW YOURSELF.” The twins wink their yellow eyes together. Did that count as a wink or a blink? The look back over to Ford again, “YOU STILL WITH US, SIXER? I’M SURE YOU’RE DYING TO TELL YOUR BROTHER TO GET LOST TOO. GET IN ON THIS!”

“Trust no one.” The look in Ford’s eyes is wild and he’s raising the crossbow again with no hesitation.

Stan swears and sticks a hand out towards his stupid idiot of a genius brother, “Shit, Ford, stop!”

----------

He’s not sure what he expected Stan to look like, if he ever saw his twin again. Sure, he expected the resemblance, identical twins and all, but…Stanley had always been the larger of the two of them. More muscle, more girth, more personality. Alpha Twin since the summer that he gained a fraction of an inch on Ford. Quick to make a fist or a joke, Stanley was larger than life, larger than their dead-end Glass Shard Beach, larger than a foolish dream to sail the world.

He didn’t seem so large climbing out of his run down old car, shoulders hunched as he moved to open the door. His clothes were filthy beneath a new looking jacket; his hair was long and probably as greasy as Ford’s had been that morning. He was still making jokes, though, which infuriated Ford beyond the surreal feeling of seeing him in the flesh. How could he be taking the situation so well? How long had he had the girl? Surely not the same amount of time Dipper had been with Ford; he refused to believe Stan could have accessed the situation and made his way here in such a short time.

He was so focused on puzzling out what to do with his own twin, he’d almost completely forgotten about the two kids that were rolling around in the snow. Hadn’t seen the flash of the needle, the glint of yellow eyes, with enough time to warn Stanley.

His brother certainly didn’t seem so large on the ground.

It shouldn’t be possible: he’d performed the ritual! Sure, there was traces of Bill but the boy said he’d been possessed once before so—but how was Bill possessing both children? Even Bill had his limits. He couldn’t possess without an agreement, and surely he couldn’t possess more than one person at a time. Bill was powerful, insane and conniving, but even he had limits and rules. It didn’t make sense! It was a trick! Another trick!

“SEE, THAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH YOU, FORDSY. YOU SEE WHAT YOU WANNA SEE!”

Was that the trick? He wanted to believe Dipper was his family? Someone so eager to help him; that respected his work on top of a mystery he could drown in. Could Bill have fooled his tests? He’d left the boy alone in his house for hours, what could he have done? Had he seen the portal? No, no, Ford would’ve noticed him going to the basement. Right? This was a trick, another trick. Bill had gotten Fiddleford back in his house and now Stanley here. It was a trick, to force Ford to do what he wanted.

They weren’t real. The kids weren’t real. They were part of the trick. It wasn’t real. None of this was real, it was a distraction, a trick. Stanley is talking with Bill because he doesn’t see, he’s being tricked too. His brother was stabbed and is talking to Bill and Ford has to stop it.

“YOU STILL WITH US, SIXER? I’M SURE YOU’RE DYING TO TELL YOUR BROTHER TO GET LOST TOO. GET IN ON THIS!”

Trust no one.

He levels the crossbow at the boy and pulls the trigger.

The bolt goes wide as he’s tackled from behind to face plant in the snow. He glares over his shoulder at Fiddleford who is currently trying to grab Ford’s wrists. Ford pulls away, stretching to try to grab the crossbow. “Damn it, get off, Fiddleford! You don’t understand! They’re not real! It’s a trick! I can’t let him get in!”

“Calm down, Stanford!” Fiddleford is a weedy man but, Ford remembers vaguely, spent his childhood wrestling hogs on his family’s farm, and puts up more of a fight than you’d expect. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re just children!” a knee digs into his back, Fiddleford’s hands pressing down hard on his shoulders.

“HAHA! YES! FIGHT FIGHT! BATTLE OF THE—HEY, BACK OFF, I’LL—HEY!” there’s an echoing scream followed by a sickening sound.

Ford gets his palms flat on the ground and tries to buck off Fiddleford. He has to stop Bill; he can’t let him hurt anyone else. This is all his fault. Stanley’s hurt and Bill is right there. He gets enough leverage to roll them, slamming his elbow against his former friend’s jaw in the process. He pins Fiddleford with a hand to the chest while he reaches for the crossbow and tries to avoid a punch aimed at his face.

“Hey, can you pause Nerd Death Match for a sec?” Ford looks up at the question; Stan has a limp child under each arm, leaning to put his weight on his uninjured leg. Both kids are covered in snow. Ford spots the glinting silver of the remaining knitting needle on the ground next to a pile of…oh, disgusting. There’s another puddle of sick not too far from the first. Stan is breathing heavy; oh that’s a lot of red staining his jeans and the snow. “They puked and passed out as soon as I pulled them apart. So that’s a thing. Big nose, help me get them inside? Or Ford, if you’re done trying to shoot our niece and nephew.”

Ford scowls as Fiddleford starts shoving at him, climbing off him. He brushes the snow off his front. “Stanley, you don’t understand the situation! They aren’t—”

“Yes they are, shut up. You can explain everything once we have them inside and I’ve had a chance to take care of my leg. I have a ton of questions about this Bill guy.” Stan’s tone is stern and exhausted. Ford notices for the first time the bags under his brother’s eyes. “Now will one of you please come and take one of these kids? I just drove sixteen hours straight and have been stabbed and they’re heavier than they look.”

Fiddleford moves around him to take the girl—Mabel?— from Stan, cradling her to his chest. Ford sees a trickle of red coming from her right eye and down her cheek. He sees the same on Dipper’s left cheek when Stan limps past him. Oh, right, his leg. Ford hurries on his heels into his house. “Stanley—”

“Shit, Ford, you live here?” Stan scoffs and Ford feels personally offended, as if Stan has any room to judge Ford’s living conditions wearing clothes that filthy. Stan turns and pushes Dipper’s limp form into Ford’s arms; Ford nearly drops him at the sudden weight. “Hold him for one second.” Then he’s behind the couch and kneeling.

A strangled noise escapes Ford when Stan lifts the back of the couch, dumping all the books onto the floor. He’s not entirely sure what books were on that couch but some could’ve been important. “Stanley, honestly, there’s no need—” Stan takes Dipper back; is Ford going to be able to get a full thought out at any point?

Stan and Fiddleford place the kids at opposite ends of the coach. Ford groans out a sigh before moving to grab his penlight from his study. When he comes back, Stan is seated on the coffee table and taking a small pocket knife to his jeans around the needle. He slits from the puncture down to the bottom of his pants then proceeds to roll the fabric up. The bleeding seems to have slowed a considerable amount and from what Ford can tell, the needle was in enough to stick back not too deep. His sock and shoe are soaked in blood.

He checks Dipper first, pulling both eyes open and shining his penlight in them. The pupils react normally and both are the usual brown if not bloodshot, though the sclera of the left is filled with blood from a burst vessel. He’s got smeared blood under his eye that Ford can’t help but wipe away with his sleeve. Mabel is much the same, only it’s her right eye that’s red and bloody. Both of their breathing is heavy but regular, same as their pulses. Ford thinks about what Stan said, about them collapsing when they’d been separated, and looks for something to use as a separator for them.

“Uhh, Stanley, was it? Are you sure about that?” Fiddleford speaks behind him and he turns to see Stan holding the flame of a lighter up to the blade of his pocket knife.

Ford blanches; Stanley cannot be serious! “Stanley, there’s a hospital in town, we can just—”

“Nah.” He interrupts him again; Ford is going to strangle him. “Hospitals are bills and, more importantly, questions. This is fine.” The blade is black by the time he sets the lighter down. Ford himself winces when Stan grabs the needle. Then, in a single fluid motion, the needle is out and the blade it against the small puncture wound, Stan echoing the hiss it makes against his skin. The smell of burning meat hits Ford’s nose and he nearly gets sick.

Fiddleford goes white and slumps to the floor. He pulls his knees up to his chest and holds his head in his hands. “I knew I shouldn’t a’come here. Two hours and already so much I want to forget…eyes, eyes watching…” he dissolves into mumbles, though Ford thinks he hears “beast with just one eye” mixed in there.

Ford clears his throat, eyes locked on where Stan is burning himself. The skin is an angry red when Stan pulls away the knife, a sealed but puffed out circle in the middle. It disturbs him that Stan even knows how to do that. “Uh…” he swallows, “Fiddleford, maybe you could, um, get my brother some bandages from my bathroom?”

“What? Oh. R-right.” Fiddleford nods and looks grateful for the excuse to get out of the room for a minute. “I’ll, uh, be right back. W-with bandages.”

He stares at Stan who is purposely not looking at him, staring instead at the children. Unable to find a suitable separator, Ford just sits himself on the middle cushion between then. That gets Stan to look at him briefly before putting his focus on Dipper. Ford’s not sure what to say at this point. He’d planned how to ask Stan to take the journal away but not how to tell him anything else. He’d never planned on Stan finding out about Bill; never planned on Stan finding out about anything. Bill was supposed to be his burden to bear alone. His sin to atone for. But now his brother did know, and Fiddleford, and the kids if they were in fact real. Which, now that he was given a chance to calm down from the mania, he was coming back around to the idea of. If not, he had a knife in his boot and a gun tucked under the cushion he was sitting on for emergencies, and Stan apparently had a knife too.

“So, uh. This Bill guy.” Stan is the first to speak, it turns out. He’s rubbing at the skin above his wound. “That’s what that was, right? Cause I understand very little about what’s going on but yesterday that kid appeared in my car and told me she was from the future and you were in danger from a guy named Bill.”

Ford fidgets, tapping his thumb to each of his fingers. “She told you about him?” he looks over at the girl; she’s shifted onto her side and curled up, one foot stuck out until it’s nearly touching Ford’s thigh. Her face is starting to return to a more normal color now that she’s out of the cold but she’s still shivering. “It’s…very complicated, Stanley. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and apparently you’ve been dragged into them.”

Stan reaches a hand out and, for a second, Ford thinks he’s going to squeeze his arm or something like that. But no, he touches Dipper’s forehead instead, pushing the boy’s hair out of his face. Ford’s not sure why he’s disappointed; he’s still very angry with his twin and if he’d had a choice Stan wouldn’t even be here. “Well, we better figure out how to clean up your damn mess, Stanford, before you get these kids killed.”

lsdlocke����b

[syubits]

redamancy

—[n. the act of loving in return.]

namjoon ∞ reader 

genre: fluff. soulmates that feel each other’s pain au.  

‘I just banged my knee on that table over there and you hissed in pain, dude I think we’re soulmates’ 

word count: 2.7K

“…Damn.”

Taehyung scoots forward, chair scraping shrilly against the floor to take a closer look at the purpling bruise on your forehead you woke up with this morning. You don’t remember bumping into anything, but you’re greeted with the large discoloured blotch just above your eyebrow the first thing you look into the mirror after washing up, much to your confusion. The chestnut-haired boy’s eyes grow rounder, more curious as they take in the bruise, a hand coming up to hover in front of your face and—

“Don’t touch it.” At your soft but stern tone, Taehyung retracts his hand reluctantly, shrinking back in his seat with a giant pout on his face.

“I wonder who he is,” Taehyung muses, pulling at an imaginary beard on his chin.

“Whoever he is, or she, I’m going to punch them in the throat for being such a klutz,” you vow, balling your hand into a fist, “do you know how many times I flinched in public and looked like an idiot just because my lovely soulmate manages to bang into just about everywhere?”

The boy just chuckles, deep and amused. “You’d just end up hurting yourself,” Taehyung points out, the simple truth in it making you bury your face into your hands with a groan. Less than a heartbeat later, you hear the slam of a door echoing down the hallway before there’s a rattle of tables and chairs, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum, and people scattering to the sides and you’ve literally never seen the cafeteria hallway so empty. Your curiosity piques just enough for you to lean over the table in time to see a group of students passing by the cafe, the well-known student committee club that can be easily mistaken for a host club of some sort. Taehyung sticks his hands out to wave excitedly, earning a brief wave from the president or what he’s been dubbed as ‘king’ Seokjin, a cool nod from the vice president Namjoon, and another from a smaller boy trailing behind them with a bunch of files in his hands that stack up to the tip of his nose —Jimin, their secretary — because Taehyung is Taehyung and Taehyung knows everyone.

“They’re so pretty,” you rest your chin in your hands as you watch the group of boys stride past the common student lounge, leaving a trail of metaphorical petals behind and swooning girls (and boys) in their path.

“I have their numbers, you know,” he pipes up, “I could introduce you to them.”

You shake your head, hands swatting at the forming thought-cloud brewing up a storm of Bad Ideas that you can feel growing over his head. 

“That’d be too obvious and weird.. besides, do you really think I would text someone first?” Just like a thumbtack popping a balloon, Taehyung deflates at your words. He rolls his eyes at that, knowing all too well how hard it takes for you to initiate a text. Or reply to one. “No.”

//

How Taehyung managed to forget his whole laptop at the library, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that Jungkook had called you while you were in the middle of formatting your essay, the rising panic in his voice highly evident as he explains how he has to leave for hockey practice really soon (’like, really really soon’) and if he could leave Taehyung’s laptop with you since you were still on campus staying back for a late lecture. Jungkook had sprinted from the library to the science building in record time, almost dashing past you if you hadn’t reached out to catch him by the sleeve. With a quick word of “thanks, noona”, he disappears in flurry of dark blue and white of his hockey uniform, the number 01 printed on the back of his jersey gone in a blink of an eye.

And this is how you find yourself trudging back from a 7PM lecture, with several thick textbooks that feel like bricks in your bag and two laptops in hand. Home never felt so close yet so far as you take a left turn instead of a right, towards the boys’ dorm instead of the girls’ in search of the owner of the extra laptop in your arms. The unnecessary amount of Pokemon stickers plastered onto it was what was probably accounting for more than half of its weight, making it more heavier than it should be, and you silently mumbled less than polite words to the huge Bulbasaur stuck smack dab in the middle of the laptop case. 

The structure and layout to both the boys’ and girls’ dorms were practically duplicates, so you wondered how on earth you could forget about the small set of stairs leading up to the double glass doors that separated the outside from the threshold of the building and tripped on it. Maybe you were just tired. Dead tired. Or just dead.

Or maybe it was just revenge from Bulbasaur for all the curses you’ve hurled at it, a fuck you in the form of you missing the step and by the time you’ve realised your mistake, your world is already turning upside down too quickly, and as any other college student who has a lot of (expensive) things on one hand (like a laptop or two) and very little time and money on the other, saving yourself wasn't an option. 

An ideal situation would be for a cute guy to coincidentally be there to save and break your fall. But alas — the cute guy comes running after you had clattered into heap on the floor, laptops hugged to your chest and a small stack of books scattered haphazardly around you— right when you decided that if in these circumstances, it might be better for a cute guy, or anyone to be out of the story so you save this embarrassing situation for yourself and no one else. A few scratches or bruises here and there seemed like a more tolerable concept as compared to hurting your pride. 

Luck, as it turns out, was more or less Bulbasaur-shaped that day — and you try not to die more inside when you see a familiar broad-shouldered, soft-smiling person rush up to your side — oh god, out of all the people, why must the student council president be the one who so happens to be walking past right when you were cued to make a fool out of yourself? He’s by your side in less than a second, concern and dismay blatantly painted in his pretty features, needing only one hand to take hold of the two laptops while he uses the other to help you up as he asks if you’re okay. Any mentions of Taehyung were shushed away before you could even elaborate as Seokjin (just call me Jin, please) insists that the bleeding wound is patched up before anything else. 

Like his eyes and smile and voice, Jin is gentle as he dabs on the wounds on both your knees, waving off your flustered mumbles of thank you’s. He’s also a little awkward, though endearingly so as he stumbles over his words trying to make polite talk to fill the silence of the otherwise empty student council room. It doesn't take quite too long for the conversation to ebb down to a more comfortable rhythm, and he even cracks a few puns (bad ones, but it’s Jin so you let it slide) here and there until something sitting on the corner of the front desk catches your eye.

“Swear jar?” you cock your head to the side. “Is that how the council makes the funds?”

Jin grins, a twinkle in his eye as he catches on to the amusement woven in your question.

“Partly,” he replies genially.  “Also because Namjoon really needs to…reduce his cussing. ‘Specially since we have important meetings with the teachers and sometimes the board of directors.” You stare at the object thoughtfully until the door slams open, and as if summoned by name, a ruffled blond Namjoon strides in.

—and walks right into the first desk in sight. 

“Fuck.”

Out in the hallways and on stage during speeches, Namjoon is confident, tall, almost intimidating. The vice president of the student council was always...cool-headed, proper, always knowing what to say and do, but as you stare at the rangy boy tripping over himself like he just slipped on some spaghetti that are his noodly limbs, you weren't sure what the truth was anymore.

From the way Jin doesn't even raise a brow watching his closest student council counterpart knocking over rows of furniture like a row of domino tiles, it was safe to say it was probably not an uncommon occurrence. He’s quick to draw his attention back to you, donning an expression of an exasperated mother before continuing to attend to your wound.

While Namjoon almost breaks a handful of furniture within a span of two seconds of being in the room, Jin applies more antiseptic cream and you try not to overly flinch at the pain that shoots up your leg. You weren’t about to start whining in front of Jin. Or Namjoon, you add, reminded of his presence when you hear yet another crash in the background. 

“Oh god. Your other knee is bleeding,” the kneeling boy gets up to his feet hurriedly, looking over towards his partner for help while you peer down to check if - yup, that's definitely blood. 

“I think you need the infirmary. Namjoon,” Jin starts, turning to Namjoon and definitely not expecting to see the boy in question staring down the length of his pants, at the dark spot blooming over the fabric right where his knees are. 

“Huh. I am,” Namjoon frowns, absently replying to Jin and mentally backtracking to the times where he’s hit the desks and chairs in school, his train of thoughts deviating to a question of the probability of knocking into the same chair more than once, and, just how many possible times that he has coincidentally offended the same set of furniture? Either way, he’s positive that he’d collectively done more damage to them (and himself) than anyone else in the school, but he’s more than sure he’s never actually bled from it before. The most that he gets out of it were blotchy bruises that he never really bothered with. 

“What the... Namjoon!” Jin looks as if he’s about to say something but decides against it, opting for exhaling heavily while rolling his shoulders back. “Forget it, let’s all go to the infirmary now.”

//

You have a lot of bruises, he observes. 

Namjoon’s always been into the details, constantly reading between words, people, with time, he’s determined to strip them down into individual frames and learn about every one of them, in search for anything more that he tends to overlook the bigger picture, or so he’s been told.

It takes an offhand remark from the nurse for everything to click in place, and he feels something akin to when the disconnected beats in his music archive finally falls into their rightful places, and the song he’s been stressing over the weeks and countless cups of coffee finally, finally happens.  

“You both injure yourselves very easily, don’t you? And in the same spots too. It’s like you both are—” 

From the bleeding knees, the scraped elbows, the bruise on his shin — what about the one on his forehead? Namjoon shoots up with a clatter, the pain in his his wounded knees momentarily forgotten as he takes less than three long strides towards you, past a startled Seokjin and the nurse and all you can do is blink up at him as deft, nimble fingers comb back the fringe falling over your forehead, and there, in the exact spot as yours, is a splotchy-inked, purplish bruise. 

“Oh...” Namjoon. “Oh, shit.”

//

Namjoon is your soulmate. It’s sudden, but it’s something that’s hard to deny though still hard to register. You’re both taking it in slowly, in small steps and over small coffee dates in an even smaller cafe that Namjoon himself had introduced you to. Other than cafe-hopping, Namjoon’s interests gravitate towards books because he likes words, the arrangement of them in poetry in which he sees the world through and translates his experiences through—

“Music? You write?” Namjoon watches you tilt your head at him, blinking. “Music?” 

“Uh – yeah...?” he says, ending it in almost a question, uncertainty colouring his tone.  “I composesome-...times,” Namjoon remembers to slow down when his words start meshing into one another, tongue twisted as a result of too many words flitting in hurried steps in his brain and also from being pinned under your curious (and adorable) gaze. Sitting across the round wooden table from you, Namjoon suddenly feels nervous, long, slender fingers curling around his mug as he tries to decode your vague expression. He feels the gears in his mind starting to work, palms getting sweaty in awaiting your response.  

“That is so cool,” you exclaim, genuinity strident in your voice, making him sigh internally, a breathy laugh escaping his lips. 

It didn’t take long for you to get comfortable with Namjoon, as with as the rest of his friends who were practically the rest of the student council, who were also Taehyung’s friends. You’re at their place for the weekly game night, slumped against Namjoon who’s scrolling down his phone while watching the younger boys (including Hoseok) bicker over the video game they were playing. Yoongi’s left to sleep in his room, not before sending a death glare in Jin’s way after the older had responded with a yeah, you look like you need it. 

“Be carefu–!” you hear a loud cry as you walk towards the fridge, turning to see Seokjin, looking alarmed with a hand on his chest. “Oh god, I thought you were going to hit the cabinet door! Thank god you–”

“Ow!” A hand instinctively comes up to your head where you feel a sudden, blunt pain. Less than second later, you hear a sharp slap of Seokjin facepalming before you turn around to see the blond tall figure of your soulmate behind you, rubbing the bump on his head sheepishly.

“Namjoon!” You scowl and whisper-yell at the boy, who just flails and does some weird flapping movements with his hands before they come to grab the sides of your face while he mumbles some apologies. “This is the third time you-”

“I’m sorry,” he cuts in, looking sincerely distressed, more than that one time when he was scheduled for two finals and two presentations back to back on the same day. Well. He’s definitely more fucked for this. 

Ice ends up being applied on the swelling on your head by a panicky Namjoon rather than in your iced (now room-temperature) tea like initially intended, and it doesn't take long until slender, careful fingers find your chin, where he hooks a thumb under to angle your face upwards in an effort to check the forming bruise if not a subtle move for getting you to finally look at him. You haven't said anything since the accident, not even sparing him a glance— sulking won’t make them disappear, but who can blame you? You had another unnecessary blue-blackish purple patch on your forehead now.

Another hand cradles your jaw, and his hand is large enough that his fingers end on the back of your neck and in some of your hair. The smile he gives you then is by far the softest, dimples curving and carving deep crescents in his cheek and for a second you think you see stars in his eyes as he searches yours. “I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, your pain is mine now, too.”

“And yours is mine,” you deadpan, wrinkling your nose and pulling away from his grasp just slightly, dramatic but not drastically; just enough to display how fake-annoyed you are. 

A slight grimace appears in place of the smile as he drops his head on your shoulder, muffled cries cushioning into the sleeve of your sweater. “I said I’m sorry.”

[quiteashocker]

Werefox, Smoke Monster, and Huxian: OH MY! || Bridget & Effie

Effie ran a gloved hand down her face in exasperation. She couldn’t believe that this sort of place didn’t have more of an online accessibility. But at least Bridget was here to help her read and to help her research—Effie was certain she had done a good thing in confiding in Bridget. She was trustworthy and she seemed eager to help, and her allowing her the choice and the control over a session such as this was monumentally helpful for her to even be here. And she learned quite a bit about what was written about the Yako and the Nogitsune fox spirits. However, nothing seemed to be very helpful about this… terrifying fox monster that she saw herself as in her dream. “I haven’t read anything that resembles what I saw.” Effie finally broke their silence, a frown on her face. “How about you?”

Bridget glanced over to Effie. She was glad that she'd been able to help her -- even if just a tiny bit. Of course, the beings -- including Effie herself (Bridget still smiled at the thought, how ​cool​ was it that she was actually able to help someone not just on a theoretical level?!) were not something that stood in Bridget's line of specialty but she liked to think that she had done at least some tiny bit of a good job. "No, me neither. I need to get looking into it." She said, another sigh following as she tapped her fingers against her thigh. "More, at least. All I know is that it seems to be totally random -- who it's coming to, that is. It's also not like anything I can find in our books, at least not the ones I've read." She glanced over to Effie. "Have you seen it again, or was it just that once?"

Effie shook her head. “Really the only thing I can tell you about the thing that was in my apartment was… well, it was a little dark, but it was like a black ball of smoke with piercing white eyes… And it had a hand. But it wasn’t visible unless it was touching me… And I was a little distracted trying to get something out so I could defend myself. See how well that turned out.” She made a face. “But that fox monster… The one from my dream… I haven’t come across anything like it. There’s nothing in these texts about some giant… Hold on.” The image of Paige the Fox Monster Wife—something she wished her head would stop calling her—was ingrained in her mind and she snatched a piece of paper off the table and began to draw the best she could. “If so many other people are having dreams like these who also saw ​that creature​ then… I was trying to remain skeptical but I’m having a hard time believing they aren’t connected.”

"That sounds like some weird thing half out of Spirited Away." ​Bridget​ made a face. "Only worse. Obviously." She regarded Effie curiously, listening to her as she spoke, not wanting to interrupt. "Hey, you got startled. Plus you probably still defended yourself better than I could've." She pushed a few pencils towards Effie as she began to sketch, and Bridget peered over to see what she was creating. "That looks like a --" Bridget bit her lip. "Well, it's not like anything I came across, even when I was reading about you. Sorry, that sounds weird." She sighed. "It's probably connected. There was a time, back in the labours, where a whole lot of us -- or five, I guess -- ended up trapped in a weird dreamscape, but this seems even bigger than that. But still probably connected."

Effie blinked. “Spirited what?” she asked, eyebrows raising. “I was trying to get some of my heavy charged tech equipment. I guess I accidentally blew a fuse without realizing it again, because when I got upstairs none of the lights were on, and I can’t create my own electricity. Or if I can, then I don’t know how.” And she wouldn’t like to find out.” Effie put the teeth on the fox thing and added a tail. “It looks like a what? That might be helpful!” She encouraged Bridget, looking at her curiously. To be fair, her drawing didn’t look like much of anything than a Gumby suit with a snout with teeth and tails. “A weird dreamscape, huh? I don’t… Well I guess so many bad things happen to this town that it would be foolish to say that none of the events are connected.” With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair. “I wonder if that… dreamscape is connected to these dreams.”

"Movie. Not important." ​Bridget​ gave a shake of her head. "Though actually, I can lend it to you if you ever want." She blew a strand of hair from her face. "Well, if you ever wanna, we can work on figuring that out some other time." She glanced over to the door to her office. At least the fact that a number of the other Scribes held little or no respect for her had some benefits. They weren't about to be jumping at her door, ready to ask her various questions. "Werewolf, sorry." Bridget bit her lip again. "I don't think it is that, though. Can't see you marrying a werewolf, and you did say she was a fox, so that's that." At Effie's mention of the dreamscape Bridget sighed. "Oh, I sure hope not. I like to think that with getting rid of the labours we got rid of all that. But it couldn't hurt to look into it. However, all that happened with that was a manifestation of various individuals' fears, only in the dream, and a Ceryneian Hind."

“Movie?” Most of the movies Effie watched were various documentaries found on Netflix. “Uh, sure.” At the mention of her powers though, she tried to give her a small smile, thought it came more like a grimace. “Maybe, yeah. Next time… Or whenever we get this sorted out I suppose.” Effie said, her head tilting to the side slightly. Maybe not. Nothing seemed to help. Nothing. But maybe there was some key hidden in all this research… Or, maybe she was just doomed to live in this fear and anxiety forever… Effie shook that off, shaking her head. “It wasn’t a werewolf…. But… Well…” Effie’s eyebrows knit together. “What kind of species of werewolves are there… Uh… Was that the wrong question to ask?” Effie asked quickly, glancing at the door herself. “No, I meant… Can other animals be… were? Were-foxes? Or something? Or is that just things in bad television shows?” Because Bridget could have a point. Werewolves existed and if they looked sort of like that… Then maybe she was seeing some type of Werefox. Or something. “I hope it isn’t connected,” Effie admitted. “I really was only a part of the pageant, and then when I was… well, sick with that tea bird fiasco. Nothing like that. That sounds terrifying.” Perhaps more so than her own little waking nightmares.

"By Hayao Miyazaki." ​Bridget​ offered another shrug. "I watched it with my dads and sister ages ago. But it's not important nor is it relevant to the topic at hand." She sucked in her lower lip. "I -- whatever's good for you. No pressure, as always, as I've said. But I've got you if you need any help or find your interests kindled." Bridget rubbed a finger against the bridge of her nose. "Not the wrong question, it's fine!" She assured Effie. "I don't -- I don't think so, 'least not that I've heard of. Likely, or at least possibly the invention of horrible television I've never seen." Bridget held up the drawing. "Oh! I was in the pageant too. Tricked and in love with the whole idea. Still makes my skin crawl." She gave an involuntary shudder. "I remember the tea-bird thing. The dreamscape was quite awful, but we made it. Just like we'll make it through this, too. So... it just appeared, touched you, and kinda 'poofed'? Did it make any noise?"

Effie‘s head tilted. “Oh. It must… be a good movie then. My sister’s probably heard of it.” All four of them. She seemed to remember them mentioning Hayao Miyazaki at some point or another. She frowned slightly at that, and decided to steer the conversation away from her abilities. There wasn’t any need for that right now. But she tried to put on another smile. “I don’t know but… We don’t even know if these things are real. I could be causing a commotion for no reason and…” Effie let out a sigh. “Yeah, me too. I… They put me in some sort of swimming competition, and then some maze where I got attacked by… plants.” Effie rubbed her legs, wincing as she remembered the pain it caused. “No, it scared the hell out of me. I turned around and it was just there… And then it chased me as I ran around like an idiot.”

Bridget gave Effie another nod. "It is. If you ever want to watch it, I might have the DVD..." her voice trailed off as she focused back to the topic at hand. Away from Effie's abilities, which, while it was part of what she'd initially had her to the HQ to study, hadn't been what the two of them had ended up focusing on. "I don't think it's no reason." Bridget clenched her fist against her thigh. She needed to stop wanting to reach out to comfort others. Not everyone wanted that, especially when they were still near-strangers. "Plus, it's worth looking into even if it isn't anything. I had to find a wolpertinger with painted nails and then rid a room of an aniwye's scent. Not fun, either of those, but especially the latter." She glanced down at Effie's legs, then back up. "One, you're not an idiot, and two, okay. And it floated around?"

Effie appreciated the distance that Bridget gave her. She didn’t like to be touched and even though that little voice in the back of her mind told her that things would be different if she didn’t have these abilities that maybe she would like that. Comfort. Hugs. Among other things. “It will help to make sure it isn’t anything, regardless. A what with… I’m sorry, that doesn’t’ sound to pleasant.” Effie sighed, then looked back at her bad noodly drawing of the ‘werefox’. “Thank you, but I’m sure I was running around in some horror movie-esqe manner.” There was a wary grin on her face and she hoped it portrayed the humor in it. “It… Yeah. I think it was floating. It looked like it was floating. It was pretty fast, though. And I think I threw my phone ​through​ it, but it was dark and I couldn’t see totally.”

"It wasn't, but it's okay. I survived, and that's what matters, right?" ​Bridget​ grinned at Effie. "Well I do think that's probably some kinda appropriate response to such a creature, hm?" She offered another careful smile to Effie, the best way she could think to reassure her. Not that everything was fine and dandy, not exactly, but at least that she was there, and was going to do her best to solve this thing. Even if it meant not sleeping. She'd get it done. "This is all very helpful, thank you." Bridget traced her fingers around Effie's drawing. "Is your phone okay? I mean, you do own the electronics shop but still..."

Effie nodded. “Right… And my phone is fine, thankfully. It landed flat and slid under my couch. Really, I’m just glad my dog wasn’t here to witness it. It would have made it so much wor—“ ​This was it. She was young. She was a ​Huxian​. And today would be the day she gained her human form. Her mom said not to go for the hikers—But she wanted that little boy with the nice smelling backpack. It was easy to separate him—some stupid Eat. Pray. Love. Things would be turning onto the worst situation. She could feel her older siblings watching her and she felt a strike of annoyance. Couldn’t Edward and Ely leave her alone for this? Only her parents were supposed to be there. Ephie tackled the child, using her strong legs to pin him down as she started to rip of his face, the fleshy feeling in her mouth tasting satisfying as he screamed and—​ Effie’s words choked slightly. “—se? I… I have to go. Um. I forgot that Marley said.. Marley said she couldn’t close the shop today. I… I’ll message you later, okay?” Effie jumped up and was out the door before she could hear Bridget’s response. What the fuck was that… And more importantly, what the hell did she mean that she was a ​Huxian​?

"Well, that's good --" ​Bridget​ began before Effie seemed to stammer and stand up. Bridget stood up a few seconds after Effie, but the other woman was already gone. "Yes, of course. Message me --" she shook her head. There wasn't a point of responding if Effie wasn't around, but her words finished anyhow. "anytime." She sat down in her chair again and picked up the drawing, studying it. She still didn't know what was happening, but she did know that she had to figure it out, sooner or later. Sooner rather than later, really.

[nomdy-plume]

Messin’ in Texas

Taking some well-earned rest at the moment, staying with my girlfriend in Austin, Texas: self-proclaimed ‘live music capital of the world!’ Well, that may be true but what I am mostly here for is a month’s break away from music (kinda) and lots of sunbathing, eating of the delicious food found round these parts and – naturellement – a little smoochie-smoochie, hootchie-cootchin’ with my lady.

Having managed to actually enjoy the last few weeks of the previous contract (can you imagine! How hard could it be to foster a happy environment amongst the entertainment team?!?!), avoided doing any permanent damage to hands, fingers, voices or mental health and – importantly – not been fired for any ‘Charlie Sheen Cruise’ hilarity, we made it back to the UK safely and had two weeks of putting together a new promo film and re-acquainting ourselves with various family members.

Had two days recording the music for the promo at LT’s place in north London; was pretty efficient, seven or eight songs (only a short burst from each, edited together into one, slick showreel) and a tonne of fun messing around with it. We wanted a show-offy guitar solo to include in there so I did a few takes of the most over-the-top, mindless noodly-shred I could muster.  

“That’s amazing… try another take but this time do something different with the ending… unbelievable, just loving it… that’s crazy! Wow… I really like the ending from the last take, might splice that onto the end of the first take…”

“Great! Thanks! So, we’re going to use that on the promo?”

“No! Don’t be ridiculous, we can’t use any of this… It’s way too much! This is just for personal entertainment value. No, you’ll have to do something way more restrained for the actual promo…”

What larks. Helps that drummer is a production genius – you know, one of those borderline, idiot-savant, naturals who could make a dog farting in a biscuit tin sound like Sunday service at Winchester cathedral. So – with only a very bare, hardly-worth-mentioning, amount of pro-toolings to square off some of my vocal notes (just gently nudging them into place at the important bits…) we were done with the audio track and we enjoyed a really good curry while we were at it.

Drummer likes hot curries – LT and meself are complete wussies. Tried some of his vindaloo (“..it’s only a nice, flavoursome vindaloo, it’s not a hot one…”), spent next hour trying to man up and not display weakness to the group. Good times.

Afterwards had a few days back with the family: enjoyed some beautiful dog-walking up and down the valley with my youngest niece and managed to get some domestic situations addressed. Was pretty chill – was nice running errands, discovered an amazing tailor in town (in whose hands I hope to be placing considerable sums of monies in exchange for some outfits!) – but interrupted by need to travel right to the very north of the country to meet the drummer for a bit of video recording.

What might easily have been quite a stressful and disappointing exercise turned out to be super-sweet (a sign I am taking as a good portent of things to come with this new band). Met the bassist which the drummer has vouched for: seems a great, positive guy as well as being a competent musician. Found a music venue 5 mins up the road from him with a stage and some lights and an afternoon for us to set up a shoot and prance around a bit, miming to the audio track recorded the previous week.

With the help of one of his mates, the drummer directed proceedings with LT having creative say and myself and bassist to lug equipment in or out of the way. Historically, these shoots can be annoying, imagine miming/apeing/smiling/dancing your way through the same 7 minute piece of music somewhere between 20-50 times.  It can be wearing, especially if your budget doesn’t exist past what you currently happen to have on you in your pocket at the time.

But, we got a good, vibey lighting on the stage and the drummer once again displayed what can only be described as a ‘knack’ for smashing out these things. All the angles were taken and we even got to wrap the shoot a couple of hours early. LT and I had long drives back home so it was nice to get a headstart and beat rush hour.

Did manage to get a speeding ticket on the way back home though: oh well… there was a part of the motorway which had been reduced to 40mph and I, spotting the national speed limit sign ahead, had been a little too hasty to accelerate and hadn’t seen the camera.  Would not be proud of speeding in a built up area but as this was on the motorway…

So, a few more days chilling with family before getting through the trauma of the one-year anniversary of my father’s death. Not – as you could understand – a big, happy time for us… my mum did a lot of crying… my sister and I kept each other’s spirits up… was nice to have other family members nearby, sad to see them under such circumstance but there will be other, happier, times to come.

Then I was off on a train to get to the hotel by the airport ahead of my flight to Austin! A long-awaited re-union with my lady (9 months since I had waved her off at Dublin airport the previous summer…) and some much-deserved ‘r n’ blinkin’, mummy-huggin’ r’!

So long, dark storminess of the UK: hello 90 degrees and sunshine! See ya later, land of Boots Meal Deals and M&S sushi portions, what’s up! home of unbelievable, tasty nomness everywhere you look!

Just a little down the track from Gatwick airport, I was messaging the lovely lady and checking my itinerary when I spotted a minor flaw in procedings: although it was great to be just outside Gatwick airport, I noted from my boarding details that I would actually be required a little nearer to Heathrow airport if I was to have any chance of boarding.

BUGGER.

It literally wouldn’t have been an authentic travelling experience between my good lady and myself if there hadn’t been at least one massive cock up.

“Honey! That’s great! Now I’M not the last person to make a stupid mistake! How thoughtful of you! xxx”

I knew she’d see the funny side. Oh well, I could catch a coach to Heathrow in the morning and still be there in plenty of time for a proper breakfast. So, that’s what I did.

Had the dream transatlantic flight experience, too: the whole row to myself, there was hardly anybody on board. 10hrs spent lounging in comparative comfort, saw three films I really wanted to see (Green Book: Vice and Whiplash), did a little napping, did a little eating and then landed slap bang in the middle of Texas!

It’s been amazing so far: I will have to head home in a month or so to go and earn some more money to fund this international lifestyle, so I have to enjoy every minute. The food is unbelievable… we always used to joke in the UK about how fat Americans are but quite frankly the only fat people I’ve seen here are Brits who can’t believe how good all the food is here. I’m one of them!

Or I would be if it weren’t for the fact that I cycle 50 miles a week with the missus up and down the stunning Colorado river to downtown and back, as well as having a pretty tidy gym in the apartment complex.  Have also been doing a lot of yoga because my better half likes it too and it’s the best thing for your body by far.

Austin has amazing electric bikes and scooters, cheap to hire and found all over the city, so getting about has never been more fun. In the glorious weather we have right now, cruising the cycle paths along the river has been a truly blessed experience. Plus, you know, I’m slowly recovering my dignity after consuming a heroic amount of custard on the last ship.

Just love it here - the quality of life is off the charts. America is a strange, massive, complicated place but Austin is, as the people are rightly proud of, a weird blue dot in the middle of the sea of Texas red. And long may it stay so!

I’ve been keeping an eye on emails and messages: sounds like the promo vid has been doing the business in terms of eyeing up a next contract. Need to get back (eventually… boo!), sort out some rehearsals, buy some matching outfits and then on to the next nautical adventure!