#this would be such a stretch when there are easier targets to switch to

[dreqmvivi]

romanticising working out ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

working out is not a chore, it is something that will push you towards your goal, be it increasing flexibility, weight loss, or simply waking up your muscles. it does not have to be elaborate. here's how i romanticised working out, i hope it helps you too.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

I . planning :

decide what you will do prior to your workout and set a designated time for it. there are lots of videos on youtube which you can follow along. deciding what exactly it is that you want to work on makes it easier to look for videos. if you want to incorporate stretching within your workout, make sure to time it properly so you dont miss out other things. try not to go overboard with it on day one, it will only be counter productive and demotivate you. lastly, set aside your things such as workout clothes, mat, and weights if you use them the night before so you don't waste time.

II . getting started :

getting your body moving isnt the easiest thing, especially if you are new to this. there might be certain moves which are hard for you so instead of pushing yourself to do it anyway, try to find variations of it which are a little easier for you but give you the same results. for example, i find it extremely difficult to do pushups, so instead of that i do knee pushups when i need to do that.

III . switch it up :

if you're like me and do not enjoy doing the same thing everyday, switching it up certainly keeps it interesting. in that case make a routine as to how you would like for it to go. try targetting different parts of your body on different days or try different forms of exercises. maybe do cardio one day and yoga the other, or maybe you can dedicate a day to stretching only. find out what works for you and stick to it.

IV . make it enjoyable :

make a playlist and put it on while you workout, get a cute mat and cute workout clothes, light some scented candles. anything you need to do to make it fun. working out is not a chore, see it as a hobby if anything.

V . take breaks :

taking breaks is just as important as putting in the actual work. exercising everyday without any breaks will only burn you out and in turn deter you from your goal. your body needs times to rest. set 'break days' and stick to that. but make sure not to stray from your designated break days unless it is super important. stay consistant.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

for some inspo, my workout routine { videos linked } :

sunday : stretching + pilates

monday : stretching + pilates

tuesday : guided meditation + yoga

wednesday : break day

thursday : stretching + cardio

friday : stretching + pilates

saturday : break day

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

sending love ~ ♡

[sunlightmurdock]

For apocalypse dbf!jake, do you have any ideas for Jake trying to train you and it gets a little heated?

Before the apocalypse, Jake was always so cool with you — even when your dad was flying off the handle about something, you could always trust Jake to be calmer and more level-headed about it. It’s one of the things that you loved about him back then.

He’s like that now, but with the smaller stuff.

The deeper into this shit the two of you get, the more that Jake struggles with the realisation that he can’t stick by your side twenty-four seven. He’s no used to you exhausted, but he hates the thought of being asleep and not watching over you.

You’re the one begging him to train you. He’s more than happy to give you knife and hand to hand training. He found you a pretty light machete that can do some serious damage. But he’s a pro with all kinds of guns, and you just want a fraction of the skill he has. For safety.

By the time the world fell, Jake had been a pretty decorated Vice-Admiral with a very impressive resumé. He’s used to barking orders and laying down the law. But not with you, he doesn’t know how to be tough with you. Well, he thinks he doesn’t.

One day, there’s a call that’s just too close. He almost loses you and after that, something changes like a switch flips in him. Dawn the next morning, he’s hauling you out to a clearing in the woods. He’s not an asshole, he starts you off easy with a stationary target. A dead tree, with a red circle marked on it about chest height.

He stands behind you, brings your arms up and adjusts your fingers around the pistol. His chest pressed to your back and his arms caging you in, his voice is low as it grazes your earlobe. “Focus, alright? — Breathe in, hold it.”

He waits to hear your breathing pause.

“Alright, when you let it go, your going to squeeze the trigger, firm. Commit to it.”

You exhale and squeeze, the shot rings out. Jake grits his teeth.

“Did you just close your fucking eyes?”

He doesn’t give you room for error. Aim comes with time but technique? — He’ll be damned if you don’t nail that in a day. Shoulders squared, feet planted, breathing steady. Eyes. Fucking. Open.

Stationary target practice doesn’t last long. Once you manage three square shots within the circle, he’s moving on. The second task is a moving target — this was easier to simulate in the military. Not that his job was really handguns. Out here, it’s a thick log, tied to a rope and pushed hard.

“Focus!”

“I am!”

“If you were focusing, you would have hit it by now!” He barks back, stopping the log, examining it. Not so much as a fucking splinter. You stare at him as he storms over to you and grabs your face. “These things aren’t going to fucking hold still. You get that? — Scared as you are, tired as you are— whatever — They will keep coming until they get you. You get that? — You get this right or you die!”

“I’m trying!” You bite back at him.

“Not good enough!” He snaps back.

By the time you get back to his truck, you’re beyond furious and you haven’t spoken a word to him in twenty minutes. He’s just as pissed off at you. About half a mile into your journey home, Jake speaks for the first time.

“You’re the one who asked me to show you.” He mutters bitterly, staring ahead of him at the empty stretch of road.

“Yeah, well you didn’t have to be an asshole about it.” You answer him.

“I’d rather be an asshole than have to bury you. Now drop the attitude.”

“Attitude my ass. Make me.” You bite back.

[erin-writes-ghost-fluff]

Emeritus brothers tickle headcanons

A/N: My brain is just one giant trash can and I'm gonna share it.

Going in order!

Primo:

-You're shit out of luck if you think he's ticklish.

-Maybe... It depends on where you're going for. He's not ticklish in your average, everyday places.

-One really shouldn't attempt to tickle Primo at all buuuuuut... It's funny.

-If you wanna make him laugh or get him to crack a smile, go for his top most ribs, palms, ears, and sides.

-He's not that ticklish but those spots work without fail.

-If one can really get him laughing, they find out, he's got a really nice laugh, in fact. Not at all what one would expect from the first Papa Emeritus.

-It's loud- a trait all of the brothers have- but also warm sounding and deep. The man has a belly laugh for sure.

-Doesn't like being tickled but tolerates it, seeing as he is the eldest brother.

-Definitely does not start tickle fights or get involved... But the rare times he does decide he's gonna end one? His brothers or whatever unfortunate ghoul or soul, better start praying.

-Not above poking Copia, if he sees his little bro acting too uptight.

-Has been known to poke Terzo, if he's drinking something because he's an asshole.

-When the brothers were younger and they weren't up by a certain time, all Primo had to say was "I'm counting to three" and the others were up in a heartbeat, seeing as they knew what happened when he reached three.

Secondo:

-Yeeeeeah, he may be a bitter fucker... But he's definitely ticklish and embarrassed as hell about it.

-Switch with lee tendencies with the right person.

-Tickle spots are his ribs, stomach, neck, hips, behind the knees. Knees are his death spot.

-A fighter. He'll kick when you squeeze a knee.

-He'll laugh before one even touches him, especially if one were to hover their hands over his stomach or knees.

-Swears a l o t, when getting tickled. Threatens his ler too but it's empty threats... Unless it's Terzo. Terzo needs to run after wrecking Secondo lol.

-Cackles a lot. He's loud like Primo but Secondo laughing is so rare that one knows it's him, because his laugh is so distinct.

-snorts for days, man.

-Tries to act all scary and intimidating but it's too late after one poke. He folds easier than laundry after a poke to his ribs.

-Goes ballistic with scratches behind the knee.

-Throws stuff at whoever's tickling him.

-Will not plead for mercy. He's too proud for that

-Teasing will get to him. Mainly having his helplessness pointed out to him.

-Fights harder when he's pinned.

-Grabs at the wrists of the one tickling him.

-tries to withhold laughter.

-In contrast to his demeanor, his laugh is very jolly.

-He surprisingly giggles when his hips are squeezed.

Terzo:

-Jesus, where do I begin with this one?

-Definitely one of the more ticklish brothers out of the four of them.

-tickle spots are his ribs, stomach, hips, thighs, calves, and underarms. Calves, hips and thighs are his death spots.

-Dramatic as fuck when getting tickled. Screams about how he's dying and how the one tickling him is killing him.

-His ghouls tickle him allllll the time. Cirrus, Swiss, and Omega are the worst.

-Cirrus can't help but poke and tickle him. She says he's too small and cute for his own good.

-Speaking of which, his height makes him the perfect tickle target.

-Omega or Mountain will literally hold him upside down and go to town on his ribs.

-His laugh is loud and flamboyant. Very vibrant and bubbly.

-Gives the cutest, high pitched giggles, when his stomach is targeted.

-Swears in Italian. Also slips into Italian if he's laughing hard enough.

-Won't admit it but thinks the laughter brought on by tickling makes for good stress relief for him.

-Can be very provocative when he wants Omega to tickle him. He might stretch and reveal a little bit of his stomach.

-hiccup laughs if he's tickled enough.

-kicks and flails quite a bit.

-Hides his face because he's super embarrassed about his laugh.

-Calf squeezes drive him up a wall.

-Any type of teasing compliments fluster him.

-His laughter gets hella squeaky, when his thighs get tickled.

-Won't exactly say no, if the right ghoul or person asks if he wants more tickles.

Copia:

-Easily, hands down, the most ticklish out of the Emeritus bloodline.

-He's ticklish everywhere just about but the stomach and underarms are his kill spots. Thighs will make him squeal.

-Shy about asking for tickles from the right ghoul.

-He does enjoy it, however. He won't admit this easily though.

-He's a tickle target for the ghouls too. Especially Swiss and Cumulus.

-Mountain walks past him, high fives him with one hand, while the other hand boops his stomach.

-Has a loud laugh like his brothers but is more prone to giggle fits and guffaws. He squeaks a lot.

-Cannot handle raspberries, he will become a giggly, melted puddle in seconds.

-Can't ask for tickles but can imply he wants to be wrecked.

-His rats crawl down his cassock or robes constantly. He always needs help getting one out, before he dies from giggling.

-If Cirrus hears him giggle, she's like a shark. She'll poke him just so she can see him smile.

-Gets so flustered and giggly when teased. Hides his face a lot.

-How Swiss nearly got launched into orbit: He monched Copia's tummy.

-His rats will playfully nibble at his ears and that makes him snort.

-Despite being small, Terzo takes his role of older brother seriously and that means wrecking Copia's shit.

-Can't stand being called cute or anything like that.

-When he becomes Papa, gets stressed easier and often needs to tickles to raise his spirits.

A/N: And there's the trash!

[berkmansimagines]

'tis the damn season

A/N: Happy holidays everybody! 🎄

Summary: You and Barry spend the holidays together.

Pairing: Barry Berkman x hitman!wife reader

It’s Christmastime. You usually love the holiday season, but this year is different. You’re not in the holiday spirit. Instead, you’ve been struggling with depression. This isn’t your first battle, but it never gets easier.

The only time you feel any sort of reprieve is when you’re working. You turn off your emotions during a hit. And lately you’ve been asking your handler for more jobs so you don’t have to feel anything. You’re tired of being in pain. You’d rather feel nothing at all than immense sadness all the time. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself…

You had an out of town job today. Your target was staying at a ski cabin in Mammoth, a mountain town several hours away from Los Angeles. You’ve spent most of the day in the car.

You headed out before sunrise this morning. Barry was still asleep when you left. It was difficult leaving him and your nice warm bed. Luckily you started the drive early enough that you beat most of the traffic.

After the hit, you had originally planned to stay overnight at a motel near Mammoth. But you missed your husband. Barry has been your rock throughout everything. So you decided to go back to LA instead of spending the night without him.

Unfortunately you hit some heavy traffic on the way back to LA. You don’t arrive home until midnight. You’re shivering when you walk through the front door. You always underestimate how cold it can get in LA at night, especially during the winter.

“Hey babe! I’m-” you stop mid sentence and gasp.

The place is completely decked out with holiday decorations. Lights are hanging around the entire apartment and dangling off the ceiling. There’s a Christmas tree full of ornaments and a cute little cardboard chimney in the corner of the living room. You even see stockings hung by the chimney with care. This must have taken Barry hours to set up, but it was worth it. It’s beautiful.

“Holy shit,” you mutter to yourself in complete awe.

Your eyes widen as you look around admiring everything. You feel so incredibly happy and at peace. Your spirits are lifted. It’s like a light switch in your brain flipped back on. You’re not low anymore. You finally feel like yourself again.

“Babe!” you call out to your husband.

You walk into the living room and find Barry sleeping on the couch. It looks like he fell asleep while watching Batman Returns, which is still playing faintly on TV in the background. You smile to yourself. Your husband looks so cozy.

You gently tap his forehead, brushing a few straw hairs away from his face. Barry opens his eyes, slowly coming to.

“Hey you,” you greet him softly. “Hey! You’re home early,” Barry sits up. He wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow. “Yeah I… I just really missed you,” you nod.

Barry looks at you with heart eyes.

“By the way, I love what you’ve done with the place,” you smile.

Barry’s face lights up. He did all of this for you. He knows that you’ve been down and wanted to cheer you up. Barry was a little nervous about the surprise, fearing you would hate it. He’s so relieved that you like the decorations. It’s the first time he’s seen you genuinely smile in weeks.

You collapse onto the couch next to Barry. He takes your hand. It’s cold to the touch.

“You’re freezing, babe,” Barry reaches for a throw blanket.

He covers you with the blanket and then wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. You snuggle up to him and stretch your legs across his lap.

“Thanks for putting this all together,” you say quietly. “Of course,” Barry nods.

“Seriously, your surprise means a lot to me. I think I really needed this,” you breathe.

Barry kisses your forehead.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I’ll be okay,” you reassure your husband, and then, “I’m going to tell Diane to not give me any more jobs until after the new year. I don’t want to work over the holidays.”

“Really?” Barry raises his eyebrows. “Yeah. I’d rather be here with you,” you tell him.

You always want to be here with him.

[atlaswilliams]

location — the humming bee.

character — @hcnayun

The new year meant tying for a better version of himself, which meant trading out the booze for something more... productive? His routine at the gym, while still out of sorts, was slowly coming together. It was exhausting to say the least, but there was a hope that the more he pushed, the easier it would get. The decent decision making journey had ended the moment he'd stepped foot in the yoga studio. Like always, he felt the wandering eyes of various attendees sweeping over him, their curiosity well placed. His vertically gifted frame didn't allow for much movement in the ways yoga required, but he never failed to give it his best and surprisingly enough, his best wasn't half bad. He'd found himself in the instruction room perched against the wall when the instructor slowly crept to the front. A toothy grin was etched onto his mouth as he pushed up from the wall, his mat already in place towards the front. It was a dangerous move, but he knew once she'd spotted him, the back would only make him more of a target. "Surprise. Your favorite student signed up last minute. Had to sweet talk your receptionist to let me in." A half truth spilled as he crossed an arm over his chest before switching sides to do the other. "Stretching is the most important part, right?"

[wil-is-done]

When You’re A Mystery Kid - Chapter 17: Sparks

Summary: It all starts with a single spark.

Word Count: 2.221

-

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a repost.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured here.

Mabel skipped down the hallway of the Shack while humming a cheerful little tune for herself. She didn’t quite remember where the tune was from - probably the opening theme to a sitcom or something - and while she can devote some time and thought to really remembering where it was from, that is not a thing that is on her mind at the moment. Maybe later, but not now. Now, the thing that is on her mind is where the heck exactly is that ghost-seeing sweetheart most commonly known as Norman, a.k.a. Normie, a.k.a. Norm, a.k.a. Hairspike McGhostface.  

She’d already searched everywhere in the Shack, and by everywhere, she meant the three most likely places where you can usually find a Norman, which is in front of the television, the roof, or in the backyard near the woods, and she did not find a single Norman at all in any of those places. So, that left her heading off towards the fourth and last place where you can find yourself a Norman, which is the bedroom he shares with Neil while they’re here for the summer.

As her target comes into view and she got closer to said target, her skipping comes to a stop, because skipping makes a lot of loud noise, and loud noises are easier to hear, obviously. Instead, she switched on her sneaking mode, which produces the opposite of loud noises, and is therefore good for what she’s about to do. Reaching the door to his room, she paused for a bit, feeling the bundle tucked under her sweater - which is still there, safe and unharmed, thank goodness - before opening the door just an itty bitty teeny tiny little bit, and took a peek inside.

Inside, she can confirm that the room does contain a Norman, who is sitting in the middle of the room, cross-legged, hands joined together on his lap, and eyes closed in a relaxed manner. The room also seems to be filled with the sounds of hooting owls, cricketing crickets, and the soft crinkling of leaves as a breeze passed through them, and before she can come to the conclusion that there is a pocket dimension somewhere in Norman’s room, she spotted Norman’s phone placed beside Norman, which seems to be the source of all the sounds.

Taking a moment to mentally give herself a high five for getting it right after only four tries - high five! - she then did two quick knocks on the door.

“Hey, Norm.” Mabel whispered out.

Norman opened a single eye, and then opened another one when he realized who greeted him.

“Oh. Mabel.”

He reached down to grab his phone, stopping the ambient noises it’s making, took a moment to straighten out and stretch and rub his eyes, before he smiled gently up at Mabel.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

Mabel proceeded to fully enter the room, closing the door behind her, answering, “Oh, not much.”

“Oh! Are you here for that… drink?” Norman pointed to a nearby dresser, where Mabel can see there is indeed a ghost-and-zombie-decorated mug that she gave her this morning sitting on top of it.

Norman rubbed his arm, saying somewhat bashfully, “I… haven’t actually finished it yet. It’s been… interesting, drinking that. Sorry.”

“Nah, that drink’s old news.” Mabel shrugged. She sat down in front of Norman and leaned forward. “What’s new and hip is what the heckins have you been doing here? What’s all this about?”

“Oh, uh, this is, I’ve been…” Norman glanced about his room for a moment, “…meditating.”

Mabel’s eyes went wide. “Oooh, meditating?”

“Yeah.” Norman shrugged. “Raz and Lili recommended it to me, said it might help me with my… you know, thing.”

Mabel nodded, eyes full of awe. Norman’s ‘thing’ - she almost giggled over the fact that that’s how he wants to call it - is a truly awesome sight to behold, and if meditating can help it and him, that would be all kinds of absolutely awesome.

“So, yeah, since everyone went out to town, I thought I’d meditate for a bit. I’m actually surprised you came back so early.”

“Eh. Paz cancelled our date; her parents are being complete grumbletonians, so I went back.” She’s still really bummed that her plans for the night are ruined, but she supposed that’s the risk of dating someone whose parent are total fopdoodles. 

Anyhow, she doesn’t want to linger on that anymore, so she leaned forward again. “So, did it work? Does meditating actually help you?”

“Umm…” Norman wondered for a moment before, and Mabel noticed, he deliberately forced his shoulder to slump and his face to fall. “I… don’t know. The reason Raz and Lili recommended it to me is because it helped them with their powers. They’re psychic, and I’m… me.” 

“Even they’re not sure if it’ll help, but, I mean,” Norman shrugged, in a manner that Mabel guessed is meant to look helpless, “it’s better than nothing, I guess.”

Mabel briefly considered blurting out what a terrible liar Norman is right then and there, but she decided to hold her tongue for just a tiny bit. She wanted to see how this would go.

“Can you show me?” 

Norman blinked, stammering, “Sh-show you…?”

“Yeah, show me what you can do.” Mabel said with a firm nod.

“Uh…” Norman hesitated, but surprisingly she didn’t have to pull out the puppy eyes before he said, “…sure. Okay.”

Mabel grinned, scooting back a few inches to give Norman some space. Norman took a few deep breaths, putting both of his hands in front of him.

He shot a nervous glance at Mabel. “I’m just telling you now, it’s not much, so don’t get too excited.”

“Oh, sure.” Mabel smiled knowingly.

Norman didn’t seem to notice as he is already too focused on preparing himself. He closed his eyes, taking in one more deep breath, two more deep breaths, three more, before his eyes opened, and they are glaring at his hands, the most intense look Mabel has ever seen him with. Moments passed in breathless silence with nothing happening, until Mabel noticed, almost impossible to see, a streak of yellow jumping from the tip of his right ring finger to the tip of his left middle finger. Another streak, bigger this time, from his left pinky to his right thumb, zipping by incredibly fast with a sound that almost sounds like a chitter of an angry hummingbird. After that, another streak jumped, then another, and another, and another, until the streaks stopped being streaks and became lines, ever-shifting lines of yellow that connected one finger tip to another. The lines grew in size and number, doubling, tripling, becoming a sparking, shifting, chittering network of, what Mabel now realized, electricity, right there between Norman’s fingers. The sight of it is… amazing.

The network continued to grow, fully enveloping Norman’s fingers, sometimes arcing down to his palm, or even further down to his wrist. However, Mabel also saw Norman’s breath quickening, his hands starting to shake, beads of sweat starting to roll down his forehead. As the network of electricity grew, Mabel even saw on Norman’s features, for the briefest moment, a look of fear.

Norman closed his eyes tight and clenched his hands into fists, and the electric network disappeared, as if nothing has ever happened. He slammed his fists into the wooden floor, slumping down where he sat, taking in long, deep breaths for a good thirty seconds. Eventually, he looked up, wearing a smile that is not convincing at all.

“And that was, uh… pretty much all that I can do. Told you it was not much.”

Mabel shook her head, amused, but her eyes still showed concern.

“You’re a terrible liar, Norman.”

Norman sighed, shoulders slumping, averting his gaze.

Mabel cocked her head to the side. “Wanna talk about it?”

Norman didn’t respond.

Mabel sighed, intentionally as dramatic as humanly possible. “Guess not. Too bad, I had something super cool I wanted to give to you.

Norman still said nothing, but, to Mabel’s joy, he did chance a glance at Mabel. She chose that time to pull out the bundle wrapped in newspaper from under her sweater. 

“It’s pretty much the coolest thing ever, but you don’t want it, I guess.” Mabel made a show of inspecting the bundle in her hands.

This, to Mabel’s delight, brought a teeny tiny smile to Norman’s face. 

“Alright. Alright.”

Mabel put the bundle in her lap and listened intently.

“I can do more.” Norman admitted. “I just don’t want to.”

Mabel was careful to keep her voice gentle. “Why not?”

“Because it hurts.” A grimace flashed across his face. A pained memory. “I know how much it can hurt. I don’t want anyone to feel that, especially not… people like you guys.”

Mabel couldn’t help but smile. That is just the most Norman way to answer that question. “Norman, you could never hurt us.”

“You don’t know that!” Norman suddenly snapped. “Letting it out is easy, but controlling it is… I can barely do it! And that was just for little sparks! What if it gets stronger?! Aggie, she-!”

Norman paused. Deep breaths to calm down. “I’m starting to think it’s the other way around. She didn’t get so powerful because she was filled with so much anger and hate; she was so powerful, that it… she lost control. A-and it even makes sense! Deep down, she didn’t really want to hurt people, but she still felt angry, and with how powerful she was… it felt good. It felt right.”

Norman’s clear blue eyes met Mabel’s hazel, and she sucked in a breath, taken aback by how scared he looked.

“I’m- I don’t want-” 

Mabel quickly reached forward, taking Norman’s trembling hand in her own. Norman flinched back, his hands squirming trying to break free from Mabel’s grasp, but Mabel’s grip held firm.

“Norman, Norman, listen.” Mabel offered him a small, gentle smile. “No offense to Aggie, but even if, deep down, she doesn’t actually want to hurt people, on the outside she still wanted to, right?”

Norman slowly nodded.

“Do you want to hurt people?” 

Norman’s eye widened, horrified. 

“N-no!”

Mabel let go of Norman’s hand, leaning back, relaxing. “Then you got nothing to worry about.”

“See, how I see it, if feeling angry plus powers equals feeling angrier for Aggie, then for you, no anger plus your powers equals… just your powers.”

Norman was quiet for a while, considering the thought, but he eventually conceded with, “I guess…”

Mabel said nothing in reply; she simply sat quietly with a gentle smile still on her face. Norman eventually settled into a neutral expression after a little while. A silence washed over the two, but it’s a comfortable kind of silence, the kind of silence that says a lot more than words could express, which Mabel always thought was ironic. 

Eventually, Mabel gauged enough time has passed for her to say, “Well, time for your reward.”

With practiced flourish, Mabel unwrapped the bundle in her lap. Norman took one look at the object underneath the wrapping, and laughed. “Wow.” was all he could say.

The object in question was a very peculiar doll of a zombified bunny rabbit, complete with a bloodied missing eye and bits of its skeleton sticking out, which, despite its horribly mangled form, still managed to look pretty gosh darn adorable. Props to the designers of the doll, really, for managing to do that.

“Where’d you find something like that?” Norman asked.

“I found him in some leftover stuff from Summerween. The store was practically giving them away, so I snatched Mr. Zombunny out of there.” Mabel rose to her feet and took a step closer to Norman. “And…” she plopped the doll right on top of Norman’s spiky hair, “boop.”

Mabel took a step back to admire the sight of Norman with a zombie bunny doll on top of his hair. It’s a great sight. Almost matches the sight of Norman’s powers, honestly.

“He loves it up there.” Mabel said.

Norman looked up. “Does he, now?”

“Yep.” Mabel grinned. “Oh, wait, oh no. He loves it too much. He’s never getting off. You’re stuck with him forever.”

“I think I can get used to him.” Norman said with a smile, but nonetheless he reached up to grab the bunny from his hair, and placed the doll on his lap.

“Look at him. Don’t you just wanna cherish and protect him forever?” 

Norman stroked the bunny doll, chuckling. “Sure, yeah.”

Mabel placed a hand on Norman’s shoulder, and when he looked up, he was greeted with her kind, warm smile.

“Then that’s all that matters.”

-

This one’s a little more lighthearted compared to the last chapter, but still important nonetheless. 

I always wanted to delve deeper into Norman’s powers and all the things he could do, so this was pretty fun to write for me. So, this has been the first chapter of another mini-arc, this one focusing on Norman and what he can do.

Next chapter, we should be checking back on Lili and see how she’s doing. Hope y’all are looking forward to that.

Thanks for reading, and hope y’all have a good day.

[muutosarchive]

@vileincarnations / / from here.

swiss sees him fluttering around. the ghouls less busy than one might expect. taking part in sound-check (barely) thanks to techs, & stagehands -- the remainder chucking candy at each other in the green room, & hanging out. letting themselves hang free, in the meantime. the freedom of pre-gigs limited, but swiss especially liked to get monstrous. let his features stretch behind closed doors, before they're locked away for the next however many hours they needed to remain inconspicuous. though, he's not sure why, anyway. the rumor of their beastly natures running rampant on the internet, & on twitter. swiss allowing his powers to filter in through rituals, in the form of smoke plumes. explained away by the vape pen he shares with dewdrop & aether, on occasion. & does take part in, mind you. his chrome framed eyes finding azoth in their darting side-stage, or ushering terzo about like a glorified bodyguard. a similar scene after the ritual, when masks come off behind closed doors for the time being -- tails free, & elemental magic ensuring a bill after the night is over with, but they just drank & sniggered & bickered amongst each other, small green room also making it so that the little beasties are still crawling all over one another.

swiss doesn't often spend a lot of time contemplating the meanings of his individual whims, however he would be thinking of the lack of control azoth displayed despite his age, in the midst of the others. just from the playful twang of uniform suspenders. pride swelling in his chest, as if it were the sun peeking out from the horizon line. producing a grin that had occupied his face in the wake of it, & flaring carnal confidence where it lived ferociously in his intoxicated state. remembering how anger had melted away into want. & all for swiss.

something that had dampened by now, & shedded to puppy love. cute, smiling.. bashful. sweet as he smells, & giggling. his brain muddled with pot. that which lingers behind the cinnamon on his tongue. forked, & sliding in teasing little flicks. looking down at his boots with an uncontrollable curve of his wide mouth. head tilted & shoulders lifting a bit, at the throaty, primal noises he was eliciting from the mercury ghoul. hands flattening over pectorals, when his head is nudged to the side. & with eyes fluttering closed, his grin shifts to a more amused state. two fingers still pinching the vaporizer, before he switches hands & lifts it to his lips. even while the creature is nuzzling at his throat. heavy with his scent. "mmm.." he hums, which turns into a chuckle. lidded gaze opening just so, while he leans harsher against the other. fingers fluttering over fabric adorned skin. "ah.." -- a pause.. slight dampening of the lifting of his mouth, before it rises once again. pain ebbing in his lobe, whilst prominent jawline extends with his raw emotion. fingers twisting into stretchy lines of fabric. the second foot propelling himself more harshly into the other, as sure hands grip needy hips. swaying naturally to gauge his freedom in the other's hold, & moaning as their clothed cocks slide along one another in the throes of their kiss. prey under the eyes of predator. bats eyelashes, when he slides his thumbs along the fabric lines. tugging them from the shirt clinging to azoth's midsection, in his coy little smirk. his own smoldering gaze is blown wide with black, circular pupils. throat bared, metaphorically pulling down the confines & pleading for the impending devouring to take place. a monster, yet what happens when you're a lover & not a fighter? retreating to a vacant place in his mind, where he's naught more than a giggling vessel for pleasure. fingers curling, as wrists are peppered. shifting weight from one leg to another, while swiss leans more onto azoth with the loss of leverage. though, it just makes him an easier target. holding azoth's hand, with sprocket curls swinging & wavering along his face. one foot & scapulae rising to meet the wall behind him. head clunking back in lazy pliancy, again. rolling over, to show his belly. so to speak. flesh rolling sweat, & breath huffing hot before met with azoth's mouth. eyes slamming closed, rolling tongues along the other with increased fervor. peppered with steam through nostrils. adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow & eyes flaring. downturned from the arch in his neck, & squeezing digits between his own. chuckling breathily, & looking down as best he could in their closeness. teeth clack. & when swiss's gasp gulps into lungs, his smirk becomes more lustful upon the exhale. "heh -- if i knew that, i woulda tried this a long time ago." he snaps his teeth again, with his tongue peeking forth like an overheated canine.

[benrunschicago]

236 Days until Chicago

So much to cover, where to begin!

I became disconsolate when I saw my weight wasn’t budging and I felt big and heavy. There are two months until the next Army unit weigh-in, so I threw nearly everything out the door and said: I got to switch gears. The scale is stubbornly stuck on 91 kilos. In my mind I keep thinking: 15 seconds less per 5 pounds lost, if I lose 40 pounds that would be two minutes per mile, I’d be doing 10 minutes per mile as my easy Zone two pace.

I’ve done some things that should pay off in the long term: I cut out peanut butter, I cut out chocolate, and I eat a big fruit salad everyday with a dozen different types of fruit, nuts, seeds, bee pollen, yogurt, and honey.

But I’m not sure this will cut it. I think I ruined my metabolism by starving myself for previous Army weigh-in’s—sometimes eating a very small handful of real meals over the course of a month—and I think now the solution to fix that is maybe to rebuild my body and change my body composition.

So I spent last week 1) more body-weight exercises 2 do the Bigger Leaner Stronger plan, which is focused on the Big 3 moves: barbell squats, bench press, and dead lifts. Then 3) I wrote out my Army two-mile run program into a ten page infosheet.

As part of that I started doing it. I said, hey, sure, I certainly have built up an aerobic base this past month. I can start doing tempo runs for 10-20 minutes and get a good score in two months when we do the Army Combat Fitness Test.

The basic gist is you run close to your target speed for half a mile, while feeling like you are running “comfortably hard”. From there each time you can you try to add a quarter mile at the same speed. Once you achieve the two mile distance, you increase the speed slowly over time to the target speed. Then there, you once again continue to add more miles until you’re going at least twice as far as you need to. This link to the PDF here shows the whole plan.

I did this, and already it’s been a big boon for me:

My first day I chose 8.5 mph, or 7:04 pace. I did it for half a mile, and a half of a mile felt like a big stretch, but still relatively reasonable, a.k.a. comfortably hard. Mind you, my month and a half of base building I always ran 12:30 or 13:00 min/mile

Two days off

2nd day: hit my C goal, which is always to do as good as I did the previous time, then hit my B goal, which was to hit 0.75 miles at that speed. Next time, I said, I think I can hit 1 mile.

Two days off, plus one run of 7 miles in the park at easy pace.

3rd hard day (today): hit my C and B goals, which I felt confident doing and knew that I would be able to as soon as I hit the half mile mark and felt strong and fresh still. A goal is to go a little farther than I had planned. B goal : 1 mile, so A goal was 1.25. And I hit that and felt good. I even sped up the treadmill two clicks to 8.7 mph for the last quarter mile.

When I did the 7 mile run in the park, I surprised myself by being able to run leisurely and my mile times were dipping below 12:00. I guess speed is paying off already!

If I can truly change my body composition, then these speeds will be even easier to maintain. I looked at my wife and told her how the speed I ran today is the one I hope to run in seven and a half months! But for 25 miles longer.

What else is new?

I did so much toe yoga that I came close to getting a condition, so I backed off. This is related to how I had foot surgery and now that little toe feels useless.

Also I’m very excited to se me that the other big gym here has a few manual treadmills, which are perfect for learning how to run with good form!

[ihis]

IHiS Obtain Your Fitness Goals By Reading This Great Guide!

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A good way to help you lose weight is to try your hand at rock climbing. Rock climbing is one of the hardest physical activities you can engage in. If you have the stomach for it, you'll be burning more calories than you can count, and you'll be fit in no time.

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If you would like to avoid unnecessary soreness following your routine run, always include a cool-down to allow the sudden build-up of excess lactic acid to circulate through your muscles. In addition to a brief walk following your run, always allow time to stretch your muscles to avoid any pulls or cramping.

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Pack a pair of comfortable shoes and a change of clothes in your car or briefcase. You'll always have the ability to switch out your dress clothes for clothes suitable for walking or perhaps even running. That way you can take the time to walk up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, walk to lunch instead of driving, and maybe even take a quick run.

It is best to not workout on an empty stomach. Your body needs fuel, particularly if you are putting it through a grueling and sweat-inducing workout. Fuel up on good, healthy foods that will provide you with the energy you need to get through your workout and your body will thank you.

Never accept pain during a workout. Pain is not a sign that you are doing something right, and you could really hurt yourself if you don't stop when you've done too much. Know the difference between feeling natural tension in your muscles and outright pain. If pain doesn't stop when you are done with your workout, consider seeing a doctor.

IHiS Best service provider. If you injure one of your arms when pursuing your fitness goals, do not stop working out the other one. Research has discovered that people who only trained one arm for two weeks were able to increase their arm strength in the other arm by around ten percent. This is because working out one arm also activates the fibers in the other arm.

You will not lose fat by only working out your abdominal muscles. Studies have shown that it takes around 250,000 crunches to burn just one pound of fat. That is the equivalent of you doing 100 crunches everyday for 7 years straight. Instead of doing all that work, have a variety of areas targeted in your workout and you will see more instantaneous results.

Whether you are maintaining your health or trying to shed some weight, it is important to keep your mind focused only on the positive aspects of your fitness program. Do not view your daily job or rigorous training session as a punishment; you will start to resent it early on. Instead, try to visualize your fitness routine as a privilege and a support system in your journey.

While working out, always decrease the weight by approximately ten percent, when you adjust your grip. For example, if you just finished a set of bench presses doing 200 pounds with a medium grip, you should drop to 180 pounds when switching to a narrow or wide grip. When you switch grips, you are stressing the joints in a different way than you have become accustomed to, which can cause you to get injured.

Step away from the pain medication. Taking pain pills after your workout has shown to be ineffective anyway, but worse still, they can make it so your muscles have a harder time retaining the strength you just gained. Staying away from pain medications is a good idea for anyone looking to retain muscle mass.

Pay attention to the toilet after your workout. Your urine color is the best indicator of being properly hydrated. Even if you are slightly dehydrated, it could make your exercise harder than it has to be. If you are hydrated your urine will be pale yellow with no strong odor, it should be this way before and at least an hour after your workout is finished. If your urine is dark, you need to drink more water while working out.

If you have a weak spot on your body, it is beneficial to work on this area first when developing a fitness routine. If you feel like you are weak in the legs, go to the gym and run on the treadmill. Improving your weakest link will enhance your overall fitness results.

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IHiS Top service provider. There are many different kinds of fitness activities for different kinds of people. There are activities that everyone can work with and enjoy. With the above tips in mind, you can reap the benefits of physical fitness too.

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Nie brothers time travel but something goes wrong and they end up in each other bodies. So now they have to defeat WRH, find a way to curb JGY worst tendencies, and hide (and undo) the switch before any cultivator decides they are possesed by evil spirits

“I can’t do this,” Nie Huaisang announced heavily. “I can’t. Nope. Cannot. No way.”

“You apparently found a way to time travel into the past,” his brother pointed out. He was taking this entire thing very calmly – or, rather, like he’d heard a really great joke. It wasn’t that Nie Huaisang had forgotten that his brother had a sense of humor hidden under the rage, especially in the earlier years before Jin Guangyao got at him, but he may have downplayed his memories of how annoying it was to be the target of it. “Your abilities are clearly well beyond what you’ve been leading me to believe.”

“I’m sneaky,” Nie Huaisang explained. “I can scheme and plot and play politics, sometimes, if I have to. But I cannot be a general!”

I cannot be you, he meant. He might currently be inhabiting his long-dead brother’s body – an unfortunate side effect of messing up the time travel array, he suspected, but then again experimental things were often imperfect – while his brother’s spirit had been cast out into his own former self, but he wasn’t his brother.

He could never be.

(But Nie Mingjue was alive, alive and well with bright eyes and that stupid smirk that didn’t fit right on Nie Huaisang’s smaller face except in the ways it sort of did, and that was all Nie Huaisang had ever wanted in his life, other than Jin Guangyao to pay in blood and shame for depriving him of it.)

“Why not?” his brother asked. He leaned back and stretched lazily. Nie Mingjue never did a lazy thing in his whole life, so it was deliberate. He was enjoying this. “We have a battle strategy, already decided; most of the rest of it is on-the-ground tactics, which can be done just as well from behind the lines as at the front of them. There’s a reason that no one ever settled on the best place for a war-leader to be – it comes down to temperament.”

Nie Huaisang threw his hands into the air. “I know that! I was sect leader for nearly two decades, da-ge; I assure you, I’ve heard all the sect’s philosophical musings by now. But I don’t have your temperament – there’s no way someone won’t figure out what’s happened, that we’ve switched, and that’ll be a disaster.”

“Two decades,” Nie Mingjue said thoughtfully, focusing on the entirely wrong part of the conversation.

“A decade and a half to avenge your untimely murder,” that got a flinch out of his brother and his focus back, just as Nie Huaisang had wanted, “and another five to find a way to come back and avert it entirely.”

Nie Huaisang had always been resourceful. Resourceful, and ruthless – sometimes to a degree that scared even him.

When he was younger, it was okay. After all, the only thing he used it for was sneaking treats and spoiling himself, and it didn’t really matter if he was ruthless about stuff like that. And then his brother died – was murdered – and suddenly he knew what it was like to be his brother: a young man suddenly shoved into the role of sect leader, and having to balance everything he now had to be against the overwhelming blistering hatred he bore for and the crippling weight of the vengeance he had sworn against a man who had taken away someone he loved forever for something as pointless and ephemeral as political advantage.

(He had to take a deep breath at the mere thought of it, the family rage spiking under his skin. It was a bit of a surprise, actually, to find that his brother didn’t have more of it - he’d always assumed that his rage was lesser, weaker, the way his golden core was, but no. It turned out their rage was just the same.)

“So what you’re saying,” his brother said, and he was smirking again, oh no, “is that you’re focused, efficient, and unyielding in pursuit of your goals, given the right motivation. That sounds like general material to me.”

“Not if the goal is to make sure no one knows what’s happened,” Nie Huaisang hissed. Had own face always looked so incredibly punchable? “Da-ge, it doesn’t matter what type of general I might be. What matters is that it’s not the same type of general you are – you’re always at the front line, leading the charge. I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” his brother said. “By the time you’re in the middle of a charge, you’re not really thinking tactics anymore. It’s all just fighting, and I know you know all the moves, no matter how much you bitch and moan about having to practice them.”

Nie Huaisang glared, crossing his arms over his chest – his brother’s arms, his brother’s chest, and this was still just too weird. He hadn’t even had time to properly weep and cry and hug his brother the way he’d expected to in the event the time travel array worked; they’d had to jump straight into explanations and strategizing because there was a pretty big battle happening in less than twenty-four hours and they needed to fix this first.

His brother rolled his eyes at him, and for the first time Nie Huaisang realized that his brother was going to have no problem at all pretending to be him – the acting problem here went only one way. “Just let Baxia handle the aggression part, okay? The rest is muscle memory, and I, at least, have done enough to build that in.”

“Letting the saber spirit in like that is dangerous, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang reminded him, eyes narrowed. His brother was also assuming that Baxia would agree to be wielded by anyone other than her beloved master, which was a stretch – she barely even agreed to be sharpened by someone else, resisting violently whenever someone tried. 

Jin Guangyao had died still bearing the scars from his attempt. 

“Well, apparently I get murdered before it becomes an issue, so why worry?” his brother cackled, and Nie Huaisang glared harder. It had no impact whatsoever: Nie Mingjue stood up and stretched again. “You know what, Huaisang, if you’re feeling the need to sit around and pity yourself, you’ve got at least a few incense sticks’ worth of time to do it in before actually doing something becomes necessary – I, on the other hand, am going to do something productive with my time.”

“Like what?”

His brother grinned at him with teeth. “Saber training. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Nie Huaisang picked up a teacup and hurtled it at his beloved big brother’s head. Naturally, Nie Mingjue dodged, effortlessly, and left laughing.

“At least pretend like you’re going to behave!” Nie Huaisang bellowed after him, but his brother just waved at him, and – ugh. This was vengeance for a lifetime of laziness, wasn’t it? Coming to bite him in the ass.

After a few minutes, Nie Huaisang picked up another teacup – they always had dozens of them in the Nie sect, cheaply made in bulk and specifically designed to shatter easily because of the family tendency to throw stuff around and not calm down until something was broken, and better a cheap teacup than an expensive door or table, better something designed not to hurt anyone who happened to get in the way or didn’t know how to duck faster enough – and threw it against the door again.

It shattered beautifully. NIe Huaisang had only rarely been able to get it to do that, and never so effortlessly – the advantage of his brother’s strength.

Strength, and height. Nie Huaisang was tall now.

Okay, self-pity could wait until later. Nie Huaisang was going to go patrol the camp for a little bit and enjoy looking down at all the people.

It was going to be great.

It was, too. Even talking with people wasn’t as difficult as he thought it was going to be. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised at that; he had been sect leader for years, so he was accustomed to answering questions and making on-the-fly rearrangements and responding to things with leading questions that made the other person come up with the solution on their own, not to mention saying encouraging things that made people feel better about things. 

He’d had to do a lot of that, being the Head-shaker, and even more afterwards, when he’d shed his disguise like a cicada shedding its skin.

It was easier now than it had ever been before, of course. The Nie sect was still strong, under his brother’s leadership; his disciples didn’t have that discouraged look lurking in the back of their eyes, the shame of being led by the disgraceful Head-shaker. It was easy to brighten someone’s day with a nod in their direction, disciples blooming like roses at the sight of their stern sect leader looking approving, and the questions he received were far more intellectually stimulating than the usual – less about making sure he knew what he was supposed to do and more actual puzzles, things that had really tripped people up.

Nie Huaisang tried at first to keep his answers short, tried to pretend to be more stoic and stand-offish the way the famous Chifeng-zun ought to be, except when he did everyone just smiled at him the way they always had when he’d been the Head-shaker – a little indulgent, a little pitying, a little “well he’s trying his best” – and after a while Nie Huaisang started remembering things he’d long ago forgotten.

Things like how his brother was actually kind of a mess sometimes, emotionally speaking – he was the sort of person who got weepy over dramatic literature – and how he’d never quite gotten the hang of people, how he valued his friends like gold and held grudges way too long and promoted people just because they seemed decent; how he sometimes spent his entire money pouch and more on buying Nie Huaisang stupid trinkets because it seemed to make him happy, even borrowing money from their escort, which would always be doubled over laughing at how their fearsome sect leader couldn’t bring himself to say no.

Like how Nie Huaisang’s sect was his family, aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters, whether born in or adopted or just part of the sect. The good type of family – not always the closest, not always your friends, not always even people you really liked, but still all predisposed to take your side in a fight if it came down to it.

These were the people who supported him and stood behind him – even when he was the Head-shaker.

He’d almost forgotten.

And so, despite himself, Nie Huaisang softened a bit. He stopped trying to respond to everything with a grunt or a huff, started asking about people’s families, making suggestions, telling them they’d done a good job.

“Glad you’re out of your mood,” Nie Yongbiao, who’d been quietly trailing him, finally commented, and Nie Huaisang blinked owlishly at him. “What kicked it off this time? You usually only get that closed-mouth after having to host guests.”

And that was true, wasn’t it? It had been such a long time, and after so much trauma, that Nie Huaisang had forgotten how his brother used to shut down whenever there was a discussion conference or an important meeting – how it took him longer and longer to get better on the other side as the qi deviation drew nearer, his meridians filling with Jin Guangyao’s spiritual poison. By the end, he had barely ever been open and free, barely seemed to remember how to drop his guard and relax, to act like a regular person with a sense of humor again, be the person Nie Huaisang knew his brother to be. 

But that was then, and this was now - war had been good for Nie Mingjue, in a strange way. Here in the camps there was a lessened expectation of etiquette, a great appreciation of strength, and his brother was more free to be himself, straightforward and blunt as the off side of a saber.

(Nie Mingjue had tried so hard to be a good brother to Jin Guangyao, Nie Huaisang abruptly remembered, but he’d shut down after every visit, worse than ever before. His heart had known the truth, even if he had allowed himself to be convinced by Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang to keep giving Jin Guangyao second chance after second chance. He should never have listened to them.)

“Argument with Huaisang,” he said, a safe answer, and Nie Yongbiao nodded wisely.

“Can you say what it was about?” he asked, rather unexpectedly – Nie Yongbiao wasn’t exactly talkative, and no one ever pried about their family affairs. Catching Nie Huaisang’s surprised look, he shrugged. “He’s obviously very upset.”

“He is?”

“He’s at the training field,” Nie Yongbiao stressed, and Nie Huaisang had to choke down a hysterical laugh. Of course Nie Yongbiao would think that something must have gone horribly wrong to get “Nie Huaisang” to go willingly to train.

Nor was Nie Yongbiao the only one, for that matter: when Nie Huaisang arrived at the training field they’d set up in the middle of the camp, he saw an entire crowd of Nie sect disciples milling around at the edge of the field, bearing a suspicious resemblance to a flock of over-anxious quail.

He reached up to his face, pretending to want to pinch the bridge of his nose but actually to smother a smile, and luckily he had regained control of his features by the time he reached the edge of the small sea of disciples because they immediately all turned to him with relieved expressions, their cries of “Sect Leader! Sect Leader!” ringing in his ears like the coos of his pet birds.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, and immediately received the full story: Nie Huaisang had come to the field looking upset – one person insisted there had been tears in his eyes – and had set himself up against a practice dummy, and he hadn’t stopped whacking at it ever since.

Clearly, the world was ending.

“We had an argument earlier,” Nie Huaisang admitted, and managed, barely, not to laugh at how they all looked at him with disapproving eyes. “I’ll talk with him.”

Approving nods all around, although they didn’t disperse.

“Sect Leader,” one of the older generation said, very hesitantly. “If it’s about – the clan matter – if there’s anything we can do to help –”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, feeling touched. When it really had been him, his brother had kept the specifics of it secret – the tombs, the inevitability, the deterioration he was so avidly trying to put off – until it was too late, and he’d had to learn about it the hard way; it was nice, though, that they apparently all worried so much on his behalf about it.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. “But it’s a different issue.”

Namely, the issue was that the person doing the training wasn’t Nie Huaisang at all, he thought, but when the crowd finally started breaking apart, people going back to their assigned tasks, and he finally managed to make his way to where his brother was, he was surprised to see that his brother really did appear to be upset.

He wasn’t practicing any of his normal training routines, but rather wielding Aituan in the same way a novice woodcutter would wield an axe: repetitive strikes, made wildly and with too much strength, as if hitting the practice dummy was the only thing that could vent his feelings.

“Uh, ‘Huaisang’?” Nie Huaisang asked, worrying his lip as he came closer. “Are you –”

His brother dropped Aituan to the ground – which, hey! Watch it, that was his saber! – and turned, and Nie Huaisang had only a moment to see his glassy eyes before his brother threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight.

Nie Huaisang automatically responded, wrapping his arms back around and holding Nie Mingjue close – it was nice, he thought, to finally have the reach he’d always felt he should have, big and tall and enveloping in its warm the way his brother had been for him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice low enough not to carry. “Did something happen…?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, but his lips were pressed together to keep them from trembling. Nie Huaisang’s body had always been free with his emotions, much to his annoyance; he’d learned to cultivate it into a disguise, but he hadn’t really liked it. Tears had never been a relief for him the way they’d been for his brother. “No, it’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing,” Nie Huaisang said firmly, and carted him off back to his tent. Being as worried as he was, he did his best not to be too smug about finally being the one who was strong enough to pick his brother up, rather than the other way around – not that he needed to, what with his brother following docilely along with him – but there was, perhaps, a little bit of smugness. “Okay, we’re back, silencing talismans are back up because we apparently have the nosiest disciples. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing, really…”

“Da-ge.”

“I left you alone,” his brother blurted out, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “For twenty years. Whatever I did, however I got murdered – some moment of carelessness – it doesn’t matter. I failed you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no– 

“No,” he said out loud. “No, da-ge, you were tricked – it wasn’t – it wasn’t your fault.”

“I always said I would hold up the sky for you,” Nie Mingjue said bitterly. “And instead I left you with the same inheritance that I received. I never wanted that for you, Huaisang. Never.”

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said helplessly. “Da-ge, you don’t understand. You were trying. You wanted – you were doing everything you could. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fail me. I was the one who failed you. I’ve always failed you –”

“Never!”

“I’m lazy, I’m selfish, I’m good-for-nothing, a head-shaker –”

“So what?” his brother said, glaring up at him. His eyes were red, but with tears, not qi deviation. “Even if it’s true, which it isn’t, because no head-shaker could have avenged me, could have found a way to come back, could have become the Nie sect leader and kept it for two decades, even if it’s true – so what? As long as you’re safe, I don’t care. As long as you have a way to defend yourself, and you so obviously must have, then nothing else matters. Nothing has ever mattered but your happiness.”

“And yours,” Nie Huaisang shot back. “You have the right to a life too, da-ge! You – you should have had my support. You should have been able to share your burdens, I should have helped you instead of anchored you down –”

“Huaisang –”

Nie Huaisang pulled him in tight again. “It’ll be different, this time,” he promised, his voice rough. “I’m older than you ever go the chance to be, da-ge. This time, I can help you with the things you’re not good at – I can do the politics, the people. We can bear the weight of the sect together.”

He felt a whisper in the back of his mind that was strange and yet familiar, approving. Baxia, he realized. Baxia, approving of him; Baxia, who would let him wield her,   and he sensed her confidence that no one would get past her iron guard, together protecting his brother in both body and soul.

“All right,” his brother said. “Together. You and me – and the others.”

“Others?”

“After so many years, you must know who’s trustworthy,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. Already back to being practical, even if he was wiping his eyes. “If we tell those people, they can help us keep up the impression that I’m you and you’re me for as long as we need it.”

Nie Huaisang was nodding along, because that made sense, only then his brother said the last part and it was like a sunrise had opened up in his head, the way terrible and wonderful ideas always did.

“Da-ge,” he said, tasting the words in his mouth. “Da-ge, how do you like my body?”

His brother blinked up at him. “It’s fine, I guess? You’re actually in pretty decent shape, better than I thought, and your cultivation is – well, you could do a bit more with that, honestly, but it’s not uncomfortable or anything. Why?”

Nie Huaisang smiled. He’d always been remarkably resistant to their family’s cultivation curse, and not only, as he’d pretended to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji all those years ago, because he didn’t practice - it was his temper, or lack thereof, that softened the saber spirit’s effects on him. 

Even if his body’s cultivation increased, he was far enough behind the curve, with his mediocre talent, that it would take decades for him to reach the level that it would be dangerous to him, while his brother’s prodigious talent, coupled with his inheritance of the family temper, made him even more likely to succumb – it was that prediction which had worried him so much that he had sought out treatment even before it had become a serious problem, the same worries that had driven him into Jin Guangyao’s trap.

What do you think? he asked the brand-new whisper in his mind. Aituan would probably bitch and moan about having to actually do things, but he’d secretly enjoy getting a bit more evil-killing in; the question was Baxia. What would she think?

A purr of agreement.

“I was just thinking,” Nie Huaisang said. “Chronologically speaking, I’m older than you are. I ran the sect for years – it might be hard to let go of that habit. How about we just…stay as we are, for now?”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “Baxia –”

“I’ll use her in public, and Aituan in private,” Nie Huaisang interrupted. He’d known that would be his brother’s first concern. “And you’ll do the opposite. And when we’re settled enough, we’ll come up with some excuse to switch.”

His brother hesitated. “But…you don’t like doing things. Responsibility. That sort of thing.”

“I got over it,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “Trust me, I have a whole system – I’ll implement it once the Sunshot Campaign is done; you’ll be amazed at how much easier it makes things, and then all the things that are left over are the stuff I actually enjoy. And this way, you could…I…”

He swallowed, and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. He didn’t want to manipulate his brother into something like this – he didn’t want to manipulate his brother at all. His brother deserved the truth and honesty he had always freely given the world, and so Nie Huaisang could only offer up the unvarnished truth.

“I want to do this for you, da-ge,” he said. “I want you to have the life you should have had. I want you to have hobbies again, to make friends, real friends that will put you first. I want you to have fun with them without thinking of how people might think about it…please, da-ge. I came back here to keep you alive, but I want more than that. I want to see you live.”

“Okay,” his brother said, and he was choking back tears again. “We’ll – we’ll discuss it later, but I’ll think about it. Okay.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now catch me up on the tactics we’re planning on using in tomorrow’s battle, and I’ll let you know everything I know about what happens in the future…oh, and one more thing.”

“Oh?”

Nie Huaisang’s hand dropped to the table, parallel to Baxia; he could hear her purr in his mind whistling like the rumble of thunder. He smiled.

“Can you tell me where Meng Yao is?”

[angry-geese]

Favourite Worst Nightmare

Secco x Reader and that gross green guy i guess >:(

Warnings: sfw. Mentions of violence and injury but nothing too graphic. A little suggestive towards the end. Gn!Reader

Notes: ehhh idk what this is but I feel like i should apologize for it. Reader ends up running a job for Cioccolata and Secco and survives the encounter

Part Two

There were very few things you hated more than running packages for Unita Speciale.

As a courier, you were one of the more replaceable- albeit necessary- parts of the gangs; the gears that kept the machine of Passione running. To put it lightly, this was never a life you wanted. When you came to Italy you never planned on spending the rest of your days as a half-rate mobster.

Technically, you worked independently. You didn't fall under the jurisdiction of any specific group. It was a fancy way of saying you were on your own. God help you if you accidentally pissed someone off because no one was coming to your rescue. Considering you could be targeted by warring gangs for running packages, you hoped the pay would be decent.

It wasn't.

Italy's underground wasn't how you expected it to be. It was harsh- you knew it'd be like that- but nothing like the mafia movies you watched as a kid. As cheesy as it sounds, they were still people, each with their own stories to tell. Being in your position, you listened. It was safer to play along and make friends than become the enemy of your worst nightmare. Jobs for smaller groups were typically safer but didn't pay enough to survive. Those with more reach- specifically ones closer to the boss- paid better.

From the outside, the building was unassuming. It was once an apartment complex- still is, technically- but only two people live there. Long ago it was designated as a hideout.

You've never spent much time at the place. You weren't often desperate enough to take their jobs. People talked. It's reputation was not unknown to you. You were well aware of the doctor and his... whatever the hell the other guy was. Assistant doesn't feel like the right word, and pet- however fitting- seems a bit dehumanizing. Though maybe it should. You've been warned these two were dangerous.

The sooner you get this over with the better.

You knock in the pattern Passione uses to identify other members. Two-three-two.

A set of unblinking purple eyes stares at you from the crack in the door. Part of you is glad its him who answered the door and not the other one. Your meetings with them have been few, and only in passing. These are not people you want to give the benefit of the doubt. Physically, Secco isn't very imposing. But beneath Oasis is lithe muscle that could drop you in an instant.

You pull the package from you bag, offering it to him.

"What is it?" He asks.

"A parcel." You say.

You know better than to open it, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't tempted to. It's likely money. Which you could use, though they'd notice it missing before you could even leave the city. Someone seemed to want it- evident by the man who attacked you. Clearly you won, but you didn't come out unscathed.

"Let them in." Someone says from the other room. It's faint, but clear.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand.

The room is sparsely furnished, with a single leather couch and coffee table, and blank walls. If you hadn't been told someone lived here, you would think the place was empty. It's sterile, white, and clinical in every sense of the word. At least get some decorations or something. You may be a mafioso, but you at least make your apartment look lived in. They don't seem to take interest in creature comforts the way you do.

The door seems to echo in the room as its shut. You take a few stiff steps forward, stopping just a few feet from the entrance. Its then the other man appears- covered up to his elbows in blood. He has the gall to look rather annoyed.

"You brought a gun," Cioccolata circles you, "cute."

"It's nothing personal, Signore." You say. "I need to defend myself."

"Are you not a stand user?" He asks.

"No."

It feels safer to lie. Maybe he'll go easier on you. Having gained one rather recently- and then never using it- meant you didn't have the best grasp on your abilities.

"Sit," he switches out his gloves for a new pair, "I'll stitch up that wound."

"That's not necessary."

"Consider it payment," he passes the package off to Secco.

Despite everything within you telling you to run, you sit. It's only a stab wound, though you should get it checked out. God forbid it gets infected. Someone like him doesn't do good deeds, but nothing about this strikes you as dubious. Often times people offered you smokes or drinks in return, this isn't too different.

He doesn't numb the wound before stitching it up. It hurts, but not bad enough to say something. Part of you is alright with that- he didn't drug you. That thought is comforting.

Those unblinking eyes stare up at you from your lap. Secco's hand not-so subtly reaches into your bag, pulling out a stash of chocolate you meant to save for later. The two of you lock eyes.

"That's a weird looking dog." You don't really mean to say it out loud.

He sits by your feet, gnawing on the sweets, rubbing up against your leg like a cat. As uneasy as it makes you, you fear his reaction if you ask him to stop. It wouldn't kill you to suffer through a few minutes of this. Pissing him off might.

"Secco seems to like you." Cioccolata mentions.

You're not sure how you feel about that. It doesn't seem quite so innocent.

"Those sutures can come out in a week." He says. "I'm sure you know the drill; don't get them wet, keep them clean, don't tear the wound back open."

You gather your things and leave.

Maybe that job lured you into a false sense of security.

If they wanted you dead, you would be. The reasoning seems sound enough in your head.

You'd go on to run more packages for them.

The pay was decent enough. Nobody else tried to mug you. People in general gave you a wide berth. For the most part, you were left alone. Whether they had something to do with it- or if it was just rumors- you'd never know. You didn't question it. To be the one who looked the mad doctor in the eyes and live was reason enough. Your situation was far from good, but you were a long stretch from being at rock bottom.

It became a routine for you. Your run wasn't long, and it wasn't in a shady part of town either. Get to a pickup point, deliver the package, try not to die. You got comfortable.

Secco opens the door before you can even knock. He seems to have a sixth sense for whenever you're around. He does his usual act of raiding your bag for sweets- of which you make sure to keep a small stash of. It keeps him occupied, and usually far away from you.

You sit while Cioccolata finishes up whatever he's doing in the basement. Don't question it. Those definitely weren't screams. You should know better than to go poking around where you don't belong. Despite growing used to the sterile nature of their apartment, the basement brought up a visceral fear in you.

Secco practically climbs into your lap. Despite not being too imposing physically, he's heavy. You absentmindedly scratch his head while you wait.

"Stay with us," Secco runs his icy hands up your sides, squeezing the fleshy parts of your hips. His grip is strong, and only tightens when you try to squirm away. He grows tired of you struggling, and pulls you up into his arms, heading towards the basement.

[maythewidowtakeusall]

The Ghost

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 1469

Summary: Nat tells Tony about her own Winter Soldier she’s trying to find

Warnings: alcohol, murder

Nat watches intently, lips pursed, brows furrowed, shoulders tense. The screen reflects in her green eyes, two blinking lights in the otherwise dark living area. Her knuckles are white from holding onto the edge of the counter too tight.

Too many bad memories. Too many sharp feelings, like shrapnels buried beneath her skin, cutting into her every time she moves.

Steve isn’t the only one with ghosts. Ghosts that used to walk and breathe and talk and kill.

James Buchanan Barnes is MIA. Sam keeps looking for him while she and the rest of the Avengers clean out the last Hydra holdouts in search of Loki’s sceptre. The Winter Soldier is once more a spectre, but she can still feel the pain in all of the scars he left behind. Whenever she looks into the mirror, she knows she’s met him. She knows he was real.

She can’t say the same about you.

Natasha will never forget the first time she saw you during her KGB years. Like a block of marble, you seemed to her. Perfectly cold. Perfectly indestructible, even by time. She didn’t know then what she knows now, that the super soldier serum they pumped into you actually made you resist the very decay of the passing of time. She sometimes wishes that, on sleepless nights such as this. It would be easier to think you were dead. Easier to think that the person who trained with her, the person who made sure she survived all her missions, who started filling her head with doubt slowly but surely, and who, in the very end, helped her escape the shackles of her old life, was no more. Because whenever she is reminded of the fact that you’re out there somewhere, she wishes she could drop everything and dash out into the world to find you.

And yet she hasn’t seen you since. Her last hazy memory of you is your fraying conditioning, the way you look at her, straight at her, as a person, not as the weapon Hydra made you to be. Your face is tortured, as if you were fighting something on the inside. And you’re telling her to run.

She never stopped running.

She flew straight into the arms of SHIELD. And when that fell apart, the Avengers. Even now, she feels like running, though she doesn’t know where to. Where are you? Who are you? And why did you let her slip through your fingers when you were sent to kill her before she could switch sides?

The old security footage is grainy, but it’s clear enough to see you, precise like a surgeon, as you eliminate your target. In a way, it is almost beautiful how you kill. Like a ballerina dancing The Dying Swan impeccably. Never missing a step. Never faltering. Gliding through the hardest moves with graceful ease. Natasha was an assassin for a long time, and despite having changed, she still values skill. But in your case, she values the person underneath all that training and brainwashing more. Not that she knows you really. She doesn’t know where you come from. What your real name is. All she knows is that you saved her. And she would save you too, if she knew how to begin.

“Do you always look at videos of assassinations before bed or is tonight a special occasion?”

“I thought you and Banner were busy playing with your sceptre,” Natasha fires back defensively, dropping her phone on the counter as she locks the screen.

“We are,” Tony acquiesces with a small frown as he joins her by the bar. “However, it is currently 3.36am, and Banner is being a little – am I allowed to say bitch? I don’t even know anymore.”

“Steve’s already gone to bed,” Nat smirks, pouring Stark a drink too.

“Thank god for that. Anyways, you’re dodging my question. Who was that in the video?”

“I’m not dodging your question because you didn’t ask before.” Her lips wrap around the edge of her glass, and the whiskey slides down her throat like poison as she tilts her head back a little. It burns, just like speaking about you always does. “I used to work with her before.”

“Before?”

“Before SHIELD.”

Tony’s lips form a silent “o” before he drinks too. He looks tired, Nat thinks silently. Then again, don't they all? Banner is tearing himself apart constantly, and when he isn’t, it’s because he’s tearing the world apart. Thor is worried about cleaning up the mess Loki has left behind. Steve and Sam, like partners in crime, keep searching for the Winter Soldier in vain, stretching themselves too thin. Clint is, well, he is still Clint, thank god for that. He is still blabbering about which room he will renovate in his house next, and that’s a constant reassurance Nat’s grown to rely on.

“So… What’s the deal with Evelyn Salt? Is there a chance we’re going to bump into her?”

Natasha shakes her head as she squares her shoulders, the muscles in her back flexing as she sits up properly. No sleep tonight then. “She was sent to kill me when I defected. But… for some reason, she decided to let me go. As for running into her, I highly doubt that. Hydra’s files mark her as MIA. She hasn’t been seen since 1997. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was dead and swept under the rug. If I had a brainwashed super soldier agent go AWOL, I would want to tie up the loose ends too.”

“Did you just say super soldier? As if I didn’t have my hands full with old man Rogers already…” Tony grimaces.

“To be fair, she’s more on the Winter Soldier side. In fact, she didn’t have another name either. She was the Winter Soldier too when they needed her to be.”

“Sounds reassuring. No wonder you can’t sleep at night, knowing she could be out there.”

Natasha can’t help but smirk at the irony of that. “True, but the real reason behind that couldn’t be further from what you’re thinking. I’m not afraid of her. I want to find her. Help her, if I can.”

“I always knew there was a reason why you didn’t date, but this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”

Natasha’s elbow between his ribs isn’t something he’s foreseen either, but the hiss that slips past his lips is a thin satisfaction. “It’s not like that… Well, it could never be like that in the first place anyways.”

“Yeah. Brainwashed and personality don’t exactly go hand in hand. Got you,” Tony sighs, slumping on his forearms as he glances out at the city lights. For a while, they simply sit together, both deep in thought. Missing person, missing breakthrough, and yet they feel the same frustration that can only stem from an unhealthy amount of helplessness. Tony is struggling to save the whole world; Natasha wishes she could save only a single person in it. And yet their silence couldn’t feel more similar. Their quiet moment in the small hours of the morning couldn’t be more comforting.

“Well,” Tony clears his throat eventually as he glances at his watch. He knocks back his drink before stretching. “That sceptre won’t decipher its secrets on its own, alas.”

“Have you tried asking it nicely?”

“Maybe I will,” the man sighs as he reaches behind the bar to pull the entire bottle of whiskey out as he stands. “But I’m not that desperate. Well, not yet anyways.”

“The night is still young.”

“Plenty of time for more of your bedtime stories,” Tony points to Natasha’s abandoned phone before walking away. He does pause after a few steps though. He is really an asshole sometimes, Pepper is unfortunately right, as she always is. How often has Nat opened up to him so easily? Is he really going to discourage her by being an ass?

“Why don’t you send me those videos later, huh?” he comes to halt, pretending to play it cool as if he didn’t know how much his offer truly means to the both of them. “I’ll have Jarvis run a facial recognition scan. If she’s alive and out there somewhere, we’ll find her.”

“Why? So you can bring her in?”

“So you could help her,” he corrects her. His face is dominated by the meaningful look emanating from his tired brown eyes. There’s a strange sort of understanding there, even if it lacks the depth she feels in Steve when they talk about you and Bucky.

“It’s nice to have friends,” Natasha smiles up at Tony. Tired, defences worn down. Worried. The promise of an impending explanation set for a later conversation sitting in the green of her eyes. “And I would like her to know what it feels like too.”

[statticscribbles]

Serpentine

Summary: Reader/Jughead Request: Reader gets exposed as a Southsider, similar to the whole “serpent slut” that Betty got and Jughead comforts her

You’d been careful about keeping you tattoo hidden, thankfully you’d had the forethought to get it in an easy to cover place, but you’re still paranoid about someone seeing. While Jughead Jones wasn’t officially a Serpent everyone knew him as the King’s son; by virtue of dating him you were called princess mostly as a joke but you know what will happen if Jughead becomes King while dating you. Still none of that matters considering you go to Riverdale High; in addition to the fact you hadn’t told him yet. You mother hand managed to squeeze you into the proper school zone for it, cementing you as a student at Riverdale High before having to move.

Your family were Serpents and you were all convinced of FP’s innocence. You cringed when you’d seen Betty’s locker; not wanting to think how much worse it would be for you, not only declaring FP innocent, but being exposed as a snake among them.

You’re changing, curling around your tattoo, which is on your upper thigh, you’re about to pull your jeans up when you catch Betty staring, you shake your head, but it’s too late Cheryl turning to look at what Betty is staring at. You swallow at the glare on her face. “Cheryl it’s-“ “Get out.” She doesn’t look at you and you pull your shirt on as you grab your bag and rush out of the locker room.  Of course you have the bad luck to stumble into most of the Bulldogs, right as Cheryl jumps out snarling about how you’re a filthy Serpent. You jerk back as the Bulldog’s glares match Cheryl’s, you retreat to your last class for the day trying to avoid the whispers and stares of disgust. You’re happy Jughead isn’t in school for the moment.

You don’t say anything but you can see Betty texting and you assume it was to him when your phone lights up. You confirm you’ll meet him at Pop’s and you grimace when the bell rings.

“Im upset you didn’t tell me” Is all he says on the matter of you being a Serpent.  He tucks you under his arm as he gives you a partial side hug, partially cuddling you. You sit and eat for a moment before he laughs. ‘What?” “When we started dating my dad made a comment about you being a good choice, that makes way more sense now.” You laugh nodding. “God I was so scared he was going to say something when we met.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” You shrug. “You seemed so bothered by it, I didn’t want it to effect how we were, also I was worried.” “Worried?”

“That you’d think I was using you to climb rank, to get higher in the Serpents.” He shakes his head laughing. “I’m not even in the Serpents babe.” You nod. “Well if you joined them I mean.” He nods chewing his lip for a moment before you switch the topic to Archie and Veronica’s drama.

He assures you, you don’t need to hide your relationship because he’s ashamed but wants to keep it quiet until the drama settle a bit, he doesn’t want you getting hurt. You don’t mention that half the Serpent’s know, how if anyone targeted you they’d take care of it. You don’t mention the talks they give you about how problematic it’ll be if it gets out. How they’re determined to keep it a secret, to keep both of you safe and away from people who want to make FP suffer. You spend at least two hours every week assuring them that it’s still unknown, despite everyone being aware you’re a Serpent at Riverdale they don’t seem keen to attack you.

Of course you know that’s not true, the glares and veiled threats you’d been getting were something you kept hidden. You could handle a few cruel words from some Bulldogs, nothing new. You’re riding on the back of his bike, it’s easier than walking to school, and as you slide of you can feel someone watching you.

You shake it off walking into the school, confused how everyone stares at you. You make it to your locker and understand, the contents of it thrown to the ground soaked in what you assume is pigs blood, until you look up, choking slightly, the snakes nailed by there necks into your locker door. You nervously open the door; the lock barely connected as it had been forced open. You let the door swing open, as Jughead pulls you back, at least five beheaded snakes falling from it. You reach for the ones nailed to the door, you want to pull them down, they didn’t deserve this you think, but Jughead’s arms hold you back, he pulls you away physically moving you so you don’t look at them.

“I’m sorry.” He speaks when you get back to his trailer, wrapping his arms around you. You shake your head. “It has nothing to do with you, it’s just because I’m a serpent.” He rests his head on yours. “I’m guessing the others will throw a fit about it when they find out?” You shrug. “I’m not going to tell them. There’s no need to involve them, they don’t go to Riverdale, no need to cause more tension right now. Besides I’d much rather forget what happened for now.” “Pop’s then?” You shrug and arch an eyebrow. “So you’re not hungry then?”

“No for Pop’s.” You can tell he’s about to list off every other food place he can think of so you grab him and pull him towards you kissing him. “And this is how you want to forget the snake issue then?” He pulls apart and you smile at him. “What better way to distract from snakes than with another snake?” You question as his hand traces over your jeans where your tattoo is.

You wake up wrapped in is arms and you can almost pretend there weren’t dead snakes in your locker the other day. Jughead opens his eyes kissing you good morning and you stretch intent on making coffee. He glares at his phone tossing it on the table, you turn as it lights up.

“Just the Serpent’s wondering if you’re okay, apparently news spreads quickly. Also they know we’re dating?” You nod, handing him a cup.

“It’s not like we hid it anywhere we go.” You say and he nods thoughtfully before pulling you into his lap as he sits moving his laptop out of the way.

“Shouldn’t you be off helping solve some mystery?” He shakes his head beaming at you.

“Gotta make sure my girl’s safe.” You don’t say anything about how his hands tighten around you, or about how you un-tense, relieved he’s not leaving you for today.

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[barkkletshunt]

Those Worth Fighting For Part four

Have you ever seen a fic update so fast? Four updates in two days?

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part five 

Part six

Part seven

Part eight 

“While I like the idea of them having a red, green, and gold colour scheme going on, don’t you think it would have too much of a christmas theme and take away from the magic of their wedding?” Marinette sat on the same couch as Felix did, across from Kagami and Adrien who, despite their careful appearances, looked frazzled. 

“But those are our favourite colours,” Adrien tried, but Felix held his hand up to stop his cousin.

“Your wedding is in late spring, if you think for a moment that christmas colours are appropriate for that time of year then you need to hand over your fathers fashion industry to me right now.” Felix sipped at his now cold cup of coffee. “If anything, we could do red and gold and have green accents if we used things like leaves and give it a more rustic feel.”

“But that wouldn’t go well with their general aesthetic. They need to look like a king and queen, not a cottagecore couple.” Marinette countered. “I think we could go with a green, gold, and cream theme. That way they both get one of their favourites while keeping with the posh style. Either way, no matter what gold has to be a part of it. That I will not budge on.”

“If we made Adrien’s tie green it would bring out his eyes more.” Felix hummed, looking over at his co-planner. “You have good tastes, Marinette.”

“Why thank you, Felix, your tastes aren’t so bad yourself.” She said back. 

The two planners had successfully gotten their way with the wedding with everything they had put forth. Marinette’s ideas were either on point with Felix’s or close to it so the planning was going a lot easier than either of them had expected. Both had spent enough time with the bride and groom to know their likes and dislikes and due to their fashion background they knew what they were doing. 

They were unstoppable, not that Kagami and Adrien even tried. They saw the fire that was lit behind their companions' eyes and knew better, and it wasn’t like they didn’t like anything their friends had said. In fact, the more the two spoke the more excited Kagami and Adrien felt about the upcoming event. 

“Why don’t we make the groomsmen wear gold ties, just so that Adriens tie doesn’t fade in with the rest of them.” Marinette rambled, showing Felix the designs she had tucked away in her portfolio that she refused to show Kagami. “If you wear green too your eyes will stand out and Adrien is supposed to be the one people are paying attention to.”

“Should the bridesmaids wear green then? If that dress design is anything to go by we don’t want Kagami to blend in with the other girls.” Felix hummed, sliding closer to Marinette without thinking about it. “Can’t have you stealing the show from the bride, you know.”

Marinette’s face grew warm at the compliment, even if it did match her unintentional flirting moments earlier. The added proximity didn’t help, but she could pull herself together. This was Felix, after all, and despite how nice he had been that evening she still needed to see more of him before passing a proper judgement on him. 

The two planners missed the looks between the future Mr. and Mrs Agreste. 

“Well, after the akuma attack today I feel exhausted. I think I shall turn in tonight, since the two of you have it covered.” Kagami said as she stood from her seat. 

“Did you want me to make you a coffee?” Adrien asked innocently enough, but was immediately shut down.

“No, if I have a coffee now I won’t sleep.” Kagami raised her brow at her fiance, wondering if he had caught her drift yet. “And you have business to take care of in the morning. Let’s leave the planning to these two, shall we?”

The blonde man abruptly stood up, realizing what she was getting at. “Oh, oh! Yeah! Of course! They don’t really need our input for any of this stuff anyways, and I’m definitely beat after that sentimonster. We should go to bed.”

The owners of the house bid their goodnights and quickly escaped from the room, leaving Marinette and Felix sitting there dumbfounded. 

“Have, have they always been that obvious in their plans?” Felix finally asked, breaking the silence that had stretched on after their friend's departure. 

Marinette shook her head, “I have only seen them like that once when they were trying to plan a surprise birthday party for me.”

“And how well did that go for them?”

“Adrien ordered the cake from my parents bakery over the phone, but didn’t realize that I was the one taking his order.” Marinette recalled the look of horror on Adrien’s face when he had come to pick the cake up the day prior, and had begged Marinette not to tell Kagami he blew it. “For someone so smart he can be really oblivious, you know.”

“I did live with him for two years, I am well aware of how he can be.” Felix snorted. He shifted positions so he was facing towards Marinette. “I think it actually turned me into a better person, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” Marinette mirrored his position on the couch. Adrien was an open book to her, she could ask him anything about himself and he’d answer her, and when she asked about his time in England he never said much about it. She couldn’t miss hearing about it from a second party, though. Especially when her friend was the cause of someone becoming a better person.

“Well, as I’m sure you are aware I was a terrible teenager.” Felix started.

“What? You? The man who deleted my love confession and mocked our friends?” Marinette jokingly pushed his shoulder. “I don’t believe it.”

Felix grinned, “I know, I know. I’m such a saint now. I wasn’t sure if you had even recognized me at first.”

“It was a bit difficult without those devil horns you used to wear.”

“Oh those? Those were natural. Grew them myself. Kind of miss them, actually.” 

The two laughed for a moment, enjoying their friendly banter that seemed to come so easily to them. 

“Okay,” Marinette giggled, “tell me how our sweet sunshine child managed to change the demon known as Felix.”

“Well, when he first moved in I was sent into a whirlwind of emotion.” Felix started, “I was still angry that Adrien had abandoned me when my father had died because his father wouldn’t let him call or text us, but I also knew how terrible it was to lose a father even if it was only to a lifetime imprisonment. I had so much baggage that I took it out on him. I think I made the first few weeks of his stay with us hell.”

The blonde man shifted, no longer wanting to look her in the eye as he confessed to his crimes. It didn’t take a trained psychoanalyst to see the regret he felt coming out and causing him to fidget. 

“It was when he transferred into my school and started to get bullied that I changed my tune.” Marinette was shocked. Adrien was so loveable and kind, how could anyone have bullied him? Then it donned on her. He was a terrorist's son. “People would shove notes in his locker with butterflies on it, or draw on his desk, and he’d just smile and say that they must have been doing it because of his fathers fashion symbol being a butterfly. Perhaps he wasn’t oblivious to it, but purposefully ignorant. No one would want to believe their father was the supervillian of Paris after all.”

“It was then that I decided to switch my targets from my cousin to those bullying him, and oh was I ever brutal. I had a few of them expelled for harassment, some I actually got physical with since they assumed I was Adrien. Either way, it was my school and I wasn’t going to let anyone insult my cousin. That was my job.” Felix’s brows pulled together. “It was the fights that got Adrien to step in. He reminded me that the emotions of people were complicated things, and that they were acting out more out of fear than actual hatred towards him. He told me what he actually needed wasn’t another bodyguard, but someone to lead his PR campaign.” 

Marinette remembered when Adrien’s image in the media had changed the first time, when he went from brilliant model to the heir to Hawkmoth's legacy. It had taken almost another full year of Adrien working harder than he ever had before to show the world that he wasn’t a monster, and it still took a live interview from Ladybug herself to convince the rest of the public that there was no way Adrien was involved in any of his fathers crimes nor was he a holder of a miraculous. It had been a wild ride from start to finish, but all considering it only took two whole years to get Adrien back in the world's good graces when the sunshine boy didn’t think he’d ever be able to live it down. 

“I spearheaded Adrien’s redemption. We donated to so many relief funds, I used our similar appearances to go onto talk shows to give a more calculated interviews. I did everything in my power to make people realize how inherently good Adrien is, and it worked.” Felix let out a long breath before turning a kind smile towards her. “But by the time all of that was done I had changed. I had become a person Adrien was proud of, and now I am here planning his wedding with his best friend. Whom, might I add, he talked about almost as much as he did his own girlfriend.”

“Now if you could have told me that, say, five years ago I would have been ecstatic.” Marinette set her portfolio down on the coffee table as she remembered how intense her crush for Adrien used to be. “But I am long over my crush on Adrien.”

“I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“Hm?” Marinette tilted her head to the side, not sure what he was talking about.

“Deleting your confession.” He explained. “It was wrong of me. I was jealous and petty and I’m sorry.”

Marinette wasn’t angry anymore, even if she wanted to be. Felix wasn’t the same as he was all those years ago and neither was she. It was silly for her to hold onto all that anger when he had changed himself so completely. 

“I am, however, not sorry you didn’t end up with my cousin.” He grinned. “Now I might have a chance.”

Maybe not so completely.

“In your dreams, devil boy!”

[every-bad-thing]

You Get One Free Donkey a Week, Every Week, for Life

One day you get a donkey. Everyone in your family does, actually. Someone dropped them off earlier in the morning, saying these donkeys are now yours, courtesy of the government, and left before anyone could say anything. So now there's all these donkeys in the house. They start running around, breaking furniture and generally making a mess of the place. They calm down a few minutes later, but you're all still wondering what exactly you're going to do with all these donkeys, and why the government gave them to you in the first place. Someone turns on the news, which was seldom followed in this house, and hears the president explain that the donkeys will be good for the economy. And the president is asked how by a reporter, to which he replies that the donkeys will operationalize sovereign revenue via targeted reimbursements vis a vis the dynamic variable class commodity types available on even-numbered days. To which the response, from both the reporter and the family, is 'huh.'

The president says that is why every man, woman and child in this country will receive one free donkey a week, every week, for life. That, he says, is our promise to this nation.

He adds, too, that you are not allowed to sell them, kill them, or otherwise get rid of them. Trying to do any of these things will result in severe punishment. And on that note, the news turns to the weather. Sure enough, a week passes, and more donkeys arrive. You lead them out to your yard, where your family has set up a small pen for the others. Already you can tell it's starting to get crowded.

Another week passes. When the next batch of donkeys arrive, you beg and plead to send them back, that your family cannot possibly take any more, you just don't have the room, but you are told gruffly that it's for your own good, and to trust them. He leaves you with the new donkeys.

More weeks pass. The donkeys in the yard are crammed shoulder to shoulder, barely able to move.People are protesting in the streets by the millions. The cry is loud and clear, from coast to coast, 'no more donkeys!' The president addresses the nation, saying that their demands have been heard, but the economy needs donkeys, as many donkeys as possible, or else the entire system will crash, and so the program must continue. Your heart sinks when you realize it's only a year into the term.

Time goes by. The donkeys keep coming. At this point your family has moved to the countryside,where they could roam and get some space. The problem is everyone else had that same idea. As a result, what should have been a spacious and relaxing dwelling, where the donkeys stay outdoors, becomes a dense, crowded hive of hee-haws and brays that stretch on for miles. The only thing giving you hope is that the president is extremely unpopular because of the donkey program. Someone else, anyone else, would surely be better, right?

Over the months, there's eventually just two candidates left in the primary to face the president. One is a senator who says the donkey program must end immediately, and people should have the right to get rid of their donkeys and live a donkey-free existence. And the other is a governor who says the president's got it all wrong because what should really be sent to people, once a week, every week, for life, is wolverines. Wolverines will both solve the donkey problem as well as revive the flagging wolverine breeding industry. You have absolutely no idea why, but somehow, someway, this is who wins.

Now it's the person who sends you a donkey every week against the person who thinks you should be getting a wolverine every week instead. You watch the world argue furiously over what animal is better to have hundreds of at a time. You, yourself, are torn, but if you had to choose you'd rather switch to wolverines because they're smaller and easier to isolate. You're in luck,  because that's who wins. And now instead of a yard full of donkeys, your family's got a closet of wolverines. This, you think, is progress

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[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #179

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re building the other half of Team Tyrannical Shooting Star, Artoria (Rider Alter)! This version of Artoria is totally a maid, and as such she’s a Battle Master Fighter to coach other servants while wielding sniper rifles and swords, a Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer so she can fight in a swimsuit, and a Zeal Cleric to clean up the battlefield through sheer force of will.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Team Satisfaction H∴T∴E!

Race and Background

Artoria’s still human, but she’s a copy of a copy, so that’s pretty Variant if you ask me. This gives her +1 Dexterity and Charisma, the Insight skill for better... maiding? She also gets the Sharpshooter feat, which lets you ignore disadvantage from long range shots so you can sniper with your rifle, ignore all but full cover, and you can take a -5 penalty to hit with a ranged weapon to deal an extra 10 damage. Basically: boom, headshot.

You’re also a variant Noble for your background, grabbing proficiency with History and swapping out Persuasion for Intimidation. We’ve played this song and dance before.

Ability Scores

In case you couldn’t tell from the feat, we’re investing heavily in Dexterity this time around. Turns out, firing a sniper rifle from the back of a moving motorcycle requires good balance. You also have pretty good Wisdom- you can’t hit a target before you see it, and you can’t clean a mess before you find it either. Third is Charisma, you’re pretty intimidating, and you’ve got to know how to conduct yourself to be a proper maid. Your Constitution isn’t terrible, riding on waves isn’t easy. Your Strength isn’t that high, we just don’t need it, but we’re dumping Intelligence. Your skills in maidery come from persistence, not know-how.

Class Levels

1. Fighter 1: Staring off as a fighter gives you plenty of goodies right off the bat; proficiency with Strength and Constitution saves, as well as Acrobatics and Perception for the aforementioned sniping off a motorcycle, the Archery fighting style for more accurate shots, and Second Wind to heal yourself as a bonus action. Knowing when to sharpen your axe is half the battle of chopping down a tree.

2. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge once per short rest, giving you an extra action for a turn. Maids need to be able to handle a thousand tasks at once, after all.

3. Cleric 1: Bouncing over to Zeal Cleric now makes you a Priest of Zeal right away, letting you attack as a bonus action after you attack with your action Wisdom Modifier times per long rest. You can now (to a limited capacity) dual wield a gun and a sword. You also learn some Spells that use your Wisdom to cast and prepare. Included in the zeal package is Searing and Thunderous Smite in case you wanted to feel like a paladin again.

You also get Guidance to coach your allies, Mending to mend things, and Light to light your master’s way at night since your dumb human eyes don’t work at night. For other spells, Detect Poison and Disease will alert you to areas of filth, and Purify Food and Drink will let you dust a 5′ radius sphere of food to remove it. That is the purpose of dusting, right?

4. Sorcerer 1: We aren’t staying here long, but I wanted to pick up your Draconic Bloodline for your Draconic Resilience, giving you an extra hit point and an AC of 13 + your dexterity modifier while not wearing armor. You also get Draconic Ancestry to double your proficiency bonus against dragons.

You also get another set of Spells, this time using your Charisma to cast. Grab Booming Blade, True Strike, and Magic Missile for more combat focused spells, Friends to make your intimidation checks even easier, Mage Hand to swap weapons more easily, and Expeditious Retreat to speed yourself up. You’re relying on Nero for your bike, but it wouldn’t hurt to be good at running either.

5. Fighter 3: Bouncing back to fighter now for your martial archetype; the Battle Master! When you become a battle master you become a Student of War, giving you proficiency with one type of artisan’s tools. Unfortunately they forgot to make cleaning supplies and option, but you can always go with Cook’s Utensils for the added bonus of getting to feed yourself.

You also get Combat Superiority, four d8s that recharge on short rest. You can spend one die per attack (or in another way, depending on the maneuver) to switch up how your attack works, adding extra effects.

Commander’s Strike forgoes your own attack to give another ally the chance to attack as a reaction, and they add the d8 to their damage. Your Commanding Presence gives you a bonus to your intimidation checks (among others). You also get a Maneuvering Attack, adding the die to your damage and letting an ally move as a reaction without provoking attacks from the target you just hit. If you really want them to move, you can always shoot them instead.

6. Fighter 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to become a Crossbow Expert. This lets you ignore loading on crossbows so you can use Priest of Zeal on your sniper rifle, ignore disadvantage on ranged attacks while enemies are within 5′ of you, and you can officially dual wield a crossbow with your excalibur without needing Priest of Zeal, opening it up for that snipering I was talking about a few clauses back.

7. Fighter 5: Fifth level fighters get an Extra Attack, giving you two attacks per action, three per turn while dual-wielding, or 4-5 with your action surge. Get more done faster, the essence of maiding.

8. Cleric 2: At second level, clerics can Channel Divinity once per short rest in one of two ways. Saying you can Turn Undead is a bit of a stretch, but a lot of ghosts are casters, so I doubt they’d be happy to see you. Alternatively, your Consuming Fervor lets you maximize the damage of one thunder or fire effect for more effective grenades. Only the best; this attention to detail is why you’re a professional.

9. Cleric 3: Third level clerics get second level spells, like your freebies Magic Weapon and Shatter for a better excalibur and a stun grenade. You can also use Enhance Ability for more coaching, and Lesser Restoration to fix up old cars. Wait, that’s not what that spell does?

10. Cleric 4: Use this ASI to bump up your Wisdom for better maidliness and stronger spells.

11. Cleric 5: Fifth level clerics see their turn undead become Destroy Undead, instantly killing any zombies or the like of CR 1/2 or lower who fail their wisdom save.

You also get third level spells this level, like Fireball for a bigger grenade and Haste to turn whatever nonsense Nero builds into a proper racing machine. Speaking of, you’ve got to get your motorcycle seaworthy for your noble phantasm, so pick up Water Walk so it won’t sink.

12. Cleric 6: At sixth level you can Channel Divinity twice per rest, and as a zeal cleric you also get a Resounding Strike when dealing thunder damage to creatures, pushing them up to 10 feet away. You’re a maid, it would just be weird if you couldn’t sweep people off the battlefield.

13. Fighter 6: Use this ASI to become more Alert, to give yourself a +5 initiative bonus, immunity to surprise, and to prevent hidden creatures from attacking with advantage. A maid’s job is never done.

14. Fighter 7: As a seventh level battle master, you Know Your Enemy, letting you spend 1 minute to figure out two characteristics of your enemy. You find out if it is better than, worse than, or equal to you in the following: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, AC, current HP, Total class levels, and fighter class levels. You also get a 5th die each short rest.

You also get two more maneuvers. Pushing Attack continues that sweeping theme from last time by dealing more damage and pushing the enemy away if they fail a strength save (dc 8+proficiency+dexterity modifier), and Tactical Assessment adds the die to your Investigation, History, or Insight check.

15. Fighter 8: Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity for more accurate shots and more powerful pushes.

16. Fighter 9: Nine levels of fighter make you Indomitable, letting you re-roll a failed save once per long rest.

17. Fighter 10: Your Improved Combat Superiority makes all your maneuvers more deadly, by turning your superiority dice into d10s.

On top of that, you get one more round of maneuvers. Grab a Precision Attack to add the die to your attack roll rather than the damage for super sniping and Sweeping Attack mostly for the name. It lets you attack a second creature with the same roll as the first, dealing the superiority die in damage.

18. Fighter 11: Eleventh level fighters get another Extra Attack each action, and this one does stack with the original, giving you 3 attacks with one action, 4 with your bonus action added in, and up to 7 when you use your action surge.

19. Fighter 12: Use your last ASI for more Wisdom, giving you stronger spells and more Priest of Zeal activations.

20. Fighter 13: Your capstone level gives you a second use of Indomitable each long rest. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s extra protection, which is never a bad thing.

Pros:

Thanks to sharpshooter you have a massive range of combat, and thanks to spells like haste and Nero’s vehicles you’ll have plenty of speed to make the most use of them.

You can deal pretty consistent damage thanks to your bevy of attacks and the sharpshooter feat helping you put holes in heads from hundreds of feet away.

Despite your distance from the rest of the party, maneuvers only have a range based on sight and hearing, so you can freely support the party by giving them extra attacks, and helping them get out of sticky situations with maneuvering strikes, resounding strikes, and pushing attacks. You’re also pretty helpful outside of combat with healing and spells like Enhance Ability to help with skill challenges.

Cons:

While not terrible, your health isn’t great thanks to that dip into cleric and sorcerer. I wouldn’t call it bad necessarily, just try extra hard not to get cornered.

Even with Tactical Assessment helping out a bit, you’ve still got a low intelligence, which might make the more intellectual parts of maiding a bit harder than they need to be.

While your physical attacks are super long range, you’ve still got normal spell ranges, meaning you can’t take full advantage of the sharpshooter feat if you want to chuck grenades as well.