#to deal with the horrors . sometimes we get a taste as to how Weird it is being a nation and italy has been the example piece

[willyhoos]

bro has been in the timeloop for so long he has begun to view his friends deaths as obstacles instead of tragedies😭😭😭💀

[williamkisser]

♡— The Mercenary and Forward when they’re sick

♡— I don’t know how to start…. here we are. I was talking with @fishermanshook some time ago on discord about random stuff as always when i expressed that i feel like writing something. I discussed it a little, i started writing a draft on tumblr and ended up writing something completely diffrent lol. But anyways. If you know me from my @williaml0ver account you’re most likely aware i retired from writing like… three months ago? I just gave up on doing it. But now that time passes i feel quite rested and ready to write something silly. Maybe from time to time i may write something more. Either way, i hope you all enjoy writing my goofy fic.

♡— Warnings: g/n reader, short fluffy hcs, a little over 400 words for each character

♡— You instantly received some mixed signals from the rugby player when he refused to wear warmer clothes on the way to his match. Sure, the days were still fairly warm, however at nights it could get really cold. William, who seemed very bold before going out, is now tucked in his bed with two blankets on.

♡— At first, the Forward feels embarrassed. He should have listened. William would like to pretend everything if fine to save his pride, but he can’t hide the symptoms even if his life depended on it. When he sneezes, it’s like if there was a small earthquake in the room - at least from what you can hear in the other room.

♡— This man leads a healthy lifestyle. Obviously, he is an athlete. He also eats a lot, mostly healthy food and has a consistent diet. You barely see him ill. But when he IS, he can be very unbearable, only calm when he’s asleep. Thank god he gets back to his shape swiftly.

♡— Inevitably, the signs of William’s illness grow stronger with time. Still, it’s just an ordinary cold, but judging by his dramatic behaviour you’d think you’ve got a victorian baby about to die from fever.

♡— That’s right. Being sick is never a fun thing, but William plans to make the best out of it. He loves being babied by you. He’s a cute menace. Constantly whimpering or whining that he’s dying and needs cuddles and kisses. He will convince you to snuggle together, knowing there’s a risk of you catching the cold as well.

♡— Whenever you’re not around, he would play with his plushies by throwing them up the ceiling and then catch them. Obviously, if one of them falls on the floor, he will specifically call for you to pick them up. Later on, he claims to already feel better, which obviously is not true. He’d get scolded for going to the toilet on bare feet, without slippers on. Much to your horror, William even takes off his fuzzy pajama and starts walking around only with his boxers on. He claims the sweat is unbearable. To avoid such situations, he needs some entertainment. Maybe play board games together? Or just have a nice chat. He’d also appreciate it if you read him a bedtime story and cuddled together.

♡— When it comes to medicine, William struggles with swallowing pills. For some reason, he just can’t do it. He needs all of his medicine as liquid, and still he would complain a little, claiming the taste is unbearable. If there’s no drinkable alternative, you may as well attempt to blackmail him into swallowing. Just say you won’t cuddle with him anymore, he’ll swallow those pills immediately.

♡— Overall, when sick, William turns into a baby. Like i said, he’s only calm when he’s sleeping.

♡— As a Mercenary, Naib has to deal and interact with a lot of people, dead and alive. He is, of course, always very cautious. There is literally no room for a mistake at a job like this, which means he pays a lot of attention to hygiene. Obviously, even if someone tries to avoid illness, everyone can get sick sometimes. Mercenaries included.

♡— When Naib’s approaching home, he begins to feel some sort of weird feeling in his throat. One thing leads to another and quickly enough he starts sneezing and feeling cold. The first feeling that comes to his head is confusion. Is this sickness going to develop further? Will he be able to continue his duties the next day? As soon as he comes home, he actually seeks medicine, but he doesn’t explicitly tell you that he’s caught a cold - though there will be signs. There’s just a growing feeling of unnecessary shame in his mind. He wishes for both of you to live peacefully, without worrying for money, so he considers to continue, despite being sick.

♡— Naib, just like William is a healthy man. He has his routine and is fit, he also eats healthy. He gets ill a little more often than the Forward, but still, it’s a rather rare occurence when you see him coughing. Surprisingly enough, when you realize he’s sick, he doesn’t protest when you tell him to rest. Naib is actually calm and obedient. As much as weak and uncomfortable the virus makes him feel, he probably enjoys not having to be in charge from time to time. He as well heals fast.

♡— The Mercenary tries to stop the cold before it starts to intensify. He stays in bed and takes the needed medicine, but it is sadly no help. Yet, he won’t make a big scene of it. You might hear him complain about having a sore throat here and there, but it’s not constant.

♡— He won’t mind, and will be actually grateful when you take care of him, but he’s capable of healing on his own. It’s up to you if you want to take the risk and cuddle with him, Naib won’t force you, although he’d like it a lot. Usually, you’re the one clinging to the Mercenary when sleeping, to your surprise, for this period he becomes a greedy cuddle bug. You may tell him that he’s gripping you a little to rough.

♡— Whenever you’re not around, at first he’d probably find a way to kill time. Would appreciate it if you brought him a book. While going through illness, his appetite, which already is quite big by default, would raise drastically. You should control him a little, unless you want to see him running to the toilet every ten minutes. After some time, Naib states that he already feels stronger and wants to help around the house, which you should not allow him to. Make sure he’s not overworking himself. While he usually prefers to sleep in boxers and a tank top, for sick days he actually dresses up in his pajama.

♡— About medicine, he won’t complain about it and will take whatever you offer him, Naib however is an avid enjoyer of natural medicine, saying that the factory-made one doesn’t taste that great. Both ways are fine though. Maybe prepare some warm tea for him?

♡— Overall, taking care of a sick Naib is a pleasant experience. He is very calm and doesn’t make much hustle.

Idv x reader tag how are you guys feeling today……. im kind of eepy…….. it’s almost 2am yippee

[danicamaximoff]

Pretend To Be Nice | Chapter Four

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Chapter Four: 70's Funk?

Summary: A few months after forming their band "The Pussycats", Hazel and her friends PJ and Josie get noticed by a record label, and are quickly skyrocketed into fame. It's a dream come true for them, and all three of their lives are flipped upside down. Their quick arrival on the scene quickly draws the attention of many other artists and bands, including a popular girl band called "Nymphology". Unfortunately for Hazel, a mix-up and unintentional awful encounter ends up creating tension between the two groups right before they all leave for Nymphology's upcoming tour. Now forced to frequently interact with someone who she was convinced couldn't stand her, Hazel is desperately trying to fix things with the band's lead guitarist. However it doesn't help that Y/N is actively avoiding Hazel as much as possible, and the fact that Hazel found her insanely hot definitely didn't make things any easier.

Warnings: angst, rockstar au, eventual smut, slowburn, swearing, occasional alcohol mentions/use

Word Count: 4377

“Should we get mac and cheese?” Josie asks as she pushes the shopping cart as her and Hazel wander through the grocery store aisles to get a few snacks and food for their hotel room.

“Like the microwave one or the stove one?” Hazel asks as she furrows her brows.

“Either one.” Josie says as she shrugs.

“Josie, we don't have a stove in the hotel.” Hazel says as she shakes her head. “Or literally any cooking items.”

“You can make boxed mac in the microwave, I do it all the time at Sarah Lawrence.” Josie says with a shrug as she looks at Hazel.

“That sounds disgusting.” Hazel says as she scrunches up her face a bit.

“I mean it tastes the same for the most part, mac is mac. You just have to get the shell ones or sometimes the noodles clump together and then I guess it’s a little weird.” Josie says as she grabs a few boxes of mac and cheese as well as the microwavable cups.

“Do you know when we hear from Wyatt if we get a record deal or not? Oh shit.” Hazel asks as she absentmindedly runs her hand along the shelf tags, eyes going wide as she accidentally knocks a few of them to the ground, mentally panicking as she immediately grabs them and starts trying to put them back in their spots. “Oh hey, we should get gummy worms too.”

“I mean the meeting is today, so we should find out soon.” Josie says as she shrugs. “What happens if they sign us?”

“I dunno? We make a record?” Hazel says as she looks over at Josie.

“No, like, are we staying in the hotel the whole time? I don’t want to live in a hotel.” Josie says as she gives Hazel a look.

“I mean we’d probably get an apartment, wouldn’t we?” Hazel says as she gets a confused look.

“I can’t afford Los Angeles!” Josie says as her eyes go wide in horror. “I can barely afford mac and cheese! How am I supposed to pay for an apartment?”

“Well they would pay us right? Plus it’s cool, if we get signed I can probably ask my mom to chip in or something. I’m pretty sure she has a beach house out here that she vacations at with boyfriends. My dad bought it for her when they were still together as an “I’m Sorry I Cheated” house. I heard them fighting about it in middle school.” Hazel says as she shrugs. “I can see if we can use it or something.”

“You never told me your dad cheated?” Josie asks with a confused and shocked look on her face.

“Well, yeah. You never asked, I didn’t think it was important.” Hazel says as she shrugs.

“I mean, you don’t have to, but I would tell you if something like that happened. You’re one of my best friends.” Josie says with a shrug.

“Wait, really?” Hazel says as she gets a surprised look on her face.

“Hazel, we’re literally in a band together and we hang out all the time.” Josie says as she gives Hazel a funny look.

“Yeah but I thought it’s mostly you and PJ doing stuff and me just tagging along.” Hazel says with a slightly confused look.

“What? No!” Josie says as she gives Hazel a confused look. “Hazel, you’re like the main reason the band exists, and I wouldn’t have come if you didn’t convince me.” Josie says as she shakes her head.

“PJ said you agreed to join the band because she said you’d get a girlfriend.” Hazel says as she frowns and gives Josie a confused look as well.

“Hazel, PJ says a lot of stuff.” Josie says as she rolls her eyes. “I love her, but she just talks to talk half the time. I never even wanted to be in a band, it scares the crap out of me, dude. I know I complained about the bowling alley a lot, but playing at the party was like the worst stage fright I’ve ever experienced.” Josie says as she shakes her head while grabbing a few grocery items off the shelves and into the cart she was pushing.

“But then why’d you-” Hazel starts to say before Josie cuts her off.

“Because I remembered you had always wanted to be in a band. Didn’t you have an obsession with Kiss or something when you were younger?” Josie says as she glances at Hazel.

  “I did, I went as Paul Simmons for Halloween one year.” Hazel says as she nods.

“See? That’s why I joined. You love music, and you do all the hard stuff like getting outfits and gigs and everything, I just have to show up and play, which is good because I think if I had any other responsibilities I would crumble under the pressure because I get anxious enough about performing.” Josie says as she shakes her head.

“I thought you guys didn’t like the cat ears?” Hazel says as she furrows her brows in confusion.

“I thought they were kind of fun.” Josie says as she shrugs. “I mean, I wouldn’t have cared if we didn’t wear them, but it was a cool idea. And people liked it and it fits with the band name.” Josie says as she shrugs. “I think it should be part of our outfits.”

“Wait, really?” Hazel asks as her face lights up with excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me I was the reason you joined?” 

“Because PJ takes over, so when she says we’re doing this to get girlfriends, you kind of just have to go along with it.” Josie says as she gives Hazel a look.

“I was never doing it to get a girlfriend. I just like the drums.” Hazel says as she furrows her brows.

“Yeah, but you can also say no to PJ, cause you don’t care. She’s my best friend so I just kind of go along with things after a bit.” Josie says as she shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Hazel says as she shrugs, before realizing something irrelevant to the conversation. “Oh I forgot to tell you, that girl you like is at the same studio as us. You know, the one from Nymphology with the like-” Hazel starts to say as she gestures at her chest where hair would be if she had long hair, but Josie cuts her off as she starts nervously laughing.

“Oh my god, please don’t remind me!” Josie says as she stops walking and leans her head against her arms as they rest on the shopping cart. “I already met her, and I almost threw up.” 

“What? You threw up?!” Hazel asks in shock as she gives Josie an alarmed look.

“No! God I would die if I did! I wasn’t being serious! I was just a total idiot when I talked to her!” Josie says as her eyes go wide and she shakes her head.

“What’d you say? I mean it probably wasn’t that bad, you’re a very likeable person.” Hazel says as her face scrunches up in confusion.

“Well I saw her, and I choked on the water I was drinking, and then she came over and asked if I was okay, and I said yeah, and then she was like “I’m Isabel” and I was like “I’m Josie” and then I stared at her for like a second and then looked away, and then I asked if she liked water because I couldn’t think of anything to say.” Josie says awkwardly as she looks up at the ceiling.

“Well did she?” Hazel asks.

“Did she what?” Josie asks Hazel with a confused look.

“Did she like water?” Hazel says as she looks at Josie expectantly.

“Yes. She did. Everyone does, Hazel, you need it to live.” Josie says as she looks at Hazel a bit in disbelief. 

“Well now you have something in common!” Hazel says as she smiles a bit, clearly thinking she was being helpful, as Josie sighs and shakes her head.

“We gotta work on how you comfort people, dude.” Josie says as she gives Hazel a look.

“What’s wrong with how I comfort people?” Hazel says as she furrows her brows in confusion.

“It’s not that there’s something wrong, you just-” Josie says before sighing. “I just mean that if you weren’t one of my best friends and I didn’t know you, I would think you’re being a dick and making fun of me.”

“Oh, really? I thought that would be helpful, cause now you have something in common with her.” Hazel says as she shrugs. 

“I-” Josie starts to say before stopping and sighing a bit. “Thank you Hazel, that actually is helpful.” Josie says as she nods, though she definitely was just saying that to not make Hazel sad.

“Oh really? Sick!” Hazel says with a grin. “Oh you know what you should do? Mention moss! Because it can help you find water! And then you have two things to talk about!” Hazel says excitedly as they continue shopping.

“Hi mom!” Hazel says into the phone excitedly from her hotel room, feeling like she was about to pass out. She had just got back from the meeting with the record label, and The Pussycats had officially been signed for a three year contract, and if their first album did well, then that would most likely be extended. They started recording the rest of the album tomorrow, and the label agreed to pay for the hotel for the time being until the three of them found a place to live in. 

“Hi sweetheart! How are you!” Hazel’s mom says into the phone, sounding like she was yelling for some reason.

“Are you yelling? Why are you talking weird?” Hazel says with a confused tone.

“I’m on my elliptical right now, but I have a face mask and I’m doing that cucumber thing on my eyes! Annie said it will help with my bags and the dark circles! Annie, say hi to Hazel!” Her mom says over the phone, talking to her best friend Annie.

“Hi Hazel! How’s college?” Annie says in the background.

“No, Annie, she’s not at Sarah Lawerence right now, for that… that band thing.” Hazel’s mom says over the phone.

“Oh that’s right! How’s LA? Have you met Robert Downey Jr. yet?” Annie asks in the background, yelling as well.

“I’m here for music stuff, not movies.” Hazel says into the phone as she shakes her head.

“It could happen! If you meet him, tell him I’m single!” Annie yells, which makes Hazel roll her eyes.

“Yeah, sure, okay anyways, mom can I tell you my news now?” Hazel says impatiently.

“Yes, of course sweetheart! What is it? Annie shut up.” Her mom says over the phone.

“We got a record deal! The contract is for three years!” Hazel says excitedly, and her mother gasps over the phone.

“Oh my goodness! That’s amazing!” Her mom yells over the phone, though still clearly exercising as she talks. “Annie, did you hear that? Hazel’s going to be a musician!” 

“Yeah, I know! We start recording the album tomorrow!” Hazel says excitedly as she grins.

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart!” Her mom yells. “Siri! Siri! Si-Ri!” Her mom beggins yelling clearly trying to get her phone’s voice assistant to activate. “Annie why is Siri not working?” 

“Mom, why do you need Siri?” Hazel asks as she furrows her brows in confusion.

“I need to set a reminder to book a flight to LA!” She says to Hazel.

“What? Why?” Hazel asks, clearly confused by her mother’s sudden plans.

“Hazel, you’re going to be famous! I want to be there to see my little Witch Hazel spread her wings!” Her mom says into the phone, using a nickname from when Hazel was little, which makes Hazel groan.

“Mom, please stop calling me that! I’m not five anymore!” Hazel says with embarrassment.

“Siri! Siri! Oh for Christ's sake, Annie, I’m taking the cucumbers off.” Hazel’s mom says, before shuffling noise is heard as she seemingly grabs the phone. “Let me find a good flight, and I’ll fly out as soon as I can sweetheart!” She says excitedly, her voice significantly closer to the phone and not yelling as much since she was now holding the phone.

“No, mom you really don’t-” Hazel starts to say before her mom cuts her off.

“Do you girls need somewhere to stay? I assume you can’t be in a hotel the whole time.” Hazel’s mom says over the phone, which makes Hazel perk up.

“Yeah, actually! That’s part of why I called, I was wondering if we can rent out the beach house or something instead of getting an apartment, because PJ and Josie can’t afford rent out here.” Hazel says quickly. “We’d take really good care of it! We wouldn’t ruin it!”

“Oh, yeah, of course! We can sign you up for surfing lessons too, so you can be a California girl and get the full experience!” Hazel’s mom says with an excited tone.

“Oh I don’t really-” Hazel starts to say before she gets cut off again.

“No, no, no, trust me! You’ll want surfing lessons sweetheart! It’s very rockstar! Plus the instructors are usually hot. I had one a few years ago, what was his name?” Hazel’s mom says as she thinks for a second. “Well, I can’t remember, but I do remember he was very hot! We hooked up a lot that summer, he-” Hazel’s mom starts to say, before Hazel cuts her off.

“Ew, mom! I don’t want to hear about that!” Hazel says with a disgusted look on her face.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Her mom says defensively. “I’m just saying! They’re usually very hot!”

“Mom, I don’t even like men, you know this!” Hazel says, still disgusted at the topic.

“There’s girl instructors too!” Hazel’s mom says over the phone.

“Mom- I- No! I don’t- Can we go back to talking about the beach house?” Hazel says as she stumbles over her words.

“Alright, alright! I’m letting it go! Of course you can use the beach house sweetheart, we can work out all the details when I fly out. Anyways I have to go, I have a decorative bead making class in an hour and I have to change out of my workout clothes. I’ll text you the flight plans once I book it! I love you!” Hazel’s mom says before hanging up the phone, leaving Hazel confused.

“Decorative bead making class?” Hazel says to herself with confusion as Josie and PJ enter the hotel room.

“Hazel, there were the hottest girls at the pool just now, one of them was totally into me! I told you guys this was a good idea!” PJ says excitedly as she throws her towel down on one of the chairs in the hotel room.

“They looked at us like once, PJ.” Josie says as she gives PJ a look.

“Yeah and it was a “I’m totally into you” kind of look!” PJ says as she throws her arms up and looks at Josie. “Oh, Hazel, have you called your mom yet?” She asks as she flops down on the couch.

“Yeah! She said we can move into the beach house!” Hazel says with a smile.

“Fuck yeah!” PJ says excitedly as she punches the air.

“Hey guys? Have we like, put thought into what songs are going on the album?” Josie asks as she grabs a soda from the mini fridge.

“Shit!” PJ says as she sits up a bit.

“I mean I have, but it’s not-” Hazel starts to say as PJ cuts her off.

“Write it down! We need to have a plan for tomorrow! Fuck, Josie! Why’d you make me go to the pool!” PJ says as she panics a bit, as Josie throws her arm up in annoyance, as going to the pool had been PJ’s idea.

“Fuck, that’s not right.” Hazel says as she frowns and scribbles out the notes she wrote on the music sheet. She bites on her pencil for a moment as she thinks, before setting it down and readjusting the electric guitar she was holding and playing different note sequences over again as she tries to figure out the guitar part for a song.

She was currently the only one in the studio, PJ and Josie had left about thirty minutes ago to go grab dinner, but Hazel had stayed behind, determined to figure out this new song they were working on that had her stumped. She had already figured out the general beat and the chorus, but the more fine details and actual instrumentals to the song was frustrating her, as she couldn’t seem to figure out a vibe that she liked and matched with the vision she had for the song. Josie and PJ had tried to convince her to take a break, but she refused to leave until she figured this out, so here she was, alone with one of the electric guitars as she ran over the same section over and over again, trying to come up with something she liked. 

It had been about a week and a half since being signed, and they had been working constantly on the album, picking which songs, discussing with Wyatt, and had even decided to come up with a few new ones per Wyatt’s suggestion, giving them advice and his thoughts on what the album was missing. 

Staring off into space, she hums the general vibe of the song she had so far to herself, her fingers absentmindedly tap against the base of the guitar as she bites her lip a bit and thinks. Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice the sound of the door to the studio opening as she begins playing another random string of notes on the guitar, her brows furrowed in concentration.

“Is that for the album?” Y/N asks from the door, as she leans against the doorframe, making Hazel jump in her seat a bit.

“Oh my god, hi!” She says as she quickly turns and sees Y/N, heart immediately racing.

“Hi.” Y/N says as she grins softly. “They leave you in here by yourself?” She asks as she looks around at the empty recording studio.

“Oh, yeah. Josie and PJ went to go grab food but I wanted to stay and work on this new song we’re writing.” Hazel says as she smiles, trying not to show how nervous she is.

“Can I hear it? I promise I won’t steal it.” Y/N says with a small laugh, a teasing grin on her face that makes Hazel’s stomach do cartwheels.

“Oh it’s not- I mean- it’s- I’m still working on it. It’s in shambles right now.” Hazel says, nervously stumbling over her words.

“That’s okay, I won’t judge.” Y/N says with a laugh as she shakes her head. 

“Oh, I mean- uh, yeah sure, if you really want to then.” Hazel says as she nods a bit.

“Yeah, show me what you got so far.” She says with a smile as she walks inside, the studio door closing behind her as she goes and sits down on one of the chairs near Hazel.

“Okay, yeah. Um, so this song is supposed to be like towards the end of the album kind of. A lot of our songs are like in the alternative category, but Wyatt said we should add more variety to what we have so far, so we added a few slower ones, and for this one, PJ said she wanted it to be more “funky” but not 70’s, and I don’t really know what that means. We don’t even have all the lyrics either, it’s very unfinished right now.” Hazel says as she nervously runs a hand through her hair, avoiding eye contact with Y/N.

“What are you working on right now?” Y/N asks as she scoots a bit closer to see what Hazel had written down so far. “I can try and help if you want.”

“Really?” Hazel asks as she looks at her in shock.

“Yeah.” Y/N says as she smiles and nods her head. “Nymphology finished recording for the day, I was heading out but I saw someone was in here so I wanted to say hi in case it was you.” 

“Why me?” Hazel asks, both in shock and confusion.

“Well we didn’t really get to talk a few weeks ago, and I’m curious about the moss thing now, because I think it was Josie? But anyways, one of the girls in my band is named Isabel, and apparently Josie brought up moss the other day.” Y/N says as she laughs a bit. “I’m just curious now if that’s like a friend group thing or not.”

“No! It’s not! It’s my thing! I told Josie about it because she likes Isabel so I said she should bring up moss because they both like water, so it connects, and that’s what I do.” Hazel says quickly as she shakes her head, before her eyes go wide as she realizes what she said. “Shoot, don’t tell her I said that.” She says as Y/N laughs.

“So you bring up moss as a flirting tactic?” Y/N asks with a grin, which makes Hazel panic.

“What? What- No! No, I don’t- Sometimes, but like-” Hazel says as she immediately stumbles over her words and blushes a bit. “Anyways the song!” She says quickly as she turns back to the paper she had been writing on. What is wrong with me?! She thinks to herself as Y/N giggles. She was rarely like this around girls. Fuck. She seriously needed to ignore the fact that Y/N was super pretty and get her game back. Except when she actually thought about it, that was definitely very impossible. Double fuck. “Anyways, this is the part I’m trying to figure out right now.” Hazel says as she nervously runs her hand through her hair again before readjusting the guitar again, internally just a jumbled mess on nerves and anxiety as she begins playing what she had so far on the guitar.

“And your friend said she wanted it to be what? Funky but not 70’s?” Y/N asks after thinking for a minute, a quizzical expression on her face.

“Yeah.” Hazel says softly as she avoids eye contact, glancing all over, eyes falling on Y/N’s shoes though, as the red converse had a lot of doodles all over them.

“Can I see what else you have?” Y/N asks, a bit more serious now as Hazel hands her the papers and notes without saying anything. She reads over, her fingers tapping against the paper as she figures out the beat and the drum parts Hazel had so far. “I think the only “funky” kind of part should be the guitar. But even then less funky and more fun. Do you listen to Paramore?” She asks as she looks over at Hazel.

“Wh- Yeah, I do.” Hazel says as her head snaps up and she nods.

“I don’t know if this will make sense, but maybe coming up with something that sounds like how their album cover for After Laughter looks?” Y/N says as she shrugs and furrows her brows a bit.

“I- That does actually, yeah.” Hazel says as she nods.

“Like, hold on, let me think.” Y/N says as she furrows her brows for a moment. “Can I see that quick?” She asks as she gestures to the guitar. 

“Oh, yeah, here.” Hazel says as she hands her the guitar, heart unintentionally racing a bit as their hands accidentally brush against each other.

They spend a while going over random chord progressions and different melodies, until after a while, they had created a pretty solid backbone for the guitar part of the song, that Hazel and the others could flesh out more later. As time goes on Hazel gradually relaxes more, being able to focus on the song and music helping her distract herself from her nerves, and allowing her to start cracking jokes more and actually engage in conversation outside of the song and music stuff.

By the time Josie and PJ arrive, Y/N was telling Hazel about crazy fan experiences, and wild things that had happened to her and her friends over the years, laughing as she mentions the time she had created a fake twitter account and started beef with herself and how pissed the fans got at her burner account. 

“Hey, Hazel- Oh. Hi?” PJ says as she walks in, doing a double take when she sees Y/N.

“Hi.” Y/N says with a smile as she looks over at PJ and Josie. “I’m Y/N. I’m friends with Hazel.” She says as she smiles and gestures to Hazel, the statement making Hazel smile.

“We know. You’re in Nymphology.” Josie says as she nods a bit nervously.

“Mhmm.” Y/N says with a nod. “You’re Josie, right?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Josie says as she nods.

“Isabel’s told me about you.” Y/N says with a small giggle, making Josie blush and get a nervous smile on her face as she looks away, clearly worried about the fact Isabel had mentioned her to her bandmates.

“I’m PJ!” PJ quickly says as she stares at Y/N.

“Anyways, um, you should probably go, thanks for the help.” Hazel says quickly as she gathers the papers scattered around them.

“Oh, yeah of course, anytime.” Y/N says with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks. It was fun, I’ll see you soon probably.” Hazel says as she quickly gets up, immediately nervous and embarrassed again now that PJ and Josie were there.

“If you need any more help, let me know. It was nice meeting you guys.” Y/N says to Hazel before turning and smiling to PJ and Josie as she walks out, shutting the door behind her after waving bye.

“What the fuck?” PJ says in shock as her and Josie immediately look at Hazel, who was now heavily blushing as she fiddles with the shirt she was wearing.

I genuinely love writing this story its sm fun. I love Hazel she's so cute. Also I fr have no clue how record label stuff works so I'm kinda just pulling this out of my ass lmao. I'm like "yeah I watched Daisy Jones and The Six and can google basic steps for this, good enough" and then just hoped it would be accurate dfdhsfkjhej. dividers from @saradika and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more graphic made by me lol

[kakurelit]

Humans are terrifying

Recently (like today, a couple hours ago) I came across this whole "humans are weird" and "humans are space orcs" trend and I have been furiously reading every post I come across. The subject, besides enormously entertaining, feels like a collective sociology debate or something where we describe, using aliens as some sort of audience, the most diverse aspects of human nature. Like some metaphor we're using just to enjoy what we like about ourselves as species.

And, honestly, most of these post are wholesome, cute or even funny but for some reason I feel drown towards the ones that explore the darkest and more gruesome aspects of human, as species. Now bear with me because English isn't my first language but hear me out:

Humans as apex predators. Aggressive humans. The liars, the vicious, the wreckless... It probably goes on and on, since I know for sure I have only touched the tip of the iceberg in my reading.

So, what I'm trying to say it's that sure, it's cute to get along with other species and ride their ships and impress them with our special talents and "properties". But what if we didn't?

What if aliens were afraid of us? What if protocols aren't such a thing after some centuries and there were all kinds of roge, pirate-like, human vessels and colonies around? What if we murder, hunted, ate, assaulted and cheated?

Imagine the horror in the souls of the soft, pacific aliens who are accustomed to their ancient ways of sharing, caring, and respecting, when they suddenly find themselves dealing with a new species that is as unpredictable as it is dangerous. Picture humans hunting a specific kind of alien because their meat is said to taste like some sort of addictive delicacy or because they have horns or nails made out of certain material that sells extremely well in the black market? Imagine humans flirting their way into power only to betray those who entrusted them with everything. I'm pretty sure apex predators can do that and more. The actors. The ones who can laugh at a Roomba with a knife taped to it as if it isn't something a little disturbing to begin with.

They can do horrors. They live in horror.

And aliens pray every day to not find those humans.

Because they all look alike. When and alien meets them they all smile and pat each other. They all ask questions out of juvenile curiosity and offer what they have, no matter how little. But they all can also have scars and sinful grins. They all can stab you in the back. And if you happen to meet the ones who will, you know is gonna be hard to scape. Because humans are some sort of fucking Land Rover-like beasts, specially on their adrenaline fueled moments. How can you avoid becoming the next barbeque? I don't know.

What about serial killers? Sociopaths? Psychopaths? There are a whole lot of new species to mess with. Imagine a narcissist gaslighting the hell out of some naive alien who wouldn’t understand why and how they are being mistreated, yet remains infatuated nonetheless. Dead bodies appearing on the ship in gruesome ways, as if someone were playing with their anatomy, portraying the dead aliens as some sort of spectacle, as if they were trying to say: "Look at what I did, this horrible, horrible thing". Aliens wouldn't understand, nor would they be ready to deal with the absolute disdain humans can sometimes have for life itself.

Even suicide...

I don't know why I find it interesting to think about these kinds of aspects. I'm not precisely enjoying it, but I just find it interesting. It's just some sci-fi headcanon, but still... Humans have so many shades, so much dark in their light. I don't feel the fantasy is complete if I don't consider that as well.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Treasure - a Malevolent fic

John just keeps remembering the bad things first.

This one lands hard.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

---------

“Come on, English! You can keep up!” Parker needled, running without any effort at all, and it just wasn’t fair.

Arthur shot a look in his direction that communicated the profanity he couldn’t get the breath to speak.

“Faster!” Dis called.

“Faster or longer?” Parker called back. “He can’t do both!”

Dis considered. “Longer this time. Good call, Yang.”

“Thank me later,” Parker muttered to Arthur, deadpan.

“I… hate… you,” Arthur gasped.

“No, you don’t,” Parker grinned.

John and Sunny ignored them both. 

Everyone’s exercise routine had changed; Faroe was still doing princess stuff, but Arthur and Parker now spent at least an hour walking and jogging and running, side by side (or at least, Arthur wasn’t too far behind), and Sunny and John were taking full advantage.

John loved it. More than he knew how to express. Because of Sunny, he finally didn’t feel so… alone.

[How has the poetry quest gone? Found anything you like yet?] Sunny said, tone somewhere between genuinely curious and gently teasing.

[Challenging because he’s so damn stubborn.] But John sounded pleased. [I’ve decided I’m going to bring Hastur into it. He owes me.]

Arthur tripped. Parker pulled him up. “Thanks,” Arthur muttered.

“Always, pal,” said Parker, and smacked him on the back too hard because it was funny.

“Fuck you.” Arthur grinned.

“Right back atcha.” Parker grinned, too.

[Impressive,] said Sunny. [I'm sure he will have a wealth of poetry to loan you; the Librarian should also be able to make some good recommendations, if Arthur doesn't get too suspicious.] Sunny chuckled, low. [How did you manage to get a favor from the King?]

[Because he failed to protect us, and I am going to use it.] There wasn’t even really any emotion in that statement. John saw an opening, a weakness, a sore spot, and planned to take it. That was all. [He’ll provide what I ask.]

[Would he not provide what you ask anyway?] Sunny replied, quietly puzzled.

John paused as though that hadn’t occurred to him. [I… well, I don’t know. I just don’t want to give him any ideas, and asking for erotic or romantic poetry for Arthur could do that.] It made sense. Who wouldn’t want Arthur?

Sunny, for one. [Does the King desire Arthur?] There was growing horror in Sunny's voice. [I don't know that I will be able to deal with THREE of you lusting after that noodle-man. Ugh.]

John huffed. [It’s not like you have to worry about it. Parker wants you. That’s clear. But Hastur’s marked my person—I mean, he has good taste, obviously—but I don’t trust him. He actually has a body to work with.] John growled a little.

Arthur was used to weird noises from his passenger during these times, and ignored it. “Gotta… gotta slow a bit.”

“Sure.” Parker relented, though his “slow” was still aggravatingly hoppy, as if he had to keep his heart rate up and just walking wouldn’t do it. “You sound like a damned broken bellows.”

Arthur raised his middle finger. Parker laughed.

[Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing, that he’s marked,] Sunny said. [Hastur does appear to care for him. Perhaps not in the past, judging by what we heard, but certainly now.] Sunny let out a thoughtful sound. [I mean, assuming that Arthur isn’t too hung up on the idea of bodies in general, I think you’re safe; you do have a hand, after all.]

[And a foot. Up to the knee, actually.] John wasn’t boasting. He recited this with the unselfconscious pride of a child. [Not that it’s been worth much. When I try to take over that thing, we just fall down.] A beat. [Sometimes pretty hard.] Another beat. [We’ve fallen in a lot of holes.]

[What is it with that man and holes?] Sunny laughed. [I didn’t have anything but his eyes. That’s probably for the best.]

[Ha! My person doesn’t know how to take care of himself. He needs me.] John would preen, if he could. [It’s a miracle he’s alive at all. Anyway, I’ve decided the poetry will happen, and maybe… a song. We’ll see. I’m torn because…] He stopped.

[You can tell me.] Sunny’s voice was gentle. [I mean, you didn’t laugh at me before.]

“Sounding better,” Parker said.

“Just another minute,” Arthur whined.

Parker turned and glanced back. “Dis is tapping her foot.”

“She is?” Arthur sighed. “Fuck. Fuuuuuuck. Fuck!” He picked up the pace.

John let the silence stretch for a moment, hesitating. [It’s… it might be… bad?]

Sunny’s voice gentled. [You can tell me, John. I think… I think of everybody in all of Carcosa, you and I… we share… more than anybody else, in a way. Tell me anything.]

[I still don’t feel like ‘John,’] John said quickly as though afraid the words would be condemned. [And I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell anybody. You don’t count, obviously.]

Sunny took a moment to answer. When he spoke, his voice was solemn. [I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought you had taken the name back up.]

John sighed heavily. [I use it for him. It makes him feel… I don’t know, but it means a lot to him, I guess because I chose it myself, before the poison. I say guess because he sucks at explaining really emotional things.]

[He does.] Sunny paused, weighty, the kind of pause that John had learned meant he was ruminating. [...He… he wanted me to be John when we first met, you know. Mentioned someone called Lilly and everything. When that didn’t… jog my memory, or whatever it was he was hoping for, he…] Another sigh. [...I don’t want to say he ‘gave me’ my old name. It wasn’t a good thing when he called me Yellow. It’s like he was… denying me… any of the personhood you’d earned. What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry you’re stuck with a name that doesn’t feel right. I understand that feeling. I… didn’t like my old name at all.]

John fell silent while Arthur puffed, silent while Arthur took a moment to bend over and gasp like a dying fish (“Wait! Just a fucking… come on, ”) as Parker lightly jogged around him.

“You gotta get in better shape,” said Parker.

Arthur held up his middle finger again. “Best I can.”

Parker had a look on his face John had seen; a look that said he was thinking something that made him mad, but whatever it was, Parker didn’t say it. “Gonna give you to the count of ten, then I’m carrying you like some dame in a dime novel.”

“Oh, you fucking…”

“Nine… eight… seven…”

Arthur got moving at the count of two. “I hate you all.”

“No, you don’t.” Parker sounded pleased. 

[The problem is I chose this name,] said John. [But I don’t remember doing it, nor do I remember this Lilly who inspired it. I don’t know what to do because I want to give him things I’ve created, but I can’t… put that name on them. Right now. It doesn’t feel right.]

[Names can change.] Sunny let out a low, mournful sound. [I was… I was Yellow for a long time, John. Almost nine years. I hated that name, but… ‘Yellow’ isn’t gone just because I’m Sunny, now. I just… I’m not him anymore, if that makes sense. If you wanted to use a different name, until you feel like John fits—or never, if the case may be—I think that’s understandable.]

[You don’t feel like Yellow to me.] John said earnestly.

[...Really?] Sunny said, low and stunned.

[You never have, as long as I’ve known you,] John said, oblivious to the profundity of his words.

“Fuck this,” said Arthur, interrupting the moment.

“Come on,” said Parker more gently, pulling him up. “Is it really that bad?”

“Stitch in my side won’t go away.”

“All right. We’ll walk the rest of the day. Fuck Dis,” said Parker, who could tell the difference between whining Arthur and exhausted Arthur. “Honestly? It’s fuckin’ amazing you can do this blind.”

“I’m not blind, though,” said Arthur. “Not really. I have John.”

[See? See? What in fuck do I do with that? I can’t take that name from him!]

[He doesn’t know any better.] Sunny’s voice was gentle. [I mean, you’re right: the name ‘John’ is important to him. It represents a lot. But it’s just a name. You’re still important, even if you don’t feel like being called that; and he loves you. That’s not going to change because you’ve decided to call yourself James or Fitzwilliam or something.]

John went quiet for a moment. [How are you so wise?] He asked, almost suspicious.

[Probably the eight years being called a name I hated by a person who also hated me,] Sunny said dryly. [Personally, I don’t recommend it. I feel like I’ve learned more in the… oh, year and a half or so I’ve been with Parker than I did in all of that time.]

John let out a deep, pleased rumble. [Are you sure you don’t want your praises sung properly before the court? I still think you should be.]

[If word gets out that Hastur has a Forgotten One, he’ll look weak,] Sunny said, which was not an answer at all. [It’s safer for all of us—me, you, Parker, Arthur, Hastur, Faroe—if I stay hidden. Besides, it would be silly to do so if I’m going to rejoin with Hastur in five years or so.]

John sighed. That was a whole topic he didn’t like, so he moved along. [What do you think I should call myself?] he said.

Sunny considered. [Do you feel like human names? Or is that too close to John?]

[I don’t think I want a human name, no. Even if it’s just for me, and I don’t tell Arthur. I’m not human.] He hesitated. [I still think of myself as the King in Yellow. But that obviously won’t work.]

[You… you could, if you wanted to.] Sunny sounded very much like he hoped John wouldn’t want to. [You know, I could use your personal name, if you wanted. If that would help you feel more yourself.]

Arthur’s left hand formed a fist and raised into the air as if celebrating. [That’s brilliant!]

Parker eyed it.

Arthur tilted his head. “Everything good?”

Yes! said John.

Arthur shook his head. “They’re like a couple of kids in their room, scheming, while we do the real work.”

Parker snorted.

[I… I’m not brilliant,] Sunny said, baffled. [I—alright, I will. You just have to decide on one, then. And when you’re ready, you can tell Arthur and Parker, and we’ll handle it.] He rumbled. [Maybe… something in R’lyehian? Most names for our kind come from our language, you know.]

Dis had caught up. “Down to walking?”

“Yeah, he’s tapped,” said Parker.

“Good. Time to shoot,” said Dis.

“Wh-what?” said Arthur, gasping. “Now?”

“Take aim and shoot.” She shoved a bow and arrow against his chest. “Like this. Before you catch your breath. People in a fight won’t wait politely while you wheeze.”

“Ooh,” said Parker. “I like that.”

Arthur sighed. “Guess I’m outnumbered. Ready, John?”

Yes. [And yes. I agree.]

The conversation paused briefly while John directed, helping Arthur to take aim with his new bow (and how the hell Faroe made it look so easy was a mystery in itself). They’d done it with a javelin; it was a different thing with a different weapon, all while Arthur hadn’t caught his breath yet.

The breathing kept moving Arthur, throwing off their aim.

You have to breathe out and hold it. Just for a moment, while you release, or it goes off.

“Right,” said Arthur.

Yes. Yes! Straight line from the opposite shoulder. Good.

“Wow!” Parker said. “Hit the target!”

“I have a great partner,” said Arthur, warmly, and touched his left hand. “You’re a treasure, John.”

Dis took the bow. “Walk.”

Arthur did, shaking his fingers. “I’m going to need callouses.”

“I’ll join you next time,” said Parker, walking with him. “Damn, that was cool to watch.”

[Yes,] John said suddenly. [In my own tongue. Yes.]

[Well,] Sunny said, deeply pleased with himself. [I think Arthur just gave me an idea.]

[I’m all ears. Haha! I don’t have any ears,] said John.

Sunny politely chuckled. [It’s simple, snappy. Can shorten it for a nickname if you want. It’s golden, so it works even better. And, technically, Arthur gave it to you, so it has meaning.] Sunny’s voice was bright, cheerful. [What do you think of Gokar’luh?]

John went completely quiet.

Arthur’s left leg jerked, and he fell with a gasp.

Parker caught him. “Hey, careful! You okay?”

Arthur’s left arm hung limp. “John?”

I…

“John?” said Arthur again, standing.

It’s a beautiful name, John said softly..

John? 

You don’t… remember. Do you.

Remember what? Sunny’s voice was puzzled. Are you alright?

A beautiful name, John said again. We… we picked that name before, Sunny. When we were one.

“Huh?” said Parker.

“John?” Arthur gripped his left hand. “What name? What’s going on?”

And John growled.

This wasn’t the playful, childish growl of before. This was deep, and angry. The kind of growl that came with destruction. We need to go in. All of us. Sunny, we need to find Hastur. This doesn’t get borne alone.

Did I do something wrong? Sunny’s voice went worried. John? I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I won’t do it again.

No. You did not. John’s voice dropped. He did. 

“Who did what?” said Parker. “Arthur? You know what’s going on?” 

“No. I…” Arthur frowned. “I don’t understand them, and I wasn’t paying attention.”

Parker reached up and stroked his jaw. “It’s gonna be okay, bud. It’s gonna be okay.”

HASTUR! John roared, and there was magic in it, and he hadn’t warned Arthur, and maybe didn’t care.

Arthur passed out.

Parker caught him. “What the fuck?”

And maybe, in fact, it was on purpose. That’ll get his fucking attention! John snarled.

What the fuck, John? Sunny’s insubstantial breath came in panicky gasps. Why?

“What the hell is going on here?” said Dis, jogging up.

“I don’t know! John’s lost his fucking mind!” Parker said.

It was necessary, John snapped.

Parker’s jaw was set. “You’re fucking lucky I don’t have a way to deck you.”

No! Sunny yelped. No, no, don’t—don’t fight! Please, let me wake Arthur up and we can just—we can figure it out, please—

Hastur appeared, replacing air so quickly that breeze blasted them all back a step. The world went still. Sound faded out; color did, too, as though he’d put reality on pause.

He seemed huge, and he brought some kind of boundary with him—clear and pearlescent, like a soap bubble, keeping Arthur and Parker and Sunny and John in one place.

Dis was on the outside of whatever this bubble was. She mouthed, good luck, gave Parker a thumbs-up, and walked away at speed.

“Oh, shit,” Parker said quietly, staring up at him.

“Is there a reason,” Hastur said slowly, and they could both feel the rumble of his voice through the ground, “that you have chosen to hurt your host?”

Yes, said John. And first of all, he’s not fucking hurt. He’s out, because I don’t want him getting in the middle of this.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Parker was muttering.

Sunny let out a small whimper.

“In the middle of?” prompted Hastur, louder.

Gokar’luh, said John.

And Hastur… shrank?

Not exactly. But the anger evaporated like mist in the morning, the rumbling around them ceased, the looming threat just… vanished. The bubble disappeared. Birds chirped. The day was lovely.

“Ah,” said the King in Yellow.

Ah? Ah? John repeated.

Parker frowned. “Gokar’luh. I know that word. Treasure?” he said. “Uh. Buried, or…”

“You remember,” said Hastur to John. It wasn’t a question.

I remember enough. Sunny doesn’t yet. But I’m sure he will.

Arthur stirred.

Hastur rested one hand on his head and put him right back under. 

Ha! said John, as if he’d been proven right.

“What in fuck is going on?” said Parker.

“I suppose it cannot be avoided,” Hastur said softly, and without any further warning, picked them both up. 

Parker yipped. “Warn a guy!”

What—what don’t I remember? Sunny whispered.

“Uh. Hey. Big guy. We, uh. Are we in trouble?” said Parker.

“No,” said Hastur, and flew.

Arthur slept. Honestly, he probably needed it.

#

They went to Hastur’s bedroom, which was huge. Absurdly huge, though Parker knew that was for practical purposes; couldn’t get up to much with another god if it wasn’t huge in there, just practically speaking. 

Sunny was quiet, but there, present, awake. Parker kept contact, fingertips on his jaw. Parker’s tongue lashed in his mouth; Sunny twisted incorporeally in his head.

Arthur snored very lightly. It was cute. Hastur laid him gently on the bed.

Answer for what you did, you coward, said John.

Instead of answering, Hastur took Arthur up again—still holding Parker—and went to a seemingly random corner in his room.

It turned out he had a little secret stash there, hidden in the wall. From it, he took something; something of spikes, something black that gleamed as if twisting light inside itself, something Parker had trouble focusing clearly on.

“What is that?” Parker said, voice low and wary.

In his head, Sunny gasped. Is… Is that a crown? Of godblood? His voice was low with shock, the disbelief clear. Hastur… what is this?

Hastur put the crown in Parker’s hands.

Parker froze. “The fuck?” he whispered. “Why does this feel familiar?”

“Go on,” said Hastur.

Parker turned it in his hands, studying, analyzing how it buzzed against his palm. “It feels like the first time Sunny cast magic through me.”

What? Said Sunny, soft and high.

 “Fucking hell, Hastur, what is this?”

“That is the crown of my son.”

Parker’s eyes went huge.

Sunny was quiet.

You fucking… John started.

“Sunny… you had… you had a kid?” Parker said almost reverently.

S… son? Sunny’s voice was soft, raw and vulnerable and shocked. We… We have a son?

Had, snarled John. 

And Hastur just… went there. “He was going to kill Faroe and Arthur.”

“Oh, shit,” Parker whispered. “Why was he going to do that?”

“To hurt me.”

Wh… What? Sunny sounded so small, so lost. Why would—I don’t understand.

“Was he jealous?” said Parker quietly.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “But I had driven him away long before then.” He took the crown back, handling it like the most precious thing he had; his many eyes lingered, one finger gently tracing the glassy planes of its points.

John was breathing hard. You killed him!

“I had to.”

You killed… you killed him!

“You don’t remember anything but that moment, do you?” said Hastur.

I… I had a son, Sunny whispered slowly. I had… But I don’t… His breath quickened.

“I got you,” Parker murmured. “Breathe.”

I had a son! Sunny hitched.

Parker was staring at the little hole in the wall. “What’s that in there? There’s more stuff.”

“Things.” Hastur sealed it up.

Murderer! John cried.

This had swung right out of control. Parker exhaled slowly and touched his lips. 

Hastur sighed deeply. “I hadn’t planned on this today. We will go over all the facts later, including the public face we must wear about this.”

I won’t be an issue, Sunny said, his voice… broken. I don’t remember. I’m… sorry.

But you… John seemed confused that no one was rising with him in rage and shouting. But you killed him!

“I was not given a choice,” said Hastur.

“At least you got to be a father,” said Parker quietly. “Some of us’ll never get that chance. I’m sorry it went that way.”

But you… John stopped. 

I’m sorry, Sunny said again. 

“Don’t be.” Hastur’s voice was rough. “Arthur was there. He’ll have his own version of this to tell. Perhaps… you should all stay away from court today.”

But you… John trailed off again. In court? What, you want me to pretend this is a good thing? That you killed our son?

And Hastur bailed.

He put both humans on the bed, gently enough, and then just left . Floated out. Left them in his bedroom.

Coward! John cried after him, voice cracking, and then fell silent.

Arthur snored, the tiniest little buzzing.

Fuck me, Parker thought, and swallowed. Did this make him the responsible adult in the room? Close enough. He tried misdirection. He wriggled a little. “Now, this is a bed for a king, huh? Hey, Lester. Come on, buddy. Wake up.” He patted Arthur’s cheeks lightly.

Parker’s eyes stung, but the tears were not his own. I don’t remember. I don’t remember him, Sunny mumbled as they spilled down Parker’s cheeks. He’s… I don’t…

“Hey,” Parker said. “Sunny, it’s… you’re okay. I’m here, bud.”

I don’t remember my own son. Sunny made one small, pained keening sound.

He… he was… John stumbled. Gokar’luh was…

“Proud,” whispered Arthur. “Like Hastur without Faroe. You remembered?”

John sounded shaky. Yes, he whispered. But only the end.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Arthur sighed, then slid his hands over the blankets beneath him. “This isn’t our bed. Where are we?”

“Hastur’s bed, no big deal,” said Parker. “Talk.”

Arthur looked troubled. “That’s really ironic,” he said softly. “The night it all happened, we came back here. We slept in this room.”

Gods don’t sleep, John snapped as though catching him in a lie.

“Faroe and I slept. Nibbles was here, and…” Arthur sighed. “I’d better start at the end of the Games. I guess it’s time to talk about this.”

#

Arthur told them.

He told them about Faroe reacting to their constant bickering by running off, blaming herself.

He told them about their journey through the Dreamlands, their many adventures, always just behind her, fighting to catch up; he told them about Hastur changing—about Hastur away from the constant adoration of court. About finally finding peace, even respect, between the three of them. About the strange, simple beauty of being stuck alone on the road.

He told them Hastur’s version of events when the Oracle was cast aside.

And then he told them what the Oracle claimed.

“Oh,” said Parker, who could see it, who had always been good at seeing from all sides, and could see how everybody fucked up and there was no good or bad guy. 

It was just sad. Fucking sad. He wiped his eyes, this time for himself.

Arthur struggled to describe the sound of Faroe’s throat being torn, struggled to describe the pain of his legs being snapped, of John casting magic, of the desperation to reach Nibbles and free her so Faroe could be okay.

He healed her, said John, suddenly remembering.

“He did,” said Arthur. “Or she’d be dead.” And then he had to briefly stop, shuddering and gasping for emotional control. 

Parker wrapped an arm around him and hugged him tight, rubbing small circles into his back with his thumb.

Arthur turned against him and breathed against his shoulder, exhaling slowly and shakily. Finally, softly, he continued.

He told them how heroic John had been. He told them of drawing the sword from the stone.

We did? said John, awed.

“You’re incredible, John,” Arthur whispered, and meant it.

John made a choked sound and fell silent.

Arthur told them about climbing the rubble and leaping toward their enemy—how John directed him like a human javelin, how they managed to pierce Gokar’luh’s hide. “Then he ripped us off him, howling like a demon,” Arthur said, voice rough, “and he threw us so fucking hard. So hard it made my neck hurt. So hard… it was worse than falling. He threw us so hard .”

“He was trying to kill you,” Parker said, voice low and full of gravel. “Smash the both of you.”

Arthur nodded. “I don’t know this part, but I’m still sure of it,” he whispered. “I think they were both… done. They needed it to end, but they were both too fucking proud to just… end it. Or at least, Gokar’luh was. Hastur kept telling him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”

“I think I know where this is going,” whispered Parker.

Arthur swallowed. “Gokar’luh said, ‘All this time, you could have changed… but not for me.’ After that is… he… was trying to force Hastur to kill him. I’m really certain.”

“Yeah,” said Parker, and scowled. “I swear. I swear . These fucking gods pretend to be so different from us, but they’re not.”

“So yes,” Arthur said. “He tried to kill us. And when Hastur saved us, Gokar’luh swore he’d murder Faroe. That there was nowhere she would be safe, he said. He’d find her, and kill her. No matter how long it took. And that’s the thing about Hastur, Parker. He’s done horrible things, but he really loves my daughter. So that… Gokar’luh had found the magic button. He’d already nearly killed her once, and the threat of a repeat was just too far. So that’s when Hastur took the sword we’d made, and…”

Killed him. John took a shaking breath. Pierced both of his hearts in one strike. He knew exactly where they were, and he just—and he—

Arthur took John’s hand in his, holding it to his heart as he squeezed. “Hastur held him while… while he died. They said… Hastur said he was defeated. That Gokar’luh had won. And… that he loved him.  I think f,or what it was, it couldn’t have gone any other way, but it could have been… so much worse.”

Parker wiped his eyes again. “Worse.”

“Hastur was so fucked up after that,” said Arthur. “We got Faroe, and we came home, but he was so fucked up. He was like a different person.” And there was no better time to say it. “I think he’s still fucked up. He’s hiding it, but he’s not okay. He hasn’t gotten better.”

“Fuck.” Parker slumped, arms on his knees. “Fuck. When was all this?”

And perhaps unexpected, Arthur laughed; it was not a good sound. “The night Kayne dumped you and Sunny and Larson all into our laps and said we had to make a good show. Literally hours after, right on the stroke of midnight—Faroe’s birthday.”

Parker groaned and rolled onto his back. “Oh, fucking hell, no wonder you were bugfuck crazy. And that’s why Hastur had to…”

“Sway me. Yes.” Arthur swallowed.

Parker exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, and stretched his arms over his head onto the pillow bigger than his bathtub. “This is a big problem, fellas. A big problem.”

I’m sorry, John, Sunny whispered, the sound heart-wrenching. I didn’t… I didn’t know. I’m sorry you had… to remember, like that.

John was so quiet. I just remembered the moment, the… the moment it was too late . That’s all I had. It was too late. He was dying.

“I don’t know that remembering the context would have made it better,” Arthur said quietly. “You  were so angry at Hastur afterward. You were for a long time.”

I am angry now, John said. Fuck. But I don’t know what I would have done in his place.

“Wait a second,” said Parker. “That can’t be the same Oracle they were all laughing about Hastur smashing in court. Tell me it’s not the same one, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed slowly. “If Hastur looks weak, if it becomes known how he reacted to threat against Faroe, if any of this gets out… we all get a target painted right on our fucking faces. Especially Faroe. She’s the most vulnerable, and he won’t risk that. For all his awful qualities… he’ll never risk her .”

Fuck this place. Fuck it. Fuck!

Parker let out a sigh. “That’s just mobsters for you. They show weakness, someone’s gonna come gunnin’ for that as hard as they can. You got targeted ‘cause he’s been calling you his kid, John, and that’s not a weak position.”

John paused. I know that. Though it sounded like it hadn’t fully sunk in until now. And Faroe is… a child . I can see why we must… defer attention.

“Faroe stays safe.” Arthur’s tone was grim, final. “Period. I’m united with him on that.”

Yes, yes, I know, said John, because they’d been over this loads of times.

“I fucking mean it,” Arthur actually snarled. “Whatever has to happen for her to be safe, it’s happening. ”

“Ain’t no one arguing that,” Parker said gently. “It’s okay, English. For once, everyone’s in agreement.”

Arthur calmed.

Parker climbed out of the bed, stood, and held open his arms. “Come ‘ere, English. This’s for you too, John. And you, sunshine.”

Arthur needed it. Sore, slow, he climbed out of the bed, following Parker’s voice, and accepted a hug so tight it made his bones crack. He exhaled slowly, tension draining. “John, I’m so sorry you remembered this way.”

John hesitated. At least I remembered when we weren’t in public view. I don’t think I could’ve… maintained myself if this had happened in court, or something.

You’re not upset with me, are you? Sunny’s voice was so small.

John grunted. No. Why would I be upset with you? You helped me. You’re the wisest person I know. I trust you.

This… has hurt you. It was my doing, however unintentional. Sunny’s voice was subdued. I am… It is… It’s a relief to know you don’t hold it against me. I’m sorry it happened, but I’m… I’m glad you’re here.

Parker smiled, giving Arthur another tight squeeze before letting go, and he turned away. “You alright, partner?” he asked, voice quiet.

I… don’t know, Sunny replied in his own whisper. Could we stay a bit longer?

Parker smiled, touching his lips.

John? Could… could Parker and I stay a bit longer?

I’d prefer it if you did. We need the wisdom.

Arthur snorted softly, but didn’t seem really dismissive. “Yeah. Wisdom. I can’t say we don’t need it.” He got back on the bed (well, climbed onto it), and sat  with his arms around his knees.

I don’t know that I’m up for any more wisdom today, Sunny said, quietly. 

Just be you . John was so sure of this. 

Arthur closed his eyes and leaned forward.

Parker hesitated just a little, then put his arm around Arthur’s shoulders.

Sunny took a shuddering breath, and began to speak.

This is my son that you have taken, Guard lest your gold-vault walls be shaken, Never again to speak or waken.

This, that I gave my life to make, This you have bidden the vultures break— Dead for your selfish quarrel’s sake!

This that I built all of my years, Made with my strength and love and tears, Dead for pride of your shining spears!

Just for your playthings bought and sold You have crushed to a heap of mold Youth and life worth a whole world’s gold—

This was my son, that you have taken, Guard lest your gold-vault walls be shaken— This—that shall never speak or waken.

John let out a soft sob.

Arthur took a shuddering breath, letting John’s tears fall onto Parker’s shoulder—and, head down, he responded.

“Do not stand By my grave, and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep—

I am the thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints in snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle, autumn rain. As you awake with morning's hush, I am the swift, up-flinging rush Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand By my grave, and cry— I am not there, I did not die.”

Fuck you both, John choked out.

Sunny laughed, voice thick with tears; in a moment John joined him, the two bass voices rising and falling with their sobs and laughs. Arthur held Parker tight, face buried against his shoulder, and Parker held all three of them as best he could until they grew quiet and still.

-------

Notes:

Sunny's Poem: A Mother To The War-Makers Arthur's Poem: Immortality (Do Not Stand By My Grave And Weep) Kraiva would like to dedicate this fic to IchthyOccult, who has been dutifully reminding everyone of how neither John nor Sunny knew their son was dead since John lost his memories. You're a little freak, Ichthy, and I love you.

[scarletwitching]

Do you have any opinions/meta on the portrayal of Doctor Doom's dictatorship in Marvel comics? As someone who is somewhat knowledgeable on the horrors of dictatorship, it always makes my skin crawl when writers unironically portray Latveria as this "benevolent dictatorship utopia" without bothering to put in the two seconds of thought/research that would immediately lead to the conclusion of why that is a wildly offensive, irresponsible, nonsensical, and logically unattainable concept to promote

I have to preface this by saying that I prefer the nice, likeable version of every character. Even characters I have no particular interest in, whatever the softer version of them is, that's how I think they should be written. I'm not saying this is a good thing or some kind of moral judgment. It's a matter of taste. Like, I can't handle Harry Potter because it's so mean, both in terms of the books themselves and a lot of the characters. People are always like, "Give us a Marauders show," and I'm like, why on Earth would anyone want to watch a television show about high school bullies? Are people okay?

Which is weird because I love Emma Frost. But I don't want Emma to be a villain. I don't know how to explain it. I guess I just prefer for characters to be well-intentioned. Characters can be prickly. They can have conflict, but when a character feels malicious, I lose interest in them.* I find it so much more compelling when characters are clashing but nobody is being cruel or monstrous, they just have their own viewpoint. So, on a purely character level, I do prefer for Doom to have good sides to him.

All that said, man, politics in superhero comics is tricky. It's a minefield. To play Devil's Advocate for the people writing these stories you dislike, what they're trying to convey is that the superhero perspective is not the only one, which is a sentiment I appreciate. I like when we admit that other people in this world do not have the views or experiences of the average superhero. I think that, theoretically, that complexity is a positive, but I don't think it's handled with much nuance or consistency within the stories themselves.

Where does Latveria fit on a left-right spectrum? What countries are they allied with? Who do they trade with? What are the internal politics? What real life country, past or present, is the best comparison point? Whomst can say. This is part of why politics in superhero comics is tricky. Because they don't really get into details. They just make broad gesturings at real life things and then the next writer contradicts that, and it all depends on what real world thing is trendy to reference. When you are Genosha, sometimes, you are South Africa, and sometimes, you are Yugoslavia. So it goes.

The flip side of all of this is, of course, that Doom is Roma, and the people who created him did not understand the sociopolitical implications of the character they created. What does it mean to be a "nationalist" when you are a Roma man from Eastern Europe? Sometimes, as a writer, you don't know that much about other cultures, and you write something with weird implications that you aren't aware of, and one day, it's 60 years later and that shit's still canon and we all just have to deal with it.

Like with a lot of dilemmas of superhero characterization, there's really no perfect answer because, no matter what angle you come at it from, there is the possibility of finding something questionable about it. If you get too far into trying to depict Latveria as a realistic dictatorship, there is weirdness/uncomfortable stuff on that end too.

Part of why our (read: USian) culture's current fixation on nostalgia is troublesome is that it is much more complicated to "fix" old canons than people think and often, it is impossible. We're stuck with all our movies being about characters created 60+ years, and they come with that baggage. A lot of times, it is the concept of the character where the problems lie, and the degree to which you can ever remedy that is... Well, it doesn't usually work 100%. And you can create other problems by trying to get rid of the old ones. Which is what you're complaining about, right? So, my tl;dr Doom take is that there is always going to be this weirdness to the character because of the nature of superhero comics. I get where you're coming from, but I also get the opposite argument. A true centrist, wow.

*Except, of course, for Zaladane, the only good supervillain ever created.

[banjjakz]

bleed for me; hananene 5+1 oneshot

He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

(Or: Five times Hanako is painfully, embarrassingly obvious about being a vampire -- and the one time he doesn't even need to be.)

wc: ~6.7k

warnings: vampire!au; horror elements; disturbing themes; graphic descriptions of blood & ensuing oral consumption; etc, etc

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

1. Garlic Bread

“I’m home!”

From his lax recline on the bed, Hanako calls out a lazy welcome back. He doesn’t get up because he’s far too comfortable watching old primetime reruns of ridiculous game shows, and also -- well. 

He’s a little unhappy.

Ah, maybe not unhappy. That’s a rather strong word -- sensation? Feeling? For someone who’s felt a lot of them for a very long time, Hanako isn’t the most adept at categorizing his own emotions. Let alone experiencing them. It’s much more convenient to acknowledge that something probably important is sounding off in his chest, and then leave it alone to run its course. Hands-off is always the way to go. Less messy that way.

But then, he’s forced to deal with complex situations such as these:

The lovely, strange, absolutely enrapturing human being whose life he feels lucky enough to occupy even just a small, miniscule part of -- flouncing into his bedroom, all bright eyes and wide-lipped smiles and rosy cheeks and limbs jittering in excitement at seeing him after a mere handful of hours spent apart--

And Hanako, whose cold, dead heart threatens to jolt back to life at the mere sight of her.

How odd. He wonders what it means, and then immediately stops doing that. Hands-off. Mess free.

“Hanako-kun!” Greets Yashiro, rushing to stand at his side, her stockinged feet thump-thump-thumping at the hardwood in a rapid, red-blooded pulse. Her hair flows freely today, which is unusual. Normally, she has it pulled back and away from her face, in one neat platinum sphere at the base of her neck. There’s a decorative clip or three in there, somewhere, too.

Where are those tonight? What happened to the disturbingly skull-shaped barrette? He likes that one. “Hanako-kun, look! For you!”

Oh, she’s holding something. He hadn’t even noticed. Upon closer inspection, it seems to be…

“A greasy paper bag,” Hanako deadpans. “How kind of you, Yashiro.”

She rolls her eyes, and stomps her foot. He can see the vibrant red of her painted toenails even through those dark tights she insists on wearing out everyday. These are one of her nicer pairs, though. No rips or runs in sight. Not even when Hanako scans her legs up and down and up again, just to check. Just to make sure.

Yashiro’s irate scoff sends his eyes scrambling very rapidly back to meet her own. “You’re impossible. You gotta guess what’s in- side the bag, dummy.”

“Radishes. No, wait, we already have plenty of those on hand.”

“Oh my God, I am literally going to kill you. Do you wanna die?” Hanako almost laughs. “Last chance before I change my mind and don’t let you have any!”

“Ohhh. Something I can have?”

Yashiro nods. Hanako tracks the movement of her jaw like a vulture circling a corpse, freshly splayed open and vulnerable and tantalizing with how red the blood, how plump the flesh, how easy it would be to sink his talons in and bare his teeth and--

“I have no idea,” he muses, “what that would be, then.”

“You’re so weird sometimes, Hanako-kun. Anyways, remember how I went over to Kou-kun’s tonight? Because he needed a taste-tester for his school assignments? Remember?”

Ah, and here he returns to the root issue of tonight’s predicament. Hanako is swiftly delivered back into the strange sensation of discontent that plagued him mere moments prior to Yashiro’s arrival. She’d distracted him -- as she is so often does -- from his brooding. 

Hanako remembers that he’s supposed to be brooding.

Hanako begins to brood. 

It’s a pitiful attempt, really, because Yashiro is hellbent on injecting the evening with her unique brand of excitable fanfare, and Hanako has never been able to put up much of a fight against her. He’s weak to the sun and all it’s gifts of brightness, after all.

In a last-ditch effort to save face, he manages to pout. Yes, this will show her. This will express to her his deep-seated dissatisfaction! 

“Hmph. I guess,” sighs Hanako, batting his lashes for good measure.

“Oh quit it. Don’t look like such a jealous puppy--”

“-- Excuse me--”

“--Especially ‘cause I brought you such a good gift! Look!”

And then Yashiro reaches into the bag and pulls out a slice of greasy, buttery, deliciously succulent garlic bread.

Hanako doesn’t even have the time to process her accusation of jealousy (which, hello? A little absurd if you ask him.) as he’s preoccupied with scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed, as fast as what will hopefully appear to be humanly possible.

“Kou-kun’s in the middle of his global unit in school, and he chose to make some Italian dishes, so I thought I’d bring home-- hey!! Where are you going!” Yashiro, clearly perplexed, pauses in her bubbly explanation. “Don’t be like that! I know you don’t like Kou-kun for whatever stupid reason, but really? He made it just for you!”

Of course he did, thinks Hanako, scathingly. He will deal with that overgrown menace of a mutt later, when his physical body is not in imminent danger and Yashiro is not growing steadily closer, brandishing the bread as though it were a sword, or rapier.

Oh, if only she knew.

Normally, Hanako would be elated -- ecstatic, even -- to see Yashiro crawling across his mattress, chasing him with a dark intensity in her eyes and a palm outstretched. But the issue here is that her palm, as sweet-smelling and milky soft as it looks and probably feels (Hanako wouldn’t know), is currently wielding a weapon of mass destruction.

He tries to placate her, or at least slow her steady advance, but it’s all for naught. “H-Hey now, Yashiro--”

He should throw her off. She shouldn’t even be in his home in the first place, let alone in his bed, but somewhere along the way Hanako had started making inappropriate, foolish, misguided allowances for this strange woman, and then he… never stopped.

Honestly? For a mistake as silly as entertaining a human of all things, he supposes he should go out in an equally as embarrassing fashion: death by sliced bread.

Yashiro is on top of him now, her thick calves bracketing the bony jut of his hips as she sits on his chest and leans over him, her cheeks incensed a bright and healthy rouge -- a mere few shades darker than those glittering fuschia eyes. Hanako can’t help but wonder just how red she can get; how much red she has to spare. How much red would be enough to burst her open and leak along the sides of her pristinely pale canvas like spilled acrylic in one big, gory, spattering mess. 

For two (definitely, totally, absolutely) mutually exclusive reasons, Hanako feels his stomach contract.

“You’re being ridiculous,” announces Yashiro from her perch atop his body, blissfully unaware of the fact that Hanako could very easily toss her clean across the city if he so chose. 

(Or maybe, it’s the fact that might know, and is unafraid of the prospect. As though she believes he won’t. Humans are such an arrogant, fickle species. He can’t say that he particularly misses being amongst their ranks.)

“It’s bread. Would it kill you to be agreeable for once and just take a freaking bite?”

Her heartbeat. He can hear it loud and clear even as he lays underneath the vice grip of her sturdy legs. Does she even know how fast her pulse rams itself against her veins? Like it’s begging to be rescued from the confines of that pretty, porcelain cage? 

Fuck. Fuck.

Hands-off. 

Mess free. 

“I’m allergic,” says Hanako, slowly, face blank and clean as a slate as he stares unblinkingly back up at his captor. “To garlic.”

There’s a curtain of shimmering white that cascades around the two of them, shifting to block out any and all extraneous stimuli. He should remind her to pick up some more bleach the next time she takes a trip to Daiso. It’s time to touch-up her roots again.

“Allergic,” she parrots.

The way her lips shape around the word, tasting it and rolling it around in suspicion, is captivating. In all his years of dealings on this earth never has Hanako followed a journey so gripping, so intense, as the way that Yashiro Nene’s mouth moves across a sentence. “Allergic,” she says again, flat and faint.

He’s just barely able to nod. “Deathly.”

“You’re deathly allergic to garlic.”

Time grinds to a painful, halting stop. The gradual slowing of the outside world is so acute that Hanako can track with his eyes the moment that Yashiro’s gaze flickers down to his cracked lips and the steady in-and-out of her breath is all but frozen in place. It’s excruciating, the level of detail he’s been subjected to bear witness to as a creature borne of blood and misery. He hates that he can hear her lungs rattle in suspense. He hates that he can name each muscle that goes still and locks solidly into place, anchoring around him in a rigid, tense embrace. He hates that he can smell her fear.

“Precisely. And you are straddling me. Are we done stating facts or would you like to continue on, Yashiro?”

It’s a bad habit he has, relying on humorous deflection. He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

The crumbs in his bed dig into his skin and burn there, serving as a very stark, very physical reminder of his worst habit.

He’s already served his penance. Is currently serving it. Is slated to serve it for the rest of whatever conceivable eternity awaits him. 

So why, then, does his chest twist and ache with an ardor he thought had died with him, all that time ago? 

2. Reflection

The only reason he’d agreed to tag along was because Yashiro promised him that he didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to. He isn’t much inclined to converse with random humans -- especially not over cheap, young wine. 

But this is, of course, exactly what he finds himself doing on a Thursday evening he would otherwise spend alone, holed up in his room, with his blackout curtains drawn to the side to bask in the glow of the full moon. Longingly, Hanako glances out of the large window he’d surreptitiously made a home next to immediately upon their arrival. Ah, well. Next month.

A round of boisterous laughter startles him out of his reverie. He chances a glance back to the sectional sofa in front of him and is greeted by the sight of Yashiro nearly doubled over in apparent amusement, wine glass tipping dangerously to the wayside. Her cheeks are speckled with the beginnings of a youthful pink. Unshed tears cling to her thin eyelashes. When she straightens up to catch her breath, she meets his gaze and allows her grin to melt into something soft and warm and entirely unsuited for the terrible, awful things that run through Hanako’s mind faster than the speed of light.

Having fun? She mouths discreetly, bringing the glass up to take another sip.

He nods, draining the red in his own grasp long and slow. It tastes like ash on his tongue. 

One of the other humans speaks, then. It isn’t the orange haired fellow who’d immediately struck Hanako as a sniveling, blindsided, spineless fool of a man -- no, it’s his wife, who’s entirely too preoccupied with asking questions about Hanako’s personal life for his comfort. 

“Hanako-san,” she begins pleasantly, gripping the wine bottle by the neck as she tops off his glass. Unprompted. “I’ve been wondering about something! Nene-chan is an Insta-freak, you know, right?” A what? “But you’re never on her page,” she continues with a pout, “And you aren’t tagged in any photos. Are you shy? That’s adorable!”

How can a woman speak so politely with eyes as cold as hers? They glitter at him underneath the fluorescent lighting of the living area, small and hard and blindingly bright, a twin set of enchantingly haunted jewels. Delicately, she tastes at the rim of her glass, and says nothing else.

Before he can conjure up a response that isn’t mood-killing and really little more than a thinly veiled threat, Yashiro pipes up. “Hanako-kun’s super off-grid!” She stresses, eyes wide, words comically over exaggerated as though she is delivering information of the utmost importance. “He has a very troubled childhood! He doesn’t like talking about it! So that’s why!”

“A troubled childhood,” muses the purple haired menace.

Yashiro nods solemnly, gulping another hit of her dry white. “Yeah! He’s got a bunch of weird allergies, too. Did you know that he can’t eat garlic? Not even garlic bread? Isn’t that so sad!”

“...Indeed it is. My condolences, Hanako-san.”

Right.

The evening doesn’t really improve from there, apart from Yashiro falling into his side after she gets a bit too wine drunk. Hanako can smell more than just the saccharine perfume she slathers on all the time; no, from this close, Hanako inhales and internalizes the scent of a robust, earthy musk, far richer than anything spritzed or patted superficially into the skin. Hanako can smell underneath her skin. Hell, Hanako can practically see -- can practically taste the delicacies hidden there, with how firmly she leans onto him. Would she still feel comfortable holding clutching onto his arm, if she knew the kinds of things he thinks about her? About doing to her?

They say good night to the amethyst wench and her sad excuse of a clueless human husband not long after that. The apartment isn’t far away and it’s too late to stumble into the car of a subway, so the pair of them trek home on foot.

A quiet night. The moon is as full as she is healing, and Hanako returns to himself a little bit more underneath her watchful, healing gaze.

“Now that I think about it… we really don’t have any pictures together.”

Although Yashiro has sobered up enough to stand straight, she still maintains a loose grasp on his arm. Her fingernails curl into the sleeve of his button down, a splash of bright, vivid red disappearing in the deep dark of a moonless night. Swallowed right up without a second thought. “Is it… is it because you’re embarrassed, Hanako-kun? Of, um… well. Do you not want to be seen with me? I’m sorry…”

He could break his own neck. He should. He would, if she asked him to.

“You own a Polaroid camera, yes?”

“Ah! You mean my Hello Kitty one? Uh-huh! Why?”

“When we return home,” Hanako says, like a fool, “We can take a picture.”

If he were a defendable creature, he’d point to Yashiro’s sudden and swift ascent into excitement as the justification for the latest manifestation of his long, long list of bad habits. Her strong ankles defy gravity and carry her as she floats on air, giggling as she skips the whole way home. Even as they make their way through the front door. Even as she must root around in her cluttered bedroom (that Hanako cannot follow her into, for obvious reasons). Even as she struggles to remember how to change the film, and inputs a decorative mascot-inspired roll, nicking more than a few of her pale, slender fingers in the process.

Even as she wades through darkness, Yashiro is so bright. 

The actual photo itself requires some set-up which eventually results in Hanako reversing the contraption unto them and pressing down on what he’s only halfway sure is the capture button. He assumes that he’s done well when a thin strip of glossy paper leaks out from the bottom and Yashiro swipes at it in a giddy stupor, remnants of the Riesling from earlier that evening rendering her sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“‘Kay, it’s gotta develop now… should only be a few more seconds! Will you keep it safe tonight? ‘M sooooo tired, and I really gotta shower before I pass out…”

Yashiro is already stumbling away, back towards her bedroom. She slips the rapidly lightening square in his palm as she slips back, lingering for one moment too long against the doorframe.

“Thanks, Hanako-kun. G’night.”

And then she is gone.

Which is probably for the best. The film has finally pulled itself from the murky depths of ambiguity. Hanako looks down at the picture in his palm and Yashiro stares back at him: her bold, red lips and silver-spun hair are two twin beacons of color, misplaced and incongruent within the impenetrable sea of blackness surrounding her. 

Where Hanako should have been instead lies a lapse in composition. The photograph is blank and undeveloped around his general silhouette. But that is not the strangest thing about the photograph.

The strangest thing is howYashiro leans into the darkness, unafraid of the way it spindles into her own boisterous portrait and slowly eats at the brightly hued pigments of her warm flesh, her pretty, frilly dress, her smile. That unerringly loud, human smile.

How long will it take, he wonders, before the shot is entirely eclipsed by that cold, dead void.

3. Sunlight

It’s a bad day before he even opens his eyes.

As a creature of indeterminate longevity and supernatural capabilities, sleep is not the necessity it once was for him. But he indulges, from time to time, when there’s little to do during the daylight hours. After all, he’s confined to his bedroom from sunrise until sunset. Pacing the perimeter of a lion’s cage grows tiresome, even to eternally patient apex predators such as himself. Much easier to force his body to shut down and pass the time for him, as his consciousness wanders aimlessly through the realm of a deep, dreamless slumber.

This day is not one of those days. This day is the peak of Summer’s cruel, tyrannical reign. This day is suffocating. This day is warm. This day is bright. 

This day maneuvers above and below and all around the blackout curtains that are always painstakingly drawn over his windows. This day leaks into his bedroom and weasels its way into his sheets, underneath his skin, scorching him from the inside out with such a ferocity that it renders him immobile. Every fiber of his being threatens to splice into terrifying, meaningless oblivion. 

When Yashiro first asked, Hanako told her it was migraines.

It was a vague excuse that pinpointed some rare, untreatable immune-disease that left him inexplicably weak to sunlight. Yashiro really should have been more persistent in hunting down the real truth -- the actual truth -- especially considering her occupation as an urgent clinic nurse. He considers the idea that it’s an answer she doesn’t care enough to unearth. He mulls over the alternative, which is that she is too frightened by whatever she may find to go searching for it in the first place. He then decides he’s done thinking about her. Today is torture enough.

A gentle knock at his door renders all of his efforts fruitless, however. “Hanako-kun?” Her voice filters easily through the heavy fog clouding his awareness, like a blade through slackened flesh. “You okay?”

She’s still standing hesitantly in his doorway, as though waiting for permission to enter. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly to do anything other than lay still and flat as a corpse.

He can’t afford to expend any unnecessary effort lest he wear himself out completely, so he goes for the most direct course of action:

Snakes his arm out of the big, black ball of sheets and comforter in which he’s coffined himself inside. Holds back a curse as he’s made aware of just how weak he’s become. Struggles not to drop his cellular phone when he finally manages to blindly locate it. Unplugs the device single handedly with tremorous fingers. Holds it out to the open air.

“Take this,” says Hanako, voice dim and tepid. “Dial the contact ‘Tsukasa.’ Give him this address.”

Not for the first time, Hanako realizes that he should be grateful for this human’s absence of curiosity. He has amassed plenty of bad habits in the past, all of them metastasizing entirely too close for comfort until he’d been forced to handle them in a way that had been entirely hands-on and the very opposite of mess-free. For Yashiro to wordlessly collect the cellular phone from his trembling grasp and do as she’s told is what he’d call a blessing, if he still believed in feats as fickle as faith. 

She is confused as she makes the phonecall. Hanako can hear the shift of her hair sliding past one shoulder as she tilts her head. He can feel the way her chest flutters in a muted gasp of surprise when the line connects after the first ring. She can’t be more than three or four feet away. Close enough for him to reach out and brush, with the pitifully pale pads of his fingertips. What a sight that would paint, muses Hanako, deliriously. Icarus and his glittering, lethal lover.

Time ebbs and flows and bends and breaks after that. He’s distantly aware that he drops in and out of consciousness. The hot wax slathering each of his limbs is an imagined thing, he’s sure, as is the sensation of free-falling to an anticipated, blunt death. These sensations are from the dreamscape that pulls him beneath its suffocating depths only to release him at the last second, in a cruel imitation of the sea and all her unfathomable terror. 

(He has not dreamt in so very, very long. It’s a bad habit.)

The final time he breaks the surface, he surges up against something -- cold. The kind of cold that forces his own to bow its head. The kind of cold that relieves him of his fever, and sends a violent chill through his body, all at once. The kind of cold one should only absorb in small doses, with limited contact. A once-in-every-three-decades kind of cold. That kind of cold.

“Hi, Amane! You look terrible!”

Tsukasa’s hand on his forehead is frigid enough that it loops back into the realm of burning. Hanako must gently bat it away and blink blearily up at the sight of his twin brother, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he always was. Always is.

“Hi, Tsu.”

“Hold still, ‘kay? I brought the bendy straws you like. All you gotta do is sip. Open wide!”

Obediently, Hanako parts his lips and accepts the flimsy piece of plastic. 

He tries not to think about what, exactly, it is that he’s doing. If he closes his eyes and holds his breath, Hanako can almost pretend that he’s being fed by different hands, in a different world, as a different person. 

“Hey, Amane?”

Gulp, shudder. Resist the instinctive gag that claws its way up his throat like a beast bending the bars of its cage. “Yeah, Tsu?”

“Why are you starving yourself?”

Eyes closed. Mouth shut. Another swallow. Hands-off. Mess free.

“You have food right there,” Tsukasa whispers. “Is there something wrong with her? Is she sick? Y’know, I’m not picky. If you don’t want her, I can--”

Hanako, with newfound strength, launches upright into a sitting position. What wonders a couple of mouthfuls can do. 

Oh, how to explain this. Oh, how to navigate his way through an intersection of muddled implications and unspoken subtleties, all of which will go right over Tsukasa’s head. How can Hanako pretend to be a creature of innuendo and self-control, when his biggest, most glaring lapse in judgement sits across from him in the damned den of his own design?

He struggles for a moment, running a tired hand down his face. “Yashiro is a -- friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” confirms Hanako, desperately avoiding Tsukasa’s curious gaze. “And friends don’t eat friends.”

The words are slimy and leave a bad taste in his mouth. Well. Maybe the words themselves aren’t what lingers at the back of his tongue and stains his teeth. But they are odious, nonetheless, and hang in the air like empty nooses dripping down from a gallows.

“Friends don’t let friends starve,” is Tsukasa’s counterpoint. “If it were me, Amane, I’d let you. Even though you already did, I’d let you do it again. I’d always let you.”

Hanako has never understood why Tsukasa refuses to cover up the twin bite marks that marr his jugular. Is it to punish him? Is it not punishment enough, that Hanako has to see his face at all? 

When his brother grins at him, it cuts like a knife. Hanako remembers a time where those cheeks stretched wider, when those eyes glistened with something other than black ice. Tsukasa plucks the bendy straw out of the cup and drinks straight from the rim, tossing his head back to give Hanako full view of the way his throat opens and closes around the infernal contents. 

He can’t stop staring at the scars: two lone stars fixed in an empty, pallid, apocalyptic sky.

The younger boy is sated only when the cup has been drained dry -- and even then, he pants, exhilarated, pupils blown large and dangerously obsidian as they flitter back and forth as though in search of more, more, more. 

Why are you starving yourself?

He’d always been a messy eater. His baby brother, Tsukasa. Tsukasa who loved Katanuki. Tsukasa who loved to paint. Tsukasa who still loves to paint, but now works solely in abstract monochrome. Tsukasa, who paints himself over and over and over again until he’s dripping, covered head-to-toe in a masterpiece of his own design. Tsukasa, who licks his canvas clean at the end of each night only to start anew in tomorrow’s dangerous twilight dusk. Tsukasa, who collects victims like portraits.

Tsukasa, who had once been a portrait himself. Hanako, who held the brush in his hands and created something freakishly beautiful that wretched, awful night.

Why are you starving yourself?

He feels full enough, watching Tsukasa pass his tongue over his chops. He feels like he’ll never need to eat again.

By the time his brother makes his departure, the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon. Hanako’s room is once again as it should be: a thick, inky fog of opaque black. It’s so dark, in fact, that had he not been what he is, he would never have spotted the slight gap between his door and its frame, where a slender figure lingers in apprehensive wait.

Yashiro is checking on him, he realizes belatedly. 

Why are you starving yourself?

“Good night,” She calls, softly. “I’m about to head out for a double.”

“Be safe.”

“‘Course! I always am… I hope you feel better soon, Hanako-kun.”

He couldn’t have this if he ate like an animal. He couldn’t have Yashiro -- sweet, gentle, lovely Yashiro -- living alongside him as he devoured bodies made in her image. Already, Hanako struggles with what his baser instincts urge him towards… to give into those temptations would be putting her in danger. 

His door clicks quietly shut. His room is bathed in the cover of night once more.

Left alone to his own devices, the beat begins to roam its cage. A growl sounds, low and deep and mortally wounded. Not from his throat -- but from the very pit of his stomach.

Resistance is one thing, but ignorance, however feigned, is quickly ruled out of the realm of his personal possibility. There is no disregarding the sensations that fester inside of him. There is no course for his desires to run. There is only the ugly, maddening truth:

Hanako is hungry.

Hanako needs to put his hands on something.

Hanako needs to make a mess.

4. Silver

“Promise rings!”

“... Excuse me?”

“N-Not in a weird way, or anything like that!” Stutters Yashiro, fumbling with the miniature wooden box in her shaking, manicured grasp. “They’re just little cheap ones. I saw them on display at the mall, and I couldn’t just not… plus, do you even know what day it is?”

Hanako raises a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s our six-months-as-roommates-a-versary!”

“Wow.”

“I’m really happy you recognize the importance here, Hanako-kun. Now stick out your hand so I can put yours on! And then you do me!”

If he didn’t know any better, Hanako would wonder how Yashiro gets anything done with those delicate fingers of hers. They’re as soft-looking and malleable and enticingly peachy as the rest of her, topped off at their gracefully tapered ends with a neat coat of ruby red. They dance along everything they touch, nimble little ballerinas hopping from pose to pose, commanding rapt attention wherever they leap. 

As his own hand raises to meet hers, he must fight the urge to clench into an ugly, defensive fist. 

The first touch sends something like electricity ricocheting down his spine like lightning through a weather vane. She is so gentle. How can she be so gentle? How can she be so round-edged and rosy-cheeked and expect him to just stand here, wordlessly, with nothing to do or say about it? How can she live in his house for six months and celebrate, rather than mourn? How can she look at him, a creature innate to unsightly presence and habit, and say to herself: this is something worthy of care.

The second touch is just as unnerving, but for all the wrong reasons.

“I thought you said this was cheap,” grits Hanako, exhaling sharply through his nose as the silver ring slides slow and meticulously down the length of his finger. 

Yashiro pauses, eyes narrowed. “Is it not? How can you even tell?”

“A-allergic… !”

To her credit, she’s properly mortified. Yashiro almost falls all over herself  to wrench the offending piece of jewelry off and away, apologizing profusely as she studies the burn wound on his middle finger. Her mouth twists into a tense little knot. Hanako wants to smooth it out.

Instead, he follows her obediently into her bathroom after she tells him to come inside and sit his ass down on the toilet -- which he does, sheepishly.

“I can’t believe -- oh, God, I’m so sorry, Hanako-kun… Just, hold still okay? It’s only gonna hurt a little, I promise.”

It’s an injury that would’ve long since healed itself by now, if he were in any other state than the one he currently occupies; which is to say that he’s rather unhealthy. Which is to say that the rats and possums and other small rodents he guiltily entraps in the alley behind the house do nothing besides sate a momentary desire. Which is to say that it is impossibly difficult to keep himself aware and conscious and disciplined enough not to careen head-first into Yashiro’s exposed clavicle and unhinge his jaw and feel his skull shift to accommodate the extra layer of fangs and sink his claws into her perfect, supple hips and feel her go paralyzed with terror as he--

“Okay! All done. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.” It’s a pretty bandage. Pink and bright with tiny dancing radishes along the perimeter.

“I really am sorry,” mumbles Yashiro, encasing his frigid hands with her own, squeezing and rubbing with her soft thumbs. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’ve always -- you’re always so kind to me, all the time, and it just seems like… well, I don’t know. Lately I feel like I just never know how to help you, Hanako-kun. I feel like I just make things… worse. So can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonesty.

“You have to tell me when you need something. Or when you don’t need something. Or when you -- uh, well, I really want you to be honest with me. Okay? Can you promise me that? Because it makes me really sad that you struggle with… a lot, and there’s not so much I know about how to help. So, please? Do you promise? To be honest?”

“I promise,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonestly and also because he can’t close his eyes without seeing her body splayed out in the bathtub behind her, limbs limp and gore overflowing past the rim and into his eagerly awaiting mouth. In this fantasy, he uses his tongue to follow the carmine droplets bulleting down the porcelain edge, licking and slurping until he reaches the source of the mess, the heart of the storm, the original inspiration to all his reverence. He would take his time. 

(Or would he lose himself? Would it be hands-on? Would it be messy?)

“Thank you for trusting me. I trust you… with my life, you know. Maybe it’s naive, but I hope one day you could do the same.”

He can’t touch her, not right now, even though she looks like she’s about to shake apart at the seams. All Hanako can do is watch from a safe distance, and wonder. And want. And ache.

As always.

5. Blood

She comes home early.

Hanako has only just padded his way into the kitchen when he hears the front door unlock. Is it that time, already? No, it can’t be. Yashiro usually arrives when he is just settling in to go back to sleep. She brings with her the pale light of a budding dawn, and although Hanako regrets their sparse interactions and conflicting schedules, he’d rather not disintegrate into a pile of ashes atop the living room couch just because he felt like saying welcome home, honey.

Tonight is different, apparently. A cursory glance thrown over to the microwave clock reveals that it’s only a few minutes past the witching hour. And despite there being a total absence of sunlight when Yashiro opens the door, Hanako still falls to his knees in a sudden onslaught of unadulterated agony.

His vision turns spotty, only worsening as Yashiro rushes inside and screams at the sight of his crumpled body. “Hanako-kun? Oh my God! Oh my God, can you hear me?”

Barely, is what he wants to say, but can’t. His throat is too tight, too dry. His mouth begins to salivate at an alarmingly disgusting rate. 

That smell.

Pathetically, he crawls over to her on his hands and knees, body running on autopilot as it drives him towards the source. Hanako can feel his body shift and transform with the pavlovian response he’s developed over the decades -- an instinct borne out of the memory of a chase, of a hunt,of warm flesh twisting and stretching and tearing underneath his capable grasp, of muffled screams and kicking legs and the eventual, gradual descent into permanent stillness, of hands scrabbling desperately into dirt, into pavement, into carpet, as they scream his name and beg him -- no -- no, stop -- what are you -- Hanako-san--!

Blood. But, not just any kind of blood. 

Fresh, human blood.

Six months is a very, very long time to go without food.

The scent wafts from the messenger bag thrown haphazardly over Yashiro’s shoulder. Hanako claws weakly at it, burying his nose into the worn fabric and moaning in relief at the contact. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, breathy. The debauched soundtrack of his own muffled desperation would embarrass him, probably, if he were cognizant of anything other than the metallic tang filling his nostrils.

The last thing he remembers is Yashiro running her fingers through his hair, shushing him quietly. 

And then it all fades to black.

“Oh, Good. You’re awake!”

Hanako gets about halfway through a sarcastic reply before something is shoved past his lips. Something… familiar. Something -- bendy?

“Drink up,” huffs Yashiro, pushing the straw more firmly into his mouth. “You’re lucky we had a contaminated batch of bags today. I-it’s still safe to drink, though! Or at least… I hope… tell me if it tastes funny, okay? Jeez, Hanako-kun… I didn’t know you were so hungry! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

His lack of a response only propels her onward. 

“Well… I know you don’t like to talk about it… I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just sit and watch you waste away--”

“You knew?”

“... Um. Was I not supposed to know?”

“You knew,” Hanako repeats numbly around the plastic in his mouth, dumbfounded. “This whole time, you knew.”

Unimpressed, Yashiro raises an eyebrow. “That you’re a vampire? Duh. Allergic to garlic? And silver? And sunlight? I’m not stupid, and you aren’t nearly as slick as you think you are, mister.”

 The chuckle she gives after this quickly peters off into something more melancholy, a little bit darker in origin. From where she’s perched on the couch, leaning above him to adjust the straw’s positioning into the medical packet on his chest, Hanako can see the sorrow, there, in her big, doe-like eyes. 

“You never brought it up… and I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries! I’ve never, erm, done ‘this’ before… if you couldn’t already tell. But since you never said anything… I just thought that, I don’t know? Maybe my blood wasn’t good enough to drink, or something like tha--”

“That is absolutely not the case.” 

He’s quick to cut her off. Too quick. “Far from it, really,” he attempts to joke in an effort to lessen the intensity of the blow, but the damage has already been done. Yashiro’s hand freezes around the blood bag, her eyes flitting up to lock onto his own. 

It’s unfairly attractive, the way her blush blossoms across her face. Hanako takes a long drag from the straw and swallows, never breaking his stare.

“I would… definitely be okay. More than okay. With doing -- ahem. That.”

“Drinking,” supplies Nene, so quietly that Hanako reads her lips more than he hears the charged word spill from her pink, glistening tongue. “You’d drink from me?”

What a question. Oh, if only she knew.

“Sure,” he hums, easily, “as long as you promise not to bring home anymore garlic bread. Especially not from that mangy mutt.”

“Hey, that isn’t very nice! Kou-kun isn’t… wait. You’re… you don’t mean…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god. That’s why you don’t like him!”

“His pack leader really, really hates me. Heh.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t look so pleased about that.” She says, with a fond smile. Hanako wants to taste it. 

On his next sip, he’s met with an ugly slurping sound. Normally, the fact that he’d sucked down a pint of blood in less than five minutes would be cause for concern. But his circumstances are not normal. His circumstances haven’t been normal for quite a good while, really, and Hanako can’t bring himself to think about it too hard. Not when his worst bad habit is within arms’ reach; not when she’s digging into her bag and procuring another packet of blood for him to puncture with the blunt end of his straw.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, awestruck.

“And I’ve got seven more where that came from! So just take your time, okay? No rush. I’ll stay here and make sure you get your fill… I promise.”

Hanako thinks he will hold her to that.

+1: Feeding

This is nothing like the first time, which is what he’d originally been terrified of. This is nothing like the second, or third, or fourth or fiftieth or hundredth time.

(How could it be? How could having her pliant and wanton underneath his capable grasp be anything other than pure ecstasy?)

Before he takes the plunge, he -- has to warn her. Again. Just in case she’s changed her mind. “Last chance,” Hanako breathes into the fleshy meat of her, the aroma of pumping blood doing unspeakable things to his mind. “This is your last chance to back out, Yashiro.”

She’s pretty as a portrait, the way she shifts and wriggles underneath his body reminiscent of the melding of a varied color palette coming together in one grand, epic composition. 

But he’s about to stain her in monochrome. 

“Don’t be gentle,” Yashiro gasps, dragging his hands to hold her down. “I’m not afraid o-of a little mess.”

You should have been, thinks Hanako, mournfully, as he paints his first stroke of bright, brilliant red.

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #208

What is your absolute favorite hobby? Who got you interested in it? It's probably feral animal RP, at least when I'm in the mood to write. I discovered it myself through the OG Meerkat Manor Animal Planet forum.

What color are the squirrels where you live? Brownish gray.

Have you ever fostered an animal? No. I would struggle immensely to let it go.

Have you ever dated a fat person? Yes.

Have you ever dated someone with a fine ass body? Yes.

What are two foods you think taste good with whipped cream? I hate whipped cream, it's a texture thing.

If you eat it, what is your favorite way to eat beef? On a burger.

Do you have any medication that you keep with you at all times? Yes, an inhaler for asthma but also a med for anxiety or panic attacks.

[TW: ABUSE] Have you ever had a significant other who hit you? No, I would never in a thousand years allow this.

Do you own any exercise machines? Yes. I have a stationary bike in this spare room and there's a treadmill in the living room.

Do you have a dining room in your house? Yes, but we don't really use it unless there's a large number of people over. It's more seating.

Are you in the process of watching or re-watching a series at the moment? No.

Has anyone you know gotten a new pet recently? Ummm I'm not sure.

How old were you 10 years ago? Who were your closest friends at that point? I was 18. I was dating Jason, and close friends included Summer, Girt, Tez, Sam, and possibly still Hannia?

Do you still speak to any of them? I'm dating Girt, I'm close with Tez and Summer, and while Sam and I don't really talk nowadays, I still consider him to be basically my big brother.

Have you ever kissed someone of another race? I started saying no, but I guess actually yes; Girt's father was full Native American. I sometimes forget that; you'd never guess looking at him and his sister.

Are there any races you wouldn’t kiss? Absolutely not, it's 2024.

What is your favorite thing about your best friend? I know I can trust him. I genuinely never DON'T trust what he tells me, we prioritize healthy communication and honesty big time.

What do you mostly have in common with your best friend? We both love video games. We're also very introverted and love metal music.

Do you like it when men shave their chests? If you are a guy, do you shave? I have no preference.

What is your favourite kind of video game? Horror.

Do you watch anime? If so, what are some of your favourites? I'll watch it if I'm with someone who wants to watch TV, I have nothing against it other than television shows just normally don't entertain me as much as YouTube videos. I like Fullmetal Alchemist (+Brotherhood), Ginga Densetsu Weed, and Deadman Wonderland. I've watched a good deal of Attack on Titan and enjoyed what I saw, Girt and I eventually just drifted into watching other stuff.

Do you have any siblings? If so which one of them do you get along with the best? Yeah, a few. I think I get along best with Nicole, my youngest sibling.

What’s your favorite TV show? And who’s your favorite character from it? My favorite television show of all time is Meerkat Manor, and Mozart is my favorite meerkat.

Do people think you look like either of your parents? Does that offend you? I've heard both. As a child I remember hearing I look like my dad wouldn't really offend me, but I didn't like/get it until I was older. Not all physical traits are gender-specific.

Do you prefer regular bacon or turkey bacon? Regular, by a long shot.

Do you think it’s weird when people talk to their pets like people? I don't think this at all. Even if your pet doesn't truly understand you, I feel the interaction can't be bad for them; I would think it benefits them, at least with most animals you can have as pets. You're including them.

What is the last place, other than home, that you stayed overnight? The ER after my asthma attack.

What is the furthest you have traveled alone? The Chicago area of Illinois.

Have you ever dated someone simply for their looks? No.

What was the name of the main character in the last book you read? Ponyboy Curtis; I re-read The Outsiders. I still enjoyed it very much, but not as much as when I was in middle school.

Do you prefer pizza or hot dogs? Pizza.

What is your favorite pizza topping? I've been into pepperoni + sausage together lately.

Is anyone in your family currently in the military? Not that I know of. Definitely no one close.

What is your favorite dog breed? I have too many I consider my "favorite," but I can tell you I have a specifically soft spot for beagles.

Do you own a bikini? God no, you couldn't pay me to wear one with my current body. I'm completely for big girls wearing whatever the fuck they want, but *I* couldn't do it.

What are three of your favorite bakery items? Cinnamon rolls, donuts, muffins.

Which book series could you read again? I'm really not a re-reader; recently doing so with The Outsiders was VERY unlike me. The only reason I was really able to do it again was because I'd forgotten like... everything.

Is your last ex currently in a relationship? *shrug*

Who was the last female you were introduced to? My new psychiatrist.

Who was the last male you were introduced to? The doctor who did my colonoscopy lmao thanks for checking out my colon 👍

Is there any band out there that you like every song by them? Nope, not even Rammstein or Ozzy.

Have you ever smoked? No.

Have you ever been in a lighthouse? No. I was supposed to visit one on a 4th grade field trip, but the ocean was way too aggressive so instead we stopped at a nearer island where wild horses live. It was very fun.

Do you know anyone who always makes themselves out to be the victim? Colleen, who I haven't associated with in years and never plan to again.

How far away do you live from the house you grew up in? Like... 20ish minutes.

Have you ever been to a same-sex wedding? No.

What’s the most difficult experience you and a significant other have gone through together? Distance, with Sara. It was very difficult sometimes, especially when we really wanted the comfort of each other's presence. It got much worse once we actually met in person and got to feel what being together was like.

Would you like living on the coast? No, the effects of hurricanes along coasts are no joke.

Honestly, do you enjoy arguing? NO

Are you scared of losing the person you like to someone else? No, not really. I acknowledge we may not be together forever, but I certainly don't expect him to cheat on me. He's BEEN cheated on and was very affected by it, so it'd be a wild world where he did that to me. Early into our relationship we shared dealbreakers and cheating was one for both of us.

Do you have a hard time making decisions? I get choice paralysis FOR REAL, like it's ridiculous.

If there was a large spider in your room, would you stay in the room? I'd get the spider out.

What’s your favorite kind of meat? (vegan/vegetarian options count!) I don't know, really. I eat the most chicken, but I'm very limited in the kinds of preparation I like for chicken.

What’s the coolest or most memorable animal you’ve ever seen at a zoo? The most exciting for me was definitely meerkats, but I think the objectively "coolest" thing I saw was a leucistic alligator.

What video game have you played the most hours of? If you don’t know, just make a rough guess. So you can type /played into World of Warcraft to see exactly this and my time is FUCKING DEPRESSING, there is no game that competes against that shit.

Have you ever modeled before? No.

What’s your best friend’s favorite color? Teal.

What color was your senior prom dress? Black. I regret deleting all those pictures, I was beautiful and so fucking happy.

Which YouTuber do you feel like you could be friends with easily? Gab Smolders.

Who do you know personally that has a nice singing voice? Girt.

If you met your favorite musician, what would you ask him/her? god forbid, I would be so embarrassing lmao

What’s something you used to believe in that you don’t anymore? The Christian god and devil.

What’s something you believe everyone should have? Food, water, shelter, fun.

Who do you know that wears the most makeup? My friend Summer, she's an artist with it.

Are you anyone’s first love? Maybe, idk.

How much does your mother know about your sex life (or lack thereof)? She goes to my doctor appointments so she knows we don't have actual sex right now. She's aware we do "things," but I absolutely won't share details with her, not that she's ever asked.

What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever had an obsession with? Do you still like that thing? I'm actually very embarrassed that my hyperfixations tend to be celebrities, I guess because it makes me feel like a pre-teen. I'm oddly WAY more private about this off the Internet, though, and I don't totally understand why.

Have you ever played any of the Animal Crossing games? Do you have the new game, or do you plan on buying it? No and no.

When was the last time you were nauseous? Do you know what caused the feeling of nausea? It was the morning of my colonoscopy prep, drinking way more water than my body wanted. I couldn't finish the last cup I was supposed to have.

What brand of earbuds/earphones do you own? Do you like them? Oh I have no idea, but they're very basic earbuds. Cheap ones you can buy in bulk.

Can you remember the last time you saw a rainbow? No.

Do you have any plants or flowers in your house? What kinds? Do you like having plants in your home? Mom keeps some plants. I don't know what they're called, though. I just know they're nothing exotic or anything.

[destinyc1020]

I will agree with that last anon about how we sometimes don’t even support our own and can do so much more. And we as audiences members are sometimes the root of the issue because we don’t put our support where our mouth is. There’s a weird thing where I’ve seen POC give a lot of grace and leeway to white mediocrity and hold impossible standards sometimes for our own. It’s disheartening when we’re the ones perpetuating the work twice as hard and get half as much motif ourselves. When it comes to both actors and even directors. Shows and films. We say we want one thing and then don’t even support it when it comes out. Shows like Saturdays and Swagger could’ve used the support. So many great films that no one is supporting but everyone is always talking about the same five film twitter films. Where’s the talk about Thousand and One, Rye Lane, All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt, They Cloned Tyrone, Rustin, Earth Mama to name a few. Last year we had Nanny, Master, Till, Honk for Jesus to also name a few. American Fiction came out this weekend. There’s been plenty of Black women directors making great films this year and last but no one talks about them the way they rave about Greta, Sofia or Emerald as if they’re the only women directors ever. Even the way we’re constantly talking about male actors like Timothee, JE or Austin and leaving out people like Jerome, Kelvin, Caleb to name a few. We can always do self checks on how we’re feeding into the vicious cycle and seek out works from Black actors and directors ourselves if we want more of it.

Yes, you've brought up some very good points Anon. 👏🏾👏🏾

This is so true!

Part of it is obviously of course because films with a predominant black cast are just seen as a "black movie" (unless, it's the MCU's "Black Panther" of course lol 😵‍💫).... We live in a very Eurocentric world unfortunately. So it's sad how we as poc always have to see ourselves in white-dominated films and are able to do so, but others can't do the same when it comes to black films. 😕

Another thing is just the fact that some films are smaller, and some people just don't watch indie/smaller films just in general.... black OR white. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Idk about others, but I know for me too that I have to be in a certain mindset and frame of mind in order to watch certain films.... especially if it deals with slavery, racial inequality, or the mistreatment of black people. 😔 It just hits so close to home sometimes, and it hurts my spirit, so I have to mentally prepare myself for those films to watch.

Sometimes, you just want to watch smthg lighthearted, you know? I already deal with racial injustice in my real life....I like movies to escape lol. So sometimes, it's just nice to watch smthg a little more lighthearted. Or, if it's going to address racial injustice, sometimes it's nice to see it presented in a way like "The Other Black Girl" (which I'm currently watching on Hulu 😊).

I like black filmmakers who can make films that aren't JUST about struggle in Black America... ykwim? Like, sometimes it's just nice to see a Sci-fi film with a predominantly black cast, or a horror film with a predominantly black cast, or a lighthearted comedy or adventure film, ykwim?

Anyway, very good points Anon 👍🏾

[pastelbatfandoms]

40 question plural/system asks

What do you guys usually fight about, if anything? Relationships lol That's really our main difference. We can agree on or agree to disagree on most everything else.

2. What are everyone's fashion tastes? I've answered this in other surveys,which you can search for under the tags Surveys or OSDD. But I suppose I can do each of our main styles. Mine (Michelle) are Streetwear , Hippie and Fandom/Causal.

Mitchell's: Emo & Grunge

Mina: Y2k & Basic (Think Gossip Girl)

Rini's: Girly and Kawaii (she is a child)

Levathia's: Victorian Goth or Romantic Goth

Alistair: Gothic & Devil Core. Suits.

Elizabeth: Angel Core

Newt: All Black, Nu Goth maybe. She doesn't have a set style.

Lyria's: Witchy & Boho mixed with galaxy themes. (Was Hipster)

3. Who's the best at dealing with stress? Alistair without a doubt as he is one of our protectors and the most mature (besides Elizabeth) I would also say Lyria too since she is so spiritual and an Alien.

4. Who has the weirdest music taste? lol Mitch with his Screamo. JK I mean we all have varied tastes so I don't think any of our music taste is weird.

5. Do you see your system members as individual people, parts of a whole, or something else? Do other members see things differently? Some see themselves as individuals, I think other's of us see themselves as part of a system that work together to make a whole. (myself included)

6. Is there anything everyone can agree on or have in common? We agree on how to raise our kids (for the most part),who we're married to and our beliefs.

7. How long have you known you're part of a system? Has it taken other members a longer or shorter time to come around? They all knew long before I did lol. I have only known for a few months.

8. What was the discovery process like for you? It was a bit of a surprise. I even joked about having it to our husband once (mine and Lyria's) turns out we do lol

9. What do you feel your origins are, if you feel comfortable sharing? Like how did we get OSDD? um Childhood trauma starting at the age of 5. (Rape, Molestation, Domestic abuse within the household, parents divorced, Dad was an Alcoholic, My Grandma and Sister died when I was very young.)

10. If you could wake up tomorrow and have everyone be in separate bodies, would you? Probably not. That would be a lot, plus we'd have to move we barely have room for 5 people here let alone 8 more! I feel like their safer and more comfortable in the inner world anyway. Especially Rini, Elizabeth and Newt.

11. Do you have a favorite plural character or headcanon? Killer Frost aka Caitlin Snow from The Flash.

12. Does anyone like any video games? What about books or TV shows? omg yes. Been playing since we were children. I've always preferred fighting games, as well as Simulation games. As far as Books and TV? Man that's a whole other list...We've been reading since we were 4 and are big into TV shows....

Mitch likes pretty much anything, but his/their favorites are Nintendo games, WWE games and Super Hero/Anime games.

Levathia prefers D&D to Video games but she does like RPG's, Horror & Vampire The Masquerade.

Lyria likes Mobile games mostly.

Mina likes The Sims, Dress up games, and Anime. As long as it's sexy or cute.

Rini prefers card games like MLP or board games like candy land. But she does like cute anime and Disney games.

Alistair and Elizabeth prefer board games over video games.

Newt sometimes likes playing mobile card games.

13. Who's the most outdoorsy, if anyone? Who likes to stay inside the most, if anyone? I'd say Lyria and Mina. Liryia because she loves nature and Mina because she likes just going out.

I think the rest of us are more introverted though Elizabeth does like laying out when it's sunny and cloud gazing.

14. What is religion and spirituality like for your system, if applicable? We're all pretty spiritual, Elizabeth is the only one of us who is religious (She's Christian)

15. Who, if anyone, are you out to? Are they supportive? My Husband, My Niece (Who I found out has DID) and My Mom.

16. Do you see multiplicity as more of a spectrum that everyone's on, or something that only effects some people? Only effects those who have had severe childhood trauma and possibly ongoing.

17. Any nonhuman members? Yes. As I stated Liryia is an Alien (Plieadian) Elizabeth is an Angel, Alistair and Newt are Demons, Levathia is a Vampire and Mitch is part cat.

18. Do you have introjects? If so, where do they come from? One, My ex Valenn, who is with Levathia. Hopefully I don't have anymore introjects of ex's....

19. Do you consider yourself disordered? Do other members feel any differently about this?  Yes, but I really don't think about it. It's always been this way I've had depression, Anxiety, PTSD and Disassociation for as long as I can remember. So It's pretty much the norm now.

20. What are everyone's favorite hobbies? I already answered in another survey....

21. How do you resolve in-system conflicts? We don't usually have them that I know of, but we do have an area towards the front that sits a round poker table that we sit at and discuss anything we have concerns over.

22. Do you dissociate often? What is dissociation like for you, if applicable? Sometimes I can't tell if I am or if I'm just really tired. I tend to space out often though and used to have really bad dizzy spells or feel like everything is in slow motion (including voices) I usually have to sit with my eyes closed for a few minutes or longer to settle.

23. Do you wish you had more or less members, or are you happy with what you've got now? I'm good with what I have. Though I wouldn't reject any new comers lol

24. How active are your other members? Who's around in headspace the most? Who fronts the most? Who's dormant, if anyone? As the host I am the most active. But Mitch, Liryia and Levathia are around the most. I would say Newt is the most inactive but she's not dormant she just never comes out because she guards the front with Alistair. I don't think we have any that are dormant...

25. Do different members have different art or handwriting styles? Feel free to show examples! YES! I have a more loose, all over the place handwriting and I'm better at drawing designs for letters and free hand.

Levathia has a more old world cursive style and she draws very dark things. (bleeding eyes and such)

Mitch has what I call "chicken scratch" handwriting lol but it's still readable just very hurried. He along with Rini are good at drawing anime characters.

Lyria has messy "cursive" large with plenty of misspellings lol she is the best artist out of all of us. She mainly draws/paints landscapes and planets from her memories of her home worlds. As well as sigils.

Rini's handwriting is very childish since she is our little.

Elizabeth's handwriting is very neat and light. She doesn't draw but she's good at decorating.

Alistair's handwriting is bold and precise like him. He's only drawn a self portrait (or helped me) but he says he's good at using charcoal and chalks. Very abstract.

Mina's handwriting is flowery with lots of hearts dotting the i's. She mainly doodles things like hearts and stars.

26. Do you ever feel NOT multiple? Like a singlet, or somewhere in the middle of the spectrum? Do you ever forget you're part of a system? Yes, alot actually, I used to think I was making it up.

27. Do you guys have different tastes in food? What are everyone's favorite foods?

I like chicken, pasta, hamburgers, breakfast food and breads.

I do know Mitch likes his junk food, cereal and chocolate...

Rini likes cereal, mac n cheese, Chicken Nuggets , Ice cream, Chocolate milk and Elizabeth eats more healthy, besides the occasional cake. (Sorry we're allergic to dairy guys!)

Mina likes frozen yogurt, Mocha's and fruit.

Levathia said she likes some japanese food and english.

Alistair prefers rich foods and dark chocolate (Wow total opposite of me lol)

Liryia doesn't have a preference. But prefers home cooked.

28. Have you ever struggled with denial? Yep.

29. Does your typing style differ depending on who's fronting?  Sometimes. If Liryia's typing we get alot of misspellings lol and if Mina or Mitch is fronting we get alot of teen style typing (abbreviating every word...)

30. Do you have any amnesia? What's it like for you? I used to from childhood and as a teen. I get alot of my memories mixed up.

31. Do any system members have a different gender or sexuality? How do you guys handle this? Alistair is male, Newt is None Binary and Mitch goes by they/him. Everyone else is female.

We handle it just like normal, we're all pretty open minded.

32. How has your system changed over time? I don't know...Other then Alistair not just being a scary shadow or demon anymore. Levathia isn't as volatile either.

33. Who's the oldest member? Who's the youngest? I suppose Liryia though we have a lot of ageless members. Rini is the youngest.

34. Do you see your system more as family, more as friends, more as roommates, or anything else? Family and friends.

35. What would your perfect life or dream job look like? How does this differ between members? I really don't have one anymore. Maybe a tarot reader with a permanent house.

36. Name your favorite quality of all the members you can think of! Including yourself! ;) Alistair is answering- Hello, Michelle found it hard to think of what to say so here I am.

Firstly I would say My favorite quality's of hers would be her strength, how strong and mature she is given everything she has been through. She has grown so much these past few years (some of that we attribute to her life now and family) she is also creative, sensitive and a great listener.

Mina would like me to write on her next so I shall hm. Mina is spirited to say the least, she is fun and kind, very loving (sometimes a bit too trusting) she may wear her heart on her sleeve but it has led Michelle to were she is now so Minara is much needed. I also appreciate her more open sexual side that she is not afraid to express.

Elizabeth, ah how does a demon write about an Angel? We used to not get on very much but we have grown closer over time, as we've realized the roles we play balance each other out. Elizabeth is kind as well very humble (sometimes too) and is a great caretaker to Rini.

Speaking of, where do I begin? Rini is our little therefore she emerged when Michelle was around 5-7 years and went through her first trauma. She may hold some but not all. She is very strong, spirited, sweet and loving. She may be shy but she is also very funny, cute and a joy to be around. She is also very creative and smart as well. Rini created our inner world, so imagination she has indeed.

Now onto Mitchell or Mitch as they like to be called. Mitch is our little emotional one, they do hold alot of the trauma. But despite his quiet, moody exterior he is the one (besides Newt) that I relate to the most. They are misunderstood because of his demeanor but they are actually quite sweet and good. He cares for us all but especially Rini and Mina, he is also very fun and unique.

Levathia is the one that I was the closest to (aside from Newt) growing up in the headspace. We were persecuters together and she was every bit as protective as I when it came to our well being, though she went a bit overboard at times. Lev may have a temper but she has a soft spot for those she loves. She is also very worldy and mature.

Speaking of Worldly. Liyria is our newest member, well new to us, she is actually a starseed and along with Levathia is a part of Michelle's past lives. I may not know her well but what I do know of her I like. She is highly spiritual and is connected to the aliens and akashic records as I am the occult and demons. We relate well when it comes to this and I respect her knowledge and generosity to share with us.

Newt is my right hand. They are very mysterious and seem foreboding because they are mute. but Newt is actually very kind and protective. They take their role as guard very seriously, though I do wish they'd lighten up a bit.

That is all of us for now...I will have Michelle return.

37. What's the most awkward experience you can have that you attribute to plurality? Not remembering things that people will tell you did or said...

38. Is it easy for you guys to be co-conscious? Yes.

39. Are you blurry often? How do you deal with blurriness? A bit yeah. We just deal with it, sleep lol

40. Do you know a lot of details about your system members, or is it more hard for you to parse out? I don't know as much yet but I do get details through dreams.

[datawyrms]

Dying for Escape

Here it is- the fic I worked on this Invisobang with @abrielarnold This is just the first chapter for a bit of a taste, the rest is all up on Ao3 to enjoy Make sure to check out the amazing art and animation! (and reblog em, as they deserve more reblogs)

“Our apologies for any confusion and distress. We hoped to avoid any innocents getting tangled in this mess, but the foul monster has pushed our hand.” The voice rang out, echoing off the walls to be everywhere and nowhere, silencing the small gathered group.

“Most of you are citizens of Amity Park, correct?”

Danny’s stomach did a flip, anxiously pulling at the weird bracelet everyone woke up with. So much for this not being related to home.

“We are tracking and trying to eliminate a murderous ghost. We located it, succeeded in cornering it, but then it managed to slip towards all of you. It is pretending to be human to lose us. The bodies you have seen, the bloodstains and various horrors are all that fiend’s doing, so you understand why we had to take such measures to secure it. None of us want any of you to come to harm, but we cannot allow that ghost to escape.”

Scoffing, but not much. Too many people who were used to ghosts just being a normal thing to be just some random group. This felt more and more like a set up the more the voice spoke.

“The bracelets we have given you will keep the monster from possessing you, or using any other of its ghastly abilities. We need your cooperation so we can release you as soon as possible.”

“What do you creeps want! Stop going on about some dumb ghost!”

“We need you to kill the ghost. As long as it pretends to be human, it is as mortal as any of you. Once it’s signature vanishes you can all go home with the knowledge you have saved everyone from a brutal mass murderer.”

What were the odds that there just happened to be another ghost who could look human in this group, really? He wasn’t a murderer. He would never do anything like what he saw, piling up bodies like it was some sort of game. It couldn’t be good odds. Maybe even impossible.

“I can deal with some ghost, but if they’re so good at being ‘human’ how are we supposed to know if you actually got the thing? I don’t work for people who kidnap me.”

Oh boy. Just what he needed, a familiar voice. He hunched more, hoping he wasn’t spotted by his ghost hunting classmate.

“We have a lock on its ectoplasmic signature, even if we cannot find the source. Once it is destroyed, the signature will be gone.” There was a crackle, a sort of rush of static as the nearby electronic store flickered to life, one of the remaining intact TVs lit with an eerie green light. It almost seemed like a heart monitor, a line pulsing and flickering up and down at a steady rate.

A rate that felt uncomfortably familiar if Danny tracked his own pulse.

“When that line goes flat, you have succeeded. No matter how human it pretends to be, or how lifelike it seems when it bleeds, you will know you did not kill a human. Just this foul monster.”

The extra clarification only made it even harder to keep still. What could he possibly do if anyone decided he was ‘the ghost’, if he didn’t even have the ability to appeal with his humanity?

Ugh. What was the plate number of whatever the heck set his head pounding?

Waking up was unexpected, and somehow rude. As if he shouldn’t be waking up, but his sudden awareness of the world felt like a new thing. He didn’t actually remember going to sleep, or even getting clobbered in a fight. Rubbing his fingers into his forehead didn’t help clear the confusing fog that had taken up residence in his brain, instead it only made him aware of a dull pounding right above his eyes. Great start to the day. If it was a start?

No, he didn’t usually start the day on a tiled floor. Maybe his own floor sometimes, but he’d gotten pretty good about not sleep phasing through things.  A ghost fight went bad? No? He’d remember a fight, or at least what hit him, right? No thermos next to him or hooked onto his belt. Really, he should open his eyes and actually look instead of blindly feeling around. It just hurt.

The dull electrical buzzing kept droning on, covering up anything else worth listening to. Well, he had light. The high ceilings shone brightly, the weird sort of ledge wrapped around the roof hiding the light source. Like who thought a ceiling needed to look all multi tiered and fancy? Especially if there was nothing else of interest up there. Maybe the metal head of a sprinkler or two? Sam would have something to say about malls being over designed shrines to purchases. If she was here, wherever here was. It wasn’t the mall he knew, it was never this weirdly quiet there. Really, it was so empty that he was actually starting to feel cold.

“Tucker? Sam?” Danny called out as he got to his feet, scanning for his friends. If this was ghost nonsense, they were probably here too. They’d been together before whatever this weird wake up was. At least, he was pretty sure they were? Stupid headache was making it hard to think. “Guys?” Someone he knew had to know something, right?

There was something worse than just the dull buzzing sound. The echoing somewhat ‘cheerful’ jingles of canned mall music assaulted his ears as he shouldered through the heavy red double doors. It just sounded wrong, bouncing off the too large and empty space, trying to be calm while his heart wanted to just beat faster. Where was everyone? How did he even get here?

Danny shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe before his thoughts would run him into a full panic. Less focus on what he can’t remember and more focus on right now, and himself. Why did he have a really ugly new wrist accessory? It wasn’t uncomfortable or pinching at his skin, but he couldn’t find a way to undo it. It wasn’t going to slip over his wrist either, not while he still had a hand on there. So kidnapped, dumped in a freaky empty mall and given tacky jewellery. No problem, he could deal with that sort of thing. He fought ghosts after school, this probably didn’t even fit on his weird scale.

Except he couldn’t phase the bracelet off. The metal almost seemed like it was sneering at him as the fluorescent light bounced off of it. It was irritatingly shiny and new. He focused and tried again.

Nothing. No tingle in his arm, no jolt of cold from within. He couldn’t make it intangible, and worse he couldn’t make himself intangible either. Two more points on the ‘this is creepy’ scale. At least it didn’t shock him for trying? Great, that’s positive. At least whatever it is isn’t a spectre deflector, that counts for something! Not a lot, but enough to let him keep trying to pull at it to see if it might break.

Sore fingers one, Danny zero. Fine, stupid bracelet was staying for now. He had more important things to figure out. “Sam? Tucker?” He only got his own voice echoing back as he moved, the mostly emptied storefronts just making him feel even more alone. So what was this, Vlad thinking he was really funny by knocking him out and dropping him in some abandoned shopping center? Fruitloop.

He’d rather fly and see what was going on from above, but apparently intangibility wasn’t the only thing he was locked out of right now. None of his ghost powers were responding as he tested them and walked, not even getting the sensation of them starting up and fizzling out. It was more like getting hit with the Plasmius Maximus, like he didn’t have his powers at all. Surely the bracelet couldn’t do all that on its own? Even his parents hadn’t made something like that yet. Or at least not one that didn’t shock the hell out of him to ‘disable’ them anyway.

“Hey! Kid! You okay?”

Danny froze, letting go of the bracelet to give them his full attention. Not alone then, okay. “Yeah? Why?”

The man wasn’t as large as his dad, but he was still big. Wide shouldered and muscular without being built like a fridge, jogging over with an urgency that just made Danny feel more uncomfortable. Why did some stranger want to know if he was ‘okay’? Well. He had the dumb bracelet too, so maybe this mall wasn’t as empty as it felt.

“Good. Just stick with me and we’ll find a way out of here, okay?”

He scowled at the assumption. Like he should be all scared and want some random grown up to ‘save him’. He didn’t need help, thanks. “I don’t even know you.”

“You were on the bus too, right?”

Was he? He didn’t really need to take the bus much now if he didn’t want to. Telling this random guy that didn’t feel safe. Instead he crossed his arms and looked away. Stranger danger or whatever.

The man sighed, but didn’t leave. “You don’t have to trust me, but keep close. It’s not safe around here.”

“Seemed pretty safe to me.” Just empty and kinda creepy. Not dangerous. If only he could use his powers to duck out of sight! “I’m fine.”

“Listen, I just don’t want to see any more corpses, kid. That means trying to keep you safe.”

“What, now you’re just making up that there’s bodies here?” Danny clenched his hands into fists, wondering if he still had some of his ghostly strength if he needed it. This guy was right on top of his ‘suspicious slimeballs’ list, serious look or not. “Not cool.”

The man actually paused at that, eyes narrowing slightly as if to get a better look at the boy. “You haven’t seen?”

“Duh? Because there aren’t any bodies, you weirdo.” Maybe some of the karate his mom insisted he had to learn might be useful even if he wasn’t as strong as he usually was. Danny kept his eyes on the man while backing away. Was this guy the kidnapper just pretending to be friendly or something?

“It’s bad that way, listen to me.” When Danny kept backing up the man rubbed his forehead “Teenagers. Least my kid isn’t so jumpy.”

He was forced to stop by backing into a door, half turning his head so he would know how to push to get it open. Yet instead of doing that, all his muscles locked up. He hadn’t been pushing a pull door, the way was just blocked.

By a human body. With blood still dripping down the glass.

Bile rose in his throat as he stumbled away, trying not to look too closely. No way. That was just a prop, a fake. He totally didn’t see bone from where their head was- nope stop thinking about it!

“You see what I mean? Come on, I’ve been trying to find anyone else stuck here. That isn’t dead.”

“What happened?” Danny managed to ask, even if it felt like a croak.

“No idea. I just woke up here like anyone else. There’s some others waiting at the food court, but none of us really know much beyond being on the bus.”

What if this guy was the murderer though? Even if he did tell him there were bodies before he actually saw one. Something about him just made Danny uncomfortable. Too confident? He didn’t really have anything better to do than check if there were others though. He nodded, sort of following in a daze as he tried to make sense of everything. How did he get wrapped up in this? Why couldn’t he use his powers if this was just some nutcase? Where were his friends?

Jazz probably had a word for the weird haze he was stuck in, sort of listlessly nodding at the small group of people gathered around the barren tables, matching bracelets on their arms. He wanted to do something, help people get out but how? He couldn’t go ghost! What was he meant to do a murderer? He can’t put humans in soup thermoses! Ghost fighting was way less confusing. Not as scary. He didn’t let anyone get super hurt in those, and he never got like his head caved in like- like that.

It didn’t help that most of these people were taller than he was. Older than him. The murmurs of ‘he’s just a kid’ did not make him feel any better. He wasn’t just some kid, usually. Not someone scared stiff in some stupid mall.

“Oh you’re that Fenton kid, right?”

Danny forced himself to focus, shaking his head hard as if it might banish the cobwebs within. “It’s Danny.”

“Thought so! I’m Mikey. Any chance this is like some weird prank by your parents?”

Mikey? Oh yeah. He sort of knew him. Just someone else in school that wasn’t really popular. “No? My parents hunt ghosts, not make haunted houses or whatever.”

His face fell at Danny’s snappish retort. “Oh. I was just hoping maybe this was uh. Not real?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He looked down at his shoes, the guilt an extra bit of emotion he didn’t want to feel right now. Being stuck here was bad enough without being nasty to someone who was just trying to talk a bit. “Do you remember anything? Before being here?”

“Not much. I was gonna go downtown today but it’s all kinda messed up in my head?” Mikey shrugged before leaning forward. “Most of the adults are talking about a bus? So maybe something happened and all of us were on it?”

Like a random natural portal? It was the first thing he could think of, but this wasn’t the ghost zone. Or at least it didn’t feel like it to him. It just looked like any other mall, no green. He wasn’t walking through walls either, so they weren’t ghost walls. “I guess?” Was the only safe response, not really wanting to be too open about his ghost knowledge. Sure he should know some stuff because of his parents, but not too much. That would make him even more of a social outcast.

Though the repetition of a bus did sort of feel familiar. Tucker had wanted to go…somewhere? Maybe? So shouldn’t Tucker be here too? Sam? He looked around the group again, anxious knots twisting his stomach. They were safe, right? They had to be okay.

Maybe there were fifty or so people milling around, just as confused and irritated as everyone else. More annoyingly was how some of the adults huddled together and whispered to hide things.

“Just try to keep the kids around here, they shouldn’t see some of that stuff. Too young for it.”

Too young to see what? Did he actually want to know? Maybe not. His stomach was bad enough as it was right now.

“Whoever it is, they’re sick. Saw three burned from the inside, stacked up like lego.”

“You serious? How? That’s serial killer shit!”

Yeah okay, maybe he didn’t want to hear this. He ducked his head down and covered it, trying to just calm down. Yet his failure to find and protect his friends and loved ones hurt and stabbed at his heart. They might be okay! They might not be. He didn’t know, and didn’t have any way of finding out. Not with anyone ‘young’ was being kept sort of corralled in the center of the group to be safe.

“Uh Danny? Do you need some water? You look really pale.” Mikey’s voice invaded his mind like an icepick, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“I’m fine.” Really, he didn’t think he’d hold down the water if he did take the offered bottle.

“Well I’ll just leave it here? If you change your mind. I’m gonna see if I saw Nathan over there. Or anyone else from school.”

He didn’t need to do that, or say where he was going, but Danny sort of appreciated it. “Okay.” Anyone else from school would include his friends. Who he sort of didn’t want to be here, but did want to know if they were okay.

  “Our apologies for any confusion and distress. We hoped to avoid any innocents getting tangled in this mess, but the foul monster has pushed our hand.”  

[multiples-fandomswontkillme]

~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

A Failed Betrothal (Part 3)

There were a lack of stuff to read so I posted this instead.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 2)

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PART 3

The next day was weird to say the least for everyone but for Marinette, it was another can of worms that she wished she didn’t open. For one thing, Chat Noir’s feelings obsession for Ladybug switched from one black-haired girl to another which unfortunately was Ladybug’s civilian form. Which meant Marinette had to deal with Adrien’s Chat-Noir-level flirting and bad pick-up lines.

Perfect, just perfect.

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Everyone thought that a declaration speech of ‘being soulmates and the only one for him’ in front of the whole class from the ‘love of your life’ would warrant a ‘blushing to death and stammering’ or ‘outright fainting’. Not a facepalm, a groan, “Why me?” and a “I am sorry but NO. I don’t feel the same way about you”. Marinette vaguely wondered if there was some kind of rule for interesting events and confrontations to happen during lunch break while the class waits for Mme Bustier to start the lessons.

Marinette went to sit in her seat next to Chloe in the back row where she and her friends had been exiled to. The class was in stunned silence and questioning about whether or not they had fallen into an alternate universe or dreaming. Nathaniel and Alix tried to hide their snickers. Chloe just started outright laughing, turning very red in the face.

Marinette felt a nudge from Plagg in her bag. Looking down, she saw them holding up her phone to show Lila’s gaping face of horror with a wicked smug grin on their face. She looked through the photos to see everyone’s faces of confusion and shock at her rejection. Eyes wide and jaws dropped on the ground. Different shots of her classmates in the same state. She smirked and showed them to Chloe who calmed down enough, letting out the occasional giggles and took the phone with glee.

“Thank you, Plagg. Here you go.” she whispered, giving them a camembert macaron.(Tom had started experimenting with camembert in his recipes. Plagg is his first taste tester for all of them, making Tom one of Plagg’s favourite people.)

Adrien didn’t take the rejection very well.

“But we are meant to be. You are a designer and I am a model. Our partnership is the one to be envied by many for the ages.”

“And by that logic,” The designer turned to her main model for her MDC website, “Chloe, my love, will you be my one and only? For our love shines so bright ,paralleled only by a thousand suns.” Using the same voice Plagg does when they go on one of their love odes about camembert before losing her straight face and giggling.(Plagg doesn’t know whether to be offended or amused.)

Setting Chloe’s laughter off again. “Mariiiii,...stop….I can’t..*gasps*....I can’t…”

Nathaniel and Alix, finally lost control and joined Chloe in death by laughter. Adrien was flustered, turning red in the face either from anger, embarrassment or both.

“But Chloe isn’t a model.”

Marinette decided to put a stop to this, just on the off chance that Gabriel finally decides to akumatized his own son. She recomposed herself.

“She is the main model for my website and we have a partnership. You, however, work for your father. So does Miss Rossi. Does that sound like the partnership to be envied by many for the ages? Hmmm, Agreste? Anyways, like I said before, I have no interest in dating you.”

“Why not? We are friends and sometimes, friends like each other enough to date each other.” Adrien angrily asked.

“Because-”

“Because, Adrikins,” Chloe cuts in, “friends having to date because one of them is interested in something more makes no sense and is fucked-up. Marinette doesn’t owe you anything. Besides, she already has a long distance boyfriend who lives in America.”

“WHAT!?” Adrien shouted.

“What?!” The class had snapped out of their stupor. Since when had Marinette gotten over Adrien and had a boyfriend?

“What?” Marinette looked at Chloe with wide-eyes. Last she checked she was still single so what the hell was Chloe playing at. For Kwami’s sake, she hadn’t been on a date since the one with Luka which went awkwardly before they agreed that they think of each other as siblings and it will be best to stay that way.

Chloe gave her a look that said ‘I will explain later.’

“Oh yes, they met online a few months ago and now they are all lovey-dovey together. It’s just so ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous how disgustingly in love they are. They have video call dates at least once a week and somehow make it work despite the time differences. He once came all the way to Paris just to see her. He brought her some special flowers that apparently meant-”

Marinette slapped her hand over Chloe’s mouth. “Well, Chloe, Queenie, as much as I love you as my friend, you can stop gushing about my love life now. Because class is about to start.”

She said through gritted teeth as Mme Bustier finished taking her sweet time and walked in. Sadly, Alya wasn’t done with the conversation ,“Wait a minute, since when did Chloe and you become close enough that she is modeling for you? And a boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell me, Girl? I thought we were friends. What about Adrien, he just confessed to you and you had been crushing on him for so long” Many girls gasped, angry that Alya broke the unspoken girl code.

“You have a crush on me?” Adrien looked hopeful. Like a lost kitten that had been stuck in the rain, was let into someone’s home.

“I had a crush on you,” Marinette corrected him, emphasising on the past tense, “and Alya had no business of sharing that information to the entire world despite us not being friends anymore.” She glared at the journalist who at least looked ashamed.

“You wanted to date Kagami so I moved on.”

One of the reasons anyway. I found out that you were my partner who had no concept of boundaries. You are a coward who only wants to maintain the class peace at the price of my mental health, she thought.

“Instead of continuing to pursue you.” She hoped the ever dense and oblivious model would get the hint she gave him. Tikki ,just this once, Grant me that ladybug luck.

“And Mme Bustier, it is time to start the lessons, don’t you think? Instead of focusing on the class drama to gossip about later on.” Marinette glared at the teacher, reminding her to do her job.

“Oh. Right.” Mme Bustier tried to regain her ‘perfect teacher’ image after getting embarrassed at being caught, “Right. Class, turn to page-”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the bell rang for the end of school, Marinette dragged Chloe all the way to her room. Alix and Nathaniel followed them because as far as they know, Marinette had no boyfriends and they were as curious to find out what scheme Chloe had cooked up this time. They were as complicated and crazy as Ladybug’s. No offense, Marinette.

“Okay, Queenie, you have to explain why I now have a devoted American boyfriend who I am so in love with.” Marinette crossed her arms with a frown aimed at Chloe. The kwamis got out of their respective hiding places and went to the tray of food set out for them.

The trapdoor to her room opened, revealing the rest of their friend group before Chloe said anything.

“Did we miss anything?” Kagami asked as Longg and Sass joined the other kwamis.

“Juleka said something about an American boyfriend and how he sounds so romantic. Does that have to do anything with the text Alix sent us to come here?” Luka added.

“To recap, Adrien made a love confession to Marinette,” Alix started, biting into some of the delicious pastries the Dupain-Chengs gave them, ”in front of the entire class after an entire day of flirting and bad pick-up lines.”

“Wow, even after having his memories erased of being Chat Noir, he is still after Ladybug.” Luka chuckled, with the others joining in.

Marinette whined, “It was easier when he was Chat Noir. But now as Adrien Agreste, teen heartthrob, it is going to be much more difficult to get into his thick head that I don’t see him that way and it is going to get harder, now that Alya outed my old crush to him.”

“Oof. Sucks to be you.”

“So, our Mari-bug rejected him. He threw a tantrum and sulked, so like Chat Noir, how did we not notice?,” Alix continued, “After demanding reasons why they can’t date, Chloe gave Marinette an American boyfriend who she was in a long-distance relationship with. Speaking of, why did you do that?”

“I have known Adrik- Adrien since we were in diapers and I know how that mangy cat works. He grew up on Disney and had all those fairytales stuffed into his head. If you had told him that you were just not interested in dating at the moment, it won’t work because he will try his hardest to ‘woo’ you, because he still has a chance. He won’t push his luck as much if you were off the market.” Chloe explained.

“I am sure that, judging by the fact that Chat Noir still tries to date Ladybug despite her saying she is in love with someone, Adrien might try to get more proof of this boyfriend to make sure Marinette is just not pretending to have one.” Kagami pointed out.

“Ahh, but luckily I have a back-up plan. I have a friend, Tim Drake. We met at a few galas when we were younger and kept in touch. He also owes me a favor.”

“I hope this Tim Drake is cute.”

“He is and he’s older than you by two years and,” Chloe typed something on her phone, “A fellow caffeine addict so you can bond over that. Here’s a picture of him and his brother.”

On her phone were two extremely attractive and fit young men dressed in expensive suits at what looked like a gala, the older one had a charming polite smile with bright blue eyes, looking somewhat interested at what someone off-screen was saying despite looking like he will fall over any moment. His brother, however, looked like he would rather be anywhere but where he was. He was tanned and had green eyes that promised murder for daring to even breathe in his direction. Marinette noticed that he looked a little familiar but she can’t place why.

“Tim is the one that looks like he hasn’t slept in days and that’s his brother Damian next to him.”

“Wait a minute. That’s Tim Drake and Damian Wayne. The sons of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire co-CEO of Wayne Industries, which Tim Drake is also co-CEO of.” Nathaniel said with wide eyes and looked at Chloe, “You are using your favor to give our Mari here a fake boyfriend.”

“Of course, only the best for our Mari-bug.”

“Chloe, no, he is probably busy as he is with running the company. No need to get him involved in petty teenage drama.” No matter how much she doesn’t want to date Adrien, bothering a busy guy to be her fake boyfriend is not worth it in Marinette’s opinion. Which, of course, gets overruled by the overprotectiveness of her friends.

“I, for one, think this is one of Chloe’s better plans.” Kagami commented, the others agreeing with her. Traitors.

“Hey!” Chloe exclaimed, an offended look on her face, “Anyways, I will call him later.”

“Children, you better go home now before your parents worry.” Sabine’s voice came from below, “Remember we are also going through some drills tonight so try not to be late.” Having a former assassin for a mother is handy when you want to train a team of teenage superheroes.

“Bye, guys. See you later.”

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“Just because you have been trained since birth does not excuse you from the drills. You also need to get used to the black cat.” Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ reprimanded her with her arms crossed. When Ladybug started her new team, she was the first permanent member but as the team got bigger, she stepped back to be back-up and mentor for the team.

“Yes, Maman, I know but I am nearly finished with this commission. I will catch up with you later. Promise.” Marinette stretched, looking up from her latest project. Plagg was napping in the little basket she had made for all the kwamis to sleep in which fit all of them and had some extra space for Nooroo and Dusuu after they had been retrieved.

The reason she had Plagg instead of Tikki who was with Alix was because of the new tactic the Miraculous Team came up with. To keep the balance the Ladybug and Black Cat must be active at the same time but with Adrien gone, someone must wield the ring until a new permanent holder is found and it was not a good idea for both of them to be on the same person at the same time. The team decided to rotate using the earrings and ring between them with Marinette using other miraculouses when the others have them. It also had the added bonus of making it harder for Hawkmoth to find out who has them at any given time.

“See you later, 灵儿 (líng er, means intelligence). I will give you 15 minutes but that’s it. Don’t be late.” Sabine sighed and got out the skylight and went towards the safehouse where the Miraculous team met to get training. (It is one of Sabine’s emergency safehouse to use in times of emergency and it had the required space to train 6 teenagers. Chat Noir never came to training, lazy cat.)

Marinette never made it to the warehouse.

Because a few minutes after her mother left, the skylight opened to let in five figures dressed in dark colours to easily blend into the shadows like they were trained to be. Too bad they weren’t as quiet. Marinette immediately summoned a bo-staff to defend herself.

One of them lunged at her and she retaliated by hitting the end of her staff to their middle, coupled with a couple more blows and landed one that knocked them out. The others threw throwing stars which she dodged by jumping back. Which landed her to be trapped by the two assassins, whom she didn’t notice, had moved. She cursed in every language she knew as she struggled against them. It led to no avail as she was badly out-numbered. There was a prick on her head and her world went black.

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Plagg awoke to a loud commotion. Irritated, they poked their head out to see their new temporary kit knocked out, tied up and hauled away. Recognizing the kidnappers as assassins of the League of Shadows, they scowled. Ra’s Al Ghul was going to pay.

Plagg may not act like it much but the black kwami was patient and smart. Smart enough to leave a note with an explanation somewhere visible with the messy aftermath of a fight before trailing the assassins. Oh, Roarr’s tiger was going to be pissed once she found out what happened. Wherever they were taking Marinette, it would be best to have a kwami of destruction to help her escape. The night made Plagg almost invisible and allowed to move unseen. They caught up easily and hid in their holder’s midnight hair. Now, their patience came into play. It was a matter of waiting for the right moment to pounce.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe. @tonicxworld, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @frieddonutsweets, @local-witch-of-mn, @lady-bee-fechin, @iglowinggemma28, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @k-tea-and-coffee, @jayjayspixiepop

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(Part 4)

[thunderheadfred]

🤚The Second Worst (Pt. 1/?)🤚

Part 2 of my Shigaraki Thesis Headcanons. HC's // The Second Worst: 1 - 2

The half-mad ghost of Shimura Tenko is in love with you, and your life is about to become a tragic wreck. -- AKA here's when I gave up on bullet points and went off the fuckin rails

I'm self-conscious about writing so much, so uhhhh, please be kind, hahaaa. This is rather long and involved. Are these still even HCs or just a self-indulgent AU outline? There are some mysteries we may never solve.

This is on AO3 now, if you prefer reading there. Anyway. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

You met Tenko before the League existed.

Believe it or not, there are a million ways it might have happened, but in the end: you were both bargain-binning in Akihabara.

You reached for a copy of a collectible bullet-hell cute-'em-up (near-mint! CIB!!!) and accidentally bonked hands with a complete stranger. He flinched about five million feet away from you. Ouch. You're just a nobody, quirkless and average, but you didn't think you were THAT repulsive.

(You're not. Hell, even if you were, this guy couldn't care less. He barely registers that you have a face.)

(Shigaraki is accustomed to getting in and out of this shop in seconds. He always comes in before anyone else and goes straight home. -- Is that really home? Is 'home' a real place? -- ANYWAY he's already pirated this shit, god, why does he even care? He doesn't need to be here. Father doesn't like it. Is that why he's here? Just to do something Father doesn't like? That's pathetic.)

He's had at least ten complete internal arguments with himself before he so much as looks at you.

You know in the tenth of a second he actually meets your eyes... this fucker is going to fight you to the death over this game.

- - - The death match ends in a draw. He was not expecting you to know the first fucking thing about this game. Nobody knows about it, even in Japan. Who the fuck do you even think you are? Oh, no, he's still taking it. But... maybe he can show you how to play it it. He'll give you a little taste, just to make you jealous. He's got his hoodie pulled down like he's going to commit an act of terrorism. What little you can see of his face looks twitchy and messed up. If you have any survival instincts at all, they're kicking in right about now. But... why not. You're not going anywhere with this dude unsupervised, so you suggest a crowded web cafe down the street. The cafe has the necessary console... but the retro gaming booth is laughably small. The TV is about four inches across and you end up having to practically sit in his lap. You were sure this guy was a nasty fucking creep, but he's................ only mostly terrible. Way too angry, for sure. Has no idea how to have a normal, friendly conversation. Inadvertently insults you every other sentence and seems to have a deep-seated persecution complex.

You'd prefer to be mad about the awful company, but... he's obviously deprived of human contact. When it's established that you two share a lot of media fixations, he calms down and starts treating you a little more like a human being. Or at least like a fellow elite.

Wherever he came from, he doesn't seem to want to go back. He keeps pushing you to play one more level, pretending he wants to beat your score. You feel kinda bad for him. You get the distinct feeling that his life is a disaster. He looks like he's never had a full night of sleep in his life. He trips your trigger hairs in that 'is he gonna follow me home?' kind of way, but... up close, he's a lot more depressing than scary. At the very least, you want to buy him a stupidly cute dessert. Just... as thanks. For letting you try out the game and stuff. It's not a big deal, so just pick a flavor, okay? The world isn't actually that awful, y'know.

It's not even that impressive... Definitely not a great cafe. But he takes practically a full hour to eat a single slice of strawberry cake.

When the hoodie comes down. He's all shriveled and dried out, like someone left him him in the desert to die. He chews on his peeling bottom lip and nervously scratches his neck. He doesn't thank you for the cake. Which is fine. It's not a big deal. Actually, you wish he would eat faster; you feel weirdly responsible for him now.

Under all that mess he's... gorgeous? His hair is stunning: a bright, gleaming silver that catches the light. His bone structure is flawless. If it weren't for all the scars and the misanthropic slouch, he'd look like a fairy fucking prince.

You were not prepared for that. In another life he could have been a model, the type of guy who would never even look at you. But something bad happened to him. Something... very bad. Do you even want to know? You have no idea how to ask. Has anyone ever been nice to him? It doesn't seem like it. Should YOU be nice to him? You sort of want to try. - - - This becomes a regular thing. This weird little secret. You should probably tell someone when you see him, just in case you don't come back one day, but you say nothing; how the hell would you explain why you want to see him so bad? You don't know his full name. Maybe he's on a watch list. When he gives you a long string of random numbers so you can schedule meet-ups (is THAT his e-mail, really?) he tells you to just... call him Tenko. Or whatever. It doesn't matter. (He sneaks out when Father is deep in his plots. As long as he comes home on time, it doesn't really matter where he goes, right?) He brings a different game every time. He has an insane collection. Where does he get the money for all this? You know he doesn't work. God, is it drugs? It's probably drugs. Wherever these hidden gems came from, he proudly shows them off to you, like he's never had an audience before. It's sort of cringe-inducing, the way he one-ups and rubs every little victory in your face, desperate for attention.

But at the same time, you are becoming too... something...to mind. Do you... like him? He's not funny, but he thinks you are. His mouth is huge when he laughs. He seems to hate everyone but you, and you've had to earn the distinction of being merely tolerable. Still, he gets really excited about random shit like the garage kit black market and haunted dolls and the price of weed on the dark web.

And... strawberry cake. The realization hits you both at the same time when the waitress brings one piece with two forks. God, what the fuck, are you... are you dating? Quick, think. You look forward to seeing him, and don't even mind sitting close to him anymore. Sometimes you push your leg up against him just to see if he'll still flinch away... and he doesn't.

You jealously notice the way he touches everything but you: with delicate precision, one finger at a time. His large, elegant hands always have a pinky up like he's aspiring for a fiefdom, and you wonder what his skin feels like. You go home and dwell on the way he plucks flowering weeds out of the pavement in front of the cafe. The way he stands rooted to the spot as you leave, just... looking at nothing, unsmiling.

You watch his lips too much, and not just because you want to buy him chapstick. You catch him gaping at you all the time. You thought he was just creepy like that, but maybe... Yeah. I guess you are dating him. Shit. - - - Okay, so, yeah. Bringing him back to your place was definitely a bad idea. You know you shouldn't trust him, even if he is... apparently... your boyfriend? Sort of? You still don't have his phone number. So. Um. What now? You order overpriced pizza and queue up a campy horror movie. What the fuck are you even doing. You don't really think he's going to murder you anymore, but... still. Is the suburban massacre scene gonna give him ideas? Turns out, no. He doesn't like gore, even when the blood is neon pink. He gets upset. Like, really upset. Shaky and green, like he might puke on you. He can't stop scratching that scaly spot on his neck.

Tenko, are you crying? Fucking hell, did you just trigger him? Of course he has a traumatic past, it's carved all over his face. You're so fucking stupid. You don't know how to make it right. You want to hug him, kiss him... anything. But he's never really touched you, and you're too afraid to push now. It ruins the whole night. He leaves without explaining anything. Doesn't even say goodbye. He just. Leaves. Maybe you'll never see him again. Maybe that's for the best. Your chest hurts. - - - He shows up at your door a few weeks later. You haven't heard from him since that disastrous movie night. You had pretty much accepted that you'd broken up with a boyfriend you never actually had. But no. Apparently not.

This time, he’s brought his own entertainment. He's holding a boxed set of some show you're not familiar with. You're distracted by these weird little half-gloves he's wearing, like a cyberpunk hacker. That's a new look, and even if it's a bit edgelord adjacent, he makes it look cool. You tell him as much. It's the first time you've let on how attractive you find him. He's wearing a tight black shirt with a deep, deep V-neck. That's distracting too.

He clears his slender throat and doesn't look at you.

You try to apologize for before, but he's acting like it never happened. What are you even talking about? Have you seen this OVA or not? Get out of the way and let him in already. You've watched three episodes now, but you still have no idea what this stupid anime is about. You can't pay attention to a single frame. All you can think about is how his arm has crept up behind your shoulders. A few inches more and he'll be holding you. Does he... want to hold you? You lean toward him so slowly your spine creaks. One molecule at a time. After a thousand years, your head slides nervously under his chin. His arm comes down, locking you in, fingers clutching your sleeve in a death grip. Even that snobby little pinky. His head tucks down into you hair. A sharp collarbone bites into your cheek. His heartbeat is hard, fast, and irregular. There's not a scrap of fat on him, and as you wrap your arm around his stomach, you think you see a twitch in his pants. Is that just you being desperate? Or... hopeful? This is really happening. --- Soon, you learn that Tenko is a clumsy kisser. It doesn't matter; the fact that he's kissing you at all is good enough for now. His lips are dry, but not half as dry as you expected. There's a slick of menthol helping things along; he's been using something medicated on his lips. Plus, his mouth tastes like he drank a gallon of mouthwash.

All this thrills you more than a little, because it means he came here wanting to impress you. Wanting you. Full stop. Underneath that minty sting is a strange, worrisome aftertaste, like something rotten. Your brain fires off an alarm. Stop kissing him. Right now. This thing will make you sick. But his hands nervously slide over your body... and you decide not to worry about it. Instead, you kiss him deeper. He makes a sweet, startled little noise. Your brain is a fucking liar. It occurs to you he's probably never done this before.

When you lace your fingers in his and try to pull one of his gloves off, he rips his hand away.

Don't. That’s the only explanation he gives.

No need to ask if it's a quirk thing or a trauma thing. Judging by how jittery he gets, it's probably both. You remember the way his hands almost float over objects without ever holding them. Maybe his touch is dangerous. Maybe that's why his face looks like that.

Maybe you should learn more about him before things go way too far...

No. It can't be that bad. Now that he's in your arms, everything frightening about him evaporates. He's vulnerable. He's alone. He's shaking a little. Has anyone else ever seen this side of him? You want to keep him all to yourself, just like this.

So what if he has to touch you with gloves on? You've heard of worse quirk-related inconveniences.

It's okay, Tenko. Do you want to keep going?

You put his hands back on you and wait for him to kiss you again. It doesn't take long.

---

You open his pants. He's long and thin, calloused even here. Every part of him feels untouched, unloved. You hold him tight and squeeze.

It doesn't seem to occur to him to please you in return. He looks afraid. Confused. You're sure you scared him earlier with the glove thing. Is this too much? No. He gasps and leans into you. The tiniest, broken please.

He cums in your hand right away, face buried in your shoulder, his eyes wet and hidden.

I have to go, he says. Over and over and over.

It's okay, Tenko.

You know he doesn't want to.

- - - - - (oops I wrote more)

[thessalian]

Thess vs Yet More Demos

So while I did finish the main campaign of Solasta: Crown of the Magister, I did also spend a lot of the weekend just plugging away at demos. Because my wishlist isn’t big enough. Thankfully for my bank account, most of these aren’t out yet, and a lot of them are liable to be fairly inexpensive when they are. So here’s my opinion on what I’ve spent the weekend doing.

Catizens: This one’s a weird sort of crossbreed game - social elements like The Sims, but mostly a colony creation simulator. Except with anthropomorphic cats. It’s kind of cute, and has thus gone on the wish list.

Witchy Life Story: Much like I Was A Teenage Exocolonist, I played this one until the demo ran out and then was very disappointed that there was not more game, and even more disappointed that there’s no release date. It’s a fairly Zen crafting / puzzle game with an interesting story element to it that feels a bit like Stardew Valley in its “getting to know the locals” theme, and I will just have to keep an eye out for an actual release date.

Gatcha Garden: This is an intensely Zen kind of game. It’s got a Dorfromantik feel to it in that you get random things in order to make ... well, in this case a garden, but there’s no points system or anything. It’s just, “If you don’t like it, recycle it and try again”. It’s a cute little game, and one I wouldn’t mind having just to Zen out about.

Storyteller: Not quite what I thought it was going to be, but fun anyway. It’s like that whole bit of hidden object puzzle games where some of them have the whole “tell a story by selecting the items / people in the right sequence” sections; just separated out on its own. So that sounds fun.

Common’hood: Sort of a colony sim, of sorts, but with some story elements. It’s honestly a lot better story-wise than things like Stardew Valley - while wish fulfilment of “You’ve been given a farm to get out of your dead-end job” is nice, sometimes you want the hope-punk of the more realistic “Dad died, hospital bills drained all the money, got evicted, but there’s the abandoned factory and people squatting here like me so maybe we can really make something of this” variety. Only problem? First person again. Not the kind of thing I can do to Zen out, all things considered. A maybe, but I can think of better things simply from a health perspective.

Lego Brick Tales: It’s a lot more fun than I expected it to be, though honestly, I think I prefer the Zen of following specific instructions to assemble Lego (not to mention the physical pieces) rather than trying to put together a thing on my own with a computer telling me I did it wrong. Still, the physics are pretty satisfying and the story element’s kind of cute, so it’s a maybe.

Horror Tycoon: Again, different than I expected. I thought it was just, “You’re making a theme park attraction or something and your job is to scare the people and earn money doing it”. Instead it’s “Your entire bloodline made a deal with the devil and you have to build a haunted hous that scares people to literal death and collect the souls or you immediately die and burn in hell for eternity”. So it’s a situation where you kind of have to resign yourself to losing this game if the cops turn up unless you’ve walked a very fine line. So it’s on the wishlist, but it’s going to stay on the bottom even when it does come out.

Now I have to deal with the neighbours apparently deciding that the entire fucking neighbourhood has to share their taste in music. They’re 500+ yards away and I live on an upper floor of a concrete-floored block of flats and I can feel the bassline of their shitty 70s music through the floor. So you can imagine how it sounds. I have a headache (I blame Common’hood, frankly) and I would like them to fucking stop. Instead I’ll just find something to hyperfocus past it with, I think. Could be the Lost Valley campaign of Solasta; I started that awhile ago. Or poke at my Horizon Zero Dawn NG+ game again. Or just something hidden object. Or try one of the many, many unplayed games still languishing in my Steam library. Just with the pounding of neighbours’ music, I don’t know that I could focus enough to hyperfocus on a new game at this point. Why do they have to be so fucking loud?

[cellsshapedlikestars]

jonsa prompt fic/modern au

(look at me, making my way through the rest of my prompts from *checks watch* five months ago)

This one was from the lovely @chispas-and-broken-bindings and the prompt was: “I'm sorry 'bout the other night and I know I could be more creative and come up with poetic lines but..”

1) had to google these lyrics, and I have to say, I had never heard of this song, so thank you for also bringing it to my attention

2) I have no concept of what a drabble is, apparently. I meant to keep all of these at under 1k words but nooooope

.

.

Jon grunts as he reaches deep into the fridge – he can see the label of one of those craft beers Theon had (with shockingly good taste) brought in the back and he'd really like that instead of the cheaper swill crowding the front.

Sansa's birthdays are always massive and he honestly forgot the way she goes all out for them. After high school, he just never really made it back for her big, late-September parties and then after college, he'd taken a job down in Dorne. It's his first year back and he sort of forgot how overwhelming it all is - how many friends she has, how her entire extended family shows up.

It doesn't help that he barely knows any of her friends anymore. He recognizes a few from her high school years, but other than that he knows no one. Thank the gods the Starks and Theon are here, because otherwise, Jon's lost in a sea of strangers.

“Jon Snow!” he hears a voice behind him, light and airy and filled with what almost sounds like glee. His fingers finally manage to grasp the neck of the bottle he was aiming for and he pulls back and stands up and turns around to see – fuck, what's her name? Margaery, that's right. Sansa's best friend from high school.

“Hey,” he says, giving her what he's sure is the smile that Robb always calls ‘weird’ and ‘awkward‘ (how you've ever gotten any woman to sleep with you is a miracle, he remembers Robb telling him once).

“It's so nice that you could come,” Margaery says, voice oozing with... something he can't quite place.

“Uh, yeah?” he agrees, because he guesses it is nice? He starts to move around her – they're the only two in the basement right now, everyone else is outside at the party, he'd only come in to grab a drink.

“I mean, I guess we're all adults now, high school is so a decade ago, am I right?” There's a sort of glint in her eye that Jon doesn't like and he really, really wants to get back outside, but there's also a part of him that wants to ask what the hell she means.

“It was a decade ago,” he agrees again, edging towards the door.

“It must have been so awkward for you, I guess that's why you've been avoiding her all these years,” Margaery sighs and tilts her head with a piercing stare, like she's trying to look into his soul or something.

“I... what?”

“Oh, it's ok,” she smiles, leaning forward and starting to whisper even though there's no one else around, “she told me everything.”

“Everything about what?” he asks, mind going suddenly blank because he cannot think of a single thing that Margaery could be talking about.

“Your crush, duh!”

For a moment there's silence in the basement, before, “my crush?”

“I mean, you were like... obsessed with her!”

Jon blinks, feeling both very confused and very stupid as he says, “what?”

“Oh come on! We were all there when you sent her those flowers. You clearly wanted everyone to know, you had them delivered in the middle of lunch! She even read the card aloud – what did it say? Oh my god, they were lyrics, that's right! I'm sorry 'bout the other night and I know I could be more creative and come up with poetic lines but..” she trails off with a giggle. “I'll be honest, I never pegged you as a Rihanna fan.”

Jon feels some sort of creeping horror filling him because he has - one, never sent anyone besides his mother flowers and two, doesn't think he knows even a single Rihanna song.

“Excuse me.”

He walks out of the basement with Margaery's tinkling laugh following him and when he's outside, he immediately spots Sansa, surrounded by a group of her friends by the pool, laughing with a glass of sangria in her hand and a flower crown on her head and a sash that reads Birthday Girl! across her body.

Arya calls to him, but he ignores her as he pushes through the crowd of Sansa's friends and family, making his way to her. She spots him right before he gets there, a smile forming and then fading when she takes in his face – and then panic seems to cross her features and she looks around, like she's going to try to run.

“Sansa,” he says before she can bolt, and her friends part to let him through. “Can we talk?”

She opens her mouth, but he takes her by the arm and starts dragging her away from her friends and behind them, he thinks he hears a few of them start to whisper and giggle and the annoyance that's been simmering in his chest flares.

“Jon, I'm so glad you could make it!” she says brightly, plastering a smile on her face that he can tell is completely fake. “It's been-”

“Why does Margaery think I had a crush on you in high school?”

He watches her open and close her mouth a few times, eyes darting around for an escape and he tightens his grip on her arm.

“I don't...” she starts, but her voice isn't very strong.

“Sansa,” he tries to keep his voice calm and even.

“Ok, fine,” she hisses, eyes snapping back to him and narrowing and there's the Sansa he knows. She may look sweet and innocent, but Jon has known her long enough to know she isn't the wilting flower she sometimes pretends to be. He watches her spine straighten and her head rise and she looks him in the eye. “I told some of my friends back then that you had a thing for me, so what? It was like, a decade ago. It's nothing to freak out over.”

“Well, Margaery is bringing it up to me at a party a decade later. Why does she think I sent you flowers?”

Her confidence falters then, pink staining her cheeks. “I needed to convince them you had a crush on me, so I... may have... sent myself flowers and made the card from you.”

He stares at her, dumbfounded, before asking, “why did I never hear about this before?”

Sansa shrugs and says, “you were away at college at the time. And then you went south and this is the first time you've been around my high school friends since then?”

“Why?” he asks, mind still reeling over this (and, oh gods, he hopes none of Sansa's high school friends ever said anything to Robb or her parents. But no, if they had, Jon's pretty sure he'd be dead in a ditch or, at the very least, banned from family functions by now).

He watches her struggle to come up with something to say, watches the blush spread from high on her cheeks down to her throat and she visibly swallows and for a moment he thinks she might cry and he feels suddenly horrible. Except no – she's the one making up stories about him. He shouldn't feel bad!

“It was... we were at a party and they were all talking about-” she lowers her voice to a whisper, eyes darting around, “-sex and they kept making jokes about how I was a virgin and they knew I hadn't slept with Joffrey before we broke up and I was sick of them making fun of me so I just... I told them I wasn't a virgin. And then they wanted to know who and... well, you were the first person I thought of.”

He's not quite sure how to take that and he doesn't really know what to say (though honestly, he wants to tell her that her high school friends were shit then and they're still pretty shit now, if Margaery cornering him in the basement to taunt him about his supposed crush is any indication).

“And the flowers?”

“Ok,” she says, letting out a forced, breathless laugh, “here's where it gets funny. I promise, you're gonna laugh...” He keeps frowning at her and she gives a subtle tug to her arm and, finding it unmoving, realizes she's going to have to tell him. “Margaery asked a lot of questions and I could tell she didn't believe me and it turned into this whole thing where you were like, obsessed with me? I told them you wrote me poetry and then I sent the flowers to myself...” she trails off uncertainly and Jon wills himself to breathe deep and bite his tongue against his initial retort.

“And you never thought that your gossipy high school friends might spread this around and it could get back to, I don't know, your brother - my best friend? Your parents?”

Her eyes go wide in horror and Jon can tell that no, she never thought of that. Her eyes dart around the party and Jon turns to look behind him and he can see a group of her high school friends whispering together and not too far away is her parents talking to her Uncle Benjen. He watches her eyes well up with tears and he fights back a sigh of annoyance because he wants to be furious with her, but he can't quite manage it (he is weak to tears, yes, but he also remembers high school Sansa – how insecure she was, how desperate to fit in with her friends, that little shit boyfriend who made her feel even worse – and he can't bring himself to be mad).

“Did it have to be Rihanna?” he sighs eventually, giving her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“It's a good song,” she says, hesitantly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth in return.

“You really should ditch those friends,” he tells her, serious again.

“I honestly don't hang out with them anymore, I just invited them because we all still live around here and Margaery DM'd me a few weeks ago about my party and I felt weird not inviting her. If you want, I can tell them the truth. I should have years ago.”

“It doesn't really matter,” he shrugs. “As long as it never gets back to your family, I do not want to deal with them thinking I deflowered their precious daughter.”

She huffs out an incredulous laugh and says, “I almost wish it had been you, Harry...” And then she stops and her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide like she can't believe she said that and honestly, neither can Jon. It hangs between them for a moment and suddenly he is very aware of his hand still on her arm, how smooth her skin feels beneath his touch. He lets go of her like it burns.

“Well,” he says, shifting back to give a few more inches of space between them. “I should probably let you get back to your party.”

“Yeah,” she says and then, just before he turns to go, “I'm glad you're back. In Winterfell, I mean. I guess I'll be seeing you around more?”

He stares at her for a few moments, the pink stain back on her cheeks, teeth biting into her bottom lip, fingers nervously playing with her birthday sash and he should say no because he can feel this leading down a road he was not prepared for, but instead he says, “yeah. Yes. I'll see you around.”

“Good,” she says and she smiles and as he walks away, all he can think is – Robb is gonna be so annoying about this.