#tossing the hat around; (ask prompts and memes)

[hxttrick-archived]

“ you. i’ll always and endlessly fight for you. “ - :eyes:

emotionally intense prompts.

Words couldn't express how delightful he was. Only meant for her and her alone, a charming smile stretches upon his lips. He takes necessary steps to approach her, callous hands extending to grab one of her's. He gingerly clasps her's in between them; his hazel browns pooled with tender affection. "And I for you, your highness," he replied. "As long as I don't lose you too soon..."

[101flavoursofweird]

for the most recent ask meme, a 9 for Barmine?

((Thanks for giving me a prompt for Barmine! Apologies, this is an extension of a previous prompt I did for them but hopefully it’s ok! For anyone else reading, this is based on @nebulousboops’s Editor AU, where Carmine is brought in to Labyrinthia to work as the Editor of the Story!))

9: Things you said when you were crying

“You were brought to Labyrinthia, just like Miss Fey and Sir Blue Knight,” Barnham explained, gripping the bars of his cell. “You are no more the ‘Editor’ than those two are bakers—“

“Then who am I?” he hissed.

“Sir Dark Hat— Hershel Layton— claimed that you were once his student—“

“I’ve never seen that man in my life before he arrived here!”

Why, then, could he picture Layton teaching a class, trawling for treasures in the dirt, and talking to him over bitter fruit tea? (“I wish you all the best, but please do be careful.”)

He clutched his temples as these visions— Memories?— flooded his mind.

“Yes, you have,” Barnham growled, “along with Espella Cantabella!” He glanced around his prison where, days ago, the accused Espella had awaited her trial.

When Barnham looked back at him, his grey eyes were laden with guilt.

“You,” Barnham breathed. “You helped her at the bakery when my knights tried to arrest her… on baseless accusations.”

“The bakery…”

Eve the cat pinching his dropped crust of bread, Patty tossing flour in his face as penance, Espella’s peals of laughter—

The Order of Knights barging in. Five of them, barking at Espella, branding her the Great Witch, threatening to bring her to the courthouse—

Aunt Patty, beating them back with her rolling pin. He, protecting Espella in the corner, armed with a wooden peel.

“Stay away from her!”

That shout— his own voice— had been raw with conviction and fury.

“Why?” he gasped now, in Deathknell Dungeon, with his (former) colleague, Zacharias Barnham. “Why would I help someone I don’t even know?”

Espella was the Storyteller’s daughter, yes, but she and her father had become estranged. The Editor had never encountered her in the Storyteller's Tower.

What reason could he— the Editor/Hershel Layton’s student— have for defending Espella?

“Perhaps…” Barnham pushed his head through the cell window. “Because you are kind, and just, and you found yourself in the wrong place at the right time.”

Could that be true? Had he helped another simply out of the goodness of his heart, rather than for the sake of the Story? Were the Labyrithians wrong about the Editor— about him?

His eyes burned with tears. He blinked them away as he gazed at Barnham. “And… and if I’m not?”

“Then let us find out together,” Barnham declared, offering his hand through the window.

He didn’t accept Barnham’s hand, but he did unlock the cell door.

The pair of them rushed to the courtroom, praying it wasn’t too late for Espella Cantabella.

[magnolia-penn]

Future Vision

Chapter One: A Blast To The Past

Hahaha YEET. Here comes chapter one right at ya. I thought maybe people would be more interested if I shared the actual first chapter so here we go!

Warnings: Swearing, Ocs, Spoilers?(A little later in the series), Oc Death(I Glossed over it tho) lemme know if I missed anything

□■□■□■□■□■□■□

       Love comes from the most unexpected places. You certainly weren’t expecting to find love when you felt yourself suddenly lurch forward and land face-first into some sand.

 

          Sand? You thought to yourself. How in the hell?

 

          You were just in your bedroom, about to be picked up by your friend for a snow-filled weekend at her family’s winter cabin. Sand seemed like a million miles from you, and yet, there you sat, in the sand.

 

          “Look out!” A voice cried from behind you.

 

          In an instant, you were lifted from the ground by the back of your jacket heaved to the side. You were just barely out of the way as a burst of lightning struck where you just sat. All you saw was a flash of purple before you were tossed unceremoniously into the awaiting arms of a man dressed in red robes.

 

He carefully pulled you into his chest as a burst of flames erupted from his side with a … squawk? That definitely sounded like a bird. 

 

You pulled yourself out of the strange man’s chest long enough to see where the fire was directed. There, surrounded by a few other men, was a gigantic swirling mass of colors, seeming conducted by the man on one knee below it.

 

“Don’t look.” The man holding you instructed.

 

You did as you were told and buried your face back into his robes. He was warm, you noticed, in a comforting way. You were at a distance, but you could still hear the words of the man on his knee.

 

“Try as you might, but Liv will bring an amplifier to Lord DIO’s World!” You could feel the piercing stare from the man. “No! That’s not the right one!”

 

You felt an invisible force start to tug at you, pulling you in the direction of the man. There was a sharp tug before it was cut off by a voracious cry from the same purple being that previously pulled you to safety.

 

The colors quickly disappeared from the air as the man took his last breath, beaten to death by the purple manifestation. The man holding you let you go, only to scramble to keep you from falling to your knees.

 

“Easy there, Miss.” He caught you by the back of your legs and hoisted you up bridal style. He gently carried you to where the others stood.

 

They were discussing something when you were brought to them. You took note of all of their appearances. They were a strange bunch.

There was an old man at the center of the group, dressed in clothes you would see adventurers wearing in movies. Khakis, tan short-sleeved shirt, hat, all the works. You guessed it made sense with all the sand. He was grey in his hair and beard, but his broad shoulders and muscled physique left no doubt your mind that he could throw you quite far if so prompted. 

 

He was yelling at a teen dressed in a thick black gakuran with a chain attached to the high collar. He also donned a black hat that was adorned with gold charms and torn in the back.

 

The old man also took the time to scold a man with silver hair slicked up with gel. He was wearing a black, one strapped tank top that barely contained his pectorals and had cute little broken heart dangle earrings. Every time he would whine to the old man, he spoke in a distinctly French accent.

 

“And what are you laughing about?” The old man’s fury was directed at the hardly concealed chortling of the last remaining member of the group. He was also a teen wearing a gakuran, although his was slim fitting and green. His hair was a cherry red and had a long curl that fell in front of his face.

 

You also took a moment to study the man holding you. His body heat and thick robes had you concerned for him, but there wasn't even a bead of sweat on his brow. He didn't show any sign of faltering, even after holding you for almost ten minutes. The most notable feature on him was his interesting… scars? That accentuated his facial structure. 

 

They were all very attractive, you noticed. Each in their own ways.

 

“Um,” You quietly got your embracer’s attention. “What’s going on?”

 

“That will take some time to explain.” He responded.

 

          “Oh.”

 

          You didn’t say anything after that. The two of you stood in silence as the old man continued to yell at the other three.

 

“Yare yare. I don’t see the problem here.” The teen in all black grumbled. “Killing Eli was the only way to stop ‘Receiver’, so I did.” 

 

The old man glared hard at the teen, his left hand twitching with audible metal clicks.

 

“The problem, Jotaro, is without Eli to open ‘Receiver’, we can’t send her back.” He pointed a thumb back at you, still in the arms of the dark male.

 

“He said his sister has the same Stand.”

 

“That’s not the point, Jotaro! She’s also with DIO, and now that we killed her brother, I doubt she’ll want to help us!”

 

The two began to bicker again as the teen in green and the man with white hair slid closer to where you stood, slightly hiding behind the man. The other two fought for quite a while, although it was primarily the old man talking.

 

You asked to be sat down, and the man complied. He was gentle and introduced himself as Muhammed Avdol, and his Stand, Magician’s Red. The other two peeped in and introduced themselves as well. The teen was Noriaki Kakyoin and Hierophant Green, and the man was Jean Pierre Polnareff and Silver Chariot.

 

The fight between the old man and the teen dressed in all black looked like it was about to escalate into something physical before Avdol spoke up.

 

“Mr. Joestar, I don’t believe that this is any way to behave in front of a lady.” He scolded.

 

The old man, Mr. Joestar, suddenly clamped shut and turned to face you. He quickly started to sprout apologies for both him and his grandson, the presumed Jotaro.

 

“It’s alright,” You said with a chuckle. “I’ve had my fair share of stubborn and edgy teens while in school.”

 

“Edgy?” Mr. Joestar repeated, puzzled by the adjective.

 

“Huh? Oh yeah, it’s a term used to describe dark, brooding people who act tough.” You explained. “It’s a dead meme, but I still use it.”

 

“Meme?”

 

“Are you that old? Memes are internet jokes.” You knew that some people weren’t the dankest of meme lords, but you don’t have to be that dank to understand what a meme is. It’s 2020 for crying out loud! Who doesn’t know what a meme is?

 

“Internet? Like the big clunky computer thingamajig?”

 

“Computers, laptops, phones, tablets, gaming consoles, anything with a wifi connection.” For emphasis, you pulled your smartphone from your pocket.

 

There was a collective gasp from the males, concerning you. You could understand Mr. Joestar, but the other young adults made no sense. Anybody who’s anybody has a smartphone these days.

 

Slowly, as you put more thought into it, your face began to drop. You knew about Stands, both from having one yourself and from your friend, Magnolia, who worked at the Speedwagon Foundation and taught you how to use yours. Yet, you could never imagine a Stand being powerful enough to...

 

“Avdol?” You called out quietly. “What year is it?”

 

“1989.”

 

“Excuse me a second.” 

 

With that, you stepped away from the group and crested a sand dune. As soon as you got out of sight, you cover your mouth with your hands and screamed out a muffled, but still quite loud, 

 

“HOW IN THE ACTUAL FUCK!!”

 

You took a moment to scream wordlessly into your hands before regaining your composure. You turned to walk back up the sand dune when a green head popped up from the side where the men were.

 

You recognized it as Hierophant Green, Kakyoin’s Stand. You sent it a reassuring smile and activated your Stand. Your Stand, Chemical Romance, was an incredibly short-ranged Stand that allowed you to touch, talk to, understand, and locate other Stands. You extended your arm to allow the emerald Stand to enable it to climb up it, a gesture you often offered to Magnolia’s serpentine Stand.  It took the Stand a second to process what you were doing, but as soon as it did, it raced up your arm and wrapped itself loosely around your neck.  

 

You gave it a gentle pat on the head and giggled when you heard Kakyoin yelp from the neural connection amplified by your Stand.

 

You slid down the sand dune and almost tripped at the bottom, your embarrassing face plant postponed for another time because Hierophant Green used his coils to catch you. You cast a haphazard smile to the group before picking the Stand up and off your shoulders. Hierophant stretched and turned to a semi-solid mass, the same way cats do when picked up, and you could see Kakyoin shiver from the amplified feeling of ghost hands.

 

“Sorry about that, I needed a minute. How much of that did you hear?” The priceless looks you got confirmed that they heard it all.

 

“So, uh, what’s the issue?” Polnareff asked hesitantly, not wanting to set you off again.

 

“Nothing much. Just the fact that I was dragged 31 years into the past.” You replied innocently.

 

Your words received a couple of nods, and a sigh of relief as the meaning of what you said glossed over their heads. You didn’t say anything, knowing their reactions would be hilarious when it finally hit them.

 

It was Mr. Joestar who broke first.

 

“OH MY GOD!!”

[bowsie22]

Promptis Collection 1

Summary: 5 times Noctis hated his warping abilities and 1 time he loved them. Prompt taken from ffxv kink meme - https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3016.html?thread=1432520#cmt1432520 

1.

It had been a quiet day, or as quiet a day that Regis could have. Being king was not easy. Being king and a father to a rambunctious three-year-old was damn hear impossible. Especially when that three-year-old couldn’t contain his warping powers. A knock on his door and one of Noctis’ minders poked her head through the door.

“He’s done it again?”

“I’m afraid so Your Majesty. He was in my arms and just warped somewhere. We’re searching the Citadel as we speak.”

Regis stood up, groaning as he did.

“I think I know where he might be.”

Leaving his office, Regis walked through the Citadel, ignoring the people calling his son’s name and searching for him. Moving upstairs, he smiled as he reached a pair of white doors, cracked open. And there he was. Prince Noctis, sitting in the middle of an indoor oasis. Regis sat beside his son, pulling the child onto his lap.

“You gave everyone quite a scare you know?”

“Sorry. Mama.”

“You were thinking of your mother again huh?”

Noctis nodded, eyes on the butterflies that fluttered around his head. Regis hugged his son, looking around the oasis his wife had so painstakingly created.

“Yeah, me too.”

2.

Noctis was bored. Maths was boring. Why did he need maths? How would it help him as king? He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. From the corner of his eye, he saw Prompto scribbling in his book. Running his eyes over the other’s body, Noctis frowned when he realised how thin his friend was. Time for Prompto to start staying for game nights again.

“NOCTIS!”

With a shout, Noctis jerked back in his seat, trying to get away from the teacher and fell back. Landing on concrete, he rolled onto his feet, groaning when he realised where he was. On the school roof with that stupid door that never opens. Damn the Six, the fire brigade would have to be called, wouldn’t they? Again. Gladio would never let him live this down.

The next day, Noctis was on the front page of all papers in Insomnia, pictured being carried down the fire ladder, over the shoulder of a fire fighter. It joined the collection in Ignis’ office.

3.

Noctis decided to spend his training time practicing warping. He was getting better but wanted to travel further and faster. Right now, he would travel about five feet, which wasn’t great when it came to fights. Noctis wanted to travel further than that and take someone with him. It would make getting out of the Citadel with Prompto easier, but that wasn’t the only reason he was doing it. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on the training room. It was three floors beneath him, so quite a distance. He felt the power rushing through him, his body moving.

“SHIT!”

He opened his eyes to a blade in front of his face. Ducking, Noctis groaned when he saw strands of black hair.

“Seriously?”

“What do you expect when you just appear in the middle of a fight?”

“Sorry Cor.”

He walked back to his room, wanting to see the damage done. Looking in the mirror, Noctis winced, Thank the Six he had plenty of hats.

4.

Flu season sucked. Prompto got sick, which meant no game nights or date nights. Instead he was bundled into the bed of Noctis’ guest room and spent the week coughing and sneezing, his fever knocking him out. Noctis wasn’t embarrassed to say that on his sleepless nights, he would sneak into bed with Prompto and fall asleep with his arms around the younger man. So, it was no surprise to anyone that Noctis caught the flu the next week. What was surprising was the warping. Every time he sneezed, Noctis warped. Not very far, only a foot or two, but it was still annoying to the young prince.

Prompto laughed whenever it happened, finding it hilarious that Noctis lost control this easily.

“It’s not funny.”

Prompto laughed, cuddling into Noctis’ side, arms around the other’s waist.

“I’m sorry babe. It’s just funny. You always look so surprised when it happens.”

“I hate you. ACHOO!”

Noctis swore as he landed on the kitchen counter, knocking two glasses and a bag of shopping to the ground.

“Damnit! ACHOO!”

5.

“Oh! Oh, Noct, yes, please. More.”

Noctis grunted, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Prompto gasped at another hard thrust, crying out as Noctis pulled Prompto’s leg over his shoulder, allowing the prince to go deeper than before. Looking at his boyfriend below him, Noctis swooped down, kissing the other. He pulled away, staying close enough to feel Prompto’s breath on his face. Hearing the cries from the man below him, Noctis knew Prompto was close. He sped up his thrusts, wanting Prompto to feel good.

“Yes, yes, yes! NOCTIS!”

With a final scream of the prince’s name, Prompto came, gasping for breath. He whined as Noctis kept thrusting, chasing his own release.

“Shit, Prompto!”

In a flash of blue, Noctis was gone. Prompto sat up in the bed, straining his ears, trying to hear if Noctis was still in the apartment. Another flash of blue, and his boyfriend collapsed on the bed beside Prompto. Looking over the taller man, Promptis blushed.

“Did you at least cum before you warped?”

“Yes.”

Prompto winced.

“Did you end up in your father’s office again? With him there?”

“Yes.”

Holding back a laugh, Prompto walked to the bathroom and cleaned himself. Moving back to the bed, he cleaned Noctis, tossing the cloth into the laundry basket. He rested his head on Noctis’ chest, the heartbeat beneath his ear calming him.

“It’ll be ok Noct. He’s probably used to it by now.”

+1.

Snow sucked. Noctis loved it when he was a kid but travelling in it sucked. Especially walking.

“We could have called Ignis to pick us up.”

“Where’s the fun in that Noct? Look how pretty everything is. How are you not loving this?”

Noctis had to admit, Prompto was beautiful like this. Illuminated by streetlights with snow falling around him, Prompto looked almost ethereal.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like I’m something precious.”

“You are precious Prompto. To me at least.”

Blushing, Prompto turned to the street, moving ahead of his boyfriend.

“Light’s green, let’s go.”

Prompto skipped, literally skipped, across the crossing. Noctis followed, grinning at his boyfriend’s adorableness. From the corner of his eye, Noctis saw headlights approach the crosswalk. The car wasn’t slowing down. And it was heading straight for Prompto! Without thinking, Noctis grabbed Prompto’s wrist and called on his magic. The two landed in the living room of Noctis’ apartment. Prompto stared at the room, gently pushing Noctis onto the couch.

“I don’t remember you ever warping this far before. That was at least three miles.”

“There was a car. It was going too fast and if it hit, it would probably kill you. I guess I just reacted.”

Prompto smiled, moving to sit on Noctis’ lap, straddling him. He pressed a kiss to the prince’s lips, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Well I for one am glad you reacted. You saved my life. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for saving your life. I’ll always save your life. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A/N I finally started playing the game, because I finally found out it’s not turn based fighting! And Promptis is adorable! Feel free to leave a prompt in the comments or my ask box. Fair warning, I do not write explicit sex. And struggle with fight scenes.

[honeymoonjin]

pasta la vista

In which you, a food critic, wonders how the hell Kim Seokjin manages to stay in business considering how horrendous his food seems to be. 2.3k words.

A/N: I’ve been holding off on writing a Jin one-shot for a while, because he’s my bias and I really wanted to get it right, but this is probably my favorite one-shot so far. Tell me what you think! 

Everybody loved a failure. Your scathing reviews on abysmal meals and grimy plates got far better traffic than anything positive you had to say about exciting flavor combinations and wonderful service.

At one point in time, you had selfishly decided to chase that coin, and thus your blog changed to The Idiot Sandwiches of Seoul (who could toss up a good Gordon Ramsey reference?) and your mission became to seek out the worst restaurants in the city.

Recently, you had been going to one restaurant multiple times, and you were getting a little concerned that Pasta la Vista was still in business.

The owner, a Mister Kim Seokjin, was a complete conundrum to you. You had been to his restaurant when it opened in 2015, and a couple times in the following years, and only had a few critiques, but it seemed that although his yelp reviews were still as immaculate as ever, the food quality and overall dining experience had taken a complete nosedive only a few months after your blog changed over.

You weren’t complaining, since your reviews of his place were some of the most popular on your site, prompting you to create a sub-series titled ‘What Is He Even Doing Back There?’ which focused entirely on reviewing every item on his constantly-changing menu.

That was another thing; he treated almost every dish on the menu like it was the daily special, re-printing menus every other week, far more than could be economically advisable.

Today you were back in the brightly decorated restaurant to try out his new-fangled three-course meal. You had gotten an anonymous comment on your most recent blog post from an account called ‘worldwidehandsome6969’ saying that it was the worst thing they had ever tasted. Likely an exaggeration, as the nature of your blog attracted a lot of whiners and complainers, but if it would pay your rent for another month, then so be it.

The building itself was in a rather wealthy part of town, but more so the hipster side than the old-money areas. The walls were covered in bright patterns and the chairs and tables were glossy white plastic.

The kitchen was quite visible from the main dining area; in fact, he had designed it so that instead of a solid wall, it was glass from the bench-height up. If you picked the right seat, one against the wall but near the center of the room lengthways, you could get a good look of the head chef himself, basically bouncing off the walls as he checked on all the other cooks, threw spices into pots like that old meme, wiggled happily as steaks sizzled on the grill.

One thing you always made sure to include in your reviews was just how happy he was. You could admire that, and you wanted your readers to not write him off as some oblivious rich kid throwing money at the Titanic. It was clear this business of his was somehow in the black, judging by how busy it was every time you came, so good on him for living his dream.

Still, you didn’t understand how content all the other customers seemed to be. After putting your order in for the three-course meal, it was only ten or so minutes before a dish came out.

It was a classic gazpacho with some crusty sliced bread on the side, but what gave you pause was the wobbly smiley face drawn in piles of chili powder on the surface of the cold soup. “Are you serious,” you whisper under your breath, chancing a look up at the kitchen.

You lock eyes with Kim Seokjin, who is beaming over at your table, but looks back down at the fish he’s seasoning when you catch him staring.

Even after he looks away, he has an odd smile on his face. You sigh and pick up your soup spoon. If there was one thing you did always love about coming here, it was how he managed to surprise you every time.

The surface tension of the soup holds enough to keep the powder on top right until the point that you go to delicately scoop off the chili powder. The moment the edge of the spoon breaks through, the powder around it goes sinking into the red depths of the gazpacho. You curse under your breath, giving up and just stirring it in as best you can.

If he wanted to give his customers a cardiac arrest’s worth of chili powder as decoration, he could deal with the feedback you’d give on his childish antics.

The cold soup was hot with spice and, as you expected, you barely got three mouthfuls down. You couldn’t taste a single thing around the burning of your tongue, but you had the feeling that the soup itself actually wasn’t that bad. It was a shame.

A waitress asked you how you wanted your steak cooked, to which you of course said medium rare, but when your mostly-full bowl of soup was taken away and the main brought out, there wasn’t a hint of pink left.

It was closer to concrete than it was a fine cut of sirloin, and he had again presented you with the smiley face motif, this time actually cut into the meat with a knife of some sort, clearly after he had done all but cremating it, and you flipped it over gingerly with your fork and knife only to see the same on the other side.

The vegetables accompanying the meat were, like most things you ate here, an absolute atrocity. There was some broccoli and cauliflower split into the smallest of flowers, so that they littered the bottom of your plate and fell through the tines of your fork when you went to scoop them up.

Worst of all was the entire carrot that was lain parallel to the meat, so large that it hung over the rim of the plate. Confused out of your mind, you stare dumbfoundedly into the kitchen, seeking out the man that thought this was an acceptable meal.

He was bent over the industrial oven, one hand holding onto the handle for support, the other clutching at his stomach. He had tears coming from his eyes, actual tears, and when a waiter pushed through the double doors and into the restaurant, for a second or two you heard the squeaky peals of his hysteric laughter, before they were cut off again as the doors swung shut.

A couple of guests heard the abrupt noise and glanced around the restaurant, but you were too busy watching the chef laugh so hard his tall hat fell off his head.

What the fuck was going on?

You ate enough of the steak and the odd selection of vegetables to form a solid basis for your review, then hailed a waitress to take your plate away.

Your stomach growled as you waited, but you dreaded the arrival of the dessert. Kim Seokjin had calmed himself down enough to go back to reading over tickets and calling out orders, and you hoped to god that it was tolerable enough that you could actually eat it.

The wait took a little longer than normal, so you slipped out your phone to begin typing away in your notes app, ready to capture your thoughts in the heat of the moment.

“He can be called a chef just about as much as you can call a man driving off a cliff a pilot. It would seem he was completely apathetical to the culinary profession, were it not for the complete joy I could see on his face when he saw I had received the dishes. I continue to be confounded by the total contrast between my experience and what others have-”

“The dark chocolate and raspberry cheesecake, ma’am. Please enjoy.”

You stuff your phone back into your pocket and do a double take at the dessert. It’s nothing like you expected, and while you haven’t tasted it yet, you suspect that will surprise you, too.

A velvety-looking slice of cheesecake is what greets you. You can see just by looking at the texture of the cut that it’s so light that it would probably just melt in your mouth, and a small ramekin of vanilla ice-cream sits as a perfect little scoop beside it. What gives you the most pause, however, is the vibrant raspberry coulis that’s been poured out in a little love heart on the side of the plate.

You hurriedly take your cake fork and slice off the inner corner of the cheesecake, feeling the satisfying clink as it breaks through the biscuit base. The second the creamy goodness touches your tongue, you’re a goner. The bitterness of the dark chocolate mixes in beautifully with the tart yet sweet raspberry sauce marbled through it, and the golden crumb provides some texture to break up the smoothness. It’s perfect.

For the third time that night, you find yourself searching for a glimpse of the head chef in his kitchen

Was he just great at desserts? Surely not, or he would’ve simply transformed into a bakery or patisserie. Besides, you recalled last time you came and tried the lemon meringue pie, and how it had arrived with actual sour lemon juice drizzled on top, and a large heap of whipped cream underneath the pie, so that by the time it reached you, the pastry had gone soggy.

No, you decided, there was most certainly something afoot here. You had no idea what you were going to write now, but you desperately needed answers.

It was winter in Seoul, and your nose had just about frozen off by the time Kim Seokjin finally waltzed out the front doors.

You pushed yourself off the pillar you were leaning on and rushed over to him, grabbing the front of his jacket to make him stop in his tracks.

He lets out a startled yelp, opening his mouth wide to scream, but calms down when he recognizes you. “Oh, it’s you?”

“Yeah,” you grumble, “it’s me. What the hell was that?”

He avoids your beseeching gaze. “The three-course menu. I hope you enjoyed it.”

You huff and shake him back and forth a little. “I’m serious! Two and a half years of atrocious food, and then one beautiful dessert. What the hell was that?”

He squeezes his eyes shut once and blushes. “You thought it was beautiful?”

“Argh, that’s not the point! You’re driving me insane! How is it that you have a full house every night, perfect reviews, and yet I get served an entire carrot on a plate, huh?”

He snickers.

“You think it’s funny? Is your business just a joke to you?”

He composes himself a little, letting his warm hands clasp your frozen ones gently, peeling them away from his thick jacket. “No, it’s not that,” he admits, “it’s just that when you started only reviewing bad restaurants, you stopped coming here.”

You let him remove your grasp on him but note that he doesn’t let go of your hands, leaving them to dangle between the two of you. Your breath is visible in the cold, and your soft speaking still seems loud in the heavy quiet. “Sorry, what?”

He shrugs breezily, but the bouncy energy you saw in the kitchen has vanished. “I knew you would only come to my restaurant and review it was if you thought the food was bad.”

You feel a fire die inside you as the truth dawns on you. “You just wanted free advertising. All publicity is good publicity, I guess.”

“No!” His outburst is punctuated by him giving your hands a squeeze, and he blinks down at where you’re joined like he’d forgotten. He drops his hold and brings a hand up to ruffle his hair nervously. “I just…I like having you around. I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“The love-heart,” you ponder out loud, and he nods meaningfully. “This was you flirting?”

He winces. “God, when you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It is stupid,” you concur, “normally when a guy wants to impress a girl, he shows off how good his cooking is, not how much chili powder he can fit on top of a bowl of gazpacho.”

He perks up after hearing your joking tone. With a cheeky grin, he nudges your shoulder playfully. “Hey, you, it’s not my fault it took you over two years to finally realize. Who seriously puts an entire carrot on somebody’s plate?”

You can’t help but laugh at his antics. He joins in, and you feel a strange kind of warmth inside you when you get a full version of the sneak-peek you heard earlier in the restaurant. He laughs with his whole body, throwing his head back and shaking his shoulders up and down with the force of it. You calm down before he does and watch him curiously. “You are an enigma, Kim Seokjin.”

He quiets down too, but still carries a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Ah, Kim Seokjin, incredible chef, talented comedian, and worldwide handsome guy.”

The smile is wiped off his face when he realizes what he said. You narrow your eyes at him. “Wait. Are you worldwidehandsomeguy6969?”

He shrugs sheepishly.

“Have you no shame?” you chide, but you can’t smother the beam on your face that hasn’t left since he told you the truth. “You have two and a half years of bad food to make up for, mister. You better start tomorrow night.”

He holds out his arm, jangling his car keys. “Why not start now?”

[nostalgicatsea]

This is my second go at filling out the year-end writing meme that @sineala​ and muccamukk did on Dreamwidth because my computer freaked out and shut down on me without warning while I was writing and my entire post was lost. I was almost done with it so you can imagine how upset I was.

So here’s my reflection on my writing in 2018! This is going to be long. You can read it in full here on Dreamwidth as well.

All of these stories are Steve/Tony unless stated otherwise.

April

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin (MCU) - Post-Civil War soulmate AU, 18,611 words

May

The Great Silence of Loss (MCU) - Post-Infinity War fic about grief and hope vs. despair, 1,075 words

Little Moments in Between: A Brief Interlude (MCU) - Tony thinks about his relationship with Steve while they wait for a train, 844 words

June

Signals Between Two Satellites (MCU) - Post-Infinity War angst and hurt/comfort fic about Steve and Tony seeing each other for the first time after the snap, 2,290 words

August

Hidden Declaration (Generation Kill, Brad/Ray) - Ray tries to convince Brad to get matching tattoos with him, 728 words

You and Nothing Else (MCU) - Steve doesn’t like seeing Tony stressed out and unhappy over their wedding plans, 785 words

Every Last One of My Demons (MCU) - Post-Infinity War emotional hurt/comfort fic about Steve and Tony talking after having nightmares, 1,705 words

Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction (Avengers Academy) - Steve bids on Tony in their school’s charity auction, wrongly assuming that he’s auctioning off a date, 2,727 words

December

A Long, Final Rest Among the Stars (MCU) - Endgame trailer fic about Tony reflecting on how he’s come full circle from Afghanistan in a way, 2,732 words

Last year I wrote and posted:

Nine stories and 33,333 words, including the 1,836 words I wrote on New Year’s Eve for a Cap-Iron Man comm gift fic but didn’t submit because I wasn’t happy with it.

Overall thoughts:

Last year was a productive writing year for me! My 2018 New Year’s resolution was “to build on my progress and write even longer pieces and more works that I’m proud of.” Suffice to say, that happened. In the past two years, I went from writing one or two fics a year that were at most 1-2.5k to writing my longest fic at the time I wrote that New Year’s post (Multitude of One (4,277 words)) to the number of words and fics above.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would last year, less, or about what you'd predicted?

I didn’t have a specific goal, but nine fics is more than half my fic count on AO3 and the other eight were posted over the course of four years so yeah, WAY more than I thought I’d write. I don’t know how that happened especially as I get stuck while writing all the time.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?

Brad/Ray and Gen Kill. I never thought I’d write a GK story because just the thought of doing so is intimidating. Ray Person is intimidating. I love him, but he’s so easy to get wrong and I’ve seen people get him totally wrong or get close but still fall short. I didn’t even want to bother trying until @luxover​ gave me a Brad/Ray prompt and I wrote Hidden Declaration. Just to make things both harder and easier, lux is a good friend so I hoped she would be gentle even if she hated it lol, but I wanted to make her happy because she’s my friend. She’s also the only person I know who writes Ray perfectly so, you know, no pressure. But I wrote a thing! In a fandom I didn’t ever expect to write in!

This year's theme and the story that demonstrates it most:

A toss up between “angst with catharsis/grief and healing” and “post-Infinity War.” Or maybe “I never thought I’d write this.” It’s funny because after Infinity War came out, Alanna (aslightstep​) and I talked about how it didn’t fill us with the desire to write any fics based on it, and three of my fics from last year are post-IW ones (four if you include the one based on the Endgame trailer).

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin hits all three things.

What's your own favorite story of the year?

Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest?I’m not sure it makes me the happiest, but it’s definitely the fic I’m proudest of and it so happens to be my longest and most popular one: Leaving Promises Against Your Skin again. LPAYS was the sequel to Multitude of One which, until I posted LPAYS, was my longest fic. I knew it would blow MoO out of the water, word count-wise. That was one of the reasons I was too afraid to write it because I didn’t know how to write long fics nor do I know how I wrote this one now that so much time has passed since I finished it. I’m proud of it not because it’s perfect and I love everything about it (a few things bother me about it actually) but because writing it was agonizing. I wanted to give up so many times.

The only reason I kept going was that I didn’t have that much of an option to do so as it was a STH fill. I’m proud of sticking with it. Once everything snapped into place, the words kept flowing…and flowing and within days, I wrote several thousand words more than I had expected the fic to be. This is how I felt once I was done. For the first time ever in all my years of writing, I got choked up over my own writing lol. I understand how great it feels to finish a long fic, write the scenes you had in mind for so long, and get to the ending that you envisioned from the start (I had the ending of LPAYS in mind while writing MoO even though I kept mum about it when people asked me what happened after the ending of MoO). I got so happy that I made my first photoset! That’s another unexpected thing that happened last year.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

A lot!

- I mostly write angst and never thought I would ever write unadulterated fluff with zero angst and I did so twice in 2018 with my first Avengers Academy fic, which also has a dash of humor (“humor”? I’m not really funny), and this wedding preparation fic, which also is an established relationship fic about marriage. I never thought I’d write those things either especially because wedding fics tend to bore the hell out of me and I never seek them out.

- Both of those fics were prompt fills (I filled four in total). I never take prompts because I get stuck and stressed out that I have writer’s block, but it worked out fine which I’m happy about as the prompts for the two fics were out of my comfort zone. I had no idea what to write for the cheese one, but I was determined to fill it. I can’t recognize myself. Fluff? Humor? No angst? Established relationship? Wedding preparations? Prompt fills? ME? What?!

- Long fics! I wrote my first one because eh, 4k doesn’t count as long even though it was long for me at the time.

- MCU Tony POV. MCU Tony scares me from a writing standpoint, so I avoided writing from his POV until LPAYS and now I have two fics with his POV.

I learned that what may seem or be impossible to do doesn’t stay that way and that trying to get out of my comfort zone can be incredibly rewarding. It’s worth a shot even if I fail because I gain more experience, and it makes me feel hopeful about growing as a writer. It’s hard to think that you’ll ever improve or be able to write things you can’t write when you’re frustrated or not feeling great about your writing.

My best story of this year:

I don’t remember what I put the first time around.

My most popular story of this year:

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin

had the most bookmarks, comments, hits, and kudos. Not surprising because it’s a sequel to my most popular fic and it’s a soulmate AU which tends to draw people in.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Hidden Declaration has the fewest bookmarks, comments, hits, and kudos without contest, but considering the size and lack of activity in the fandom (which is why I don’t care that no one has read it, but I generally don’t obsess over those markers anyway especially if it’s a gift like this one was), I can’t exactly say it’s underappreciated by the universe.

You and Nothing Else had the lowest comments to hits ratio, but it performed well on Tumblr where I originally posted it, so I have to pick Every Last One of My Demons which had the lowest kudos to hits and bookmarks to hits ratios of ALL my fics from 2018 and went a bit under the radar on Tumblr too. I thought it would do better because hurt/comfort! Post-Infinity War! Oh well.

My least favorite story this year:

Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction. I’m not good with humor, and the words kept coming but kind of in a “oh no, I can’t stop word vomiting” way. But hey, I never write dialogue-heavy fic so there’s that. And it’s a silly and fun fic for a silly and fun prompt (“cheese wheel”...I almost ended up ignoring the prompt because cheese wheel?) and universe. RIP soon, AvAc. You’ll live on in our hearts and in fandom.

Most fun story to write:

Hidden Declaration! Ray was super fun, which is a big surprise as I said he’s scary to write. There are one or two lines in the story hat I want to tweak because I think they toe the line in being “too much” (as I said, he’s very easy to get wrong, and many people go overboard with him), but he’s really fun to write and I love him!

Story with the sweetest moment:

You and Nothing Else. The part where Steve tells Tony he doesn’t care about what their wedding is like and Tony not only gets what he means, but he meets him halfway because what he ultimately decides on reminds him of Steve.

Story with the single sexiest moment:

Haha I don’t have any sexy moments. The closest would be Hidden Declaration, where Brad imagines Ray beneath him with a tattoo that matches his (he totally learns how to tattoo so that he can ink Ray himself).

Most "Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story:

None. I didn’t do anything that’s more horrible than what I usually do.

Most overdue:

LPAYS. It took a year for me to post although I only seriously thought of writing it and began writing it months after I posted MoO.

Most eye roll-worthy title:

A tie between Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction which is awful, but I got stuck on a title for that one, and Little Moments in Between: A Brief Interlude, which is so pretentious (that colon!) and long for such a short fic about nothing. I couldn’t decide between the two phrases separated by the colon, so I used both.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

LPAYS. It’s written in Tony’s POV, but it helped me explore Steve a bit and feel better about him. A lot of people, including me, were upset with Steve after CA:CW and hated his letter because it made little sense (I still think this way). I also kept thinking about the line “I can see now I was really sparing myself” and tried to figure out what he meant by that. For once, Steve was selfish and it led to disastrous consequences, but his selfishness came from losing so much in his life and not wanting to lose more and...I really do think he didn’t want to lose Tony and was afraid he’d lose him and that Bucky would fall out of his grasp again. He was a coward, but because he cared too much, not because he didn’t care at all.

Hardest story to write:

LPAYS again! I knew what would happen after the ending of MoO and had the ending of LPAYS in mind too while writing the ending of MoO, but I kept mum about it even though people wanted to know and asked me about it. I couldn’t figure out what scenes to write other than one BARF scene and the ending which I desperately wanted to get to. I couldn’t figure out how to deal with the idea of forgiveness, how Tony could ever heal, and how Steve could earn back Tony’s trust again. It was so, so hard and I was miserable until things clicked and then 8k became 10k...which became 12k. I thought I’d stop there, but then it became 18k. I couldn’t stop which felt so liberating, fun, and rewarding because it had been so difficult to write until that point.Thank you to everyone who listened to me, brainstormed with me, and held my hand through the process as I whined and suffered.<3 I couldn't have written it without you.

Biggest Disappointment:

I couldn’t write a comm gift fic that I was happy with in time, and I wanted this year to be the year that I finally wrote one. Hopefully I’ll be able to participate in another writing-related Cap-Iron Man event this year! Oh, and I didn't write that other soulmate fic that's been on my mind for years.

Biggest Surprise:

Everything under the “writing risks” part. Um...that LPAYS did so well. There’s a risk with long sequels; the longer a oneshot fic is, the less likely it is to get as much feedback as say, something that’s in the 5-7K range (I forgot the exact range, but someone put up stats about this), and if it’s a sequel? People back out because they think they won’t know what’s going on unless they read the first story. I was that “Troy from Community enters a room on fire with a pizza box, smiling and then alarmed” gif when MoO did incredibly well, and I sort of feel like that with LPAYS, even if MoO has double the bookmarks, comments, kudos, and hits.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story:

I don’t know.

Favorite opening line:

I’m not extremely fond of any particular opening line from last year. This is easier with opening paragraphs. If I had to pick, though, it’s “They were like bedtime stories, his nightmares” from Every Last One of My Demons.

Favorite closing line:

The one from LPAYS and the last four paragraphs of that are my favorite closing lines ever, but they’re spoilery so I’ll pick something different. My favorites have to be from Every Last One of My Demons, Signals Between Two Satellites, and A Long, Final Rest Among the Stars. I’ll pick two.

Favorite in terms of meaning: Hope, he thought as Tony turned to look at him, exhausted and afraid and beautiful from Signals.

Tony is the embodiment of hope for Steve!!!! I honestly think that Tony embodies that for the Avengers and especially Steve in so many ways, even in the MCU; it’s not as apparent as the other universes, but if you think about what Tony did for Steve in all their movies together and in Infinity War, which they aren’t in any scenes together, it makes sense.

Favorite in terms of writing/prettiness/mood: “Tony,” he heard the voice whisper again, and it was all their voices all at once, calling him to them from here and beyond, all with him as he drifted off, into the boundless darkness, into the stars and the lights he had loved and then feared and loved again from A Long, Final Rest.

In conclusion:

I’m proud of myself.

Fic-writing goals for 2019:

I’m not going to try to top what I did in 2018. I don’t think that’ll be possible. What I hope to do in 2019, other than write my MTH fill for @sabrecmc​, of course, is to finish the two fics that have been on my mind for years: the reconciliation/reunion fic and the one that everyone must have heard me complain about by now as I’ve been whining about it on and off for about 4.5 years. Yes, that one. That soulbond fic. The one that I tried to abandon, but even if I put it aside for a long time, I can never actually let go of. It haunts me. I WANT TO BE FREE. I WANT TO BE FREE. If you’re curious, the two fics are the second and third fic on this post. I have some other stories I want to write, but those two are my only priorities. PLEASE, I WANT TO WRITE AND POST THEM EVEN IF I DON’T KNOW HOW.

Anyway, happy 2019. One more year until 2020! What a scary thought. I wish you all a prosperous, joyous, creative, and prolific year.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Action Figure

Action Figure Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Kidge Summary: Coran has a set of gifts for the Paladins to help boost morale. They have a few... Concerns, to say the least. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more. AN: I want you all to know that this was the first prompt I had figured out once I saw the full list. I have been hyped for this one!

They’d all been settled in the castle kitchen, nibbling on some almost-brownies Hunk had made and swapping stories when Coran came stumbling in with a decently sized box in his hands. He dropped the box in the center of the table, leaned on it, and grinned widely at them all. “So, Paladins,” He drawled happily, lightly rapping his fingers along the top of the box, “how would you all like a little treat?”

“That depends… Normally your ‘treats’ involve really terrible feats be accomplished first. Like that time you promised us all a day off but first we had to survive a six consecutive rounds of combat against the gladiator drones on their highest setting,” Hunk said wearily, taking a suspicious sip of his milk.

“Personally I believed that the training experience itself was a wonderful treat,” Allura chimed in.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a nut when it comes to running drills and exercises. Even before you were an piloting a Lion you rode us like a cowboy on a bucking bronco at a rodeo,” Pidge scoffed with a roll of her eyes. She then paused and glanced over at Keith. “Which reminds you, have you ever been to a rodeo before? I mean, you grew up in Texas, yeah?”

He shrugged. “I grew up there in a lot of my younger years but, after age nine, I was kind of a ward of the Garrison,” He explained.

She hummed thoughtfully before Coran cleared his throat to get their attention again. “I believe I asked a question,” He said with a dainty sniff.

“I’m sure we’ll all be happy with whatever you’ve brought for us, Coran,” Shiro said with a small smile.

Coran beamed before starting to open the box. “Well, I’m sure you all remember those phenomenal shows we put on a while back?” He mused.

“You mean the ones were you flanderized us all into stereotypes that could be seen as demeaning and degrading to us as individuals, thus making a mockery of the contributions we make to the team on an everyday basis?” Hunk asked flatly, licking a smearing of chocolate from his thumb. All eyes swiveled to him and he perked up in surprise, an anxious smile starting to turn up on his lips. “Oh, uh, I mean, those shows where we got a bunch of new additions to the coalition?”

“And you almost got us all killed because you had some weird brain slug or whatever?” Lance asked before taking another bite of his brownie.

Keith cocked his head and looked at Pidge expectantly. “Wait, what is that all about? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

She shrugged. “It was while you were more focused on working with the Blade. You were a little too busy to keep up with at the time aside from the big conference calls to discuss orders and mission specifics,”

“Ah,” He agreed with a nod.

“Anyway,” Coran said as he popped open the flaps, “the show was such a hit that we were selling holocaster recordings of it!”

Hunk seemed to pale at that. “Oh, great, so now a whole chunk of the universe thinks I’m just some goofy slob,” He whined.

“Hey, at least you won’t be looked at like a complete idiot by any life form with a basic grasp of the logistics of space travel,” Pidge quipped back.

“Excuse me,” Allura said calmly, holding up one hand, “but I think I got the shortest end of this deal out of all of us.”

Silence fell at the table for a moment before they all turned back to Coran. “So, uh, what does this have to do with the show?” Lance asked.

Coran brightened significantly at the question. “Glad you should ask, Lance! See, since the recordings were selling so well, Bii-Boh-Bi and I decided that producing merchandise would be a great idea! All the proceeds are used to help fund the rebellion, of course, but it’s been going very well! We’ve sold shirts, hats, stickers, even undergarments!” He said enthusiastically. He then began rummaging through the box excitedly. “We have also sold action figures of all five Lions of Voltron, toy versions of the bayards and a slew of other toys! But this, here, are the prototypes of the latest addition!”

And, with a dramatic flair, he produced a figurine donning the Black Paladin armor.

And the table immediately erupted into laughter.

“Oh, my God! Did they give Tiny Shiro steroids? He looks like two Shiros combined!” Pidge wheezed out, throwing herself back against her chair. Indeed the figurine had rippling muscles… That were significantly more pronounced than the actual Shiro.

“It’s a Double Stuffed Shiro!” Lance gasped, exchanging a look with Pidge and Hunk, before all three erupted into even more ludicrous laughter. Allura looked a bit confused, but was still giggling a bit behind one hand. Keith was looking between the stone figure of Real Shiro and Figurine Shiro, lip between his teeth, trying as hard as he could to not laugh outright.

Coran frowned a bit. “Well, perhaps it looks better in the alternate outfit? It comes with a second costume composed of that really phenomenal black shirt you wore that one time,” Coran suggested, starting to rummage through the box to find the accessory.

“No! No, the figure it fine in the Paladin armor!” Shiro snapped, his brain finally seeming to catch up with what was going on around him.

“Forget what he says! Change it into the shirt, Coran!” Lance all but shrieked.

“Yes!” Pidge hissed out in delirious glee.

“Do it! Do it!” Hunk agreed.

“Why don’t we look at some of the others?” Shiro barked quickly, trying to plaster on a polite smile but the edges coming off just a bit too forced.

“Well, that would be a good idea! As I said, these are just prototypes, so Bii-Boh-Bi wanted to get some feedback to make sure they’re as accurate as possible,” He said, setting the Shiro figure next to the box and beginning to rummage through for another one.

Lance swiped the actions figure up and began messing with it, posing it this way and that. “Fear not, innocent creatures of the universe! Shiro the Hero and his loyal Team Voltron are here to protect you!” He declared, dropping his voice a few octaves to try and imitate Shiro, while making the figure flex.

Laughter echoed again at the table, a crimson hue beginning to creep up along Shiro’s face as he swiped the toy from Lance’s grasp, but then paused to Coran pulled out the next figure.

And then it started all over again.

“It looks like they put Lance’s face under a magnified glass!” Hunk cackled.

“I’m melting, I’m melting!” Pidge squealed, throwing herself against the table for an added dramatic effect.

“Ding dong, the witch is dead~!” Keith suddenly sang, snickering at the nasty glare he got from Lance in response.

“Which old witch~?” Hunk joined in.

“The wicked witch~!” Shiro added, a hush falling for a second before everyone except Lance and Coran started howling yet again.

“It’s not that bad!” Lance protested, swiping the figure from Coran’s hand and looking it over. He opened his mouth to say something, one of his hands waving side to side in the air, then closed it. He then dropped the figure on the table and pulled the box over to himself. “Okay, okay, that’s enough about me! Let’s see what some of these other ones look like!”

“Excuse you!” Coran huffed indignantly.

Lance growled then perked up, freezing for a moment before pulling out a figure of white and yellow. “Oh, Hunk, buddy. I’m so, so sorry,” He said quietly, slowly turning the action figure to face the other Paladins.

Laughter paused for a moment before Hunk reached out, taking the figure from Lance’s grasp. He stared at it for a moment before taking a deep breath and adjusting the face so that it was staring up at the light above their heads. “All around me are familiar face, worn places, worn out faces~!” He belted out.

Shiro, Lance and Pidge started howling while Allura and Keith exchanged confused glances. Keith merely shrugged at her, showing he had no idea what they all found so funny either. “I think it’s another one of those meme things they like,” He mouthed.

“Oh,” She mouthed back.

“But seriously, they made my figure look like I am just ready for death. Like, I’ve given up on everything, no more of this living junk. Totally overrated,” Hunk explained, snickering as he waved his actions figure in the air.

Lance snickered before reaching into the bag again, a sharp bark of laughter escaping him as he grabbed another one. “Well would you look at this!” He said with a laugh, pulling out a figure of white and green. He cleared his throat before turning it to face the rest of the team. “Have you guys seen my pocket protector anywhere?” He asked, making his voice as nasally as possible and even trying to add a lisp.

Keith clamped one hand over his mouth, trying so hard to restrict the laughs vibrating in his chest, while Hunk guffawed like no other. Allura and Shiro settled into quieter laughter, both seeming to gauge Pidge’s reaction before being too vocal. Pidge herself actually snorted a bit, taking the figure and looking it over curiously. After a moment she tossed the action figure over her shoulder, batted her eyelashes, and said in her best Steve Urkel impression, “Did I do that?”

The other humans at the table were sent into another bout of rowdy cackling. Allura chuckled but was still clearly baffled as to what the joke fully was.

“Okay, we’ve only got Keith’s left,” Lance said, rummaging through the box again once he’d settled down.

The boy in question perked up, brow furrowing. “How did they make a figure of me? I didn’t participate in the show,” He pointed out.

“No, you didn’t, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t have a stand in for your part,” Allura said with a quiet groan.

“Tah-Dah~!” Lance sang as he produced the very silver-haired, very Altean and very beautiful Keith figurine to the others at the table.

“Wait, what?” Keith asked in alarm.

“Hey, Allura said it herself; she got the short end of the stick in the ice show compared to the rest of us. She got stuck having to play you,” Lance laughed loudly.

“I only hope that I was able to give you the complexity you deserve, Keith,” Allura said, her grin becoming something more teasing and mischievous.

“Don’t worry, I gave her a few pointers and coached her into the role, to insure the integrity of your character,” Pidge laughed. She and Allura exchanged sly smirks.

“I’m Keith, I’m so emo~!” They chimed in unison before dissolving into giggles.

He blinked then smirked a bit himself. “So then, if Allura is actually Keith, does that mean you two are dating now?” He asked, indicating the two of them.

“I suppose so. Sorry for stealing your girlfriend,” Allura mused, tossing a strand of hair over her shoulder and winking playfully.

Keith put on a fake scowl and looked down at Pidge. “How could you?”

“Hey, it’s not technically cheating since I just went from you to you,” She snickered back. She then shrugged lightly and indicated the other woman with a sweep of one hand. “And, honestly, can you blame me? You just have such a lovely figure that you can’t even compete!”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Allura crooned playfully, blowing Pidge a kiss.

“Aw, just speaking the truth, sugarlump!” She laughed back, pretending to catch the kiss and pressing it to her cheek.

Keith snickered before looking over at Allura. “You sure you want to take on the responsibility of being in a relationship with that thing? Garbage gremlins can be wily little creatures to date,”

“Excuse you, we prefer the term ‘compost cretins’, you bigot. See, this is why I had to leave you for you!” She said playfully, throwing her hands up in the air in mock-frustration.

The whole table erupted back into laughter while Coran pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes he wondered if these Paladins were really worth all the effort.

E

[mystery-moose]

"Do you hate me?" with Angus and Taako, for the prompt meme, because I want to feel pain, I guess ha ha

hey FUCK YOU

/////

Angus reached underneath his bed, stretched his fingers and barely managed to grab onto the slim paperback. He pulled it out and blew off a layer of dust as he regarded the cover; “Crockery and Utensils for the Working Chef: A Primer.” Angus hadn’t looked at it in years, hadn’t needed it. He stuffed it in his suitcase anyway.

He shut his bag, pressing down until he could latch it shut, full as it was to bursting. With a huff, he stood and stepped over it, turning in a slow circle.

The wagon was still full of all kinds of stuff – pots and pans and small crates of supplies that couldn’t be stored in the roof compartments or undercarriage. The sink was clean, but still cluttered with soaps and moisturizers that Angus didn’t feel like taking. The small closet in the back still had a bunch of clothes inside it, but he couldn’t take it all, and he’d been meaning to clean it out anyway.

The things that got to him were the things he couldn’t take with him – the blackened hole in his bed frame where he’d freaked out and cast Scorching Ray at a stray spider, the glow-in-the-dark stars that Taako had pasted to the ceiling, the notches Kravitz had made on the doorframe to track Angus’ growth with increasing numbers of exclamation marks. His favorites were the little carvings in the wooden walls, mostly by Angus but a couple by Taako; his were crudely drawn wizards sticking out their tongue or flipping the bird, usually at one of Angus’ slightly more recognizable animals.

It was strange; he’d lived in that wagon for seven years, but it had never felt quite so small as it did then.

Angus felt his chest tighten. He adjusted his glasses and turned away. They would get to Neverwinter tomorrow. He was all packed up now. Might as well spend the evening outside.

Taako was alone by the fire pit. He’d insisted they set camp a ways off the road so he could cook something, but he hadn’t started yet – he was still sitting in a small camp chair, legs crossed, poking idly at his little black recipe book.

“Hey,” Angus said, approaching. “Where’s Kravitz?”

“On call,” Taako said flatly, not looking up. “Apparently.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Angus rubbed at one of his elbows through his shirt.

“You mind if I sit?”

Taako made an unconcerned noise. “Do what you want.”

Angus grabbed one of the other two chairs, unfolded and sat in it. Not too close, but not too far either. He laced his fingers in his lap and stared at nothing.

“So…”

Taako said nothing. He crossed out something in his book with a decisive swipe of his pen. Angus swallowed.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Really? You made us stop–”

“I haven’t decided,” Taako said curtly, still not looking at him.

Angus frowned and looked away, slouching in his chair.

“If you’re gonna be like this, I can just go.”

Taako snapped his recipe book shut and glared at him. “Be like what?”

Angus met his eyes but said nothing.

“Be like what?” Taako repeated. “Like me?”

“This isn’t like you,” Angus said.

“Bullshit it’s not. Or haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Sir–”

“And why do you always call me that?” he asked harshly. “Use my fuckin’ name.”

“What, like you use mine?” Angus retorted. “Do you even know what it is? Or was it not important enough to remember?”

Taako scowled and looked away. He braced his elbow on the chair’s arm and his arm tensed as he lifted his recipe book; it looked for all the world like he was considering tossing it into the fire.

Their last night, and this was how they were spending it.

With a quiet growl, Taako pushed himself out of his chair and started to stalk away. Angus made no move to stop him. Why bother? What good would it do?

Suddenly, Taako spun on his heel, cloak whipping around.

“Do you hate me?”

Angus blinked at him, taken aback. “No,” he said, brow furrowed. “Of course I don’t.”

“Really?” he sneered skeptically. “Are you sure? Think carefully now.”

Angus stood, stepping towards him slowly. “Taako, I don’t hate you.”

“Why not?” Taako taking a step towards him, hands on his hips. “You’ve got plenty of reasons to.”

“I – what?”

Taako held up fingers, counted them off. “I’m cruel, vain, bossy, self-centered, and super fuckin’ arrogant. I’ve treated you like a burden, ordered you around like a servant, made you cry more than once–”

“You gonna approach a point sometime soon?” Angus asked, crossing his arms.

Taako took another stride forward, close enough now that he had to look up to meet Angus’ eyes. He looked… not angry, but intense. Focused.

“Why don’t you hate me?” he asked seriously.

“You know why,” Angus replied, as seriously.

“Then why are you leaving?”

Angus opened his mouth and shut it. Opened and shut it again. Taako didn’t move, didn’t look away. Angus stared at him, tried to see what was behind his eyes and felt like he almost could.

“You know why,” he said quietly.

By degrees, Taako’s expression softened. The edge dulled, the intensity faded. He glanced away and a muscle near his eye twitched.

“I don’t,” he said without conviction. “I don’t.”

Angus uncrossed his arms. “It’s for me,” he said on an exhale. “It’s just something I’ve got to do.”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t, I’ll never–” He paused. “I’ll never know if I am… who I should be.”

Taako blinked, and Angus was certain he saw the beginnings of tears. His mouth twisted and he looked down, stifling them. Angus couldn’t help but reach out, now, take Taako by the shoulders and pull him into a hug. Taako didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Angus said.

Taako shook his head against Angus’ shoulder. “No you’re not.”

Angus squeezed tighter. “Yes I am.”

Taako sniffed loudly. Angus called no attention to it.

“I’ll stay in touch,” he said firmly. “I promise.”

“You’d better,” Taako said weakly, finally returning the embrace. “You’d fucking better.”

They stayed that way for a minute. Neither of them seemed willing to end it. Eventually, Taako sighed and pulled away, ducking the brim of his hat. His eyes were shining, but no tears had fallen.

“Think I know what I want for dinner,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Taako rolled his shoulders and turned, jerking his head back toward his wagon. “C'mon, you’re helping.”

Angus smiled a little and followed his father.

/////

Kravitz returned less than an hour later, apologizing to Angus for being called away. There was nothing to apologize for, of course, and Angus made that clear. Taako gave him shit for it, but the way he always did, where he didn’t really mean it – we’ve just finished dinner anyway, bonehead, put your skin on and get the plates.

The three of them set up their folding card table, laid out their dishes, and pulled up their chairs. None of them talked about tomorrow, about what Angus’ plans were, about where he’d live or what he’d study at the University. They talked about nothing remotely important. They simply ate together, joked, laughed. It wouldn’t be the last time they were together, of course, but it would be last time it was like this. Angus savored every moment, every word, and every bite.

No one could cook a Chicken Kiev like Taako could.

[coilwind7-blog]

Rittenhouse Bar Fires Cook Targeted on Yelp, Facebook for Pro-Hitler Posts

City

We talked to the man who calls himself “so much more” than a Nazi — and the man who led the charge to get him tossed from his job.

Left: Accused “Nazi” Steven James Fullerton. (Photo provided.) Right: Oh! Shea’s Pub. (Photo via Google Maps)

Oh! Shea’s Pub is a casual, laid-back bar and restaurant on Sansom Street in Rittenhouse Square. You might go there to watch a game, throw back some pints with your colleagues. But that’s about it. Oh! Shea’s is just not, you know, the kind of bar that people talk about. But that all changed this week.

Over the past weekend, Oh! Shea’s became the subject of countless angry posts and comments on Facebook. There were threads on Reddit. Threats to boycott. Bad reviews left on Yelp.

Why? Because a cook at Oh! Shea’s had repeatedly published pro-Nazi and pro-Hitler comments and memes on Facebook. And on Wednesday, Oh! Shea’s fired the employee.

It all started with Old City resident Victor Shugart, seen here. The 25-year-old Drexel engineering student, a former U.S. Marine, loathes Nazis. According to Shugart, eight of his nine great-great-uncles on his mother’s side fought against the Nazis in World War II, and his Great-Great-Uncle Red was killed at the Battle of the Bulge after he stepped on a Nazi landmine. So when he saw that a man who seemed like a real-life Nazi was working at a restaurant in Rittenhouse Square, he decided to take action.

“It’s really a dumb story, how I found out,” Shugart tells Philly Mag. “I was up late one night on Facebook, and I saw Jim Kenney talking about how the city declared a state of emergency for Kensington because of the heroin problem. I’m reading through these comments, and I saw this one that really stood out. The guy said that we should just let all opioid users die.”

The guy was Steve Fullerton. Curious, Shugart clicked on the account, and he was shocked by what he found. On Fullerton’s page, there were photos of people giving the Nazi salute. Words and phrases like “Jewess” and “Jew-trickery” were being thrown around. There was a post blaming Africans for slavery. There was pro-Hitler rhetoric. And late in September, the cover photo for that Facebook profile was changed to a Nazi officer’s hat.

A few screenshots from Fullerton, used with his permission:

What Shugart also spotted on Facebook was that Fullerton listed Oh! Shea’s as his employer. So Shugart decided to pay Oh! Shea’s a visit on Sunday. He says that he went inside, ordered a beer, and asked the bartender why Oh! Shea’s was employing a “Nazi.” Shugart claims that the bartender told him that he’d have to leave if he said another word about it. Shugart finished his beer and left soon thereafter without further confrontation.

After Shugart visited the bar, Fullerton posted the following on Facebook: “Just had some stranger come to the bar and ask if I was here BY NAME. And told my co-worker that I was a Nazi and that he had proof. When I walked out, the stranger recognized me, but I didn’t know who he was. My co-worker told him to leave as soon as he saw me. #politicalassassination … But my co-workers have known that I write and read Nazi posts for the last ten years.” (An Oh! Shea’s manager tells Philly Mag that he doesn’t believe that anybody at Oh! Shea’s knew of Fullerton’s online life; Fullerton continues to maintain that they did.)

After that, Shugart and his friends started spreading word about Fullerton and Oh! Shea’s using Facebook, Reddit and other online platforms. He says he left reviews on Yelp to warn Oh! Shea’s customers.

And once word got out, others starting leaving negative Yelp reviews as well. When we checked the Oh! Shea’s Yelp page on Wednesday afternoon, there were three one-star Yelp reviews left there on Tuesday and Wednesday that refer to the “Nazi” in the kitchen. “The owner employees a NAZI that brags about his white supremacists views,” wrote one Yelper. “Disgusting!!!”

Philly Mag spoke with several people who live or work in the area of Oh! Shea’s who said that they were disturbed by the information that Shugart was circulating. One said that Oh! Shea’s was the watering hole of choice for his office. But not anymore. Not after this. Another said that they’d never go in Oh! Shea’s again, even if Fullerton got fired. (None of these other people were willing to use their names, due to fear for their safety.)

And getting Fullerton fired was exactly Shugart’s endgame.

“400,000 Americans died in a war so that we could all agree that Nazism can be thrown into the trash can of history,” Shugart tells Philly Mag. “This guy does not deserve to work in Philadelphia. What does this guy do to the food of people he thinks should be exterminated? What does he do in that kitchen when an order comes in for the Untermensch?”

“So people who you say are Nazis shouldn’t be allowed to work?” I ask Shugart.

“Listen, if you want to hire a Nazi, I get to tell the world that you hire Nazis,” he retorts. “You wanna keep him employed? I get to tell every person I know not to eat or drink at your pub.”

Shugart says that he is pro-free speech. And he insists that he’s not going to target anybody who comes along that he simply disagrees with or whose views he finds offensive.

“I understand that there are conservatives out there and that we disagree,” says Shugart. “But I’m not going to get somebody fired over that. But can we just agree that there is zero room for Nazism in a country that my relatives fought the Nazis for? And a country that I’ve fought for? He may be legally protected by the Constitution. But this isn’t a legal problem. It’s a social one. He’s not welcome in our society with these beliefs.”

On Wednesday afternoon, an Oh! Shea’s manager confirmed for us that Fullerton had been fired due to his online posts. ���You just can’t put crazy shit on the Internet and not expect it to come back to you,” another Oh! Shea’s employee said.

Reached on Wednesday evening, Fullerton was not exactly apologetic or remorseful about his posts. And he didn’t seem to care that he was out of a job. He said that it wasn’t a “serious job” and that he was looking forward to collecting unemployment. He called me “gay” and a “commie” and added that “it’s a bad time to be a commie in Trump’s America.”

I asked him flat out if Shugart was correct in calling him a Nazi.

“I am far more than that,” he replied.

I prompted him to explain his offensive Facebook posts.

“I’m looking for my Blutfahne,” was his response.

After I spoke with Fullerton, Shugart took to Facebook to alert his friends and followers that Oh! Shea’s “did the right thing.”

“Whoever says direct action doesn’t work hasn’t tried it,” he wrote. “I appealed to their sense of morality, and they listened. So here’s one for doing the right thing in the world, and a thank you to the management at Oh! Shea’s for standing up and fixing what needed fixing.”

Source: https://www.phillymag.com/news/2018/10/11/oh-sheas-philadelphia-nazi/

[aghostpost]

For 1 & 13!!!! HEADCANON PROMPT MEME: Send in a character and a number from this list and I will write a headcanon based on the word Love Hair

1. Love and 13. Hair from this list

“What’s this?” I heard as the apartment door open and shut behind me. I was curled up on Frank’s couch eating a slice of apple pie and ice cream from a plate, Max balled up beside me keeping my feet warm. We were watching Hoarders.

“Couldn’t sleep so I came over. I thought maybe you’d be here but wasn’t all that shocked when you weren’t.”

He locked the door and walked over to me, pulling off his jacket. “You’re… eating ice cream off a plate.”

“Yeah. Silly me for expecting you to own a single bowl.”

“I have a bowl.”

“Must be the tiniest bowl in Hell’s Kitchen ‘cuz I couldn’t find it.” He tossed his jacket across the back of the couch before sitting on the other side of Max, giving him a rub down as the pit sniffed at him excitedly. I rested the plate in my lap and looked at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he greeted with half a smile. “Glad you finally used that key I gave ya…”

I shrugged. “Tried getting a hold of you, tell you to come by my place, but you weren’t picking up.”

“I may or may not have left my cell around here somewhere.”

“Yeah, same place you left the bowl, huh?” He smirked, giving Max the final two pats of his little massage and sending him on his way. I watched as he kicked off his boots and stretched his legs in front of him as he turned to recline. I lifted the plate so he could rest his head on my lap. “Long night?”

“Long and unsuccessful.”

“Unsuccessful is good.”

He looked at me, brow furrowed. “Since when?”

“Well, means I don’t have to watch you shower off someone else’s blood tonight. Don’t have to whip out my kindergarten level sewing skills closin’ up bullet holes on you, either.”

“Hmm, I thought that was always the highlight of our lil’ visits-”

“-And you thought very wrong.” I shook my head at him and bent down, kissing his forehead before placing my plate on his stomach. “Here, eat.” He groaned and I rolled my eyes. I knew sweets weren’t his favorite but it was better than nothing, and way better than the slop he normally ate. “C’mon, I thought we could have somethin’ other than pitch black coffee tonight.”

“You know I don’t like change,” he spoke as he reluctantly scooped a fork of pie into his mouth.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” I responded, suggestively running a hand through the grown out curls on his head.

He chuckled to himself. “It’s cold out. ‘Scuse me if a ball cap doesn’t keep me warm an’ cozy.”

“Growin’ out your fur for the winter?”

“S’at alright with you?”

“Why not just wear a thicker hat? I can give you one of my beanies?” I joked.

“Not my style.” He ate another bite of apple pie with a tiny bit of ice cream before returning the plate to me.

“Yes, because Frank Castle is nothing if not a man of style.”

“What,” he asked, looking up at me and fingering his hair as I did before I returned to my dessert, “you tellin’ me you don’t like it?”

“I only pointed it out.”

“That ain’t really answerin’ the question, now is it?”

“Oh… oh what is this now?” I put the plate on the old wooden table in front of us. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be so self-conscious before; I don’t even recognize you.”

He rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t answer it either.”

“Are you looking for my approval, Frank?”

“Y/N…”

I laughed at his annoyance before bending down and kissing his forehead again, hands on the sides of his face. “I love it.”

“You love it, hm?

“Mhm. It makes you look… youthful.”

“Oh, not like such an old man?”

“Shut up, that’s not what I mean. Just refreshed. Like you haven’t been through so much…”

“I see.”

“Plus, I love having a little somethin’ to pull on,” I purred, wrapping his curls around my fingers and gently tugging.

“Hmm, just a lil’ lower,” he groaned as he lifted his head upwards. I laughed and closed the distance between our lips, giving him a kiss in this upside down angle we were in. “That’s sweet.”

“What, that I love your hair?”

“No, your mouth.” He pulled me down to the point where I had to reposition myself, getting off the couch and kneeling beside him, accidentally bumping Max in the head with my knee.

“Imagine if I didn’t leave my real, human food here.”

“What’s inhuman about what I eat?” he mumbled against my lips.

“Absolutely everything. My kisses wouldn’t taste this sweet if I was eating pork and beans, I’ll tell you that-”

“-Hmmm, you got a point there.” He kissed me once more before pulling away, looking at my lips as he smoothed my hair. “So when are we gonna try this whole, uhh, hair pullin’ thing out, hm?”

I grinned and slowly rose to my feet, reaching for his bruised hands and pulling him up with me. “You know, I heard somewhere that was the perfect remedy for a sleepless night…”

[zephfair]

FF7 ficlet pre-Cloud/Seph AU

I’ve been wanting to write something for @owmyhearteries because she is just very incredibly amazing both as a writer and an artist and I crush on her from afar so hard, but all I have to offer is this little ficlet. I was inspired by a post you reblogged. I hope you enjoy this very humble, silly offering. I AM SO SORRY FOR FAILING YOU IN THE PROMPT MEME!

Sephiroth was kneeling behind the counter, trying to get the glasses sorted back into some kind of order, when he heard the creak of the saloon doors swinging.

“We don’t open until noon,” he called out then swore under his breath when boots stepped forward anyway. “I said, we’re not open.”

He got to his feet irritably and noticed three things immediately—first the barrel of a tiny single-shot pistol pointed at him, followed quickly by numbers two and three: the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen above a faded bandana.

Sephiroth’s hand was reaching for his trusty rifle under the bar without thought but he stilled when the robber’s gun twitched and he said, “P-P-Please sir, hands up.”

Sephiroth smirked and didn’t move. The kid—it had to be a kid, he was head and shoulders shorter than Sephiroth and rail-thin, possibly underfed, only his voice deep enough to hint that he was an older teen—was shaking hard enough that the gun was visibly trembling.

Sephiroth had already noted the rust and dirt on the tiny pistol pointed in his direction. He had no doubt he could dodge the only shot, be over the bar and overpower the kid in a heartbeat—if the poorly cared-for weapon didn’t misfire and take off the young man’s hand. And that would be a true pity.

“Please, sir, just put your hands up. And give me all your money,” the kid implored again.

Sephiroth slowly slid his hands up to shoulder height then stopped, asking, “Now how can I do that?”

The kid’s head tilted for a second then he tossed an old feed sack on the counter and grasped the tiny gun with both hands, but it only seemed to shake more. “Fill that up. Please?”

“No,” Sephiroth said patiently, “how exactly am I to put my hands up and then give you the money? I’d have to put my hands down again, and then you might shoot me.”

The kid’s eyes widened then squeezed shut as though he was rapidly trying to think. Or, Sephiroth thought, when the brilliant blue eyes reopened with fire in them, maybe Sephiroth’s insolent attitude was getting to him.

“I’m a r-r-real bad m-m-man, honest,” he growled, or tried to, sounding about as vicious as a kitten attempting to attack a mountain lion.

Sephiroth let his eyes widen and slid his hands over to pull his shirt collar closed in an exaggerated manner. “Should I be worried about my virtue then? Just how bad a man are you?” he purred, and he could literally see the sweat pop out on the kid’s forehead and cheeks as his eyes grew huge.

Sephiroth suddenly understood Angeal’s irritating and totally unexplainable tendency to coddle Zack when he was training the apprentice. This boy was amusing Sephiroth greatly, and he was, in fact, rather as adorable as a kitten.

“Sir, p-please, just give me the money,” the boy begged, voice tremulous again.

“But, as I told you, we’re closed. And I’m afraid I haven’t been to the bank yet this morning, so I have no money,” Sephiroth explained carefully, eyes now trained on the gun’s up-and-down and side-to-side motion as the boy swayed a little. “I suppose you could take it out of me in other ways.” And with the graceful motion that left every woman—and frankly, most of the men—speechless, Sephiroth tossed his head and pulled his glorious hair around over one shoulder.

He was sure the kid bit off a moan.

While they stood there at an impasse, Sephiroth cataloged the kid’s clothes—very poor and threadbare but carefully mended; the concealing bandana—also faded but at least one hole had been darned in tiny stitches; and the large, wide-brimmed hat that couldn’t totally conceal some light blond hair peaking out around the edges. The kid would be a knock-out if he had some weight and muscle on him. And some basic gun safety, Sephiroth mused, as the kid used the back of the hand holding the gun to distractedly wipe at the sweat on his forehead.

“Wherever did you find that gun? It looks like an antique woman’s piece, more for a last defense than an armed robbery. Have you ever even fired it?” Sephiroth asked.

The kid cradled it to his chest before remembering he was supposed to be using it as a threat. “It’s my ma’s gun. We don’t have no need for pistols, but it’s sure easier than carrying my rifle in here,” the kid said, eyes blazing again and voice firm with the passion that was starting to enchant Sephiroth.

There was little real passion in the town anymore, since Shinra had finally pulled out. The company typically moved into a settlement, took over the mining operations and got rid of any competition that dared raise its head. Then they took over all the land, rented it to the settlers for a premium and moved on once they’d stripped all the resources they could.

Sephiroth had moved back to Midgar after he’d finally gotten out of the Shinra’s private army, or as the company publicly called it, the company militia.

The town had already been pillaged by Shinra and was only slowly finding its own way now that it was free. But no one in Midgar or anywhere else had ever caught Sephiroth’s eye with such a mixture of bravado and sheer ballsiness. This kid was capable of a lot more.

“Won’t your ma be missing the gun? Or is she in charge of your gang? The mastermind of your robberies?” Sephiroth teased.

The gun suddenly leveled out right between his eyes as the kid stepped forward. “Don’t you talk about Ma like that,” he ground out. “She’s sick and I promised I’d bring her some medicine. Now, put whatever money you got in the sack. Sir.”

“I told you, I haven’t been to the bank yet. You’re welcome to wait here until we open at noon,” Sephiroth said. And then with an uncharacteristic sting of guilt, he said, “I’m sorry I joked about your ma. I hope she gets well soon.”

The kid nodded then shook the gun at Sephiroth. “Don’t you have any money hidden away?” he asked. “I ain’t waiting around.”

“I could give you something,” Sephiroth murmured, meeting his eyes again, but the flirting went over the boy’s head. “Why don’t you have a drink? On the house. It’ll settle your nerves.”

The boy twitched then shrugged. Sephiroth reached for the cheapest, roughest bottle of rotgut that he had, the homemade moonshine he only served to the poorest miners looking for the quickest drunk. Or when he wanted to strip the varnish off the bar counter to refinish it.

He poured a shot and slid it toward the boy. The kid reached for it with his free hand, tugging the bandana down with the hand that still held the gun. “Thank you, sir,” he said and Sephiroth almost cooed. The boy’s slightly rounded cheeks were colored with a rouge of embarrassed pink, and his lips were perfectly formed. Sephiroth had known it would be so.

He leaned an elbow on the bar and rested his cheek in his hand as he watched the spectacle. The kid had probably never had anything as potent and certainly never anything as rough. It was a good thing the kid slung it all back at once quickly, before the alcohol could curl his nose hairs, but he was obviously not ready for the punch.

His eyes met Sephiroth’s as they began to water, and Sephiroth smirked as the boy’s Adam’s apple worked, apparently caught in the terrible decision of whether to swallow the burning alcohol or spit it back out. Sephiroth admired his courage to swallow, even when he gasped loudly and panted. “Holy jumpin’ Jehoshaphat,” he croaked and coughed, and it took him two tries to get the shot glass back onto the bar with a clunk.

“Guess you don’t drink much,” Sephiroth drawled, not moving as the boy used the bandana to wipe his eyes and face, still moving the gun around as if he’d forgotten about it. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“I don’t need hair on my chest,” the boy snarled between coughs.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you are such a bad man,” Sephiroth teased again. “If you stay here, I could definitely make a man out of you.”

That seemed to get through to the boy whose face blushed all over into a blossom pink that Sephiroth suddenly longed to touch. “Just, please, give me whatever you got so I can be on my way,” the boy said.

And Sephiroth sighed at all the things he could say in response when a loud shout from one of the early morning carters rang out from the street. The kid jumped and the gun swerved toward the doors like he’d just remembered it.

Sephiroth realized he’d better stop while he was ahead before the boy accidentally hurt someone or himself.  Or before someone else barged into the saloon and mistook the situation and tried to hurt the kid.

“The till really is empty, but here.” Sephiroth shook out his pockets and found a little over $3. He slid it onto the bar then ducked underneath to find the lunch that the boardinghouse lady’s daughter always wanted to press on him whenever he had plans to start work extra early.

He pushed the basket toward the kid, too, and watched the boy take a deep breath as if he could smell the delicious leftovers through all the wrappings. The kid probably was half-starved, Sephiroth thought.

“I’m sorry I can’t help with the medicine, but if you try the general store—”

“No,” the boy interrupted with a frenzied head shake. “They weren’t no help. I’m sorry I had to do this, sir, I really am. And when I get us back on our feet, I’ll pay you back, I swear.” He scooped up the money, shoved it into a pocket then picked up the basket with something more like reverence.

“Just run along home,” Sephiroth said. “And put the gun away. You don’t want someone to see and get yourself in trouble.”

The kid stopped and looked back at him then smiled a smile that made Sephiroth wonder if he had accidentally been shot in the chest from the way the warm feeling spread through him. “Thank you, sir,” the boy said.

He bumped into Zack who picked that moment to careen wildly through the swinging doors in his usual manner. “Oops, sorry, about that! You okay?” Zack asked. “Hey, didn’t I see you earlier in the… okay he’s gone.”

Zack ambled up to the bar where Sephiroth was just standing. “Didn’t think you were open yet.”

“I’m not. Zack, do you know that boy?”

“No, but I saw him earlier in the general store. Mr. Lockhart was arguing that he couldn’t give out any more flour or supplies on credit, certainly not any medicine, that’s much too expensive to trust a little shit like you,” Zack said, impersonating the gruff old shopkeeper’s voice.

“Do you know of any blond settlers around here?”

“I think there’s some up the mountain, in that little settlement they call Nibelheim.”

“Nibelheim,” Sephiroth repeated, mind whirling. “I remember it, five or six families, up in the middle of nowhere. They get snowed in at least five months a year. This might be the earliest I’ve seen one of them around town.”

“Huh, it was a rough winter,” Zack agreed. “So what was that kid doing in here?”

“Robbing me.”

“Robbing you?” Zack yelled and Sephiroth had to smirk at his reaction. “Didn’t he know who you are?!”

“Obviously not.”

“Wow, that’s just… wow.” Then Zack perked up with a grin. “Should I go get Angeal and Genesis and raise a posse? We can find him in no time!”

“No,” Sephiroth snarled and Zack had the good grace to look sheepish. “But I do want you to go after that boy and stop him—gently, no violence—just detain him and bring him back here before he rides out of town.” Sephiroth yanked his apron over his head and vaulted the bar. “Meanwhile, I have to go see Mr. Lockhart and explain the good sense of helping to keep potential customers alive during a harsh spring.”

“Will do,” Zack rushed out of the bar and Sephiroth allowed himself a little grin.

He would do whatever it took to get in the boy’s good graces and get his mother well so that he could convince them to move into Midgar proper. Then Sephiroth would enjoy taking it out on the boy and teaching him exactly what it would take to be a man.

(And then Zack dragged Cloud back to the saloon by the scruff of the neck, kicking and hissing like a furious kitten, but Sephiroth had all the supplies Cloud needed for the village loaded up in a borrowed wagon, including the medicine for his ma. And Cloud had hearts in his eyes as he delivered the much-needed supplies, so as soon as his ma got better, they moved down the mountain to Midgar where Cloud worked off his debt as an odd-jobs boy. But his favorite duties were helping out the blacksmith Mr. Hewley (which mostly involved sitting on a barrel quietly out of the way while Angeal beat on those long, hard steel rods with his shirt off, all sweaty except for the leather apron) and his assistant Zack (who taught him all kinds of things about being a better potential outlaw). But his favorite times were spent with Sephiroth either helping out in the saloon or finding an empty field and learning all about how to properly shoot and care for his weapons.

And then there was the time that Cloud lost a bet to Aerith and had to wear the costume Aerith had just conveniently “borrowed” from the Honeybee Inn brothel and serve in the saloon, but that worked out okay because he ended up spending most of the night on Sephiroth’s lap while he played poker with his friends and serving him drinks exclusively. And although all the saloon regulars begged Sephiroth to tell them where the “little lady” had run off to, she was never seen there again, much to Cloud’s delight and Aerith’s disappointment.)