#very self indulgent thing. I’ve been So burnt out and I missed them

[aimfall]

harry is getting some snork mimis

[liighty]

Guzma babysitting Reader’s Niece

(A/N): BACK ON MY BULLSHIT AGAIN! BUT THIS TIME IT’S NOT ALL THAT SELF-INDULGENT AND MIGHT POSSIBLY BE TURNED INTO A SUPER FIC IF I FEEL LIKE IT

In all honesty i’ve thought about making another largeass super self-indulgent Guzma x Reader mega fic, but I’m not sure if I want to? I don’t know if anybody would read it, so that’s what this post is for!!! If you like this and want to see actual Guzma x Reader with plot and not just fluff drabbles lmk!! I have a bunch of asks to address so maybe i’ll get to that too soon

Anyways, back to the fic.

Mini Summary: (Y/N)’s niece needs to be babysat while (Y/N) is interviewed, so they turn to Guzma and crew to help out for a bit. Chaos ensues.

Rating/Triggers: UH drugs are mentioned but not really? THE KID DOES NOT DO DRUGS!!!! but yeah if that makes you uncomfy i’d be careful with it??\

Pairing: Guzma/Gender Neutral!Reader (I used the honorific ‘Titi’ which is gender neutral for ‘Tia’ or ‘Tio’ [extra thanks to Ocha_Bocha for helping me with that one <3] and tried to make it as gender neutral as possible. Originally this was written with a male reader, and then I went female, and ultimately attempted to eliminate gender completely. [Following the footsteps of Splatoon teehee])

Fic under cut!!!!!

"Are you sure this is a good idea, honey?" You clutch your niece's hand as you approach the large walls that separate Po Town from the rest of Ula'Ula Island. It's not that you don't trust the man who you're leaving her with- in fact, those two have been acquainted previously and seem to get along fairly well- It's his friends who you're concerned about.

"..." Her silence is expected, as the kid isn't all that talkative. Recognizing the young girl's silence, you frown. 

"You can stay in the office lounge if you really want to. I know you aren't the biggest fan of crowds, and um- Guz has some pretty loud friends-" Your explanation of what to be expected is quickly interrupted by a blue haired young man decked in black and white clothing. "Yo yo, what's with the kid?!" 

You arch a brow. You knew that Guzma worked with kids, but this guy couldn't be any older than 15! "I could say the same for you. I'm here to talk to Guzma-"

"Ya mean the boss? Why would some random chick want anything ta do with the leader of the Team Skull, huh?!"

A pink haired girl dressed in the same outfit walks up to the boy, crossing her arms. "Shut it, ya clod. Don't you remember the conversation we had with Boss yesterday?"

Hearing this, the blue haired boy's eyes light up in an epiphany. "Ohhhhh shit- Right-"

"Watch yer fuckin' language around the kiddo." She lightly smacks the back of Dansei's head. "She's in good hands, ma'am."

Another pink haired woman, this one being someone you finally recognize, walks in and smacks both of the delinquents in the head once more. "You say that after cussing, Reese?" 

Thank God. Plumeria. "Hey Plumes-" You smile weakly, waving politely with your free hand. Your niece does the same. Another young man, this one much shorter than the first and with green curly hair scrambles after Plumeria, jumping up and down to be seen. "Sorry about these numskulls. I'll lead y'all to the big boss man, yo. No worries at all, so you can chillax!"

I'm regretting this more and more by the second.

The crew starts whistling some hip hop tune as they make their way to the Shady House, the smaller boy beatboxing. You've taken this time to offer a piggyback ride to your niece, who's politely declined. Are all kids like this? Or is it just her?

Once they approach the boss, Guzma immediately jumps out of his chair, his signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Eyyyyyy! (Y/N)!!! Kiddo!! What's up, homeslice?!" He hops down the stairs and crouches so he can get at eye-level with the young girl, offering his fist for a pound-it.

She bumps her fist against his, smiling just a bit. It's more of a reaction than you expected, at least. "S-sup, Uncle Guzma-" 

Looks like his slang is rubbing off on her. That's cute.

"Thanks for droppin' by, Doll. No need to worry about Little Miss Troublemaker over here, I got it all under control." He picks up your niece and walks over to you, pressing a looooooooongass smooch on your cheek. The other Team Skull members all make mini comments, like "Ewwww-", "Grosss-", and "Cooties-", causing Plumeria to once again smack their heads together. 

You roll your eyes, unable to stop the smirk on your face from growing any further. "Not in front of the kids, Guz." "Ah, right, right- My bad." His shades slide onto his face, hiding the bright red blush that had crept onto his cheeks. "Well, you should probably get goin', ey? The Aether Foundation's one lucky company to have you interviewin' for a position."

"Dork." You boop his nose, then your niece's. "Call me if you need me, okay honey? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Okay, Titi (Y/N)-" You smile at the nickname while the others snicker. 'Titi' sounds an awful lot like 'Tittie', and considering three of the 7 people in the room are immature teenagers, there's definitely some laughing going on in the background. Plumeria looks very tired. How does she deal with these kids all the time?

"Alright, I'll be back. Don't light anything on fire, okay?" You yell as you walk off, feeling a slight hint of unease at the idea of leaving your young niece with so many delinquents, even if it's just for a few hours. It'll be fine, though. Guzma's there to keep them from doing anything stupid.

You laugh at the thought. Who am I kidding? He's probably gonna be the one who explodes something first.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The interview itself wasn't all that bad. You're fairly certain that you either aced it or put yourself up for consideration, which in itself helped your confidence just a bit. With the absence of Lusamine and the arrest of several of her chairmen, the foundation was very antsy and in need of someone who could handle the Pokemon Observation department. With your background in medicine and PR, you were rationally on the list of potential replacements, and despite your initial resistance, learning that the company would be run by somebody that WASN'T the manipulative little bitch Lusamine gave you enough comfort to accept the offer for the interview. Was it just an offer or an invitation? You weren't quite sure, but Wick was very insistent on you showing up.

Either way, you're pretty certain you got the job. Good on you. 

You can't help but wonder how your niece is doing, surrounded by so many troublemakers. As you make your way to the entrance of the Shady House, you can hear loud music, causing you to feel a small tint of anxiety. She'll be fine.

You walk up to the door and creak it open, the smell of burnt… whatever the fuck that is flooding your nostrils. Of course. They lit something on fire.

"Guz??" You call out to the empty room. "Plumes? Anybody home?" As expected, there's no response. You start to feel more and more anxious the more ground you start to cover. Where are they? Peeking your head around the corridor, your anxiety comes to its peak when-

"And that's why you should never do drugs, aight?"

H-Huh?

Your niece sits on Guzma's knee as he bounces it up and down, his signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face like usual. Awfully burnt cookies sit on the table, explaining the smell from earlier, and Plumeria seems to be asleep with the other team skull grunts. Are they… napping? Seems like it. 

She nods enthusiastically, taking a bite of a charred cookie and grimacing shortly after, causing the two to both laugh in unison.

"Doesn't matter if it's just for recreational purposes, you could still get hooked, and that's the last thing we want!" Grinning once again, Guzma pokes her forehead.

Hypocrite. You're reminded of the first time you two had kissed, which happened to be shortly after you both had blazed a couple of joints. It's enough to get you laughing, though.

"Huh?! What're you doing here so early? Don't tell me ya flunked THAT bad!" Guzma's eyes widen, a genuine look of bewilderment painted on his face.

"I did not flunk! I think I did great!" You huff, crossing your arms defiantly. "It's suuuuuuuper comforting that you thought I failed, Guz."

"Nononono I was joking!! Right, kiddo??" Your niece quickly nods. "See???? No harm, no foul!"

Arching a brow, you walk up to the two and pick up the young girl. "Mhmmm. Did you have fun, honey?"

She nods again, unable to contain the grin on her face. "Uncle Guzma told me about his Pokemon training! And I got to ride on Golisopod's back!" 

The large bug type pokemon bops up and down upon hearing its name, prompting a smirk from Guzma. "Yeah, I told ya I'd take care of her. She's welcome back anytime, okay?"

"Thanks, Guz." You peck his cheek, and your niece sticks her tongue out, closing her eyes. 

"Icky cooties!!" Where the hell did she hear that? The only people you can think of who'd say such a thing are in the other room snoozing, so- Yeah, actually, you know exactly who taught her that word.

"Well, I'm gonna getchu with my cooties! And my tickles!" You raise a hand menacingly, wiggling your fingers with one eye closed. She immediately curls up, not out of fear, but out of excitement. It's nice to see her so happy again.

After a very long tickle session, you quickly glance at the large grandfather clock, noting the short hand of the clock slowly approaching the number 8. Shit. "We gotta go, kiddo. Your dad isn't gonna be all that happy if we get home any later than 8:30. Besides, it's past your bedtime."

"I bet Uncle Guzma stays up past his bedtime-" She yawns. "Can we stay for a little longer?"

How can I say no to that face? You find yourself incredibly conflicted. Do you tell her you have to leave anyways? Or do you stay and risk getting in trouble by your brother-in-law?

"Eh, as much as I'd love to have you over for longer, kiddo- Look at your Titi (Y/N). They look exhausted."

You smile gratefully at the comment, glad that it doesn't have to be you to tell your niece to go home. "Yeah, I'm beat. We can hang out some other time, okay? I promise." You pat her head and get ready to leave.

"Aww… okay. Bye, Uncle Guzma!! Bye Golisopod!" She holds your hand, and the two of you eventually walk your way back to the car. As you drive away, one thing lingers in your head. You can't think of anything else, in all honesty.

Guzma's great with kids. I should've expected as much, but… I'm glad he gets along with my family.

Your stomach rumbles at the intersection. I'd kill for some malasadas right about now- 

Okay, maybe you CAN think of something else.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Tedious Joys 

 - Chapter 1/8 - Ao3 link -

By the time Lao Nie wrote to Lan Qiren under personal cover to ask for his assistance, they hadn’t spoken in nearly seven years.

Oh, they’d spoken – it was rather impossible to avoid speaking, acting sect leader to sect leader. They attended the same discussion conferences, and of course the Lan and Nie sects were close allies, insofar as the Great Sects were anything to each other; their alliance, martial and moral, tended to balance out the riches and clever tricks brought to bear by the Jin and Jiang sects, and of course the Wen sect was large and powerful enough that it didn’t need or want any allies that it couldn’t subject to its dominion. An alliance meant constant contact, checking in, and ideally would call for a good relationship between the leaders of the two sects, which they had once had.

They had once been very close, even.

Lan Qiren had idolized Lao Nie from a young age, admiring his fierceness and his passion for life, his ruthless logic and his practicality and his thoughtful sense of judgment, all the more admirable given that he was from a sect known for being a bunch of hotheads. When Lan Qiren’s older brother – older by nearly ten years, with a middle brother that had died before Lan Qiren’s birth and several miscarriages in between as his parents struggled to provide the sect with the requisite spare – had continuously tried to leave his irritating younger sibling at home when going on night-hunts, Lao Nie had cheerfully interjected himself more than once, volunteering that he would be happy to take him along, and at that point Lan Qiren’s brother, who admired the older man nearly as much as Lan Qiren did, would generally yield, even if he grumbled about it.

Unlike Qingheng-jun, who ought to have been more considerate for his own family, Lao Nie had never minded having to slow down the pace of his hunts in order to accommodate a sickly child, a pedantic one that needed to understand things thoroughly before he was comfortable trying something new. He had often allowed Qingheng-jun to rush ahead and win glory that ought in all fairness to have been his, something Lan Qiren only discovered when he reviewed his history in retrospect.

Lao Nie hadn’t minded how clumsy Lan Qiren was, or how picky he was, refusing to eat even common foods if the texture didn’t appeal to him; he had only laughed at his excessive formality, the harshness of his tone, his tendency to repeat himself or to become caught on little details. He’d indulged him, wasting copious amounts of his time listening to Lan Qiren talk enthusiastically about the Lan sect rules, which he’d fallen in love with at an early age and, when young, rarely missed the chance to bring into any given conversation no matter how irrelevant.

He’d always been very kind to him.

If you had asked Lan Qiren ten years ago, he would have confidently asserted that Lao Nie was one of his dearest friends.

And yet – it had been Lan Qiren, who was short on friends, and not Lao Nie, who had many, that had cut off their relationship. Lan Qiren hadn’t truly spoken to Lao Nie in seven years, limiting their conversations to the subject of sect business and keeping their meetings as short as could be allowed by etiquette, ignoring the way Lao Nie looked at him with sadness and regret in his eyes. Even when Lan Qiren’s anger had finally died down from a raging flame to a simmering anger he suspected would never leave him entirely, he had thought to himself that it was too late, that the fire had burnt everything out, that there were only ashes left behind.

And yet – on the seventh year, apparently apropos of nothing, Lao Nie wrote to him, requesting his presence.

As a friend, he wrote. Come as a friend, or not at all. I have no use for a sect leader.

Lan Qiren struggled with the request, which did not obey any of the unwritten rules he had forced himself to learn on top of the many that were written. He did not know if he was still enough of a friend to Lao Nie to answer such a request.

He did not know himself whether he would go until the moment that he went.

Lao Nie met him at the gateway to the Unclean Realm, relief written in every line of him.

“Thank you,” he said, and Lan Qiren shifted uncomfortably from side to side.

“I didn’t even do anything yet,” he said stiffly, instinctively reaching up to stroke his beard. It was a more acceptable social tic than others that he had been discouraged from employing; losing access to it, however temporarily, had been one of the reasons he had been so upset with Cangse Sanren when she’d shaved it off while he was asleep. She’d tracked him down later to apologize when she’d realized how badly he’d taken it, serious for perhaps the only time he’d known her, and they’d ended up as something almost like friends out of the whole debacle. He hadn’t heard from her in years, either, but that was no breach; it was only that she was busy with her husband and the little child she had once shoved into his arms with that deep, echoing laugh of hers. “Don’t thank me until I’ve determined if I can do anything for you, or will.”

Lao Nie nodded and showed him inside, leading him to his private chambers rather than the sect leader’s study. This suggested that the issue was private, although Lan Qiren supposed he’d already known that, based on the letter.

They sat in silence while Lao Nie personally served the tea, his brow still creased in concern, and Lan Qiren stared at him – too intently, as always – and wondered what private issue could have caused such an upset, and moreover what he could possibly need Lan Qiren for. Lao Nie was a private man, in the custom of his clan and sect; Lan Qiren didn’t know his birthdate or even his age, only the approximates, and many of the details of his life escaped him. It made it difficult to guess what the matter might be, if it were personal and not political.

Although…

“My condolences regarding your second wife,” he said, watching, and Lao Nie jerked his head in a tight nod, acknowledging the loss. Lao Nie’s first wife had been a mysterious figure, appearing and disappearing as suddenly as an unexpected burst of rain on a sunny day – the stories in Qinghe enthusiastically claimed she was a goddess that descended from the heavens to dally with moral race, who’d ended up marrying Lao Nie to legitimize the child he’d unexpectedly planted in her belly, only to be summoned back to the heavens on important duties, although of course it was commonly understood that she was more than likely just some powerful rogue cultivator who had decided after a short interval that being married was not for her. Lan Qiren had never met her, although he had had the fortune to meet Lao Nie’s second wife, who had been much more down-to-earth, an innkeeper’s daughter.

(Lan Qiren had rather liked her the few times they’d met. She was a little self-absorbed, in a harmless sort of way. She liked beautiful things and good food and talking about them, and was happy to carry on entire conversations while he responded only with nods and grunts; to his relief, she had never expected anything more from him. She was very beautiful herself, both delicate and seductive with her fox’s face and long and narrow eyes; some cruel people spread rumors that she was a demon or a yao in disguise, sent to wreak havoc through the seduction of men. She had never tried anything like that on Lan Qiren, unless her attempt at seduction consistent of sharing a plate of snacks and occupying him enough to prevent him from having to listen to the more boring parts of the social parts of certain discussion conference meetings. At any rate, he’d been truly saddened to hear that she had died.)

Still, Lao Nie had not yet begun to speak.

That meant that the problem was not in relation to that aspect of his life, which in all honesty was a relief. Lan Qiren could not imagine a world in which Lao Nie confided his marital problems in a prematurely old bachelor like him.

Perhaps…

“Your sons?” he asked, and this time Lao Nie flinched, so he’d guessed right. “Ah. The younger one?”

The younger one would be about A-Zhan’s age, surely, or even younger. Little more than a toddler, not yet quite old enough to be taken away from the mother – or nurse, in the case of Lao Nie’s second son – and they were so terribly fragile at that age…

“No,” Lao Nie said, and sighed, a long exhale. “Forgive me, it’s a difficult subject. A-Sang is fine. The issue is with A-Jue.”

Nie Mingjue would now be around eight or nine years old, Lan Qiren thought, or perhaps even older – it was so hard to tell with these secretive Nie, and he only knew enough to make the guess at all because of their former friendship. Most sects were only vaguely aware that there were heirs to the Nie sect, and had certainly never seen hide nor hair of Nie Mingjue, during discussion conferences or otherwise.

He’d been a toddler the last time Lan Qiren had seen him, young and energetic, running around anywhere, but he had something of his father’s kindness – he’d actually listened to Lan Qiren telling him about rules that didn’t apply to him, and even proudly repeated some of them back to his father, much to Lan Qiren’s embarrassment – without having yet grown into his father’s occasional callous ruthlessness.

Perhaps it made a certain amount of sense that Lao Nie would ask for help with his children. Since his life plans had been irrevocably altered, Lan Qiren had taken over teaching at the Cloud Recesses, and to his surprise, was apparently making something of a name for himself.

It hadn’t been intentional: he’d been desperate for something to do with himself that wasn’t just for the sect, so much of his time consumed by the business of sect leadership, and he’d always planned to become a teacher eventually, although he’d always assumed it would be much later in life. He’d volunteered to teach, only to look at the small handful of obedient, well-trained Lan sect disciples that he would be in charge of instructing and quickly realized that such ‘teaching’ wouldn’t occupy his time at all.

Accordingly, he had demanded that the sect elders allow him to accept disciples from other sects as well. The request was highly irregular, but strictly abided by all Lan sect rules on the subject – it was Lan Qiren putting together the proposal, after all – and the elders had granted it with surprisingly little debate. To this day, Lan Qiren wasn’t sure if it was pity for his circumstances or simply an assumption that no outside students would bother attending, but he would not let the approval, once granted, be so easily retracted: he had sent out letters asking for students at once, and to everyone’s surprise but his own they actually came.

(He’d been clever about it, at the start. He’d reached out first to those smaller sects that would not have access to resources even a quarter as good as the Cloud Recesses, asking specifically for those children that seemed troublesome – the ones it took time and attention to teach, the ones who didn’t seem to be getting what they were supposed to learn. The slow, the stupid, the angry, the ones who disappointed their parents most of all. Lan Qiren might not have answers for those children, but at least he could give them his time and attention and he found, for most of them, that was all they wanted.)

Recently, though, they’d started getting more requests to join from the slightly larger subsidiary sects, more people, even murmurs about sending him their sect heirs rather than their burdens – people were saying that his teaching could make a gentleman even out of a waste, which Lan Qiren didn’t really understand. After all, putting aside a few students that were too arrogant to be willing to learn anything, he hadn’t encountered a single one he’d characterize as a waste.

“How can I help A-Jue?” he asked, expecting Lao Nie to finally give in and explain.

But Lao Nie shook his head.

“There’s some background I need to tell you first,” he said. “Without which the problem won’t make much sense. You have one of the finest analytical minds I’ve ever met, Qiren, and a way of thinking that doesn’t match up to conventional wisdom – I’m hoping you can help me where expertise has failed.”

Lan Qiren frowned, embarrassed. “I can try,” he said, already mentally rearranging his plans to account for a longer stay. He disliked sudden changes and had planned out three possible lengths of time for his visit – one short, one medium, one long – so that he would be able to select whichever one would be most appropriate. He hoped that the issue would not require any more time than the longest period he had allotted. “What is the subject?”

“Saber,” Lao Nie said, and smiled at Lan Qiren’s confusion. “My sect’s cultivation style. Let me explain…”

Lao Nie’s explanation was fascinating.

The cultivation style of the Nie sect – and the Nie clan in particular, especially the main branch – was unlike anything Lan Qiren had ever heard before, completely different in both substance and philosophy. It was a rough trade, a difficult road, heartbreaking in its sacrifice, impressive in its results…

It wasn’t the road for everybody, but one couldn’t help but admire those that walked it.

“Doesn’t it get close to demonic cultivation, using resentful energy like that?” he asked at one point, and Lao Nie had explained to him how they had drawn the distinction – using beasts, never humans, and channeling the worst of the effects into their sabers rather than themselves. How much they strived to cultivate morality into their sabers as well as power.

Lan Qiren thought that it was a fine line, but after some thought concluded that they fell on the right side of it, if just barely. The primary dangers of demonic cultivation were in the way it increased the amount of evil in the world, whether through the inevitable madness and violent rampages of its wielders or through the simple side effects of using other people’s corpses as your playthings, increasing their own resentment, breaking the hearts of their loved ones, and causing their ancestors to curse you; that sort of vile conduct was an offense to the Heavens. The Nie sect’s cultivation avoided that, and if through their sabers they added a little bit of evil to the world then it could not be denied that they took much, much more of it out.

“I think I understand now,” he said, brushing his fingers along his beard. “But…why tell me? Isn’t it one of your clan secrets?”

“It is,” Lao Nie agreed. “As a general principle, we do not tell outsiders unless we must.”

The Nie sect preferred principles over rules, which Lan Qiren begrudgingly accepted even if he himself preferred having rules, clear and precise and equal even if they sometimes weren’t quite fair. But situation-dependent or not, the Nie held to those principles just as tightly as any Lan did to their sect rules, and that was worthy of respect.

“So you felt that you must,” Lan Qiren observed. “But why? And what does it have to do with A-Jue? Is he not taking to your sect’s teachings…?”

“I would almost prefer that,” Lao Nie said, and rubbed his eyes. “We’ve always had those that didn’t follow our ways – those that refused to train the saber, or refused to cultivate a spirit despite all their training. No. It’s actually…A-Jue’s very good.”

Lan Qiren had been a teacher for seven years. He was accustomed to parents who needed to praise their child before getting to the point, though he wouldn’t have expected it of Lao Nie. He waited.

“He’s too good,” Lao Nie said, and abruptly covered his face with his hands. “He’s already cultivated a spirit in Baxia.”

Lan Qiren’s whole body jerked. “Lao Nie!” he exclaimed. “You’ve already given him a saber? He’s too young!”

Under the age of ten, Nie Mingjue should still be building his strength, shaping the muscles that would serve him in the future; he should be wielding only a practice saber made of wood, heavy and slow as he etched the forms of his sect style into his bones. Even if he was a true prodigy, a once-in-a-generation genius, he should at most bear a weapon of dulled steel, and never an actual spiritual weapon, much less the one that would be the companion of his future life.

“He took it himself,” Lao Nie said. “A little over a year ago – we had a surprise attack, right in the middle of the summer hunts. Supposedly bandits, but actually mercenaries, supported by traitors from the inside; they had a map to lead them straight inside our home, and attacked at the moment when most of us were gone. When everyone else ran for cover, A-Jue went to the armory and picked up a saber, freshly forged, and he took his first blood the same day. What was I supposed to do? Take it away from him?”

Lan Qiren felt a stab of sympathy for Lao Nie’s impossible dilemma.

Taking the saber away just when A-Jue had started bonding with it, right after he’d shed blood with it for the first time – yes, that would have been far worse. It might have crippled his confidence, introduced hesitation that would damage his cultivation forever, hinder his future growth…

“And he already developed a saber spirit?” he said instead. “Within a year?”

That wasn’t genius. That was insane.

“I know,” Lao Nie said. “The faster we cultivate, the sooner we die, but how am I supposed to say that to a child? And there’s how fast he’s picked up our cultivation style, how fast he’s going – what if he introduces some flaw into it and it sinks in before anyone notices? Even a minor disruption to his qi, at this age –”

Lan Qiren scowled. “Stop panicking,” he ordered. “That won’t help anyone at all, least of all him.”

Unexpectedly, Lao Nie smiled at him, although the smile was full of regret.

“It’s easy to say and hard to do,” he said. “Don’t you know I always lose my head when it comes to love?”

Lan Qiren knew.

Lao Nie had always been reckless in matters of the heart, as seen by his decision to marry some stranger for his first wife and a nobody for his second, and to thereafter refuse a third, more sensible arrangement with some sect leader’s daughter or sister that could care for the children as a mother while acting as a useful political tool, even if no other children were forthcoming. Even though his life had been beset with later tragedy, he had been happy with his wives – happy and in love, and unwilling to trade a single moment with them for anything.

Lan Qiren knew this. He even understood it.

He just had trouble excusing it.

Lao Nie had been friend to Lan Qiren’s brother long before he’d been friend to him, and so when Qingheng-jun had fallen in love in that sudden, shocking, irrevocable manner that the Lan sect had, Lao Nie had been the first to support him in it, delighted to think that his friend would find the same happiness he had himself found. He’d encouraged him not to be shy in presenting his courtship, in presenting himself as a possible match; he’d reassured him that some disinterest to begin with was reasonable, given that they were still strangers, and advised him to enjoy the feeling of falling in love, to be reckless and bold and daring with it…and he did it all in writing, from a distance.  

Lao Nie had been occupied at the time with issues in his own sect – probably the scandals relating to his first wife, in retrospect, though of course he said nothing of it back then – and had unwisely trusted in Qingheng-jun’s description of the events, rather than seeing the circumstances for himself.  It was understandable that he would not comprehend how fiercely his friend’s heart had been gripped by love, or how truly disinterested He Kexin was in her ardent suitor, not when Qingheng-jun described her resistance as mere coquetry. It was impossible for Lao Nie to have predicted that his well-meant advice that love was worth anything, even defiance of sect rules and the counsels of the elders, would be interpreted in such a terrible way.

Still less, of course, could he have predicted what happened next, the tragedy of He Kexin and the friend that deceived her, that tried to use her and Qingheng-jun through her through false rumors and twisted stories, and in so doing underestimated how unbridled He Kexin could be when pressed. It was all part and parcel of the same underlying calamity: if Qingheng-jun had not been so persistent in his courtship, He Kexin wouldn’t have had such a bad impression of the Lan sect; if she hadn’t had such a bad impression of the Lan sect, she might not have been so ready to believe her friend’s lies about their teacher’s conduct, to allow herself to be indirectly used to manipulate Qingheng-jun’s love-madness to the advantage of another sect; if He Kexin had been a little less arrogant or a little less blindly trusting or had bothered to ask a single question before taking upon herself the duty of executioner as well as judge, if she’d only held back her sword and not gone so far as to kill a man over baseless rumor – if only – if only – if, if, if –

If Qingheng-jun had not decided that his love mattered more to him than his sect.

There was no way Lao Nie could have known what would happen.

It was understandable.

One might even say that it was forgivable, except Lan Qiren had not yet gotten around to forgiving him.

Lan Qiren had dreamed of travel, not teaching; he’d wanted to play music in all the forgotten places, to learn all the things that could not be simply deduced from inside the safety of the Cloud Recesses. He’d wanted to help people, to use that vast store of knowledge that seemed irrevocably stuck in his brain to solve problems and suggest solutions. But the Lan sect needed a leader, and with Qingheng-jun in permanent seclusion, disinterested in sect matters, choosing instead to obsess endlessly over his broken heart…

The duty had fallen to Lan Qiren instead.

(He Kexin had eventually grown rather fond of her husband, even if love wasn’t the word for it. Lan Qiren didn’t know if she was simply salvaging what she could out of an unsalvageable situation or if she just enjoyed the exercise, but he had two nephews now, to raise as if they were his own. Because that was just what he needed, another chain binding him to his home, another duty that shouldn’t have been his – he loved his nephews more than anything, so he couldn’t be angry at them, couldn’t blame them for being born, and so he had to be angry at everyone else instead.)

Lan Qiren lowered his head and pursed his lips. He knew Lao Nie wanted his forgiveness. He even knew, according to the sect rules he valued so highly, that he should grant it. Seven years was surely long enough to pay for any innocent mistake, wasn’t it?

Come as a friend, or not at all.

That was the invitation Lao Nie had extended, and Lan Qiren had come. That was very nearly a decision, if he wanted it to be.

“Let me see him,” Lan Qiren proposed, and Lao Nie’s smile warmed at once.

[hidden-otaku-stuff]

Different but the Same (pt. 16)

tw: cunnilugus, violence, swearing, sex, mild degradation, insecurities/anxiety, fingering, knotting, loss of control, mentions of blood, overstimulation

Word count: 5.4k

Rating: R18+/M

Omegaverse AU, Rating: 18+/M

Pairings: Iwaizumi x fem!reader, Ushijima x fem!reader

Summary: An unexpected encounter at the Inter-High tournament tossed you into a whirlwind. Being tugged between two males, two different packs, who will reign supreme in this battle for your heart?

Masterlist | prev | next

ch. 16: Urgent

Wednesday, 10 AM 

A loud ringing noise roused her from her mid-morning nap. The Omega had woken up early as usual to prepare more lunch-boxes for her pack, this time also preparing breakfast while she had waited for the curry to simmer. All of them had ended up sleeping over, leading to a massive pack-pile in the master bedroom as well as a smaller one in (Name)’s bedroom that consisted of the Seijoh third-years. By now, everyone had already left for school. She mumbled a greeting into the phone, bringing it to her ear. 

“(Name)! Thank god you picked up.”

“Tendou? What’s going on?”

“It’s Wakatoshi!” 

At the sound of his name, her hand went flying to the mark. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“It’s his rut.” 

In the background, she could faintly hear shouting. “His rut?”

“Yes! He needs you right now. He’s literally going to go feral if you don’t come soon.” She stood up, grabbing the closest jacket to her. 

A loud shout from Tendou startled her, as a loud noise filled the phone. “Tendou?” 

Ruffling noises came from the phone as she tugged on a pair of joggers. The familiar voice of Semi replaced the noises. “We’ve been trying to restrain him from leaving the dorm, but he’s been losing more and more control.” He was panting heavily. “I think it has to do with the fact that he’s marked you.” 

“Mate!” Ushijima howled in the background as another loud crashing noise followed.

Semi cursed, breathing heavily. “Can you get to the dorms? Like ASAP!” 

“I’m on my way,” she replied, as she tripped over her shoes. 

“She’ll be here soon!” was the last thing she heard on the line before it went dead. 

(Name) scrambled out the door, zipping up her jacket as she dialed a familiar number. “Babe? Are you alright?” She slowed down as she approached a crosswalk.

“Haji!” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so sorry, but Tendou and Semi just called me. Something about Ushijima going feral. I know you won’t like this, but I have to go help.” 

“Slow down, what’s going on?”

“I’m not too sure. Tendou just called me saying that Ushijima is going feral, and Semi said it was because of the marking. They need me to go help them calm him down.” 

Iwaizumi growled into the phone. “Isn’t he still rutting? Babe, I don’t want him knotting you.” 

She started jogging down the street again. “I know love, but I don’t want to be responsible for him going feral. Who knows what would end up happening?” Another crosswalk. “Haji, you’re my Alpha. I will always be your Omega.”

“Promise you won’t leave me for him?” He whimpered. Her heart stuttered at the thought of betraying Iwaizumi. She could almost hear his heart breaking through the phone. 

“I’m yours. For now and always.” (Name) took a deep and steadying breath. “But I need to help him.”

He sighed loudly, tch-ing into the phone. “Fine. But please be safe, okay?” 

“I will. I’ll text you when I’m leaving campus.” He grunted, and she hung up. Throwing the phone into a zipped pocket, she sprinted the remainder of the way to the dorms. 

“Oh thank god, I can smell her down the hall.” 

The door flew open as she approached it, Semi’s sweaty and red face appearing behind it. “Thank god you’re here, I’m not sure how much longer we can keep him here.” (Name) entered the room, surveying the scene. The desks had been overturned, the mattress was across the room leaning against the wall as if it had been thrown. Tendou and Hayato were holding Ushijima against the wall beside the window. At the sight of her, Ushijima became more frantic. 

“Wakatoshi?” She stepped in, her hand covering a mouth. “Let him go, I’ve got it.” 

She stepped closer to the struggling alphas. Tendou and Hayato exchanged worried looks, but slowly relinquished their grips on Ushijima. He tore his arms away, crossing the room in three strides and wrapping his arms around the Omega. “

Shh, I’m here now Alpha,” she cooed, letting her scent fill the room. Ushijima nosed his mark, breathing in her sweet scent. 

“Omega, I’ve missed you.” His chest rumbled as she let out a soft giggle.

“I’ve missed you too, Alpha.” She eyed the other boys, “you guys can leave now. Thank you for taking care of him.”

“Are you sure?” Semi asked, his hand still on the doorknob. 

“He won’t hurt me. I know it.” 

The alphas all exchanged worried looks before they all filed out the dorm. 

“Shout if you need anything. My dorm’s across the hall.” Semi nodded at them before he shut the door. 

“Now, what’s going on, Wakatoshi?” The Omega turned her attention back onto the Alpha, a hand coming up to play with his hair.

“Needed you.” She raised an eyebrow, silently waiting for more. He sighed, his grip on her tightening. “I...didn’t know where you were, and my Alpha wasn’t happy about that.”

“You knew I was at home resting.” He shrugged, pressing a kiss to her mark. Sparks shot through her body as she suppressed the involuntary shudder. “C’mon, let’s get comfortable?” Her face tilted up to look at his. He couldn’t resist leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. In any other circumstances, she would have resisted. But, considering that she now felt a stronger pull to him and the fact that he had literally been on the brink of going feral, she made this an exception. His tongue swiped her bottom lip, before he took it in, sucking on it just before he nipped it. 

“I’ll fix the bed,” he breathed, using the last bit of his self-control to pull his lips from hers. 

Her hands rested comfortably on his chest as she let out a soft giggle. “You do that, Wakatoshi.” 

He reluctantly stepped back, lumbering to where the mattress laid against the wall. With just one hand, he yanked the mattress back to lay onto the bed-frame. After replacing the pillows and a blanket, he collapsed onto it, tugging her to him by the bottom of her jacket. (Name) let out a soft squeal, falling on top of his chest, her hair falling onto her face. Ushijima looked up, one hand reaching to hold grasp the hand that laid on his chest, the other one wrapping around her waist. “I like it when you call me Wakatoshi.” She giggled, adjusting her legs so that she was straddling him slightly. 

“Well, you did ask me to call you that.” He hummed in agreement, intertwining their hands together. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Ushijima hesitated, olive eyes staring into hers. “Thank you for coming. I know our last conversation left...much to be desired.” He flinched, groaning as another wave of pain struck. 

“Wakatoshi? What’s wrong?” He shook his head, biting his bottom lip. “Is it your rut?” Another groan. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Wakatoshi,” she said seriously. “I came here to help. If you’re in pain because of your rut...I can help you with that.” 

Faintly, she heard similar words play from a few days ago. A pregnant pause filled the air. She hesitated. “Is this different from your normal ruts?”

Beads of sweat dotted his forehead as he grunted. “I’ve never been in this much pain before.” He mumbled, pulling her down so that he could bury his face into the crook of her neck.

“Don’t Apex Alphas always have rough ruts? Who normally helps you with it?” She whispered, gentle fingers carding through his hair. He let out a stifled moan of relief. The simple contact was already taking an edge off of the pain. 

“I normally just bear it.” Another wave crashed over him. “My family firmly believes in mates.” He coughed, clearing his throat, “that they should be the only one to help in ruts and heats.”

She paused, eyebrows furrowing as she propped herself back up. “But….you tried to help me during my heat.” 

He nodded, gazing at nothing with a forlorn expression. “My Alpha may have claimed you as a mate many years ago.” 

His words stung like a slap to the face. “Years ago?” Her mouth went dry.

Ushijima swallowed, closing his eyes but he could still feel her punishing gaze. “It was at the championship game between Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High and Shiratorizawa Junior Academy in my third year.” 

(E/c) eyes widened as her heart stuttered. “That...that was the game I met Hajime at,” she breathed. 

He flinched as if struck. Iron-hot pain exploded in his chest, searing his nerves as it traveled through his body.

“I see…” His fingers drummed against her hip. “The day I met you was the very same day I lost you.” A dry bark of laughter. “I suppose life is funny like that.”  

“Wakatoshi…” His head turned suddenly, olive eyes piercing hers. She stiffened.

“If this is the only time that I can truly have you as mine, I’ll make it the most memorable,” he breathed before he leaned up into her lips. Ushijima kissed her slowly, lips greeting hers as if greeting a long lost lover. Slow, gentle movements as he burnt the feeling of tender lips against his into his memory. Desire stormed through his veins as his lips started to move more frantically, devouring her. His tongue parted her lips as he indulged in her flavour. Ushijima swallowed the noises she made, responding with his own groans. If he had a choice, he’d remain like this forever, swaddled in every aspect of her from her scent to her touch. Pure desperation and a deep-set longing for reassurance filled his senses with each movement, his hand cupping her face as he desperately tried to connect with his other half. 

Ushijima reluctantly pulled away, eyes fluttering open; the strand of spit connected their lips broke. He rolled them over, hovering over her as his chest heaved in time with hers. Tender eyes drank in the sight. (H/c) hair splayed behind her head, bruised lips parted slightly as she panted. Ushijima leaned down, tongue swiping against her lips as if to apologize. To soothe. She whimpered against him, trembling. Soft eyelashes fluttered as she gazed up at him. His heart pounded in its cage. Hoping, praying that he could find the love he so desperately desired in those deep pools. He held her closer, a hand cupping her head as he bent down, swallowing her whines once more. Their chests met as he memorised the feel of her delicate skin under his calloused fingers. Ushijima’s hand left her hip, his fingers lightly tracing her mark. She shuddered under him.

“May I?” His deep voice shattered the spell of the moment. His finger slid to the zipper that held her jacket together. His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t realized that she was wearing his pack’s jacket. She bit down on swollen lips before giving him a short nod. Ushijima’s eyes didn’t leave hers initially as his fingers dragged the zipper down. It wasn’t until the zipper was halfway down when he glanced down, almost moaning at the sight. Her collarbones peeked out, then the crest of her breasts before her t-shirt obscured his vision. The Omega sat up slightly, allowing him to remove the jacket completely. Her fingers clumsily slid to the bottom of her own shirt, peeling it off over her head. Ushijima made quick work of removing her bra, throwing it to the ground. 

Her pink tongue darted out, swiping against her lips. (Name)’s fingers reached up, gently tugging on his shirt. “I better not be the only one getting naked here,” she teased softly. 

Ushijima let out a deep, soothing chuckle. He leaned back, pulling away from her as he rid himself of his own clothes. His shorts and shirt quickly joined the mess on the floor. Ushijima swallowed the noise that threatened to erupt from him as he turned his gaze back to her. 

Beautiful, he thought, his mouth going dry. Angelic.

She shivered under his penetrating gaze, eyes unable to shift from his hooded ones.

His eyes drank in the sight, consuming as if he was a raging fire plaguing a forest. His heart took flight. They’d been in intimate situations before, but he had never seen her bared completely underneath him. To be so vulnerable just for him. It was as if the world had collapsed all around him only to be rebuilt to revolve around her. Her scent billowed up to him as he soaked in her presence. 

Ushijima knelt onto the ground, falling to his knees as he pulled her towards him. Two hands tenderly pried her thighs apart, watching as they glistened in the light. A hum of satisfaction escaped him. She was so wet, was this all for him? Just from his kisses, his touch? Silently, one of his fingers slid between her folds. A strangled moan, her thighs lurching shut. He squeezed, elbows pressing them apart. The slick collected onto his finger. Ushijima brought it to the light, turning it as he stared at it for a moment. Slowly, he brought the finger to his mouth. A depraved moan clawed its way out of his throat as his tongue swirled on the finger-pad. It was just as sweet as he remembered. 

Olive eyes glided up, meeting hers. Her lips were parted slightly, teeth digging into her bottom lip. A cherry flush had overtaken her features. He needed another taste. Ushijima leaned down, inhaling deeply as he approached her pussy. His hands hovered, spreading apart the folds to reveal the pulsing pink cavern. He tasted his lips once more before his tongue caressed the folds. Her hips stuttered, jerking back slightly but he held her close. 

Inspired by her reaction, he dove in. Ushijima groaned, the noise vibrating against her slit as she threw her head back. Another involuntary twitch. Nectar bathed his tongue, spilling down his chin. (Name) let out another strangled moan, quivering under him. Her fist met her lips, biting down on the knuckle as she swallowed her noises. Displeased by this, Ushijima’s tongue left her pussy for a moment. “Don’t hide from me, angel,” he rasped. 

Her eyes darted down, seeing his chin glisten with her slick. She whined softly. Moving forward slightly, he suckled the sensitive button. Her jaw clenched, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Wa-Wakatoshi,” she whimpered. His tongue dragged across the nub, flicking it before he sucked on it once more. “Oh fuck,” she whispered, stars crossing her vision at the sensation.

“Does this feel good?” Ushijima cooed, repeating the action. She was his first and only sexual partner, and it pleased him to know that she was being satisfied. The scent of a warm summer breeze dancing in the mountains pumped through the air.

“Oh lord, yes. Please, Wakatoshi.” 

Her fists clenched on the bedsheets as he buried his tongue into her cunt. (Name) let out a cry of pleasure, her thighs snapping shut. Ushijima hauled her thighs over his shoulders, angling her so that his tongue could dive in deeper. A thumb danced against her clit. He brought his other hand down, pulling his mouth off of her cunt so that he could run his fingers through her folds. 

With precise movements, he slid a finger in. Her eyes shot open at the contact, moaning at the sensation of being filled. Ushijima stroked the cavern, shivering at the sensation of her pussy clenching on his finger. Eager for more, another finger was quickly swallowed by her contracting walls. Hooded olive eyes watched, his jaw slack. His member twitched. A third finger was added. 

“Oh sweet fucking lord,” she cursed, eyes squeezing shut as he steadily pumped in and out. He brushed against something and her walls responded by clamping down. He curled his fingers, brushing against that spot again and feeling the same reaction. 

Thirsty for more, he set a punishing pace, curling his fingers and rapidly thrusting in and out. The coil in her stomach tightened, winding more and more. His tongue languidly swept over her clit again, swallowing it. The coil snapped; her orgasm crashed over her like a vindictive sea. 

Ushijima’s tongue froze mid-lick, eyes widening as he felt her pussy fluttering against his fingers. His movements stuttered. His gaze snapped up, watching her face with awe as she rode out her orgasm. He resumed his pace, going faster than before. “Wakatoshi,” she moaned, legs shaking as her core clenched over and over again. Her orgasm faded only for another one to creep up and consume her again. She let out a scream as she was devoured again. “S-stop!” She stammered. “Toshi!” 

He froze, fingers still deep in her. Gently letting go of her clit, he looked up at her with innocent eyes. “I do not understand, I thought it felt good?”

“It did - it does! But back-to-back orgasms are too much,” she rasped, cheeks dyed red. 

He blinked. “I’m sorry, I did not know.” Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, causing her to let out a choked cry. “Should I stop?”

Her eyes crossed as his finger brushed against her g-spot again. “N-no, it’s fine. Just...slowly,” she croaked. He complied watching the gush that followed as he removed them completely. Captivated, he couldn’t help but bring his mouth back to those lips, drinking in the essence that spilled out. Her thighs trembled at his sides. A half-swallowed mewl.

Removing himself completely, he stood up. Looking down at her, he drank in her appearance. Drool dribbled down her chin, tears burning paths down her cheeks as she gazed up with hazy eyes. She looked completely, utterly fucked out, and he hadn’t even fucked her yet. 

A wave of satisfaction washed over him at the sight. His cock strained against his boxers. He could already feel the pre-cum leaking. The boxers dropped to the floor, his dick slapping against his stomach. At the sound, her eyes snapped to attention, widening at his member. 

“Can I...?” His cheeks glowed red. 

Not trusting her words, she slowly nodded, her pussy clenching on nothing. 

She absorbed the image, eyes trailing the pulsing vein up to the weeping red tip. Ushijima took a step forward, running the tip against the sensitive folds. He stroked his cock, once, twice, before he sunk it into her waiting pussy. As his tip breached her, he let out a resounding groan. Her hips lurched forward, sliding more of his cock in on accident. 

The velvet walls clung to his cock, fluttering and conforming to accommodate him. Even after those two orgasms, she was still tight. “Oh fuck,” he moaned, halfway in. Her pussy walls caressed him, as if to welcome him home. With one last push, their hips met, his cock kissing her cervix and causing another wave of pleasure to course through her. “You feel so good, angel.” He hovered over her, chest heaving as his eyes shut. Never before had he felt such intense pleasure. The flames of his rut quelled at the contact. 

“M-more.” Her Omega instincts surged forward, a deep instinctive need to be bred searing every nerve in her body.  

His eyes snapped open, looking down at her. Her orbs gazed back at him with such ferocity he almost forgot how to breathe. He felt like crying; his heart filled with such warmth. He wanted to burn this sight to memory, to always know what it felt like to have her in his arms. Ushijima leaned down, swallowing her moans as he slotted his lips against hers. 

“Goddamnit, Alpha, fuck me already.”  

Olive eyes blackened at her words, his lips pulled in the shadows of a snarl. “Be careful of what you wish for, Omega,” he warned. His hands settled on her hips as he withdrew. Just before he had completely pulled out, he plunged right back in, ramming into her cervix. 

She cried out, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer as her hands reached out to touch him. Nails clumsily dug into his chest as he set a bruising pace. “Is this what you wanted?” He hissed, face darkening. “To be used as my little cocksleeve?” A hand flew up to grope her breast, slapping it as he watched it bounce. “Fuck your body is so perfect,” he moaned. “You’re so beautiful, angel,” he breathed. A large hand cupped her cheek, brushing her hair aside.

“Fuck! Please use me, Alpha,” she whined, hips surging forward to meet his. His hand clamped down, forcing her hips back down onto the bed.

“Bad Omega,” he scolded, eyes glinting. “Behave yourself, or I won’t let you cum on my cock.” 

She whimpered, pressing her hips back down. “Please Alpha, I’m a good girl,” she babbled, lip quivering as he slowly thrusted into her. 

“Beg for it.” 

His thumb brushed against her bottom lip. Her tongue licked along its length, tasting a combination of her own juices from earlier and Ushijima’s salty skin.

“I’m your good girl Alpha!” She sobbed, tears flooding down her face. “Please please please, I wanna cum on your cock!” Another slap fell onto her breast, eliciting another choked moan. “Fuck you’re so big, Alpha!” 

Satisfaction crashed over him at her words. That must mean that he’s bigger than Iwaizumi, right? Ushijima could feel his own orgasm creeping up on him now. 

As it surged forward, he tilted her hips up, angling it so his cock slammed into her g-spot. She howled with pleasure, nails digging into his flesh. He leaned down, whispering into her ear, “Be a good girl and cum on my cock then, Omega,” as he viciously bit into the lobe. 

With a strangled scream, she fell into the tidal wave of pleasure. Ushijima’s canines glinted as his orgasm blazed through him, biting down and remarking the Omega as he spilled white into her, his knot swelling and burying itself deep within her. Just as she was about to come down from her high, the sudden rush of pleasure from the marking sent her careening over the edge again. Ushijima thrusted through her orgasm, slowing down towards the end so that she could pull herself back together. His knot twitched uncomfortably against her lips. He looked down. Even with his knot, there was a bit of cum dribbling out; Ushijima had never released that much before.

Gentle hands pushed against his chest, snapping him back to reality. “You’re rubbing against my cervix,” she whispered, looking up at him.

HIs gaze softened, the haze clearing from his mind. He delicately scooped her into his arms, laying onto his back so that she could rest on top of him and pulling back as much as possible. The Omega curled up on his chest, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. His hand went up, tenderly wiping the drool and tears away from her face. 

A soft drumming began in her chest, filling the otherwise silent room. “Was...was that okay?” Hesitation bite at his tongue. It was his first time with a partner after all, and who better for him to lose his virginity to than the person he wanted to be his mate? 

She purred louder, placing a kiss onto his neck. “You were perfect, Toshi.” Under her, she could feel his heart skipping a beat at her words. His scent plowed through her nose, overpowering the stench of sex that clung to the air. “Though, the multitude of orgasms were a bit much,” she teased, nibbling along the column of his neck. His eyes fluttered shut. Ushijima’s hands reached up, carefully carding through her sweaty locks. He inhaled deeply, drinking in her scent as his heart settled.

“Do...do you think we have a chance?” He hated the uncertainty that bubbled up and threatened to overtake him. “I don’t deserve someone like you, but I want to give you the world (Name). You have every bit of me. My heart, my Alpha, my soul.” His voice quivered. “Please accept my love.”    

“Wakatoshi…”

“I know you’re in love with him. I know he’s your mate and that you promised a lifetime to him.” A tear trickled down his face. “But please….a chance is all I ask for.” 

BONUS

“Where’s Ushijima?” Semi asked, glancing around the gym. Classes were cancelled for the day, allowing students to spend the day preparing for the upcoming school festival and allowing the volleyball team to practice for the upcoming Spring Tournament preliminaries. 

Hayato paused beside Semi, brows furrowing. “You don’t think something happened to him again, do you?”

They exchanged dark looks. 

Semi had been pissed to say the least. He couldn’t believe the audacity that Washijo had by sending (Name) to Ushijima’s dorm in an attempt to quell his rut. To be putting a student - regardless of their second-gender - in a potentially dangerous situation reflects poorly not only on the man, but on the pack as a whole. The Shiratorizawa pack was already known for being aggressive and traditional, if Kirishima’s pack wasn’t a stark reminder of that spotty history. 

Semi’s phone rang, alerting the Alpha to an incoming message.

Tendou: Come now. Dorm. Wakatoshi. Urgent. Hurry.

His eyes widened as he looked at Hayato. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

“Now?” Hayato had just picked up the net, planning on putting it up.

“Now.” 

As the two entered the dorm, they were thrown into a hurricane by the sheer volatile nature of Ushijima’s scent. It was scalding, searing every nerve and making their inner Alphas tremble ever so slightly. Semi had never felt this before - had never been intimidated by Ushijima’s Alpha despite his Apex status. 

“Holy shit,” Semi whispered. 

The room was completely torn apart. Furniture was strewn along the room. Tendou was currently pushing at Ushijima, trying to prevent him from leaving the dorm. Black eyes snapped to the door, canines dropping as Ushijima surveyed the latest intruders.

“What the hell happened?” Semi choked out, the scent suffocating his senses. Besides him, Hayato was nervously shifting on his feet. The libero was uneasy being so close to the rampaging Alpha.

Ushijima’s growls filled the room. “Get out.”

“It’s his rut,” Tendou shouted over the noise, side-stepping once more to push Ushijima back into the room. Ushijima picked up his mattress, hurling it at Tendou and the two other Alphas in an attempt to dissuade them from approaching. “We have to call (Name)!”

At the sound of her name, Ushijima’s eyes darkened considerably, his growls and snarls deafening. “Mate.” He snapped. “Mate, mate, mate.”

“But what if something happens to her?!” Semi argued, sprinting forward and pushing Ushijima back as he attempted to make a break for the door. “Hayato, close that door! We don’t need to accidentally trigger any other ruts or heats.”

“Got it.” Hayato sprung into action, slamming the door shut and trapping them in the room. 

“Mate, mate, mate,” Ushijima chanted, throwing a fist at Semi. The pinch server barely dodged. 

“Do you think he could get any worse than this?” Tendou demanded, face pale as sweat dripped down his forehead. Who knows just how long Tendou had been restraining his best friend? 

As Semi opened his mouth to argue, a fist collided with his skull causing black spots to swim in his vision as he recoiled. “Call her,” he choked out, the tang of blood spilling into his mouth. “But don’t pressure her to come.”

“Like she wouldn’t come as soon as she hears what’s happening,” Hayato muttered under his breath before stepping forward, acting as another barrier between Ushijima and the door. 

As Semi heard Tendou make the call, Ushijima’s expression became even more hostile - as if he could hear the marked Omega over the phone. “Mate. Need her.” His entire body stiffened as he snarled at the Alphas. “Mate!” Ushijima howled before barreling through the smallest gap between their shoulders, throwing Semi crashing into the bed. 

“Shit!” Tendou was quick to react, dropping forward and springing up to push Ushijima back. Semi scrambled to the fallen phone, bringing it to his ear as he attempted to steady himself. 

The Alpha cursed, breathing heavily. “Can you get to the dorms? Like ASAP!” 

“I’m on my way,” the Omega stammered out before the phone call ended.

Semi let out a sigh of relief before turning his gaze back to Ushijima. Now it’s a matter of making sure Ushijima stayed. 

*****

“What was that?” Oikawa asked, curiously looking at his best friend who had hung up and furiously shoved his phone into his pocket.

“(Name).” 

The other third years immediately snapped to attention. “Is she okay?” Mattsun asked, brows furrowed.

“Do we need to ditch? Because I didn’t study for math and I’m totally ready to dip,” Makki added.

Iwaizumi smacked his friend over the head. “First of all, you shouldn’t ditch to avoid your classwork dumbass. Secondly, she’s going over to Shiratorizawa.”

Their reactions were simultaneous and honestly, expected.

“What?!” Oikawa shrieked, catching the attention of the rest of the third-year hallway. They were standing outside their classrooms, chatting in the brief 15 minute break that they had.

“What the fuck does she think she’s doing going there?” Mattsun growled, eyes darkening.

Iwaizumi’s face contorted, anger overwhelming his body. He gripped the window sill as he glared out, knuckles turning white. “Ushiwaka is going feral, so she decided to go help him.”

The others exchanged looks, apprehension in their faces. 

“Are they going to mate?” Makki asked finally, biting harshly into his bottom lip. 

“Fuck if I know,” Iwaizumi snarled, grip tightening. 

The loud crack of wood breaking filled the hall, a bitter pine scent quickly following. The Omegas all squeaked, scurrying back to their classrooms in an attempt to escape. The other Alphas in the vicinity immediately reacted. Some growled and snarled back at him, others made a move as if to apprehend Iwaizumi. It was only the rest of his pack-mates stepping up and circling Iwaizumi that dissuaded the others from approaching. 

“Iwaizumi. Calm down.” Oikawa stepped forward nonchalantly. 

The ace was shaking, his nails digging into his palms and leaving crescent-moon shapes into the flesh. “Why should I?” He snapped, eyes flitting between dark brown and black. It was clear that Iwaizumi was going to go feral if this continued for much longer.

“Have faith in (Name),” Makki pleaded, eyes darting between Seijoh’s head Alpha and Iwaizumi. 

“It’s not like she was going to go to him because she wants to,” Mattsun reminded him carefully, face blank. “That girl has the biggest heart out of all of us, of course she’d go if he’s in trouble.”

“What about me?” Iwaizumi spat. 

They flinched. It wasn’t common for Iwaizumi to lose control of his Alpha, and whenever he did, they always had access to (Name) who was the surefire way to help calm him down. 

“I’m going to Shiratorizawa.” 

Makki and Mattsun scrambled to form a barrier but Iwaizumi quickly darted the other direction.

Oikawa slammed Iwaizumi into the wall, his forearm pressing against Iwaizumi’s neck as he held him in place. “Stand down, Iwaizumi,” Oikawa growled. “Stand down.” 

Iwaizumi glared, clawing at his arm. “That’s my fucking mate, Oikawa. Just cause you can’t relate doesn’t mean that I can just sit around and wait for her to fuck Ushijima and let that fucker mark her again.”

Oikawa’s face darkened at the mention of his mateless status. “Going there will only make the situation worse,” he gritted out. “The last time you intervened, that led to Ushiwaka marking (Name) and landed her in the hospital. Do you want that to happen again?” 

Iwaizumi flinched, face falling slightly as his movements slowed. 

“Take some fucking suppressants if you need to, but keep your head on straight. You and (Name) are my best friends. I can’t afford to lose either of your dumbasses.” Oikawa hissed before stepping back, wiping the dust off of his uniform as if nothing had happened. They stared at each other, Iwaizumi’s chest heaving as he attempted to better regulate his breathing. “(Name) would never betray you, Hajime.” Oikawa stated with a note of finality before spinning on his heels and strutting back to his class.

Makki and Mattsun both clapped a hand onto Iwaizumi’s back, giving him a curt nod before slipping away to their own classes.

Iwaizumi remained outside for a moment longer, staring into his palms. He couldn’t hurt her. Not again. Not when his purpose was to love and care for her.

*****

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[sparklygoblin]

I've been really into the concept of past lives recently, and I thought it would be really fun to post my take on the Haikyuu pairs, and past lives/historical au's. So here is some steamy, self indulgent T R A S H! This is going to be pretty flawed and there is definetly some movie references in here as well as some historical inaccuracies but I did my best. Also there are no happy endings because I thought that might be pretty unrealistic based on treatment of actual gay men in history.

TW: Suicide, Hate Crimes, Gun Violence

Iwaioi is obviously reminiscent of Alexander the Great and his "best bro"😏 Hephastion. Oikawa was the Grand King, destined for greatness from the moment he was born. Iwaizumi was born among corpses and dirt, exiled to Oikawa's kingdom, a twelfth son, useless. He lived as a lonely peasant, starving, until he joined the king's guard. He liked to tell himself he trained with Oikawa because he admired Oikawa's hard earned skill, and he believed that right up until he died at the end of the prodigy, Kageyama's blade. After intercepting a strike that would've inevitably killed the Great King. He falls, looking into Oikawa's shocked eyes, bright, and full of tears as he cradled Iwa to his chest. Iwaizumi merely sighed, still unable to touch the man he loved, lest he ruin his life by exposing his feelings. He dies to the violent, primal screams of his love, and he becomes distantly aware of a missed opportunity, as Oikawa's reciprocation of Iwaizumi's feelings becomes more obvious with each throat tearing wail. It's clear that he will die without Iwaizumi, but everyone already knew that.

Daisuga has just graduated in the summer of 1967, and they've been stealing moments with each other from the moment Suga transferred to Daichi's school sophomore year. And Daichi hated himself for it, he was quarterback, and he had the prettiest girl in school. So why was he so smitten with this nerd? This delicate pretty boy made his blood run hot and his heart skip. He was in love, and damn it if Suga hadn't made it obvious that he felt the same. Daichi had to put a stop to this before someone found out and it ruined his life. Suga heard it from a freshman, the handsome senior, Daichi was going to marry his girlfriend, Michimiya Yui. It made it so much easier to go to Vietnam when he won the draft lottery system. Daichi came to apologize only to find that Suga was gone. Forever. He wrote. Suga ignored it all. Daichi talked with Suga's mother every weekend hoping to collect any information he could, until the news finally broke, Koushi wasn't coming back from 'Nam. Daichi married Michimiya with an empty heart and dead eyes, the fact that they found Suga's corpse clutching one of Daichi's letters replaying in his mind as Michimiya read her vows. They had three kids, Daichi killed himself on what would've been Suga's fifty first birthday.

Kuroken has been side by side for years, Kenma serving as prohibition criminal Kuroo's right hand man. Kuroo has never shown interest in a woman, the rest of the gang doesn't say a word though their suspicious glances between him and Kenma speak volumes. And they're absolutely right, Kenma is everything short of a mob wife. All pretty hair and violent tendencies, Kenma values no one's life, not even his own, but he can't help but value Kuroo in a such a loving way. They die together, when everything falls apart and the feds are chasing them, bullets shatter the car, ripping everything but their hands apart. Those will stay intertwined forever.

Ushijima was okay with his job, he lived such a sparse simple life, and it was enough for him, the life of a holy man. Until he saw Satori, a young man no older than him, residing in a dark hole of the desolate mental facility he was blessing. The sisters merely dismissed him when he inquired as to why the man was in there in the first place. So he took upon himself to talk to the boy and get to the bottom of this. He didn't mean to fall in love with the beautiful, unhinged and unholy Tendo. He didn't mean to commit the ultimate sin, to forsake his faith, but he couldn't bring himself to regret feeling what he felt for Tendo. The only thing he actually regretted was never protecting Satori the way he wanted to. Never scooping his love in his arms and running away from that foul life. The tears that caught in his throat when he came to Tendo only to find him bald, scarred, and permanently empty, shook him to his core. They dug in his brain and ripped out everything dear to Ushijima, they tore a part that beautiful mind all because they couldn't understand it. Ushijima swallowed his tears, and mustered his courage, he was going to save Tendo now, even if it would cost him his soul. His big hands wrapped around Tendo's throat, and didn't release until Tendo's empty eyes went out. He died years later in a prison cell. Maybe he and Tendo could have each other, in the next life.

The village did not like Nishinoya, nor did his family. He for the life of him, could not be modest and quiet like the rest of the puritans. He did not go to church, nor did he read the gospel, he ran about in the woods, tricky and mysterious. The governor's son, Asahi, can't help but be entranced, he is a scholar after all. And he only follows Noya into the dark wood for "scholarly" purposes, he definetly wasn't thrilled when Noya pinned his large body against one of the dark twisty tree trunks deep within the wood. Asahi comes to two very troubling conclusions that night, the village was wrong, Noya was not a witch at all, and Azumane would never be able to keep himself away from Noya not matter the cost. It was over for them the moment they were discovered, Noya wrapped in Asahi's arms. The villagers convinced themselves that Asahi had been put under a curse by Yuu, despite Asahi's violent objections, and surprisingly brave declaration of love. Noya smiled softly as they touched the torch to his feet, and as the flames ate the innocent man up, Asahi screamed begging the whole village to burn him instead, Yuu was innocent take him instead. Asahi stayed only long enough to press a gentle kiss to Yuu's now burnt face, just to show the villagers their love was true and deep, not the by product of some cheap curse. While they were all in shock, he slipped into the dark wood, and never was heard from again.

Hinata considered it an insane stroke of luck when he secured a third class ticket aboard the ship of dreams, the Titanic. He bid his mother and Natsu farewell, hoping to secure a job in the new world, and make enough funds to secure them a passage to America one day. His shipmate is horrible though, all cold blue eyes and pompous attitude, until one night when Kageyama surprisingly offers Hinata a drink. Not wanting to refuse, they obviously get smashed drunk, and with pretty pink cheeks, Kageyama grabs Hinata's face gently. " i jus' think no guy should be so damn beautiful" kageyama whispers sleepily, and maybe it's the liquor, but Hinata doesn't hesitate to lean in and initiate a kiss. When Kageyama doesn't pull away, Hinata crawls into his lap. They fit like puzzle pieces and now Kageyama can't even imagine wanting to kiss anyone else. They make plans to take the new world on, learning fairly quick that they are stronger together. And then there's water and panic and Kageyama and Hinata are trying to rush a gate because Jesus, there are kids down there. Just because they are poor doesn't mean they deserve to die, but unfortunately someone seems to think otherwise, because the gate remains in place. They finally stop when the water is up to their waists, and a sad looking elderly woman tells them they've done what they could. Tearful children and somber mothers nod in agreement, and it is unsaid that they would go to their respective beds and try to rest so that they might go in their sleep. They lay together on the top bunk and even as the water slips above their heads and they begin to die, their arms hold tight, and Kageyama mouths one last "I love you" Hinata's fingers in his hair the last thing he feels.

Bokuto is in love with an heiress across the lake, he's never met her but is sure she is made for him. Akaashi is in love with a rich man right next to him, but that man sees Akaashi as no more than his lowley servant. Akaashi is in love with Bokuto, maybe that is why he involved himself in that horrible mess. He was always getting involved in horrible messes for Bokuto's sake. It was the height of Gatsby era glamor, and Bokuto, though he never did really like parties, was always throwing them, insisting Akaashi rather than work the parties, served as his right hand man. Akaashi always knew Bokuto was hoping he would meet his heiress at one of his parties, and if it made Bokuto happy, Akaashi hoped she would show up too, no matter how much it would hurt. And eventually she did, along with her husband, and she broke Bokuto's heart after a very miserable and short lived affair, for her it was nothing, but Bokuto always fell so hard and fast, he was distraught. Akaashi acted on instinct, pulling Bokuto into his arms no matter what line he was crossing, and smoothing his hair in attempt to sooth the crying man. Things became clear to Bokuto then. His tears ceased as he breathed in Akaashi's soft scent, wrapping his arm around the beautiful man's waist. They were in love then, finally on the same page for a blissful few months, until Bokuto's affair was made public, and he was found beaten to death in an alley. Despite all of his generosity and glamor in the past years, Akaashi and Kuroo were the only guests at Bokuto's funeral. Akaashi never recovered from the loss, he knew Bokuto wouldn't have wanted him to do it, but that didn't stop the smile on his face as he smashed the heiress beneath his tires.

Tsukishima had been protecting Yamaguchi for as long as he could remember, always getting in fights and taking beatings to protect his beautiful best friend. He knew boys weren't supposed to be pretty, he knew what happened to boys like Yamaguchi in the eighties, but that didn't ever stop him. Not even when Yamaguchi worked up all his courage and told Tsukki he loved him during their freshman year. Tsukki was angry at Yamaguchi for saying that, because he felt the same and he knew that he had to hide it if he wanted to survive. His controlled slipped for a second when Yamaguchi pressed their lips together gently, Tsukki allowed himself to dream one last time before he yanked himself away. He immediately began hurling slurs and abuse at Yamaguchi, things he knew would send the other boy running. And it did. But soon Kei felt an unexplainable urge to go after him, a sinking feeling that something horrible was gonna happen. Yamaguchi did not cry, he held his chin high, no matter how hard the boys hit him or cut him. He didn't care if he died but he wasn't gonna do it staring at his feet like a kicked puppy. Kei found him like that, full of fire and courage as he stared down his abusers. The love he felt made Kei's legs shake, and he knew he'd do whatever he could to save Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi smiled with too much glee for a dead man as Tsukki forced his way to his side, gripping his hand. There were eight of them, with murder in their eyes, Tsukki knew before he even got to Yamaguchi that they weren't making it out of this one.

Lev and Yaku find each other in 1700s France, Lev is a soft pretty boy, living a luxurious life in the aristocracy. Until he is thrown to the wolves after the loss of his parents, he is ten when he spends his first night on the street. He is nearly taken by a brothel right away, until he is saved by a particularly feisty thirteen year old street rat, Yaku is half his height but serves as his protector nonetheless. They pass the years protecting each other, growing to love each other, but never daring to hope for more than that. As many people in France were at the time disease riddled and starving, so were Yaku and Lev. Of course Yaku went first, he made it all the way to eighteen before he succumbed to his disease, clutching a crying Lev, comforting him even on his death bed. After that, Lev made the mistake of having hope, he joined the revolution in honor of Yaku. He just wanted to make the world a better place, a place where Yaku could've survived. He died bleeding from a soldier's bullet on a barricade, but he was warm, all he saw was Yaku, holding him, carrying him into their next life.

Yahaba always talks and Kyoutani might be always listening, but it's hard to tell. Until Kyoutani murders his whole family in 1978. He shows up at the gas station him and Yahaba always have their one sided coversations at to find Yahaba working the counter like he always is. He ignores Yahaba's greeting and begins frantically explaing his situation and motive, all while Yahaba looks on in shock, this is the first time Kyoutani has ever spoken to him. When he asks why Kyoutani is telling him all this, he simply sighs dismissively and says "you're my bestfriend", and that's enough for Yahaba. Clearly he's crazy, a cute boy he's never spoken with is in the back of his car and they're leaving the country. All because Kyoutani actually was listening and not only that, he viewed Yahaba as the most important person in his life. They had been in love from the first one sided conversation they had, and that was becoming clear now. They get caught, sent to different facilities, Kyoutani gets life, Yahaba gets a lighter sentence for being an accomplice. Though they never see each other again, Yahaba always writes letters, and for once, Kyoutani writes back. They spend their lives finally having a two sided conversation, their love never even flickers, and for them, that's enough.

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

You know you are your own assassin — Bruce Wayne x Reader x Jason Todd

SUMMARY: /the promised quadruple/. You were eighteen and in love. You have been for the past four years with his figure, what he meant and what he represented to the rest of the city – more importantly, what he represented to you, everything he was in your little world. Even so, you are very aware of your position as one of his adopted dear children and never try anything, neither public nor in private…  And it would have stayed that way had you not insisted on patrolling alone, being exclusive. Sure, Tim and Damian could come up – from time to time in the same areas you both chose, but you were made for him. You were incredibly protective of Bruce, Batman – to you they were the same person. He rescued you and he opened HIS world to you. You are still trapped in that room, you are still in that cruel position, with your arms trembling and your head down to the floor, offering your bare back to a stranger who uses the skin left unmarked to put the fire down, make himself a new one with-

WORD COUNT: 6810 (almost 7k of smut lol)

TW:  Smut (more explicit than usual, I believe), swearing, some light angst and implied abuse (not sexual). No one is here related by blood, thus it is not incest, but to each it’s own. This four part fic it’s not for the faint-hearted.

A/N: I kid you not 2810 of context/angst/explanation because I can’t do PWP and then, the rest, all NSFW/LEMON with Todd. There’s a bit with Bruce -- things will escalate as the chapter advance. There will be a total of four, if things go right! As mentioned on the Trigger Warning, it can be considered that it is some kind of incestual lowkey relationship, but none of them are related and they try to break from the frame. Again, this is pure dirty indulgence. You have been warned twice!

People that asked to be tagged: @sarcasmismyfirstlove, @dora-the-grownup

You were not normal, not like the rest. Maybe that is why Mr. Wayne —Bruce— had never forced a strict education upon you, contrary to the others. Even Todd had attended at some point Gotham Academy before being expelled; but it was not your style. Maybe your past-self dreamt of glory, trophies and competitive environments in a very possible future with other Ivy League material, but not this time, not in this life. You had gone through enough, and it was just not in you to continue with that path. You were mediocre at best, nothing really catching on your interest save the occasional English class (some books caught on your attention. Not for too long, but it made Alfred and Mr. Wayne feel better).

           At first it had been thought that it was just typical teenage behavior, but then the visits to therapy became increasingly longer and more preoccupying; your memories and attitude had gotten worse the older you got. You came from a rough background (more than the rest, arguably; close to Jason one could say); mom OD’d, and dad left for a better family, someone who was less broken, less problematic. You had served as an ashtray to your mom’s ex-boyfriend (between some other little things) after she had died for some time, and it had ended quite badly, but for the better. The night you rebelled was the night Batman found you, and quite literally saved you. You had blown the ashes straight into his eyes, and he, while crying, had tried to pin you, strangle you, hit you. He had managed to do the two first ones, but you never thought you would die. It didn’t come to your head at all, you knew you had to fight, survive somehow – as small as you were you understood some things, such as pride and stubbornness. Your father who victoriously thought he ran from you both, you little psychopaths, was not going to be happier, was not going to fuck up your entire life. And maybe this other temporal dude did for some years, but you would make it, you would, you would-

           Your lungs burnt as he flew from your little body and the Batman came into appearance, broken windows, magnanimous appearance. It was brief, it was easy:  you spit into the ground, blood and air making their way through your mouth. You couldn’t imagine how much your life would change.

           He adopted you, and as you become older, he saw it as the most inevitable invitation, option for him to try.

           “Do you want to train with Jason and Richard sometime?”

           …

           You were eighteen and in love. You have been for the past four years with his figure, what he meant and what he represented to the rest of the city – more importantly, what he represented to you, everything he was in your little world. Even so, you are very aware of your position as one of his adopted dear children and never try anything, neither public nor in private…  And it would have stayed that way had you not insisted on patrolling alone, being exclusive. Sure, Tim and Damian could come up – from time to time in the same areas you both chose, but you were made for him. You were incredibly protective of Bruce, Batman – to you they were the same person. He rescued you and he opened HIS world to you. You are still trapped in that room, you are still in that cruel position, with your arms trembling and your head down to the floor, offering your bare back to a stranger who uses the skin left unmarked to put the fire down, make himself a new one with-

           “Batgirl, with me?”. You hope it’s his first call. He is meticulous, perfectionist; he won’t take any less from anyone.

           “Yes, a hundred percent. Was checking the other entrances.”

           …

           “Let me guess, another perfect mission?”. Timothy asks, taking off his mask, slowly getting his cape off. You help, humming to yourself happy. “I don’t know why I still ask.”

           “Because you care. He still prefers me.” You gloat, taking a look at his back: some bruises that will last for days, but nothing that cannot be fixed with a warm bed and rest. You slap his back, making him groan. Damian scoffs. “What, something to argue?”

           “He does not prefer you. He just won’t say no because you are a soft spot. And well, no one else wants to go with him. You just always call it first.” The atmosphere is different. Damian is not hurt per se, but you can tell he’s pissed off about something.

           “Jealousy does not suit you, Damian. I thought your thing was being cold and brief.”. You are unsure and a bit wary of where he wants to take it to. Damian and you had never been on the best terms, as much respect as you had him (so young and so good, lethal; you wished you could have started sooner, have his gifts. Maybe Bruce would like you more that way).

           “You did not understand me. I’m saying you are father’s weak sidekick, not that you are his. That’s why he concedes, so that he can take a better control on you.”

           There’s a brief silence in the cave. If Dick had been here, if Jason was here they would have stopped him already; Tim is not one for conflicts, thus can’t think one anything to start with, to comment on. He hopes Alfred or Bruce will appear so that he can’t stop what he can foresee is a catastrophe.

           “You are wrong.” But you are late answering. You took some time, you considered; that’s what you’ve always been afraid of, not being enough – good, strong, courageous, dexterous to follow his pace. It’s eaten you since the first mission you both went to together. He always chose you, not the other way around. “He prefers me, I’m his favorite because I know what I’m doing, I’m-“

           “You never talk back to him, you always obey, you always follow his directions without offering any feedback, any refinements to the plan”. Damian lists, perfectly, without missing a beat like he has been harboring it for some time. “You are father’s-how was it that you said, Tim? Father’s little girl?”. Tim looks mortified as you look at him, incredulous that he would say something so hurtful behind your back. Surprised that they both have been having those opinions to themselves. “In fact, this is, I believe, the most I’ve heard you use a first person in public. As I’ve said, you comply with anything he says. So, if that’s being a good Batgirl then yes, you are the best, (Y/N).”

           You are astonished. You are not weak; you voice out your opinions you-you can be more than a little girl afraid of little Daddy not liking her anymore. Bruce has made that abundantly clear throughout the years – he adores you, he would do anything for you. He won’t abandon you, he won’t leave you for something better.

           …

           So you plan to help the next big hit; Damian and Tim are included, seeing as it is a big one, but all the trust that Bruce has had on you vanishes as soon as the mission starts. You are not moving in your element, too insecure, shy almost when giving orders and unable to command the Robins. The mission goes out okay, but nothing more than that: barely acceptable, as he tells you as soon as all of you are out, incredibly exhausted and beaten.

           The desperation to show him you are the one has been too apparent, has ultimately fucked everything out. The stress and impotence is completely eating you out as you rest in a roof, not too far from the building you’ve destroyed not too long ago (which was not supposed to happen, but it has been your last resource).

           “Drake, Robin, home: now. Batgirl, stay.”

           Damian scoffs while Tim tries to give you a pat, which you evade, still bitter because of his comment some weeks ago. Yes, it has been proven that you can’t, you are unable to-

           “What were you thinking? This has-I’ve never taught you anything like this, Batgirl. You have always been-“

           “Good? Obedient? Compliant?” He seems slightly shocked at seeing your response. You have always looked at him straight in the eye, honest and slightly (always, since a child) terrified – that he will abandon you, that he will leave you in a dark room, prohibit you from his spare attention.

           “Capable, discreet, intelligent. Specially quick in your feet, and had I not moved you aisde-“

           “Is this going to be you telling me everything I did wrong? Because I know, believe me, I am-“

           “No, this is me being angry at you for mixing feelings in this mission”. Your face goes white. He is serious, cruel almost in his eyes even when you can’t see him because of his mask. Is he going to think of you as something disgusting, as- “You were trying to prove a point to Robin? Drake? That was not the purpose of the mission, Batgirl. You let your feelings get in between and because of that-“

           You sigh, almost in relief to yourself, this time looking at him straight in the eye. He’s not sweaty, but rather tired. His shoulders are still tense, his figure incredibly marked because of his suit, his jaw perfectly-

           “You are not taking the lead anytime soon. You are better following me.” And you would agree some years before, but you are 18, you are not his brat, to be scolded and ordered to follow without a say in anything as easy as it has been before. Damian was right.

           “We are partners! That means that-“

           “We are”. He says softly, stopping you momentarily from getting more and more angry. It calms you, you almost smile before his cruel mouths gets opened once more. “But we are not equal. And I mean it by far. You are far from acceptable Batgirl level.”

           It feels like a slap in the face. Did he meant it to light a fire down your ass? Because you grow desperate, as he turns around, maybe planning to leave you alone to fume, wallow in your own sadness – which you would if jealousy didn’t surge in your chest. Incredible jealousy, terrible green jealousy which creeps it all out and eliminates any rational filter from your mouth.

           “Is it because of Barbara?”. You’ve heard that speech a lot of times in soap operas. He’s not even his-nothing! She is nothing, but still she can’t get her head around him taking in another Batgirl. Specially that redhead. “Is she your new protegée? Are you going to fund her to college, get her into the Ivy League you couldn’t get me because I’m such a big fuck up?”

           He stops, noticing it goes far beyond a simple mission or a simple riled up from the Robins. But he has seen something tonight that he has never been able to teach you before, too afraid of being too much on you, too strict and harsh when you’ve had it bad already with such authoritarian figures in your life. He has missed the point completely, and he feels frustrated because of it.

           “This is only because of how soft I have been on you, (Y/N).” The name is a stab to the heart. He has never used it, save for a soft reprimand. Never like this. “How childish your behavior has been, putting our lives at risk just for proving what? That you can lead a team, me? You’ve clearly showed you can’t, you are lost, just a girl trying to make herself bigger, stronger than she really is, because all you really are is-“

           “Shut up!” You irrationally explode, afraid of him continuing, saying the final ‘you are out’. You won’t let him. You will do anything before going that way.

           “You are off duty, case closed!”. He has never raised his voice, almost making you flinch, afraid of his tone but the meaning of his words. No! Love me, don’t abandon me!

           “No. No! I won’t have it, no! No, Bruce, wait! No!”

           There are tears in your eyes as you ran behind him. You try to grab him twice as you shout the same words, trying to make him look you. If you do that, if he does-maybe you have a chance. Maybe you still-yes. Yes, you will. He won’t leave you, he can’t. You will die before he never looks at you again, before he drops you out like you are nothing, like you are just another obstacle in his life like your father considered you. He won’t!

           “Bruce, no!”. You are using names, maybe hoping he will at least shout you, as your voice gets higher and higher; more desperate. It doesn’t work, and your hands start to tremble, out of pure fear and desperation. “No! This is not about me, it is about us!”. It’s the first time you’ve voiced it, getting in front of him. His eyes get slightly bigger, clearly surprised as well. “It’s you getting overprotective with me, again! I’m not a small child, I’m not immature, I have been a woman since long before anything changed, since before we had to change our suits or-anything, really! I won’t have it, I won’t abide by your rules, I won’t-“

           “Then leave. No one is stopping you.”

           It breaks your heart. You know what it is: it’s Bruce pushing people off, aside. You’ve seen it done with some other women, his own Robins, out of fear of losing another one, being too closed, too attached again and not recovering. You understand him better than anyone and he’s letting you leave? He WANTS you to leave? No, he has never done that, save J. But J. is a special case, it’s not you, you are-you are special, you are his, inevitably his. He loves you, he-

           “No! How dare you!” You shout, furious tears running down your face. “Everything I have done, I have because of you! Because you wanted it, because you praised me, valued me for doing things right, good for you! You made me into this, you gave me an identity and now you are taking it from me!” You start punching his chest, getting in front of him again; this time he brushes you aside harder, you taking his arm and taking him with you, moving it. It starts getting violent. You’ve never sparred with him, never have fought seriously with him. “I’ve fucked it up, but surely, surely-“

           He fights, maybe stopping your hopeful words, eyes: does he really NOT know? He punches you, you evade, easily enough; but then you start hitting each other hard, grabbing each other, letting the other fall into the ground and then trying to kick, seriously. You are not afraid, if anything, you are invigorated to prove him right: you are worthy, enough.

           You finally sweep the floor with your right leg, making him jump to evade it, just so that you can kick him in the middle of his chest, making him retrocede. He grabs your feet but you manage, miraculously, to make him fall into the ground, with great force. It doesn’t seem like he’s getting up any time soon, but still, you struggle, getting on his hips, his broad chest and still defiant, furious.

           “No!” You shout, blocking his attack, pinning his legs and arms to the ground. He can’t fight, he won’t fight. And it takes you a few extra seconds to see the position you are in, alone and panting in a random rooftop, alone.

           There’s a silence, where you think he thinks you’ve calmed down. But to the contrary, your heart is beating extremely fast. You don’t think, not really, after almost losing him. There’s an acknowledged look on him of you being able to pin him down, having the abilities. Bruce thinks he might use it as a speech to reassure her, maybe retract himself.

           But then you kiss him. You furiously grab him by his jaw, stopping him from struggling or moving you aside. He stays frozen in his place, hands still as you have let them go, your hips grounded on his abdomen, making her gasp as she grinds, almost tentatively, virginally, making him finally react. This is it. It’s the moment of truth, of never going back to being the same.

           “I have loved you since I was fourteen. You saved me when I was twelve, and you have been everything my father never was. I have not once seen you as a paternal figure, Bruce. Take it or leave it. Hate me or love me. I can’t do grey areas.”

           …

           Damian might not be very observant of personal relationships, but he can sense there is something off. Well, there has been for some time; and he doesn’t know if Timothy has deliberately decided not to comment on it, or if he doesn’t really see it, but something has changed in the dynamics. It’s not only that you are now rotating (each of them get to have one night with Bruce when patrolling), but something is… Off whenever Bruce glances (Y/N) or she does it back at him. They can’t keep it for long, and he can only wonder what has happened since the last mission. It’s been some weeks, but he hasn’t seen much interaction around the house.

           Father does not come down for breakfast, and (Y/N) did the same for a week. Then, after her first patrol after announcing they now had a rota, she had started occasionally coming down for a fruit or two, then going back up.

           So for once he decides to break the rules and follows them. He abandons a part of Gotham where tonight anything could happen – but his interest is on them, which seem to almost playfully get as far from each other before getting closer again and changing positions as they move. Almost as if they want to lose him, but he’s too clever. He sees a pattern and not in her, but in father.

           And he really wishes he knew better, he didn’t follow them. Because he can never unseen her, opening slightly, in the front, her suit, showing cleavage and bronzed skin under the moonlight, seductive lips opening up as her hands rest on his chest, stoic as he is. Is he giving in, are they-? No, they couldn’t, father is-

           Yes, he pushes her. Softly, but does so. And that’s enough for Damian, that’s enough for him tonight on things he did not really want to know.

           …

           “No, it is pretty quiet. Maybe the cold makes villains hibernate or something.” She playfully says as they stop in a rooftop, not too far from the worst neighborhoods in Gotham. He can sense a tone, something foreign and somewhat wrong but-but still as she zips down her suit he can’t stop her. His eyes are glued to skin, the marks they reveal slowly. Beautiful, not shameful like she has made them appear for years. “Do you maybe want to… Today?”

           She tempts. She gets closer, on her toes, almost reaching him-but he can’t let that happen again. The first time was too hard, and this time would be impossible, alone. Worse than that, they could be see, heard: Drake and Robin are too clever, too smart for their own good. Maybe they already-do they? Will they? He softly pushes her as he can feel her in his mouth, hot and wet, like she promised other parts would be if only he-

           “I told you not to do that ever again, (Y/N). It won’t happen. Ever.” There’s a moment of fragility in her eyes as she lowers down, offended, hurt. He can see it all over her face, breath becoming labored and eyes worried.

           “But I-you, you let me-“

           “And that was my fault”: She will do it again. And it will only become more aggressive, assertive, as time passes. “I assume it. Now you have to do it. And I’m going to continue on patrolling, but don’t think of going of your own. Go to the Manor now, seeing as you can’t control yourself tonight.”

           It sounds strangely erotic to her, and he can see the flutter in her eyes, but he is dominant in that aspect as well. He won’t let her tempt him. And as he moves to jump, escape almost the uncomfortable feeling in his abdomen, he can hear her groan and metal kicking.

…

           You felt like crying. He had grabbed you back that night, and you had felt closer, different to him the last nights. You though you had broken every familiar tie he ever thought he had with you, but it seems he doesn’t even know how to react. And as pathetic as you sound, you’ve been starving for too long, too much; he was your sexual awakening, the first man you thought when you first masturbated, and also the first name you moaned as you came with your own hand. Sexuality was a thing you were not lost in, that you controlled; and you had almost offered yourself to him that night and he had turned you down. What was it that could tempt him them? Something that could break him, that could make him like you, give in-because he WANTED to give in. You had felt it that night on the rooftop: for the very first time something hard between your thighs, surprising you and making you tentatively grind on that, which he had stopped you shortly after, almost harshly. He was afraid of wanting you – but he did.

           “What is a kitten like you doing all by herself in such a cold night? Have you lost Daddy Wayne?”. He teases, making you sigh as soon as you heard him, making you hide your head between your legs, trying to get the starting tears of your eyes off. “You are going to get cold like that. He won’t like it, kitten.”

           “Fuck off, Red.” You call him, making him smirk. At least you can come up with something back. Jason Todd, Jay or Red. He had been a previous Robin but after his death/not death he had joined the Outlaws and-shit, you have lost count or can’t really say where is right now. The thing is, he had been the closest to you: everyone thought it was Dick, seeing as you were always hanging together in pictures and places, always cuddling or giving each other some “sibling” love (it was not. I had never been. Dick had something on him that resembled Bruce a bit, but you had never told him that). But no, it was Jason: he was the one you shared the most with, the one who understood the fucked-up feelings and thoughts that you had. He was probably the first to know about your little crush on Bruce, but he never judged. “I’m really not in the mood.”

           “Not in the mood because he rejected you? Don’t you want to get naked anymore and show off your tits?”. Fuck, he saw you. You close your eyes, groaning still with your head in between your legs; darkness embraces you, and somehow you feel more comfortable, until you feel a jerk from your hair, which you complain about quite quickly. It’s him, forcing you to look at his eyes. “Are you not wet anymore, prepared for him?”

           “Dumbass, you are being really gross, what is really going on with-“

           “I’m not Daddy and because of that you can’t respect me? You won’t respect me like you do to him or Dick?”. Yes, he has always been a little jealous of both: the stars that glowed in your eyes as you talked about them. You might have known of this but chose to ignore it at times. It was not convenient to you as you needed to rant on someone. “Were you thinking of throwing yourself at Dick? Maybe him taking your virginity, your tight little pussy?”. You blush at the words, your back against the wall firmer, like you are trying to fuse with the stone. He is keeping you in your place, taking you by your chin and forcing his eyes on yours, scrutinizing and harsh. “Because you are, right? Still saving yourself for his cock. And trust me, kitten; everything about him is big.”

           You are hot and bothered in your place. Your knees are pressing themselves together in your position, and you can feel the wetness out of your pussy getting your underwear uncomfortable. It’s not a pleasing sensation, more so than that, someone else (your half-brother) causing you that while thinking of your adoptive paternal figure.

           “Have you tried to spy him in the cave? The showers?”. He tries. You don’t answer as he gets closer to your mouth, and when you whimper and nod, he laughs. Instead, he redirects himself to your neck, making you gasp and move, almost fight, against him. Almost, being a key word because you don’t really try. “Have you ever touched yourself thinking about him? Pressed in a little finger inside your cunt to-“

           “I have only played with my clit”. You say, too quickly, writhing under the pressure of his body against the firm marble behind you which is making you shiver (it has nothing to do with his hot lips on your jaw, doing down on your neck and leaving marks, lapping and kissing like you are something delectable. He is taking his time). “Jay!”

           You grab onto his shoulders, and his figure, bigger than that of Dick’s, almost can make your imagination go far, almost can make you think is someone else the one that’s taking you: which immediately makes you open your legs, giving him access to your body and his cock to rub off on your core, tight on your skin, leaving little to nothing to anyone’s imagination.

           “Smart girl. Have you had someone else’s fingers on you?”

           “No.”

           “You are in for a ride, princess.”

           Red Hood and Batgirl were allies, had been partners in more than one occasion (whenever Batman needed the help, they had started to rely on each other. You had been a great meeting point). Jason and (Y/N) were friends, confidants of each other. They had been something deeper, and you couldn’t deny the attractive he posed in comparison with Bruce. You have had a wet dream or two with him more than once; big guys just did something to you that you couldn’t explain, Jason being the perfect example. He grasps the zipper in the front of your suit and slowly takes it down, making you gasp and shiver against the coldness of the city against your very hot skin. It’s unbearable to wear such a skin tight suit when your body is so hot, horny and desperate for contact. You almost take, harshly, the upper part of your body off you, with a little chuckling help from him – but he is controlling the situation, never letting you get ahead of yourself.

           “I think I can feel a wet spot. Are you wearing-? Oh, yes you are. How cute” He murmurs into your skin, his skillful fingers getting into the lowest part of where his fingers can trace, having gone down your chest with his fingertips down your body. “Jackpot. Fuck you are so wet. I thought I would have to eat you out, but you are lubing yourself quite well… And I wanted to so badly, princess. But it looks like you can do something else for me, can you? I’ve made you hot enough. Light me up, I want to burn.”

           You kiss him, desperate enough. Fuck him, he started it anyways; why shouldn’t you follow? Are you going to stop yourself again, maybe rejecting the one person that desires you? No, no way. You kiss him desperately, moving your hips against his and he corresponds: you feel him hot, big, against your core; your legs are almost out of the suit, almost naked in front of the whole Gotham. You feel wild, unleashed for the first time and you realize that’s what you’ve always been with him. He has never restricted you, tried to tie you down to some cliché or bounded you to the morality of society.

           He gets up and you sit better, your back straightened up. Eagerly, making him laugh, you take him out of his pants: commando, of course he is. It springs out, almost slapping you in your face: like a cheap porno, honestly. You still lick him up slowly, unsurely. Jason is, after all, your first sexual contact with someone more or less your age, a real man. You’ve never had a pulsing cock in your hands: maybe a dildo, a silicon one or something that you’ve tried to get into you (you’ve never gave in, too afraid of doing it on your own, being too loud); but never like this, so real and hot, veiny and hard. It’s soft at the same time, as you move your hand on his shaft and fap him slowly, letting him rest his tip on your hot tongue, offering it in a slutty way for him to use. He doesn’t give in, letting you explore him, maybe knowing it is your first time doing that as well.

           Slowly, at your own pace, you take him into your mouth. You first suck him in taking more than just the tip, then a bit more, a bit more after that until you are halfway there and-well, you choke. Your gag reflex kicks him, something unknown to you until then: but it didn’t feel bad, it just tells you to go slower, no rush to get it all in. You suck him, looking at him directly and giving him sweet eyes while you look for his approval, his praise which you get in the form of pats in your head, caressing your hair until he grabs it with more force. Eventually you are sucking him out, hot and hard in your tongue, your pussy getting wet by each ticking second, but he’s fucking your mouth as well. He keeps a normal pace, not too slow but not too unforgiving while you open more your legs, grinding a bit on the floor like looking for relief; he chuckles and promises something after you finish him, which you more forcefully try to do.

           But he stops you.

           “Such a bitch in heat, I swear I didn’t know you had it in you. Did you try to touch yourself while sucking me off? Bad move. I come first, just as I did to you before.” He is dominant, clear, taking himself off your mouth. You whimper, crawling to him half-naked, almost completely getting out of the suit, left behind like some dead skin. “On the floor, lay down. I’m fucking your mouth. Properly.”

           You shiver, doing as he says; it is cold, and you shiver, protesting almost, until he gets on top of you, moving slightly up, his legs pinning down your arms, to both sides of your body, close to it, so you can’t struggle or stop him. He is serious about it, and you are close to dripping on your own underwear so much it will get stained. It’s a pool, to say the least.

           “Open up. I’m not stopping, so breathe in.”

           You nod, vigorously and he gets in. He starts slow, letting you get used and breathing by your nose, but he quickly takes up the pace. It’s unforgiving to your throat, but he seems to have caught on the limit of your reflex: he always stops before it’s too much, even if he triggers it a bit at time, making you choke – tears form around your eyes, and as much as you try to struggle against his arms to push him slightly off, control him a bit, he doesn’t let go. His legs are huge, thighs muscular: you won’t make it.

           “You are taking each inch of it, gorgeous. All by yourself. You are going to make daddy cum.”. The kink sends you crazy. You close your legs, trying to squeeze them into giving you pleasure, even when you can’t properly follow it. You are frustrated because of it, but perfectly know how good it’s going to feel once he starts giving it some attention. “Daddy is going to cum, okay kitten? And you are going to take it all, drink down my milk and ask for more. You are my perfect kitten, aren’t you?”

           The pet name was not a kink you knew you had, but you want to be perfect for him, for everyone. But specially him, so special and unique in so many ways. You’ve never really thought of Jason that way, but now that he’s fucking your mouth, you can only think of him fucking your pussy, at that same pace and kissing your neck. The thought makes you shiver, close your eyes in pure bliss.

           “So close, I’m at it, gorgeous, I’m there”.

           He warns, and you can prepare for it a bit. Just a bit, before it gets too much on your mouth and he quickly moves, cumming on your face as well. He paints it white, making you close your eyes: he wipes the rest on your eyelids almost delicately, smirking.

           “My kitten looks good in white, but she made a bit of a mess, didn’t she?”. You are gasping for air, too tired on the ground, too cold almost suddenly, wetness uncomfortable on your underwear. “You got it easy, I’m not going to make you-“

           Still you lick him out. You get on top of him this time and lick his cock out, the remaining’s until it’s clean and soft in your hand. But you can sense it’s still interested, as you touch him a bit up and down, try and and elicit some reaction from him.

           “Fuck me”. You almost beg, above him, incredibly frustrated and wet: but his mobile starts ringing up and you know it’s trouble. It never announces nothing good. You don’t even have to see the ID, as he gets kisses you and gets up, giving you his jacket to cover yourself a bit.

           “Just a second, princess”. But you know it will be more than just one second. That was the attractive part of Jason Todd: his unavailability which had been so present in your life, as Bruce had been such a busy man all of his life. Jason being emotionally and sometimes physically unavailable had been such a big attractive on you. “Yeah, I know. No, I wasn’t-okay, yes, I’m going.” He hangs up, dejectedly turning himself around and looking at you, on the rooftop and with your legs closed together; probably not letting your wetness expand. “I have to go. Believe when I say I would rather stay here, gorgeous, and fuck you out in this same rooftop until someone had to come up to see who the fuck was I killing, cause that’s how much I’m going to make you scream”. He crouches down to kiss you, almost too sweet for how he normally is. Maybe he does really care about your first time. Is it all an excuse? “Hey, don’t go there. I see you are thinking, angel. I really really want to fuck you. And make you cum again… And again… And again”. He says, getting to your neck and kissing it repeatedly as he mumbles the same word over and over again. Like he’s lost on it, on your essence, how sweet you smell to him. “It’s just orders, okay? Keep the jacket and give me a show next time we are alone. I’ll come back for it, I swear… But I have to take something in return to keep me warm in this cold night. Can I?”

           Your breath hitches as his eyes go down on your legs. You nod, unsure of what he is really going to do, until he grabs both of your legs and easily opens them up, revealing a very dark spot in your grey underwear, making you pant excitedly. He makes his way in, kissing your ankle and moving upwards until he’s on your knee. His mobile starts to ring up again and he growls almost: it really must be urgent. He almost urgently takes off your underwear, and with a grin, smells it. You blush, getting your suit closer so that you can dress up slowly, legs still a bit weak.

           He disappears, getting your knickers into his pocket casually, and jumps off the roof. You really want him to go back to you and properly do what he has promised. You don’t want anything more tonight than him.

           …

           “I still think you were too rough on her.” Batman begrudgingly comments, almost mutters under his breath: too ashamed, too angry? Jason can’t really say.

           “And here I was thinking you enjoyed the show. The protectiveness now doesn’t help much, B., to be honest.”

           He grunts, closing his arms and looking at the rest of the city, almost hovering it. But Jason knows better, smirking almost under his red helmet.

           “I just said you had to redirect his attention onto you, Jason. Make her forget about me.”

           “And I did, but believe me, she wanted it. You can’t believe how much she was dripping.” He says too quickly, impossible for Bruce to cut off. He learns too much, he didn’t want to. “Trust me, as long as I’m on the scene he won’t bother you. And if it weren’t for you, I would be pounding her virgin pussy right now.”

           There’s an acknowledging silence between them. Both of them know why he called at that precise moment: he thought they would really do it, take her first time, in the middle of a rooftop. He really thought Jason would take her in front of him, break her and pound on her while he was looking.

           “Just-“

           “Just nothing, Bruce. You’re fucking jealous, you have a type; she checks every box. Why are you making me do this? Why don’t you give in? I’ve seen you with younger models clinging onto your arms.”

           He sighs, almost tiredly; has he been explaining that a lot? Maybe Dick knows of it as well? He takes a note to call him later, put him up to date on what the Batman has been up to. And how incredibly naughty he has been.

           “I can’t have something happened like what happened to you, Jason. I-“

           “Yeah, yadda yadda yadda. Your cock, your rules I guess – but hey, catch!” He throws him something, quickly, while already making an escape for it. “Brought you a little something. Enjoy, they are still wet and warm!”

           And of course it had been her underwear, heat and covered in her juices, dripping on them. Some of it was still wet, a little pool of sticky self-lubricant on the core of it. Had she cummed without knowing? There was enough there to make someone like him think she did. It looks so delectable, so edible when he’s grabbing it so close to his own mouth. It’s too easy to stick his own tongue down, take a bit and groan onto the feeling, the flavor: it’s hot, it’s slightly salted more importantly, empty. He knows he will cum onto them later, in private; he knows he can jerk off all the times thinking on her cute little pussy on his mouth, eating her out until her body can’t take him on anymore, but it won’t be enough. It will never be her legs opened up around him, moving and dripping around his head, making her cum again and again and again…

             BONUS for next chp.

           “U must be kiddinf”

           “Shit you not”

           “pics or it didnt happe”

           “Jaybird has sent unknown.jpg”

           “fffff u really did take em. so u fucked her?”

           “bat wouldn’t let me. And why the fuck are you writing

           Oh, nevermind. I’m so naïve. Are the pics the ones I sent you when she was drunk with Roy, the vid or the ones still from the mission?”

           “both.”

           “Oh, fuck off. You’re such a degenerate, D. And to think she stills thinks of you as her dear big brother… And here you are, jerking off to her in a suit, drunk and a vid of her tits moving. Pathetic.”

           Some minutes pass on without an answer. Jason grows more disgusted by the moment. Fucking horny dog.

           “If it’s open season I’m going next, J. Two can play this little game.”

           “Are you threatening me?”

           “I’m promising you.”

[pebblysand]

[SEPTEMBER ‘21] - THE LIFE/WRITING UPDATE NO ONE ASKED FOR (AND SOME QUICK LINKS)

well, hello hello, welcome, it is september first and hogwarts is back in session, haha! where’s your letter, did you get it? i hope so!

in true gryffindor fashion, i’m a summer person. i like parties, the beach and hot weather, so i’m currently working hard, trying to delay the inevitable return of autumn and the dreaded back-to-school mood by staying in sunny southern france for a few more days. i’ll be back in dublin on saturday where, as per usual, rain has been scheduled to occur upon my return lol.

Anyway, before diving into more life/writing updates, here are some quick links to different blog pages you might not see on mobile :

to read my fics [updated]

to read my original work

fic recs

to read my tumblr rants about stuff

[NOTE: i am currently not accepting prompts. i already have a backlog, folks.]

Castles (chap 9) ETA: optimistic? 19 September. realistic? october.

links extended a/n-s: chapter v ; chapter vi & vii ; chapter viii

[more life/writing updates under the cut]

what i’m reading:

i’m actually quite happy with my book reading this month. i read a friend’s short-ish (27k) story, as well as two full books, and started a third. i wanted my holidays to be a time of catching up with missed reading opportunities, and it definitely was.

first, i read three rooms by jo hamya. i picked this one up because it was recommended by my bookshop, was written by a BAME author, marketed as a ‘millenial’ literary fiction novel which i’m always a sucker for, and the cover looked intriguing. the story is that of an unnamed narrator in her early/mid-twenties, navigating the end of her masters degree and her first job in london. to be honest, as i previously said in another post, i don’t particularly fancy myself as a book critic so i don’t really like to say negative things about the books i read. as an author, i know how hard things can hurt when people are talking about your writing sort-of behind your back and i’m always paranoid that the author might one day see what i’ve written, lol. this being said, what i will say about this book is that while not bad, it wasn’t really a fit for me. the writing is very good, crisp and quick just the way i like it (though if you get irritated by the current trend of not using quotation marks for dialogue, you might get irritated by this), but i just found it hard to relate to the characters. i think you will like this if you like books that are more about their setting and their world rather than plot or character. the author is really good at describing current britain, life in london, the book is brilliant at describing the millennial ‘world’ of social media, politics, etc. but its main character seems to just aimlessly float through her life without any sense of self or purpose, which i personally found very frustrating. the book addresses issues of class, poverty, temp contracts, housing prices, discrimination but it feels very much like a matter-of-fact statement rather than an actual argument to change things. the other characters are mildly more purposeful but very single-purpose and while the novel is interesting but it didn’t really make me feel anything beyond an intense desire to grab the narrator by the shoulders and scream: do something! three stars.

then, i read incendiary by chris cleave. full review here. this book is just unreal and the best fiction i’ve read in close to a year. if i could give ten stars i would.

i’ve now started an american marriage by tayari jones. unless you’ve been living under a rock, this has probably been recommended to you a billion times already, but what can i say, i’m always late lol. i’m only about 100 pages in but seems promising.

in terms of fanfic, i honestly haven’t read much bar this one fantastic spooks au of which i really wish there was more of. i have trolled all of livejournal and dreamwidth to find the rest and came up empty. tragic.

what i’m writing:

funny how the girl on a writing break still managed to put out circ. 9,000 words in a month, lol. granted, pick me choose me love me was written in july, but still.

this being said, i do feel like i took time off and i do feel way better than i did back in july. looking back, i was exhausted and burnt out and felt like i was mostly writing to fulfill people’s expectations, rather than to make me happy. i’m now feeling much more confident with my words. the story that i did write this month was a self-indulgent bit of fun because it was written for a fandom no one cares about, and rather liberating, if i’m honest. i think i needed to write something for me and my audience of three again, and it was great. i genuinely love that story. i do think that if you want to give it a try, it might be one of those that can be read without having watched the show in question because it’s about a side character so a lot of what’s in there is original rather than show-related. if you do want to read it, it’s here: listening to that angel choir.

in terms of upcoming projects, i’m happy to announce that i’m actually excited to get back to castles, which is exactly what i wanted this break to achieve. i’m waiting until i get back to dublin to get back to work but i’m ready to dive back in and honestly can’t wait. as i said above the cut, i would love to put it on the 19th September but i’m not sure that i’ll manage to whip out next chapter this quickly. it’s not unheard of, so we shall see. also, castles is turning a year old on 16 sep, which is absolutely fucking insane. i certainly did not think it would be this massive of a project when i undertook it, lol. the numbers on it both in terms of wordcount and appreciation/hits give me vertigo so i try not to look at them but honestly, i can’t thank you all enough. i know i always say this but i come from very small audiences and fandoms and the amount of love i’ve been getting this past year thanks to all of you has meant the world. thank you.

in terms of one shots, i’ll be mostly focusing on castles this month, so i probably won’t write anything else. this being said, for those of your on tumblr, just be aware that you might see me repost some of the tumblr ficlets that i posted on tumblr these past few months on ao3 soon-ish. i initially decided to keep them on tumblr alone because they were too short but i’ve been having anxiety about tumblr collapsing and these things disappearing into the ether. so, don’t be alarmed, they should be the same, just reposted.

what i’m doing:

honestly, this month has been amazing, especially the past three weeks. i’ve been able to relax, see family & friends, went hiking, had my birthday, hired a boat - it’s been fab. as alluded to before, i’ve also been having fun rewatching spooks, which is definitely a series worth watching, even ten years after it ended. i find it even more fascinating in light of what is going on in afghanistan at the moment, and of course the presence in the show of rupert penry-jones whom i think every straight woman with a pulse fancies, is an added bonus.

anyway, i hope you’re all doing well. see you next month for pumpkin spice lattes (yeah, look, i’m a basic white girl) and the beginning of my seasonal depression.

lots of love,

pebblysand.

[butlerbarb]

Comfort (Leviathan x Reader)

i should start by saying sorry for just disappearing out of nowhere. i think i just had too much on my plate and burnt myself out. which then caused me to spiral into a depressive episode and lose all motivation to work on something. 

with that being said, i wanted to write something about how i've been feeling as a way to vent it. i also wanted it to be comfy and nice and i really just wanted leviathan to hug me and tell me everything is okay :) i hope you enjoy this very soft and self indulgent fic bc i love leviathan more than anything

also! i am working on requests, so expect those out within the next few days or so!

ily <3

It had been one of those days. Well, really it had been one of those weeks. Those days where you just didn’t want to leave your bed, more comfortable to hide away by yourself as to not bother anyone with how out of it you were feeling. Of course, Lucifer would probably have your head if he found out you were skipping classes, so you went about your days pretending you were fine.

Leviathan had invited you to his room after school, you hadn’t been able to focus on what he was telling you at breakfast – your mind too fuzzy from having just woken up combined with the fuzziness your off mood had brought on. But knowing the otaku demon, it was either anime or a new video game he bought. His enthusiasm and passion for his interests was something that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you were feeling down.

Your day at school, thankfully, passed by in a blur. Mammon made a point of bragging about his latest modeling job he scored as he walked you home, trying to convince you to go with him. Naturally, he pouted like a child when you turned him down, whining that you were missing the opportunity of a lifetime! Thankfully he gave up when you told him you just weren’t feeling it, but you would be happy to take him up on the offer another time. He dropped you off at home after that, telling you he’d bring you something on his way back.

You were barely in the door when Leviathan was charging at you from the common room, rushing you into kicking off your schools before he dragged you up to his room. You tried to argue that you still had your RAD uniform on and that he should at least give you a minute to change, but he was hearing none of it. He waited all day for you to get home, he wasn’t going to wait another minute! However, that excuse fell apart quickly when you gave him a set of puppy dog eyes, letting you hurry off to your room on a time limit.

You changed into more comfortable clothes quickly, using up only 3 minutes of the 5-minute limit he gave you. You were back in his room just as he had finished setting everything up. You took note of the snacks that he had set up in different bowls around his room. Wow, you thought, this must be really important. Leviathan usually never went all out like this unless it was mega important.

“What’s all this for, Levi? Seems like a lot for just a few episodes.” You commented, grabbing a handful of chips out of a bowl as you sat down on the edge of the bed. You cringed at how spicy it was, some of the flavors were intense in the Devildom. Leviathan’s eyes widened as he gave you an incredulous look.

“A few episodes!? No, no, no. We’re watching the entire series tonight.” The demon explained as he removed a disk from its packaging and slipped it inside his PC. “This series, 10 Things I’ve Always Wondered About the Demon King: Facts versus Fiction! has been teased for years! YEARS! And they finally released it all at once on DVD. People have been speculating about it for so long and AH! I CAN’T WAIT TO WATCH IT!”

You laughed at his energy, simply nodding as you reclined on his bed. He dove into bed next to you once the opening began playing, delight blooming on his face immediately. You let your head rest on Leviathan’s lower legs, expecting him to jump and practically kick you away, but to your surprise he didn’t even seem to notice. The show had barely started, and he was already lost in it.

It had been a few hours and you were only a few episodes deep. Levi had told you it had multiple seasons with at least 12 episodes each, so you really were going to be there for the night. It had been enjoyable at first, but after a while of mindlessly staring at the screen and reading subtitles, you slowly lost a majority of your interest. Leviathan still seemed fully absorbed, however. You breathed a sigh, stretching your arms above your head. You pulled your legs up onto the bed, crossing them underneath you, resting elbow on your knee, and your chin on the palm of your hand.

You let your eyes wander around the room, head filled with the same fuzziness as this morning. While you enjoyed the anime, and spending time with Leviathan, you knew it would have only been a matter of time before you were back to feeling the same way. You tried to act as normal as possible, not wanting to worry Levi or worse, distract him from the series he had been looking forward to.

You were surprised when the sound suddenly stopped, and you tore your gaze away from on of the anime figures your eyes had been locked on for longer than necessary. Glancing at the screen and then behind you to Leviathan, you raised and eyebrow at the worried look on his face.

“Are you okay?” The blue-haired demon asked, sitting up from his reclined positions to mimic your crossed legs.

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” You replied, giving him a smile, resting your hand on his knee. Leviathan’s eyes narrowed as he shook his head at you.

“You’re not fine! You seemed distracted this morning and it’s the same now. You know you can tell me if something is wrong.”

“Leviathan, I- “

“No excuses! I don’t… I don’t like seeing you upset like this…” He cut you off before you could say anything, mumbling the last part of his sentence as his cheeks flushed a dark red colour. You felt your eyes blow wide as the normally shy demon reached forward, grabbing your free hand as well as the one you had previously rested on his knee.

“Leviathan…” You frowned, watching tears prick the corners of his eyes. Wow, he was really upset about this, huh? You let out a sigh, deciding that if you were going to tell anyone, it might as well be the one who was about to cry out of worry.

“I don’t know, Levi. I’ve just been feeling… off. For the past week. I can’t really describe it. Just sad.” You admitted quietly, your eyes locking onto your joined hands. The silence was unnerving as Leviathan processed your words and suddenly you were extremely uncomfortable.

“Like… depressed?” You nodded in response to his question, eyes briefly flicking up to gauge his expression. He seemed indifferent yet stared at you intently. Your eyes widened as he let go of your hands and threw his arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

“Levi, what…”

“I just! I just want you to know that… You’re not alone and that I… I care about you…” He whispered, burying his face into your hair as he held you tightly. His sudden confession shocked you into silence, all you could do was wrap your own arms around his torso, trying your hardest not to cry. Although even your hardest attempt couldn’t change how overwhelmed you felt, and eventually you were bawling into his shirt, more than likely staining it with tears.

You sat there together for who knows how long, Leviathan happy to let you cry it all out until you felt better. You could have sworn you felt a tear or two hit the skin of your neck, and you fought back a laugh. Leviathan was such a sensitive demon, being brought to tears by the smallest things.

Eventually, your seemingly endless flow of tears came to a stop. You pulled away from him slightly, his arms still wrapped around you as you briefly used the sleeve of your shirt to dry any remaining tears. Levi slowly pulled away, hands resting on your shoulders as he shot you a concerned look. You laughed quietly, wiping at your nose as you sniffled. You smiled at him, nodding a little to let him know you were okay.

He went to pull back, hands slipping off of your shoulder when you stopped him. Placing both of your hands on his cheeks, watching in amusement as his cheeks gained a flushed colour once again. Pulling him closer by his cheeks, you pressed a small kiss to his forehead. You pulled back not a second later, beaming at him happily.

“Thank you, Leviathan.”

BONUS:

The door to Leviathan’s room burst open, scaring the life out of the both of you. Leviathan jumped back, pushing you away from him in surprise. You fell back onto the bed with a laugh, eye drifting over to the intruder.

“Oi! What’re you two doing? Why’re your eyes all red, human?” Mammon, being the ever loud and obnoxious demon that he was, yelled as he stepped into the room. His arms crossed over his chest as he gave Levi a displeased look.

“Are ya makin’ my human cry, Levi?” The older demon accused, pointing a finger at his younger brother. Leviathan rolled his eyes, completely ignoring the Avatar of Greed as he briefly adjusted his fringe.

“Aren’t you the one always making them cry, Mammon?” The Avatar of Envy answered, glaring at Mammon from underneath his now fixed fringe. Mammon gasped, throwing a hand over his chest in mock offence.

“How dare you! I only even make the human happy, ya know!”

“I don’t know about that, Mammon..” You teased lightly, snickering as his face contorted into genuine sadness as he frowned deeply. “I’m joking! Come here, we’re watching anime! We’ve still got tons of snacks!”

Mammon happily dove into the bed next to you, immediately trapping you next to him with one hand, while the other greedily dove into a snack bowl. Leviathan grumbled lowly, rolling his eyes again before shifting into a comfortable position on your opposite side.

You were glad you had such caring demons to help you out when you were at your lowest. You would never replace them for the world.

[sml8180]

Top 5 Writings 2020

So, I’ve posted a lot of writing this year. I’ve posted one chapter a week since 1 January, 2020, and haven’t missed a single week. On top of that, I’ve posted a few stories in between uploads, as well as doing daily uploads throughout the month of December.

With all this, I decided to go back through and find my 5 favorite pieces from this year, and reflect a little as to why I enjoy them so much. #1 will be my absolute favorite piece of this year, and I’ll be going in ascending order (so #5 first, #4 second, and so on).

#5 ~ Lasting Injuries ~ Who Killed Markiplier? ~ 13 Feb, 2020

Summary: Damien always has a cane in his hand, and although most don't realize it, the ornate object isn't just for show.

So, this story was spawned by a couple of things back in February. I injured my knee roughly 8 (almost 9) years ago, when I was in middle school, and since then have dealt with knee pain off and on (up until just recently, when I finally went to Physical Therapy, which helped to strengthen and stabilize my right knee and hip), which at the time of writing this, was acting up and resulting in pain. On top of this, I’ve had a personal HC that Damien carries a cane in WKM not only for show as the Mayor, but because he actually needs it.

I still really enjoy this story, partly as a self-indulgent thing for my HC concerning Damien’s cane, and partly because it was just fun to write something that served to even more closely connect Damien and Dark as characters (despite, y’know, Damien literally being part of Dark).

#4 ~ Beginnings ~ Markiplier Egos ~ 1 Jan, 2020 - 15 April, 2020

Summary: With so many different personalities within the manor, the question can arise of just how they all ended up under one roof. Some were brought by opportunity, some by tragedy, some by fate. Every story starts somewhere, after all.

This was the first story I posted this year, and dear god, I can’t believe its actually been that long since Chapter 1 of this went up. The series this is the start to is on hiatus, since I kinda burnt out on the Ego works, but I do really like this story overall. This was the story that got be uploading weekly, and I just enjoyed coming up with how all the Egos would have ended up at the manor. It also helped me work on developing my writing a bit, especially when it comes to writing shorter, more contained stories, since each chapter is connected, but also serves sort of as a oneshot of its own.

#3 ~ Games ~ Sanders Sides ~ 12 Dec, 2020

Summary: Patton decided that all the Sides should have a game night. Logan uses it as a chance to come out.

One of my favorite Sanders Sides HCs is that Logan is Agender. This was a fun little fill, where I got to write the six main Sides all playing some good ole’ Two Truths and A Lie (with special consideration made for the fact Janus is a Living Lie Detector).

This is one of my favorite stories not just because I love the Agender Logan HC, but also because I actually came out as Genderfluid back at the very start of June of this year. Like Logan, I knew I had an accepting family, but coming out like that is still nerve-wracking, and it was interesting to look back at my own experience while writing this roughly 6 months after coming out.

#2 ~ Intense Emotions ~ Sanders Sides ~ 11 Oct, 2020

Summary: Virgil and Roman are excited to tell Logan and Patton about the day Thomas had at the mall. Patton, Logan, and Roman all learn something new about their favorite emo. Logan and Virgil find they have something in common.Janus is just glad to see Virgil so happy.

I wrote this the day after Flirting With Social Anxiety came out, and we got Virgil with glittery purple eyeshadow and confirmation that Roman, Virgil, and Character!Thomas all stim when excited. I just really wanted to write stimmy Sides content, okay?

I also projected a little bit in this one... I have ADHD, this isn’t something that I really hide (I’ve reblogged quite a few ADHD related posts, and it’s pretty clear that I tend to hyperfixate on certain things), and like many people who are neuro-divergent (and many people in general, neuro-typical or otherwise), I tend to stim, especially when I get happy or excited.

I was taught to suppress my stimming as a kid, and I also just don’t want to be distracting or anything like that. Logan and Virgil both do the same; Logan wants to be taken seriously, and neither one of them wants to distract the others. It’s something I’ve been working on (and something Logan and Virgil are working on, too).

#1 ~ Chaos is Normal (For Us, at Least) ~ Sanders Sides ~ 26 Aug, 2020 - 20 Jan, 2021

Summary: Life can easily become chaotic. This is especially true for teenagers and secret agents. When Logan and their team were assigned a mission listed by their agency as "High Priority; High Danger", they didn't realize just how dangerous it would turn out to be. When Patton and Emile make a pair of new friends, they don't realize just what they'll be getting into. For all parties involved, chaos is just a part of life. It's normal. For them, at least.

This is 100% my favorite thing I’ve written this year (and possibly my favorite of all my stories, up to this point). I’m a sucker for Spy/Secret Agent AU stuff, honestly.

This story has Agender Logan, Trans Janus, Genderfluid Emile, and Nonbinary Remus, along with ADHD Creativitwins, and honestly, I’m very happy I got all of those concepts in.

Now, this story isn’t complete just yet, Chapter 19 (my favorite chapter, by far) went up yesterday (30 Dec, 2020). There’s still 3 chapters to go up, and plenty more for the Chaos is Normal universe as a whole, since I have a prequel centering around Logan and Remy, and a sequel centering around all the teens, both in the works, along with a few oneshots.

This story was just overall a ton of fun to write, and the response has been amazing. This is one of just two stories I’ve posted to break 1,000 hits over on Ao3 (the other being Beginnings, actually). There’s a handful of oneshots already in the collection, too, since a few of the December prompt fills actually ended up taking place in this universe, and I think they’re all really cute.

=============================================================

And, that’s it! My Top 5 Writings from this year! I’m really proud of all these pieces, and generally proud of myself for managing to post every week this year, and then some.

I’m also incredibly thankful for all the support I’ve been getting on my writing, I really do appreciate all the Hits, Kudos, Comments, Likes, and Reblogs I’ve gotten on my works.

Without a doubt, I’ll be continuing to write, and we’ll see what I come up with in 2021.

[hag-lad]

Digging Deeper

Thank you to my radiant wonderful friend @alienfuckeronmain for sending me EXACTLY the type of self indulgent wind-down activity I wanted on this otherwise depressing weekend! If anyone else wants to answer FORTY-NINE QUESTIONS about themselves, I’m super nosy and will read it all! @fight-the-seether @ptolemyofchaos @butchwizard @metalbutch @nyndelion @comrade-ziltoid @leatherdear @kristalknobb Enjoy, friends!

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? I prefer black, but I always feel like I write neater in blue??

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? The city, but only if it has breathable air, green infrastructure, and decent public transit. So like... definitely no city in America lmao

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? The ability to quickly become fluent in another language! I’ve been struggling with Spanish for literal YEARS and it’s honestly pathetic. My brain is so stuck on English.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Look pal. If I wanna drink sugar, I’m gonna have a soda, not herb water or bean juice.

5. What was your favorite book as a child? I was OBSESSED with The Wish List, by Eoin Colfer (of Artemis Fowl fame). I remember being so fascinated by how dark it was?? It’s an afterlife adventure, where the main character has to escape purgatory by atoning for her crimes of robbery and fraud and whatever. I had a crush on her, so basically this book made me want to pursue a life of crime, even though it explicitly condemns crime and depicts Hell as a very real and horrible place. I was in like fourth grade and was super morbidly curious about Hell and the possibility of going there! Lol

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Baths... but only when I’m not actually dirty going in. A bath is leisure, not hygiene.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be? 100% fae! I would build my dwelling within a sidhe mound, steal shiny things in the middle of the night, make bastardly little contracts for no reason, and cause harmless mayhem and mischief because mortals really are fools (go off, robin goodfellow!) Also I love mushroom circles and dancing in the moonlight.

8. Paper or electronic books? Paper all the way! I read much more content electronically, but it’s usually in the short story or article format. Books are much better in print, I think.

9. What is your favorite item of clothing? Probably my rust-brown overalls.

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? I’ve always hated my name but no alternative has ever stuck, unfortunately. My name is Amy, and I don’t think it fits at all. If I knew I’d never have to correct anyone on it, I’d probably just change it to Amelia?

11. Who is a mentor to you? My little brother! He’s this genius musician, and he has taught me so much about song structure, polyrhythms, guitar technique, production tricks, all kinds of trivia that really deepen my appreciation for music and the LABOR that goes into it.

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? No, never, not for anything. I cherish my anonimity so much, I don’t even put searchable tags on this blog cuz I get an adrenaline spike from anxiety if too many people interact with me. I also just think fame is a fucking hideous construct. I don’t think it’s even slightly cool or desirable.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? No, I’m a fucking log. I can easily sleep for 12 hours straight. Thanks, depression!

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? No, actually. I’m very much in love, and it brings me lots of joy to do nice things with and for my partner! But romance feels very difficult for me to connect with. I’m super domestic, like, I love the idea of marriage but not necessarily a wedding, or a moonstruck romance or whatever. Those dramatic gestures feel very awkward for me.

15. Which element best represents you? EARTH. Specifically, like... dirt, or soil.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? I want to be geographically closer to my family. We’re thick as thieves, but we all live like 50 miles apart from each other. I miss my brothers and my parents so much, I feel so incomplete and depressed without them to hang out with, especially since quarantine.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? See above! Lol

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. When my little brother was a baby, he had this grey car seat with a folding mechanism which held his legs in place. It made a very satisfying clicking sound when the mechanism moved, AND when it was fully unfolded, it looked a lot like a Klingon battle cruiser. (Or so my five year old brain thought.) So! My older brother and I would take this seat out of the car CONSTANTLY so that we could unfold it and “sing” the Klingon theme music from Star Trek: The Motion Picture while we scooched our car seat battle cruiser across the living room floor, pretending to shoot phasers into the TV or the dining table or whatever else got in our way.

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? Gifilte fish, maybe?

20. What are you most thankful for? My family, including my wonderful partner and all the cats in our lives!

21. Do you like spicy food? Yes! But my tolerance for extreme spice decreases every year, unfortunately. So I can’t handle as much heat as I used to, but I do enjoy a good kick.

22. Have you ever met someone famous? Lmaooo I made the regretful decision to PAY FOR a meet&greet with Fall Out Boy in like 2006, which was so fucking awkward and painful, I vowed to never approach that level of lame again.

23. Do you keep a diary or a journal? TONS! I’m an obsessive record keeper. Some years I journal more than others, and I’ve found that it is super difficult to keep up with it while working full time. But it’s absolutely one of my favorite hobbies.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or pencil? Pen for writing. Pencil for drawing, and math.

25. What is your star sign? Virgo sun, Aquarius moon, Scorpio rising 🙃

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Crunchy! A shallow bath in that milk is key.

27. What would you want your legacy to be? My artwork. I go through these aesthetic phases every year that I become super obsessed with/ focused on, and I’ve always meant to catalogue them in annual art journals, but I’ve NEVER FINISHED ONE! They always get pushed aside by the need to work, and I hate that so much. If I could just take a year off work and backfill all of my missed concepts into completed books, I would be so happy. But I literally have NO WAY to pay for that, absolutely none. I fucking hate capitalism.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? I love to read, but finishing a whole book has been A STRUGGLE lately! Right now I’m chipping away at Tending Brigid’s Flame, which is a quaint lil devotional for the Celtic fire goddess. Very new agey, like cheesy Wiccan vibes. I love that shit!

29. How do you show someone you love them? Quality time!

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Only if I have a straw. Ice touching my teeth kinda makes me wince.

31. What are you afraid of? Incompetance, doing a bad job, letting someone down, taking up too much space, being a nussiance, etc

32. What is your favourite scent? Incense! Especially cinnamon, dragon’s blood, and amber.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? I always call people, regardless of age, by the name they ask me to use. Sometimes it’s a surname or title, usually it’s a first name. I’ll ask their preference if I’m unsure. But I definitely don’t default toward a surname, that’s weird.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? COMPLETELY DIFFERENTLY!!!!!! The need for money rules literally every single hour of my entire life, and I hate it so much. I’m naturally nocturnal, but my job requires me to get up super early and sit in a car for 11 hours a day. I wake up at 5am, come home front work at 5pm, spend an hour or two trying to unwind, then go to bed and do it all over again. I hate my life! Really! I never see the stars, I never exercise, I am completely exhausted and burnt out all the time, and I barely get any quality time with my partner. If money were no object, I would sleep til noon or 1, make art and hike all day, ride my bike and stargaze all night, stay up til 4am reading and playing with my cats, and sleep like a baby. My partner and I would cook dinner for each other and watch Star Trek and collaborate on art projects and I would be so happy.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? Here’s my hierarchy: Private pool > ocean > public pool

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? I’d look around to see if anyone obviously dropped it and try to give it back. If I couldn’t find anyone, I’d exchange it for dollars and deposit that shit into my account!

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Of course!! Hundreds!

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? America is evil and needs to be destroyed.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? Lmao this is so cute. If you HAD TO HAVE a tattoo! I really wanna finish my damn sleeves, they’re literally 9 years in the making and barely half finished. But I’d also love more art on my legs! I DESPERATELY want Ziltoid in a lacy valentine heart on my thigh.

40. What can you hear now? Our fish tank water bubbling and my fan on full blast.

41. Where do you feel the safest? Home alone, doors locked, windows covered, lights low. I absolutely LOVE to not be seen or perceived in any way.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? My fear of discomfort

43. If you could time travel to another era, which one would you choose? I feel like I’d want to be a teen in the 80’s and an adult in the 90’s. Does time travel work that way?

44. What is your most used emoji? 😭 or 😎

45. Describe yourself using one word. Defeated

46. What do you regret the most? Convincing myself that math was too hard or boring (or something?) when I was in middle school. I feel like I’m actually a pretty intelligent person who could’ve totally overcome that difficulty and gone on to understand all kinds of patterns and concepts which have eluded me to this day! It’s so frustrating to try and fight that formative self-concept, which now comes naturally but ultimately sabotages me. 💀

47. Last movie you saw? I made my partner watch Troop Beverly Hills, one of my childhood faves. It’s so fun! I love chick flicks so much.

48. Last tv show you watched? Deep Space Nine. Getting through the first season has been harder than expected. It’s actually my favorite Star Trek show?? (Orrrr maybe that’s TNG, ahh! It’s so hard to choose!) But season one is so baffling and awful! Why is there so much space capitalism??! And racism? And war? And drinking alcoholic beverages? #notmystartrek

49. Invent a word and its meaning. I used to call a single strand of curly hair a “curly quink” when I was a child. Therefore, a “quink” is a section of hair, usually a particularly cute or iconic one.

[ginnyzero]

Success is a Journey, Not a Destination

Last Friday, my father called me before he left work. I have a fairly close and adult relationship with my dad. He's the one I talked to before deciding to self-publish. He's a pretty non-judgemental guy with a out of left field sense of humor. We are often told we share a brain, which when it comes to working together can be detrimental because we really don't. I can't read his mind. It can't be frustrating.

But, I don't talk to him about my creative endeavors. I didn't talk to him about my fashion projects or my creative writing. I sat in the office of his shop and between screens loading with his old accounting and job building software frantically typed the first draft of the Lone Prospect and an office manual for said software. So, I was pretty happy when I published the Lone Prospect in paperback that he actually bought it even though he knows I only get 34 cents from the sale. He's not an ebook reader type of guy. I wasn't even sure if he'd read it.

My dad's reading taste is pretty eclectic. He works a lot so seeing him read anything other than the Bible or machinist magazines was pretty rare when I was growing up. When I was a teenager, his reading habits were whatever book you left laying unattended in the living room. I learned quickly not to leave my books unattended. He had the ability to flip open a book I was reading (and may not have even finished yet) and find the one sex scene in the book (that I hadn't gotten to and didn't know existed.) Embarrassing. As a teenager I didn't want him to know I was reading about sex, just as much as I didn't want to know that he and mom still had sex. (Oh the stories from my sister and cousin whose bedroom was over my parents.) When I was in college, I didn't really want to know that my father knew I wrote sex scenes. When I found out from my mother that he'd found my fan fiction LJ accounts and had looked into what I was doing online, I f-locked the accounts. (I was in my early twenties for God's sake.)

So far, sex hasn't come up in anything I've published. I can put off this dilemma for another day. (Thank Goodness.)

Last month, he told me he was reading Honor Harrington. Hard political science fiction mixed with hard core space battles. I was pretty floored. Not what I expected. Friday, he told me that he'd read my book and was actually reading it again. I asked him outright if he liked it because he won't tell me these things unless I do. (Working for him was a pain because I never was sure I was doing a good job.) He did. (He also found grammar errors and missing words in the first 70 pages that have been through three Microsoft products, two format changes and then adobe products and losing words is what happens when too many software formats collide and I refuse to touch it again or else I'll scream. But he notices these things! Engineers.) His approval and enjoying my book made me really happy. Because I want my father's love and approval. In fact, he wanted to know if there were more books.

If this was the pinnacle and definition of success, then I'd reached that goal. Success achieved.

Of course, that's not really where my goal of success lays. But it's a good, life affirming step.

Being a successful published author isn't easy no matter if you're a self published author or if you're a traditionally published author. You end up doing a lot of the marketing work yourself. You aren't just a writer. You're an entrepreneur of your own brand. And it's work. It's a journey, a road, an experience not for the faint of heart. Because you can spend hours and hours writing something, publish it, grind your tailbone flat marketing and promoting and get no response, and then spend an hour dashing off a meaningless dribble and be an overnight sensation. You just don't know how it's going to play out.

I'm at the beginning (2020 here, STILL at the Beginning it feels like) of this original work self-publishing journey. I published my first book in August of 2016 and I know that it may be years before I get more than drips of sales. I'm still on the "what type of promoting is going to work best for me" stage. (Especially since I have no money to put into it.) It doesn't make me a failure. It means I don't know where I'm going yet. I'm at the fork in the road and trying to determine which way looks the best. (I may look back at this in a few years and go, oh Ginnikins, you naive little sod.)

Everyone's journey is different. Everyone has their own realizations about themselves, their writing, creative process and what is important to them at different times. Sometimes, the first step of the journey as a writer is to realize that you can't stop writing. Then the next is whether or not it's important to you to share that writing. The journey is about yourself, the inner you and while other people may come into this journey, they aren't the stars of it. Trying to make someone else the star of your journey is at least a very big distraction. During the journey, you can grow or you can stall and stay the same.

Eighteen years ago, I started writing in order to connect with a friend. Fifteen years ago, I was writing fanfic. Where the hardest thing after having a successful story was writing the next story and trying to duplicate that success. Ten years ago, I was a big name fan (BNF) running a pairing community and hosting awards. Nine years ago, I burnt out. I switched fandoms. I stopped posting WIP. I stopped posting stories all together. I faded out of fandom. No one looked for me. Six years ago or more, I said I'd never publish an original book. Because I didn't want to lose creative control of my characters, plots and writing style. Four or five years ago, I finally had an emotional breakthrough and came up with my ideas for the Lone Prospect. Two years ago, I looked at my health and faced reality that I needed to try to get another source of income that I could get while sitting on my couch, writing. I started querying agents. Six to eight months ago, I decided to self-publish because even if I got an agent to look at my writing, it'd be another two years before I was published by a publisher. And in two years, I could publish 5 books myself plus whatever short stories I wanted.

Who knows where I'll be in two years? I don't.

Even if I'm not getting a lot of sales. Even if I'm working part time jobs or as a consultant or whatever I need to do to keep a roof over my head and food in my fridge. I won't be a failure. I will just be at another part of my journey. As long as I don't give up and I keep writing. (I can't stop writing. I get frustrated and depressed if I stop writing.) Then I'm still a success because I'm moving forward slowly, one step at a time.

One of the major realizations I had in this journey is that I don't need outside affirmation that my writing is good, that I have good stories to tell. I know I'm a good writer. I know I'm a creative person. There are stories I write, that I only share with one person because I know she'll like them too and she wants them. And if I didn't have her, I wouldn't have to share the stories with anyone else. Because they are for me. (Self indulgent character driven stories of properties I don't own and one or two I do.)

The stories I write and that I do share, they're for me too. I share them because I hope others will also enjoy them. I hope that others will find meaning in them even if it is a few hours of entertainment. But it took a great deal of time for me to come to this realization and that if people have problems with the stories I write and the way I write them (outside of technical things like grammar and missing words) then they aren't the audience for my stories. Their opinions don't have to sway me from doing what I love to do.

I don't say this out of arrogance or hubris. I say this out of confidence. I know what I do well and while I may stretch myself in order to grow and improve, it won't change my style and method of writing. There are things I can't do and don't need to do in order to tell my stories. And I acknowledge those things and move on. There are enough people out there that could and would tear me down and shred me apart that I don't need to do it to myself. (And there are lots of lovely people out there too that could build me up.)

I say this because the moment I let an outside opinion define my success, then that person has power over me. That lack of power can undermine my confidence, make me second guess myself. It takes way from me being single minded in my goals to write. This leads to fear of not being good enough, of being rejected and of being a failure. Fear leads to depression. Depression leads to being paralyzed.

And then I'd be stuck on my journey, not willing to go forward, unable to go backwards. And even if you're just taking that first step in your journey by opening a document and writing the first sentence, you've come too far to stop now.

As long as you keep going, as long as you stay on your journey, then you can't be a failure. There may be mountains and molehills or turning molehills into mountains. There will be flat spaces where it's happy and easy and storms when it's hard and you're anxious and stressed and not sure if getting out of bed in the morning is worth it. There can be twists and turns. Sure, maybe your journey will veer away from writing. Maybe there will be a new passion and a new place to put your energy. But that doesn't mean you're a failure as a writer or a person. It just means that there is a new exciting path ahead of you.

Please, don't give up on it.

[paellaplease]

Firebird | Chap.2

Summary: 105 years before the hero’s resurrection, a young woman trained under ancient knowledge once forgotten- enchants her very first weapon. For the sake of research and in search of a warrior worthy to wield it, she is sent to Rito Village, immediately clashing with the local archer, Revali, a bird too prideful for his own good.

Surviving deadly road-trips, sudden drops, and a hand bearing a Sheikah rune with a penchant for catching fire, she slowly begins to uncover the secrets behind who she once was and the old evil that lies asleep in the mountains beyond.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 2: The Chief

Good news and bad news. Fate plots her course and laughs in her face.

*

  The enchanted dagger hung heavy from inside its decorative scabbard as she ascended the multiple wooden steps taking her near the summit of Rito Village. Along with her backpack full of notes, books and supplies, she was also unnecessarily armed to the teeth, by her standards at least. 

Teacher carries twice this many weapons to a village picnic. 

Maiya felt silly, listening to the dagger at her hip clank noisily alongside the sound of her other sheathed throwing knives. She felt more like a bag of metal than a mysterious enchanter from a land far away. The thought made her snort.

The young woman adjusted her now shoulder length hair, tucking it underneath her newly acquired bandana. She quietly mourned for its comforting weight when it used to hang long and healthy at her waist. Brushing it out in the morning was one of her few indulgences, and now with it gone she felt an uncomfortable gap in her usual routine.

The bandana was yellow and scratchy, but it was cheap and did the job in hiding her lopsided haircut. This is your punishment for not paying attention to your surroundings.

Maiya shrugged, clicking her tongue and clutching the railing at her side with a bit more force than necessary. There were more important things to worry about. 

It’s just hair.

Humming a cheerful old folk-song, she attempted to summon her final dredges of courage as the number of stairs left began to dwindle. She was nearing the top and getting closer to the Rito Chieftain’s office.

As much as she hated to admit it, the near second brush with death had rattled her enough to have cost her sleep the night before. And she found herself more of a nervous wreck this lovely morning than she usually was. Comfy and plush the bed may have been at the Rito Stable, she spent the evening tossing and turning, plagued by night terrors.

For a moment, she thought it was the same nightmare she usually saw. Skeletons on horseback, metal clashing on metal. Voices, so many voices, calling out for her to run .

However this time instead of a sword plunging into her gut as she turned away, it was an arrow, coated in blue feathers, soaring straight and true towards her, piercing her skull’s soft flesh just between her eyes.

Maiya had awoken early that morning, finding it difficult to return to sleep. She packed her things and tipped the stablemaster, setting out for the village which blurred the lines between earth and sky, and reaching the connecting bridge by early afternoon.

Anxiously, she flexed her gloved left hand, willing the aching buzz of energy emanating from the rune underneath to recede. The soft glow seemed bluer, it’s shine reminding her of the Rito she had met the day before. 

Not all travellers that passed by the forge at Akkala were sunshine and rainbows. Some were quite icy, or downright uncivil, her mentor not wasting any time to throw them out should they had overstayed their welcome. 

However…him. What was his name again? That Rito. He was rude, callous, and absolutely full of it. Which made his willingness to help her all the more suspicious and confusing. 

Maiya half expected the oversized bird to lead her towards a bokoblin camp in revenge to her interrupting his target practice. However, she was pleasantly surprised to find that his directions were indeed correct, and that she found herself back onto the Highway within hours instead of days. 

What a weird guy. 

At her thoughts, her hand glowed brighter. Surprisingly, the usual accompanying pain felt dulled. Almost…non-existent. 

She glared at her left hand, pulsing like a blue beacon underneath her glove. Hush , she thought. 

Another worrying memory gnawed at her brain as she climbed the final steps, clutching the railing to catch her breath. Back there, faced with the threat of imminent death, the rune on her hand reacted accordingly, reaching out to neutralize whatever threat was heading towards its host. 

In hindsight, the protective fire wouldn’t have made it anyway, and the arrow would have killed her instantly. But the memory of a glowing blue light and the confusion she felt at a heavily feathered something running towards her still remained. 

Maiya grimaced, looking out at the bright, blue sky to her right. ‘Helpful’ as the Rito archer may have been, she wonders how friendly he would be if he finds out she nearly burnt him to a crisp. Good riddance. I hope we never cross paths again.

Three more steps, two, then one. She reached the entrance of the Chieftain’s office. What was a light breeze from below was now a strong gust of wind at the summit, playing with the wisps of hair that had escaped her bandana and making her clutch her brown traveler’s coat tighter as she suppressed a violent shiver. 

The outside of the hut was decorated with colourful silks and cloth, all printed with a white symbol of an oddly shaped half-circle with two wing-like geometric shapes fanning out from either side. She recognised it from her history classes with her mentor, the sacred Rito sigil. An emblem that had survived centuries of history. 

Along with the banners, shells and chimes were strung up and hung along sections of the hut. They danced merrily in the wind, creating soft music which worked well in reducing some of her nervous panic. She wondered where they came from, the shells in particular, some looked to be from mostly molluscs. 

Someone to her left just cleared their throat.

“Uh…Miss? Are you alright?”

Maiya blinked, shaking her head and turning to whoever just spoke. 

It was a Rito, clad in brown leather armour. He had piercing blue eyes, which stood out like two bright stars against the coal black of his plumage. The partisan spear gripped in his right wing, and the bright red sash with the Rito emblem secured neatly to his waist indicated that he was probably some sort of guard.

One second passed. Then another.

Oh dear.

“I was staring off into space again wasn’t I?”

Surprisingly, a small, shy smile graced the guard’s severe stony face. “Perhaps,” he said, shrugging awkwardly. “You looked like you were trying very hard to set that yellow cloth on fire with your mind.”

Maiya let out a shaky laugh. Yikes, bit too close to home, birdie. 

“Sorry,” she said. Rocking back on her heels and scratching the back of her head in embarrassment. “Anxious habit, I guess I’m a bit nervous to meet your chieftain…”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about.” The guard smiled kindly. “Chief Kamori is a wise and just leader. He has been dedicating himself to our village since I was a chick." 

He quickly surveyed her appearance. Though his gaze was purely calculating, Maiya still felt a tad self-conscious as his eyes took in her worn coat and old leathers. The guard seemed to understand where some of her stress was coming from, beak quirking into a serene smile. "He worries little about formalities, Hylian guest, so do not feel concerned over not packing your finest silks and messing up your curtsey,” he winked good-naturedly.

Thank Hylia .

The guard turned his head towards the Chieftain’s hut, “I’ve watched him govern our great village for many years now. He treats all that meet him with respect and honesty.” The Rito then stood to attention, stamping his staff on the ground and making Maiya jump.

“We only ask that you do the same.”

Filled with new understanding, Maiya’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s a reasonable request to ask for,” she smiled. 

She stepped forward to the cloth door, “Oh! By the way,” she said. “My name is Maiya, what’s yours?" 

"Talako,” he said. “Protector of the Chief and Guardian to the peoples of Rito Village." 

"Thank you Talako, hope to see you around I guess?”

“I hope so too, Miss Maiya." 

And with that, she pulled the curtains back and stepped inside. 

The Chieftain’s office was small and humble. Minimally decorated save for the large oak table which sat at the corner of the room. Glass lamps strung with carefully woven rope hung from the high ceiling, swinging lightly in the breeze. 

Tall windows surrounded her from all sides, all kept wide open as the cool Tabantha air danced and whistled through the room, carrying the sweet scent of flowers and fruit. Beyond was a stunning view of the snowy Hebra mountainside, with rolling hills and white capped peaks which disappeared into the clouds. 

Finally, in the middle of the room sat the Chieftain.

The Chief’s eyes were kind. His right eye was a dark shade of green, the same colour of grass after rain in the lush fields of her hometown. It was relatively clear, unharmed, contrasting with the milky white of his left eye, a long, old scar running jagged across it.

He was a rather large Rito, widely built and towering over her by a fair margin. His brown feathers were fading to grey in his old age, with the ones that grew under his beak decorated with silver plates and beads, braided to resemble a three pointed beard. 

She’d never met a Chief before. Maiya didn’t know what she was expecting. Someone grander maybe? A throne instead of a rocking chair? But a part of her felt relieved. This Chief looked understanding, fair. He was dressed conservatively in simple cream clothes, the only splash of colour being a green scarf printed with the Rito emblem tied neatly around his neck. 

Maiya’s eyes continued to roam the room, noticing the tapestry that hung at the back wall. Shells and feathers were woven into the fabric, with splashes of beautiful colour laced into its intricate weaving and embroidery. 

It depicted a surprisingly wingless Rito, golden light surrounding them like a halo. They were dressed in a red and gold robe, which fanned out dramatically across the tapestry like a crashing wave. Flying down from the heavens to meet the flightless bird was a giant serpent like dragon. Its scales were the colour of wildfire, with outstretched claws that gripped and curled around a snow-white mountain. The Rito was reaching an arm up, as if to grab the bright star which rested in the beast’s gaping maw. 

It was beautiful.

The Chieftain held out a wing, "Hoo! Hello!” he gestured for her to step further into the room. “Come in, let me have a better look at you! These eyes aren’t the same as they used to be, more a bat than a hawk unfortunately.”

The leader of the Rito squinted his good eye at her as she approached, widening as she stepped into the light. The expression he had on his face was puzzling. Open, almost trusting. As if he recognised the person standing before him now. Which would be impossible as this was their first meeting. 

Stop overthinking. 

“Hoo,” he smiled, “Are you the young Maiya that Nisandrey has been telling me so much about?”

That caught her off-guard. It was rare that she ever heard her mentor’s name spoken out loud. Let alone so casually by someone she’s never met.

“Yes…that’s me. Do you know my Teacher well?”

“Hmm,” the Chieftain said, turning his head to the stack of letters on the oak table. One of them was still rolled open, her mentor’s signature in the bottom in her favourite red ink.

“She and I have been friends for a very long time, young one.” He breathed, voice as light as the wind around them. “She says that you are progressing well in your studies.”

Maiya felt her ears go red, biting her tongue and clasping her hands behind her back to stop her from yelling out and fist pumping in the air. HOLY SHIT! YES! Yeah! Woohoo-

Instead.

She bowed her head bashfully. “Thank you, Chieftain. That is good to hear, especially coming from her." 

The wise Rito chuckled, "No need to be so humble, young Maiya.” He then began to sit up slowly, minding his back as his talons touched the floor. “Where are my manners? I am Chief Kamori of the Rito Village. But you may just call me Kamori if you wish." 

He walked to the side of the room, pulling a chair towards his and gesturing to her with an open wing to take a seat. "It has been a long time since an Enchanter had stepped foot on this village.” She thanked him and sat gently into the plush chair. Rito furniture, there’s just nothing else like it!

“Hardly an Enchanter,” Maiya said, relieving her shoulders from the weight of her travel pack. “I was granted the title just a moment before I left.”

Kamori smiled, eyes far away. “Ancient tales say that to be called an Enchanter means to have endured years of hard-work and intense study.” Sadness seemed to mingle with his voice as he continued. “Regardless of when it was made official, you are what you are now, do not belittle the efforts which have brought you to this point.” 

She gazed down at her left hand, wondering to what extent her mentor revealed to Kamori of her abilities. Enchanting was a science as old as ancient history, but the methods she used were rather unconventional. Moreso magical even- an opinion Teacher would never agree with. If she focused hard enough, she could feel the active hum of energy running through the veins and nerves underneath the lines of her scar. The rune on her hand made everything easier, but the pain and fatigue that followed almost always trumped the allowances. 

Many evenings she wondered if it was truly her skill and knowledge aiding her, or the rune acting as a permanent crutch. She was happy with her accomplishment, she wouldn’t deny that, but making a point to constantly take credit felt wrong somehow. Like she was cheating. 

Maiya’s lips curved, bitter. Pride was never her forte anyway. 

A short pause settled between her and the Chief when she finally remembered why she was here in the first place. Business now, self-deprecating internal rant later. Quickly, she reached down to the enchanted dagger at her side, unbuckling the scabbard and presenting it to the Rito Chieftain. “It will not harm anyone while sheathed, but please still be careful not to touch it,” she said. 

“There’s a defect I still need to work through. From what I gathered, the elemental energy infused within it is still tied to mine. Teacher believes the ancient masters met this issue as well in the beginning stages.” She frowned, shaking her head. Don’t think he would appreciate a lecture . “The dagger burns all except for me, a powerful enchanter, and…"

“The warrior you deem worthy to wield it,” Kamori finished, smiling knowingly. 

Maiya’s shoulders dropped. There it is. “Yes,” she breathed. “And you probably know that’s the reason why I am here.”

“Hooo, you are correct child. Dear Nisandrey…”

Maiya shivered. Such an endearing term before such a terrifying woman’s name was so unnatural.

“…has informed me of the details. You are very lucky, we have already named the village’s most skilled archer and fighter a few years ago. During the time, Nisandrey was invited to survey our new line of lightweight armour and weaponry, but unfortunately she had to decline due to previously scheduled…appointments.” The way his voice rose and dipped at the word appointments in a rough imitation of her mentor’s own accent made her laugh in surprise. Kamori sat back in his rocking chair, pleased. 

"I warn you enchanter, the Rito warrior is skilled, but young. He can be quite vocal of his achievements and I’ve been told this can be slightly off-putting at times,” He paused, deliberating over how he should salvage her opinion of their chosen after his quick admission. “However, he is inherently good of heart and extremely diligent. I’m sure you will both find a way to get along.”

A bell chimed in the distance, accompanied by the sound of flapping wings.

"Hoo! I believe that is him now.”

Maiya stood from her seat, sheathing the dagger and turning to face the mysterious Rito that had just entered the room. 

“Welcome back home, Revali, Pride of the Rito.”

Growing up, Maiya never really had much in the way of an extended family, or friends rather outside from the other smiths who frequented the workshop. 

Hence, she can’t say she’s ever had the honour of experiencing the specific, delicious concoction of embarrassment, anger, and surprise from being on the other end of a prank or practical joke. And for many years, she was happy to keep it that way. Till now.

This is a joke right. 

Her eyes were wide. Scanning the newcomer in disbelief.

Jade anklets, blue feathers, a familiar scowling beak. 

Haha…

I’m in danger.

The chair behind her let out a loud screech , and she belatedly realised that she was unconsciously backing away and towards the nearest exit, which in this case was a window opening up to an at least 30 story drop.

She could feel her heart galloping in her ears.

To make matters worse, in response to her panic, the rune underneath her glove started to glow once more, sizzling the leather. A trail of black smoke rose from the ruined material, making her predicament obvious even as she tried to hide her hand behind her back.

Across the room, the Rito known as Revali stood, royal blue feathers ruffling as he slowly began to process who exactly he was looking at.

“What are you doing here?”

Maiya raised her smoking hand and waved awkwardly, “Uh…hello again.”

'Idiot! You big dumbass! What the hell was that?’

I don’t know I panicked!

“Hooo,” Kamori smiled, oblivious to the heavy cloud of animosity that now hovered over the two. “It seems you both already know each other. Excellent.”

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Fast Forward (part 1)

Back at it again with another time travel fic. This time it’s a Lewis fic, and he’s travelling forward in time. (LewVivArt)

Self-indulgent, sappy, angst and melodrama. Also, this is leaning towards LewVivArt. Don’t usually focus on ships in my fics so we’ll see how this goes.

Summary: Lewis wakes up in a future where he’s been dead for two years.

Part 2: here 

“You’re sure it’s fine.”

Lewis watches Vivi hover next to Arthur, on her knees, peering under the van to watch Arthur do whatever mechanical thing he did when he lay down on that roller thing to work on the van’s undercarriage.

“Yes, Vivi. Everything is good to go. I’m just giving her a once over for good luck,” Arthur responds, voice slightly muffled.

Vivi leans forward, cheek almost touching the concrete in an attempt to follow Arthur’s movements.

“It made that weird squeaking noise the other day.”

Arthur huffs, “That was the brake pads, which I’ve replaced. Pass me that wrench.”

The arm that Lewis can still see waves towards a slime silver tool which kind of looked like a wrench. Vivi is again distracted, trying to follow Arthur, so he pushes himself out of the doorway and weaves his way around the workshop to grab the tool. He kneels next to Vivi, putting it in Arthur’s still waving hand.

“I’m sure the van is fine Viv. Arthur knows what he’s doing.”

Vivi sits upright to give him a look, “I’m not doubting Arthur. Just making sure there are no more road trip delays. The Mystery Skulls Machine needs to be 100% ready to take on all manner of ghosts that we’re definitely going to find while we solve all those unsolved cases.”

“Lewis hand me the tool next to the one you just gave me,” Arthur interjects, and Lewis glances down, locating and handing Arthur the requested item, before turning back to Vivi.  

“Ghosts,” He starts slowly to be provocative, “Right. I’m sure the van can handle whatever the ghosts throw at it.”

“Is that a hint of scepticism I detect,” Vivi leans forward, taking his bait, giving him a light poke in the chest, “We don’t take too kindly to sceptics in these parts.”

Lewis grins, also leaning in, giving Vivi a raised eyebrow, “That’s unfortunate. What are you going to do about it.”

“Ah,” Arthur’s exasperated voice interrupts, “Can you two shuffle back, I can’t get out with you guys sitting there.”

Lewis, still grinning, heaves himself to his feet, holding a hand out for Vivi. Vivi sniggers, taking his offered hand so he can pull her upright.

“Sorry Arthur,” They both say in unison, watching Arthur shuffle around under the van, finishing up with whatever he’d been doing. A second later he slides out, smears or oil across his cheek, so it matches his off white work shirt.

“Everything good?” Lewis asks, offering a hand to Arthur as well. His friend heaves himself into a seated position, muscles along his shoulders shifting.

“Yeah. It’s all fine. Like I said, I was only doing a tune-up for good luck,” Arthur grips his hand, and Lewis almost forgets to pull, slightly distracted by Arthur’s smile. It’s warm almost reminding him of Vivi’s playful smirk but more relaxed and easy. The mental comparison throws him through a loop for a hot second.

“Well, that’s good, cause I can’t wait to get out of this place and see something that’s not cactus and dirt for once,” Vivi is talking, bouncing with pent up energy, “We should start packing now, so we’re ready to leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Haha, sure,” Arthur laughs, wiping his hands clean on his shirt, “let me just park the van out front to make it easier.”

“Come on Lew,” Vivi tugs at his hand then frowns, face wrinkling, pulling back. Lewis realises a second too late that his hands are now also covered in grease.

“Yuck,” Vivi grouses, “Arthur, how is it that we get covered in this stuff when you’re the only one doing mechanic work.”

“Bad luck?” Arthur offers with a loose shrug, quickly retreating to his van.

“You know where the sink is,” He calls back at them.

Vivi huffs, watching Arthur reverse out of the garage. She then turns and gives him a contemplative glance.

“You know. I only get this oily stuff on my hands when I touch you.”

Lewis eyes snap away from where he’s tracking Arthur and onto Vivi who leans in towards him, wigging her eyebrows.

“Uh. I was being helpful?”

Consideration and maybe realisation flash across Vivi’s face and she grins.

“Helpful. Right. I’m sure that’s all. Nothing else?”

This is new. Lewis stares at Vivi, unsure of what she’s hinting at exactly. He’s still getting used to this flirting thing, and Vivi is better at it than him, so maybe he’s missing something.

“Let’s go wash our hands and pack the van,” He suggests in place of addressing her question. Vivi seems disappointed. He has no idea why, a few seconds ago she’d been all but pushing him out the door in her rush to start packing.  

>>>

Long into the evening, after the van is packed and everything is ready for the road trip, the exchange is still playing over in his mind. It repeats on a seemingly endless loop. Arthur…Vivi. He liked them both. Being officially with Vivi is still new, and he’s getting used to thinking of her as more than a friend. But, he’s never really considered Arthur the same way.

Or had he? Lewis frowns up at the ceiling of Arthur’s living room. He is stretched out on Arthur’s couch, and Vivi is snoring loudly on a mattress next to him.

Now, considering the whole thing, he doesn’t think he’s ever talked to Arthur about him and Vivi being in a relationship. What did Arthur think about it? It’s weird that he has never thought to ask.

He loves Vivi, her energy, enthusiasm, the get it done attitude, can’t image his world without her really. But he also feels the same way about Arthur and his more methodical approach to life and openness with all emotion from happiness to fear. Arthur who is his best friend. Lewis ponders the comparison. He’s not sure what to do with this information. Did Arthur feel the same way? What would Vivi think? Should he broach the topic with either of them?

He doesn’t come to a conclusion instead drifting off to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

>>>

Lewis awakens feeling oldy heavy headed like he has slept longer than he should. He is still on Arthur’s old couch, but Vivi’s mattress has been moved. He stares at the empty floor in slight confusion. Had Vivi and Arthur packed it up without waking him? Strange. He doesn’t consider himself a heavy sleeper and Vivi wasn’t a quiet person so it should have woken him.  

The sound of a oiled pan spitting and the distinct smell of eggs frying distract him from the conundrum. Lewis hoists himself upright to peer over into the kitchen. Arthur’s lounge and kitchen are joined into one open-plan room so he can just make out the back of Arthur’s head and shoulders by the stove.

There is the sound of salt shaker clattering over and Arthur swears under his breath. Lewis lets a small smile pull at his lips. The only time he hears Arthur swear is when he’s trying to cook. He’s not quite sure why Arthur’s decided to make breakfast when it’s usually Lewis who handles anything kitchen related but he’s not about to complain. Though, it is odd that neither Arthur or Vivi had decided to wake him. Weren’t they supposed to hit the road as early as possible?

Lewis yawns, trying to rid himself of that odd heavy headedness, swinging around so he can stand. The curve of his back cracks as stiff muscles loosen. Now he’s standing a few paces from Arthur, the couch and an island benchtop separating them.

Lewis opens his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘good morning’, but Arthur beats him to it, turning,  still holding the pan of eggs.

“Hey Viv, hope you like burnt eggs because…”

Several things happen in quick succession.

Their eyes meet. Arthur freezes, face draining of colour. The pan clatters, falling from Arthur’s hand and onto the floor, cracking against the floorboards. The eggs and hot oil spatter over the bench, ground and other's side.

Lewis makes a sound of alarm, “Whoa Arthur. Are you okay.”

He starts towards the kitchen intent on offering aid and forcing Arthur’s hand under some cold water.

“Stay back,” Arthur snaps, backing up, stumbling when he almost slips on the now cooling oil.

Lewis hesitates at the panic in Arthur’s voice, eyes darting around, trying to find its source.

“What? What’s wrong,”

The sound of clicking across the polished wooden floor draws his attention towards the door nearest to Arthur. Mystery trots in, ears pricked and alert, probably in response to the sound of Arthur dropping the pan.

Lewis doesn’t think too much of it, more focused on helping Arthur, until a loud growl and the flash of teeth has him backpedalling. Mystery’s snap misses by an inch and Lewis takes several steps back, eyeing the surprisingly aggressive dog wearily.

“Mystery? It’s me boy. You know. Lewis.”

Lewis has never seen Mystery attack anyone, so he’s understandably unprepared for the sudden hostility.

“Don’t move,” Arthur is biting, “I don’t know what’s happening, who you are, but your trick isn’t going to work.”

“What are you talking about,” Lewis tries to edge around Mystery and almost gets bitten for his trouble, “What’s going on. Why is Mystery acting up?”

His brain then processes Arthur’s questions, “Wait. What do you mean you don’t know who I am?”

“Lewis has been missing for almost two years now. You’re expecting me to believe he would just waltz back in here like nothing.”

“What? No, I haven’t,” He objects feeling very thrown at the aggression in Arthur’s tone, “Is this some sort of prank because it’s not very funny.”

Arthur glares. Arthur’s never glared at him like that before.

“Whatever this is,” Arthur growls, “just… don’t. Lewis was officially pronounced dead yesterday. You can’t be here.”

“But…” He starts, hesitates, then continues in distressed exasperation, “I am Lewis….and I AM right here!”

Note: Another of my time travel fic which has been sitting around for a while, now out in the world. 

Part 2: here

[backofthebookshelf]

some vintage season two magnus archives theories

(this is 1000% self-indulgence, ignore me)

Dec. 11, 2016 - I will bet you anything that [Jonathan (we always called him Jonathan back then)] had a serious run-in with a supernatural something early in life, and he’s…avoiding becoming the vampire-hunter guy, but only because he’s squeamish.

Dec. 16, 2016 - if grbookworm1818 is not someone at the Institute then nothing means anything / What do we think: Did Gerard kill his mother, or was she turning herself into a book and he just cleaned up the mess?

Dec. 29, 2016 - I kind of wonder if our antiquarian friend has any relationship to the guy in Amsterdam with the coffin. It can’t have been the same person, obviously - if nothing else it’s strongly implied that whatever was in the coffin ate that guy - but for some reason I keep expecting that story to come back, and not just Breekon & Hope.

Jan. 9, 2017 - Can we think of The Archivist as a title with meaning?  I know Rusty Quill uses it to refer to Jonathan Sims the character since the writer decided to use his own name.  But does it have in universe meaning as well?(@fedorasandstuff)

Jan. 11, 2017 - But the real question is…Are the tunnels under the archives also Michael? [Can't get 'em all right.]

Jan. 12, 2017 - Also of concern: I’ve been assuming for a while that some of the factions in whatever supernatural chess game/cold war is going on were assuming that Jonathan as Archivist was roughly on a par with Gertrude as Archivist (actually, I’m pretty sure that some of them are not totally clear on the difference between one human and another, but it amounts to the same thing), and Jonathan has basically just admitted to Michael that he has no fucking clue what’s going on, and if Gertrude meant to leave him anything, he didn’t get it. (Except possibly some kind of protection on the Archive itself, which may or may not be directly her influence.) And we still don’t know if Michael is part of a faction or what any of the faction’s goals might be, except that Michael thinks that “this place” has an interesting impact on things and it doesn’t want that to stop just yet. Basically Jonathan’s just lost a card he didn’t know he could have played, which is almost definitely not good. [At least we know Jon isn't trying to manipulate anyone, he couldn't if he tried.]

Jan. 12, 2017 - And I’m kind of screaming internally? I have a few more headcanons now, I suppose? But mainly, the lightless flame/closed eye cult, seems to have it out for anyone associated with the seeing eye (and also Gertrude Robinson). Considering that Johann von Württembergs tomb and book collection also had the seeing eye as a symbol, I wonder if the Magnus Institute is somehow connected to the seeing eye as well. I have no idea where I’m going with this, or if there is some connection, but yeah. (@flammenkobold) [There are literally two notes on this post, my like and my reblog]

Jan. 12, 2017 - But my strong suspicion is that most creatures in this universe, and Michael especially, are not one of a type, they’re their own thing. But I do think that we’ve seen more of Michael than is immediately obvious. (More to come as I progress through the re-listen, but abandoned houses are…definitely a thing.)

Jan. 12, 2017 - It would amuse me tremendously if the whole of the Magnus Institute boils down to a grant-generating machine for the Archives.

Jan. 13, 2017 - But Gertrude died literally THE DAY AFTER “Antonio Blake” came in to give his statement about his dream about her death…so who filed that statement? Was someone just cleaning up in preparation for the new Archivist and stuck it in a box? Or was someone else moving files around for some other reason after Gertrude’s death? [This one still hasn't been answered, wahey!]

Jan. 14, 2017 - I don’t think Gertrude was… arrogant enough, if that’s the word I want, to believe she’d live forever… unless there’s more going on with her than I’ve even begun to suspect.  But she may have had a beginning Archivist box ready.  (@fedorasandstuff)

Jan. 15, 2017 - [in response to a question about your favorite one-off character]: Julia Montauk. I love that she’s not in denial but she’s coping pretty well – both about her father being a serial killer and about the supernatural. She’s pretty sure there’s something fucked up going on above and beyond the serial murder, but she’s happy leaving it alone, thank you very much, she just wants to get it out of her head so that she can move on with her life. I hope she’s still doing well.

Jan. 16, 2017 - [notes on re-listening] I’m torn on whether the apparition Lensik sees in the house causes burning because Raymond Fielding died in a fire, or because it’s somehow connected to the what I’m referring to as the Fire Nation faction (see also: First Aid, Burnt Offering). / Honestly, Trevor is so damn cool that I’m willing to bet he never crops up again. / Is Jonathan being watched by the Beholders? (I’m becoming more convinced that the closed eye/open eye isn’t two different factions but two levels of the same faction: the bronze versus silver pendant would seem to support that.) / “I believe every word. I’ve seen what Leitner’s work can do.” Which, all things considered, is pretty strong stuff coming from Jonathan Sims. I wonder if it was a run-in with a Leitner that got him working for the Institute in the first place?

Jan. 17, 2017 - I was just thinking about the last episode and making myself sad because John was ready to physically fight Michael over Helen doesn’t even KNOW Michael took Sasha (@regulusly) #shit is gonna go DOWN when he finds out

Jan. 18, 2017 - You know, I’m starting to think that I really like Gerard Keay.

Feb. 3, 2017 - Is Jonathan’s sarcasm his only defense against the creeping influence of The Archivist in his life?

Feb. 9, 2017 - new theory: everyone working at the Institute is a pod person. They hire potheads and dropouts and people with weird academic backgrounds and as soon as they get close to anything real they get replaced by beings from an alternate dimension, just like Not!Sasha. They missed Tim because he was out on medical leave after the attack; it’s just a matter of time now. Martin’s secret is that he’s been working there since 2002 and kind of knows everything and is not yet a pod person.

Feb. 15, 2017 - Although what do they both expect?  To find a tape where Gertrude says “No!  Elias, you Fiend!  You’ll never get away with it!” (@fedorasandstuff)

Mar. 1, 2017 - The new episode has me thinking again about the Observer - the presence in the Archives that Jonathan thinks has an opinion about what his opinion about statements is, also probably connected to the panopticon prison, the nurse who felt the thing watching her when Gerard Kaey was in the hospital, the open eye and/or the closed eye motif that keeps recurring, and whatever it was that caused Gertrude to cut the eyes out of pictures of people on her books. Specifically, it has me thinking about the observer effect - that sometimes things change when they’re seen. This is a major horror trope, although it’s not usually called out so directly: monsters that move only when you’re not looking at them, things that lose their power when they’re seen and named directly, things that can exist only in the darkness. (There’s a nice resonance with the Montorks for you.) Is there something Gertrude was doing that she didn’t want the Observer to know about, or that could only be done unseen? What is the Observer - is it a direct relic of the panopticon (it would make sense as a genius loci kind of like Michael) or was the panopticon built in response to it, or to summon it? Whose purposes does the Observer serve - is it allied with the Institute on the whole, or with any particular faction? Or is it like Michael in that it has its own purposes that everyone else has relatively little to do with? (That seems unlikely to me at this point; I think the Observer is one of the core story points of this season.) Is it watching for a reason, or does it watch simply so that things are seen and known? #the magnus archives #yep it's meta time #i'm becoming attached to the idea that the observer is there for the protection of the archivist #somehow

May 17, 2017 - As to the Archives and the structures it imposes…I’m starting to wonder if it isn’t just that the Archives won’t let them go, but if there is a specific set of roles that it needs filled. We know Gertrude didn’t have assistants, and I’m starting to suspect that that was intentional on her part. But what if the Archives doesn’t just latch onto people and refuse to let go of them? What if it needs there to be a skeptic, and a caretaker, and the paranoid one, and - is not!Sasha part of the Archives’ structure, or is she a disruption of it? I feel like finding out more about where not!Sasha comes from and what her goals might be will be a key turning point in our understanding of this whole mess.

June 15, 2017 - Theory for the finale: Jonathan goes down into the tunnels, gets himself in hopelessly over his head, Tim and Martin come to the rescue, not!Sasha is revealed

June 28, 2017 - I’m starting to wonder if the real division in the supernatural ecosystem isn’t between things that use humans as vehicles and things that don’t? [Hey, uh, are there Powers that don't have human Avatars? This might still be a thing.]

June 29, 2017 - I do like the idea that there are people who basically cannot be fucked with, but then - why go to the Archives? She isn’t interested in a followup, she isn’t trying to process anything, she’s just sharing data. That screams pod person to me: something is trying to get Jonathan’s attention.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Nurse Café - Chapter 1/6: “You’re Not Supposed to Drink Coffee This Late, Sir”

NEXT CHAPTER

Summary: Life could have honesty been simpler than that for Hokuto, a second-year Liteature major. There's, however, someone out there willing to just make it easier on him.

Fandom: Ensemble Stars! (College/Coffeeshop AU) Ships: HokuAn (Anzu/Hokuto)

Wordcount: 1.5K words

Notes: C'mon, the occasion was too tempting for me not to title this fic after the real banger that is Susumu Hirasawa's masterpiece, "Nurse Café".

Your boi is working on his big-ass Arc-V fic project, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do and writing a nice little sickfic. AKA: I'm bursting that fandoms's door like I've always done, which is with a sickfic nobody wanted but me (and maybe my friend @nehamerchant123 who got me into this mess in the first place) (btw go check her cake business, she’s working on her cardd page for it)

I've been into this game's characters for a whole three weeks but I am not giving a shit I am doing this. I also don't know anything about colleges at all in any part of the world, I don't even know the Sorbonne because I've been there like thrice and it's always been in the same parts anyway (to be fair, I'm not even attending it yet lmao) It's very self-indulgent so it's short and split in two, I dunno, I may combine the two chapters some other day. It's probably also OOC, but whatever yeet

AO3 version available here.

----------

On second thought, his life may have been a mess, lately. For someone who liked organization, keeping a pace and thinking everything thoroughly to reach as much perfection as possible, he sure had allowed things to get messy without meaning to. To be fair to himself, problems had started piling up suddenly and at an incredible speed, to the point he didn’t know in what order he should have attempted fixing them: should he prioritize taking care of his grandmother who broke her leg not too long ago, his studies increasing in volume or his club duties, even if his leader was getting on his nerves with his weird, nonsensical shenanigans?

At first, he tried managing everything at once, but after some weeks of pulling almost-all-nighters, he decided to seek alternatives. It didn’t quite work out as planned, but at least, he had found a way to survive the storm for now: the local coffeeshop’s espressos. For someone who used to be so on-the-nose with his health, that was a strange choice, sure, but being friends with people like Subaru Ahehoshi made one adaptable and needing to find solutions quickly, if just temporary.

Not that he didn’t hate relying on coffee in the first place.

 His new routine, solidified by a couple months spent tuning it to maximize time use and task efficiency (albeit it was still a bit stiff, like he had always been), consisted of doing the most he can, not fall onto his bed and immediately find sleep before getting woken up by his own anxiety, and continue on his day by getting a cup of coffee in the same café, each time, to the same cashier. It was always the same order in the same place at similar hours of the evening, which gave it a sense of comfort he wasn’t against in times where he wasn’t sure how he should have asked for help. All of what he was doing is stuff he was supposed to be doing by himself, after all: he shouldn’t have needed someone else’s help for that, didn’t need to bring them through the mud with him (even if Isara had offered to help him, he had always declined: Isara may have very well been the only man he knew that had constantly been busier than him).

His grandma has told him before to lay it off, to let her do her thing and for him to focus on himself. While he intended on forcing himself not to barge into her life constantly, he quickly found himself doing it again even after her scolding: he just couldn’t not worry over it, he had to check if she was doing fine and if she was getting the hang of things. Ah, how thick-headed he’s been!

(In a way, maybe he put himself in that mess to begin with. Should have applied his own advice and tasted his own medicine).

 With a presentation dooming over his head for the next week and more drama club shenanigans, he had gotten backed in a corner: it was either researching for the entire night or risk getting an awful grade that’d sink his results to the bottom of the sea. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he had gone for the first option, albeit he was starting to think this may not have been the greatest idea he had ever had. (Actually, far from it). Still, that presentation wouldn’t write itself on its own, so he went for it and spent a night or two working on that while occupying his daytime with taking care of his grandma (who’s soon out of having her feet stuck in some cast, thank God for that) and club business and other college-related catastrophes strolling around in his life.

It was with a pounding headache and stumbling feet that he made it out of his flat and into the campus, heading straight for the café he always got his precious cup of coffee in (he was hesitating to put aspirin in the cup itself, but that sounded like a terrible idea, and he had left his aspirin tablets in his flat anyway), ignoring the gazes around him (it was easier to do when his sight is half-blurry to begin with). Once he was done with that necessary loss of time, he’d be able to come back to his actual work and that until he’d be finished with it. If he was productive enough, he should have been done with that presentation’s slideshow by the time 5AM hits.

 He entered the café, heard an unfamiliar bell ring immediately as he opened and closed the door, and went straight for the counter like a drunkard entering a tavern. He didn’t care about it in the slighest: he pulls out his yens from his pocket, slams them on the counter and asks, in a groggy voice he doesn’t like to hear to himself, “hello, I’d like an espresso, please”, with the least charisma he could have mustered because he was that tired and he just wanted to be over with that damn presentation already.

It was only when he rose his eyes to face the barista that he realized he had entered the wrong café, right as he faced a high school classmate, friend, and probably something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on, whom had never worked at his usual café. He didn’t say anything, but gulped and swallowed his pride back in, and payed for his espresso by pushing the coins anyway (Ahehoshi would have jumped on the counter to get them: they were undeniably shinier than they should have been).

 “Good evening, sir, thank you for com…”

Silence.

“Hokuto, is that you?!”

That voice was no mistake: this was Anzu, from the Management course. This was going to be painful…

“Ah… Yeah…?” Oh God. What was he supposed to tell her? That he didn’t even know where he was walking anymore? That this was all a giant misunderstanding on his part?  “Yeah.”

“I’m not used to seeing you around here? How are you?”

“…Fine.” Something was missing. “I hope you’re doing well too.”

That wasn’t really good dialogue. Not that Anzu picked up in it: she was probably too busy trying to do her job.

“Here you go, Hokuto…” She put his cup on the counter and picked his coins. “You’re sure you should be drinking that at this time of the day? It’s late and you’ll have a hard time sleeping if you drink that now.” Then she muttered to herself: “looks like you’d benefit from a good night’s sleep too…”

“Thank you, have a goodnight.”

 He picked his cup and went to a table, legs feeling faint. There was nobody still around in the café: clearly, unlike his usual 24/7 place where there always was someone living in the night (the Sakuma brothers trying to avoid each other but finding themselves in the same place and Hajime taking part-time jobs were the firsts to come to his mind), this was a daytime place and he was all aone, stuck with his pounding headache and Anzu cleaning before closing. He had something like fifteen minutes to drink his fuming coffee and get out of there, but even his hands felt sluggish and unresponsive.

Maybe he really wanted to throw that presentation out of the window and just sleep for the next three days. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore anyway.

 After a few moments, he watched with bleary eyes and eyelids closing on their own Anzu walked to him and sit on the opposite side of the table, staring at him with an expression he couldn’t really read, before her hand arrived on his forehead. It was cold, unnaturally so, and he wondered if she didn’t have blood circulation problems like he was worried he could have had before. Yet, despite his rising concerns, he still let himself lean into it, too tired to really pay attention to how he was behaving. That was bad, awful even. He needed to gulp his coffee, so he did, burnt his tongue and throat, and was about to pack it when he noticed she was still staring at him.

“I… I need to go, is there something wrong?” He asked, hoping this would be enough.

“You…”

Huh. Okay.

“I’m leaving now, I’ll let you close the sh—”

 Black dots appeared in his sight as soon as he got up and he felt his body plunge forward, hand slipping instead of grabbing at the table, vision blurring until all he could feel was hands wrapping themselves around him and faint, muffled sounds resonating in the distance.

It was all over, wasn’t it? He couldn’t move nor feel anymore, right? What a way to end his rush… What way to finish the evening that he was supposed to finish his presentation on… That was his way to go? Huh… Not like he could resist against his own body finally turning on him.

 He had failed in a dramatic fashion, that was for sure.

And, to be honest, he kind of hated it.

[go-diane-winchester]

Misha Collins cant keep track of his own lies.

Misha ''I was a homeless kid' Collins was interviewed by an art magazine, because apparently he is very artsy fartsy.  Whilst given the opportunity to speak about his supposedly favoritist subject: himself, Misha couldn't  remember all the fallacies he had spouted over the years.  I guess Misha figured his mostly underage, deranged fanbase might be too busy, furiously fingering themselves to badly written fanfiction, to actually read something from an intellectual source.  Something tells me that, just like in the mugging case, this reporter wasn't quite buying his lies.  Here are some of the highlights, with Misha's self-indulgent rambling in italics, and with my running commentary in bold [the interviewer is in bold italics]:

''Like most kids, I liked making things with my hands, and my mother helped facilitate this when I was pretty young. But I followed that impulse to an apprentice-level devotion. I would seek out woodworkers when I was 10 or 11, going into shops and learning how to use a lathe or – just asking. I grew up in western Massachusetts, and by the time I got into high school I was fully into this – just talking to people and learning things from them in person.''

So his hippy, drug addict mom who stashed pot down her youngest child's underwear for fear of being arrested, and who, for a short time, raised poor Misha in a car, honed his artistic skills when he was pretty young?  When?  When they were living in the woods?  And using a bowl of ice as a refrigerator?  So either his story of his childhood is greatly exaggerated or....yeah, that's all I got.  How gullible does he think people are?

Then in high school, I needed a job, so I started doing some manual labor.

So whilst at his elite private school, where there are rich dads and moms dropping off their darlings every morning, Misha chooses manual labor.  He likes to talk to people but he didn't speak to Mr and Mrs Moneybags?  He could have been a petty gopher in one of their companies and fared better.  After all, he needed a job.  I wonder why he chose ''manual labor''?  And why he chose to word it like that, instead of saying ''I became a carpenter's apprentice''.  I guess it sounds honorable.  That's is nothing dramatic about  saying that you flip burgers at McDs.  Saying that you work in a menial, underpaid job for a multimillion dollar company, does have a more dramatic feel to it. 

I built that barn on my mother’s property. Our house had burned down, so with the insurance proceeds, we built that and...

Wait, wasn't Misha's mom a pothead who lived in a car for some time with her two children?  Now, not only does she have property but she has the money to pay for insurance.  When did you live in the car, Misha?  When the house burnt down?  Why didn't you live in that house you showed footage of, on twitter?  Its a nice house, complete with Christmas stockings.  It doesn't quite gel with your underprivileged childhood narrative, but nice nonetheless.   

I worked a lot when I was in college, probably 30 hours a week most of the time. I did some handyman stuff, some carpentry stuff. After sophomore year, I took a year off. I interned at the [Clinton] White House, worked at NPR, became an EMT, started a summer camp for kids. It was a great year.

What is he?  A career whore?  So he was artsy fartsy, but he worked everywhere doing jobs that were unrelated to each other, instead of staying in his field of carpentry, and making money from that.  He got EMT certification.  Was it free?  Did he pay for it with his tuition fees?  What was the purpose of it, if making money for fees was of paramount importance?  That doesn't make sense, because if he was working 30 hour weeks, when did he have time to study?  The average work day is a tad longer, about 40 hours a week.  And if he was studying and working, when was Superman sleeping?  Why was he working so hard?  To put himself to college, don'tcha know.  Even though colleges offer student loans and don't accept their fees in installments.  And yet, he took time off for one year after sophomore.  Was it to make a lot of money for his tuition fees?  Nope, it was to become an EMT and start a summer camp for kids.  I guess summer camps are big business and you can pay off great debts if you start one.  Good to know.  His internment at the Whitehouse only lasted four months, and yet he has acquired all the knowledge there is to acquire, to become a political knowitall on twitter.  Sidenote:  Is it normal for internships at the Whitehouse to last, such a short time.  I am genuinely curious, because it doesn't sound right. 

This is where I think the interviewer started to sound like she was side-eyeing the wood working maestro and his yarns of tall tales.

After graduation you got into acting, and in 1999, you moved with Victoria to Los Angeles for film and television work. There, in 2001, you bought your first house. Tell us about it. You were a starving actor?

Yeah. Right after we bought it, our realtor said, “There’s a TV show that would like to shoot your house.” They brought this [house-hunting] couple through, and when we saw the episode, they had surveyed the house and were like, “We don’t want to touch this piece of s---.” It was a real wreck, had been seriously neglected. It was built in the 1920s, and built by people who weren’t carpenters, didn’t know what they were doing. It was built so poorly, and everything was sagging – the window frames, the eaves.

Can you believe that?  The starving actor bought a house.  Let that sink in.  He recognized that the house was built by non-carpenters [how was this building standing.  Twas a miracle, I tell you.]  And despite being a starving actor with a small amount of money, and a knowledge of carpentry, he bought a house that was badly built by non-carpenters.  So he knew he was buying a liability.  Why?

The kitchen floor you put in is beautiful. Yes, that’s gunstock, from a gun manufacturer in Northern California.

Mr Gun Free supporting the Gun manufacturing industry.  Man, this guy is a hypocrite. 

You lived in that first house for 11 years. Do you still own it? We rent it out to some lovely people who love it, so it’s good.

Fun fact:  Mr Humble Pie has two pieces of property.  And he is making money off of one, but he chooses to attend cons with the same torn T-shirts from years ago, or has to fleece off of Jensen's wardrobe and generosity, otherwise he would be doing his panels naked, poor thing.  Why doesn't he stop his cruises for a year, and use that money to buy decent threads?  One shirt can last a few years.  The lies are  embarrassing, but miraculously his minions believe him. 

On the way to this house, you became very successful with this hugely popular TV series. Life changed. Do you still manage to make time for handwork? 

Yeah. I’ve discovered that I really like working. Work can be respite for me, and switching gears is really key. Going from working on scripts to working with my hands is therapeutic, for sure. I am still managing to work with my hands. I was just doing some woodworking yesterday. I do a lot of cooking. That’s a big part of my life, and also I think a barometer of emotional health. When I’m not cooking, it’s a sign that I’m too stressed out and I’ve got to dial things back a little bit. I do a lot of canning. I put up 120 jars of blackberry jam this fall.

What an irony!  One of the greatest instigators of stress for his co-workers and their fans, gets stressed out himself.  Yeah, guilt can do that.  Plus, he likes quantifying accomplishments.  That is why Gish exists.  Quantity over quality. 

Which artists inspire you? I love Christo and Jeanne Claude, because of the mind-bending scale on which they’ve created things, like they’re rethinking what’s possible. I’m somebody who kind of likes to break rules, to bend rules when appropriate.

I could write a whole big post, on Misha's rule breaking and bending.  From stealing Whitehouse property [and bragging about it] to telling fans about the scratched line in the Crypt which got Jensen a barrage of abuse on Twitter.  The one thing that he spoke about that doesn't make sense is his story about almost getting arrested for reading a book on a building rooftop.  It makes no sense.  There is a portion of the story that is missing, I'm sure.  Misha is a great exaggerator.

Have you turned any Supernatural castmates on to craft? On a set, there’s tons of downtime, a lot of sitting and knitting and crocheting. And I have occasionally been in the mix there. Last year Jensen [Ackles], my co-star, walked up and saw me knitting, and he just looked at me and said, “Really?” But I could tell there was jealousy behind it, more than criticism. So I’ll teach him to knit, and it’ll be fine. We’ll get through this.

Will you look at that?  There are around 70 people on set at any given time.  Many of them must have seen Misha knitting.  And look who Misha decided to mention.  Was that a ''just in case, a nutty heller is reading this'' insertion?  No mention is made of Jared, because who cares about him, right?  Got to give the crowd what they want.  I am side eyeing the knitting claim myself, because I do knit and having seen a photo of him knitting, I can safely say that, that is not how you grasp at the yarn.  You knit with loose fingers because yarn is abrasive. 

The first big project we did with Random Acts was we built an orphanage and community center in Haiti. I would not have thought that was a tackle-able enterprise if I didn’t have a background in building.  Our biggest fundraising driver for the projects that we do – like building a school or an orphanage – is we bring folks down in groups of 25 or so to Haiti or to Nicaragua, and they help in the building process. We roll up our sleeves and get our hands dirty.

Wow, he built the 500K orphanage with his own hands, but didn't think about lights for the children.  His response regarding the lights was ''it's Haiti and it takes three f*cking years to get an electrician''.  Wow, I am a third worlder too, but we have electricians.  How backwards is Haiti that he couldn't find a single electrician in the whole country, to light the place up for the poor orphans?  He couldn't squeeze in one electrician in the group of 25 or so.  Are there no philanthropic electricians in his circles?  My word, electricians are such selfish people, don't you think?  They don't want to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty.  Why couldn't he just pay for one instead of waiting three years?  Fun fact:  According to their website, the orphanage, aka, the Jacmel children's center houses only 15 children, but another page says there are 27 children living in the house.  They don't know how many children they are looking after.  But that is still a small amount.  So where did all these kids go?

Misha either staged this picture with school kids on an excursion or all those kids got adopted by the staggeringly high quantity of rich couples living in Haiti, right Misha?  SMH

This question made me smirk.  The interviewer had to know Misha has never been to public school.  Look how Mr Bleeding Heart answers the question.

As we know, art programs in K-12 public schools these days are in decline, especially shop class, manual arts. How can we nurture creativity in kids, and why is that important? When I was 9 years old, I had a paper route. One day my younger brother and I were collecting money, and Mr. Haigis answered the door. He started talking to us, and he discovered that our parents were separated, and we didn’t live with our father. In the 1960s, he had run a woodshop for little kids. He had stopped doing it because he got busy with his career. Now he was retired. These two boys show up delivering papers on his front stoop, and it just comes to him: “I’ve got to do the same thing for those kids.”

So Mr Haigis left all the poor, underprivileged children and decided to help these two boys who were going to an elite school?  Sounds legit.  What about public school children, Mr Haigis?  Don't you care about them?   

I was a starving actor for at least a decade.

Misha was a starving actor who worked on 24 projects before getting SPN, but he still managed to buy a house.  Fun fact:  he was an  associate producer on a docu-movie, ''Loot'' which won best documentary at the LA film festival.  His movie didn't need sock puppets to win this one.  Misha should produce more.  That way he wont be on screen, festering up the frame.  The less we see of him, the better. 

http://www.jacmelchildren.org/about/team/

http://www.jacmelchildren.org/

https://craftcouncil.org/magazine/article/builder-baker-angel-maker