#which is fine I’d like to make money instead of just spend money

[vanessagillings]

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:  

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic.  Some people who know me in real life still don’t.  And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM.  I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe?  I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag.  Even so, how could autism describe me?  I was a good student.  I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class.  I can make eye contact…if I must.  And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right?  Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it.  I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them:  sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak.  It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once. 

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance.  It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day.  But it shouldn’t be like this.  It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities. 

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.  This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs.  No two people on the spectrum present in the same way.  And that’s a good thing!  No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic.  I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway.  I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day.  More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing.  My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network  autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

[anglingforlevels]

Open House (Yandere House x Reader)

When people say the housing market is a nightmare, is this what they had in mind? (The story goes out to me because I’m trying to get an apartment and it is Suffering. Please pretend this count as yandere.)

CW: not proofread, unconventional captivity, swearing, I accidentally had too much fun writing Abby and forgot the point of the story-

Minors DNI

When you proudly had reached the saving milestone to buy a small house in the countryside, you had opted to spend some of that money on a real estate agent, figuring it was a good investment, hiring a Ms. Abby Bardot – who, over the phone, had insisted heavily on being called Abby rather than Ms. Bardot – who had twenty years of experience in the field.

Quite quickly, you realized that perhaps she wasn’t the most conventional real estate agent.

Ms. Abby, you quickly noticed at your first meeting, was all hand-wringing and nervous sweating, though she seemed sweet enough, having clutched a tin of home-cooked cookies in all shades of black and almost-not-black, and had heartily insisted you’d take as many as you’d like (which was zero).

She had insisted on bringing you to an open house for what she had called a hidden gem of a house, that it would be a private tour. To you, once she mentioned it would be at 1 p.m., it was quite obvious that “private tour” meant, “no one else has or will be showing up”.

Ms. Abby had also enthusiastically shown pictures of the place, pictures she had ready-at-the-go on her phone, presumably she really needed a buyer for the house.

“Ms. Abby.” You had said, interrupted with a small interjection of, Oh please, just Abby. “Ms. Abby, that’s not quite a house and more so a small manor. I went over my budget with you when I hired you.” Ms. Abby had quickly recovered from the rejection and puffed out her chest proudly.

“Why that’s the best part, this is within your budget!”

You had sent her a dubious look at this. “Are the pictures… How do I put this delicately? Are the pictures recent and unedited?”

Ms. Abby deflated so quickly that it almost felt impressive, almost urging you to clap as if it was a circus performance. Of course, it felt mean had you clapped at her dejected look.

“It’s well-kept, I assure you. These pictures are all recent, I’ve updated them every year for almost my entire career!” She said proudly, and you almost felt pity at the fact she didn’t seem to realize her own slip-up but instead paraded it around like a badge of honor.

Though, all-in-all you were charmed, and somewhat endeared, by the honesty. But not very much by the house at all. “I think I’d like to look at other options, it’s awfully big for just one person.”

“Ah, wait!” Ms. Abby said urgently. “Please, before we continue with other options, let’s first try out the open house this Friday.”

“Is this protocol, Ms. Abby?” Ms. Abby’s lips wobbled at this and… “Are you crying?!”

“No, I’m a professional. Real Estate Agents don’t cry, I’m simply sweating, is all.” Ms. Abby sniffled, dubbing her eyes with a handkerchief, presumably you were meant to believe her eyes were suffering heat stroke on this fine autumn day.

“…Alright, I’ll go to the open house. Just give me the address.” You eventually relented, if only to avoid seeing the pitiful sight of a teary-eyed Ms. Abby.

That’s how you ended up before a grand house out in the middle of nowhere, the closest town was an hour-long drive away. Forest and fields were most of the surroundings, which was why the house was in such stark contrast, standing as a sole presence, the forests and fields shying away to make room for it, leaving a vast vacancy around it, stretching on for at least fifty meters.

It really was a pristine house, when comparing it to the pictures, it seemed to match right down to the placement of every rock and plant in sight. As if someone had consciously placed each leaf and pebble.

The plants and trees of the garden donned vibrant colors despite the season. You wondered how often Ms. Abby came by, or if she had hired a crew for maintenance, as you could not spot even the slightest hint of dirt or spiderwebs.

The only thing that looked aged was, unfortunately, the “For Sale” sign.

It felt a little unnatural, but you chalked it up to currently being a display house, and thus not lived-in either. You took notice of the way the trees beyond the reach of the garden were withered and wrinkled, and the grass yellowy, dry patches, barely hiding the dirt beneath.

“Some more forest could really do this place some good.” You mumbled. You hesitated for reasons you didn’t fully understand before stepping beyond dead plants clinging loosely to your feet and entering the garden.

You felt a prickling sensation behind your eyes the further you traveled, the door felt so far when the weight of something cloyingly attentive seemed to drag you down as if to prevent your advances.

“You’re here!” A delighted Ms. Abby yelled out before the sound of pitter-patter was interrupted by a loud thud against the door that rattled the frame. With her energy dampened, a sheepish Ms. Abby appeared behind the front door, simply saying; “It opens the other way.”

Right, something attentive could only have been the attention of the overzealous Ms. Abby.

“Come in, come in!” She invited, all but pulling you stumbling into a most decadently, lavishly decorated foyer. From distasteful stuffed animal heads to the ruby red furniture and mosaic glass tables, it felt quite uncomfortable, all sharp angles and very little homeliness to it, like an ornate display of wealth rather than a welcome into a household.

“Not very welcoming, huh?” You commented, which Ms. Abby elected not to respond to, though the small “eep” suggested she had heard the negative impression.

Looking the room over it was impossible for your eyes not to rest at the centerpiece of the foyer: A huge painting above the staircase. A solemn-looking guy stared out into the air, curly locks framing his face. Old paintings always looked miserable, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was a glint of genuine misery in his eyes. Noticing your attention had wandered, Ms. Abby followed your eyes.

“Oh, that was an owner of the house who had it commissioned back during the Renaissance, they wanted it right here, in the heart of the house.” She explained though you couldn’t say you agreed to a decadent foyer being the heart of a house, and if it was, that wasn’t boding well for Ms. Abby’s already poor sales chances.

“I’ve never understood why someone would want to pay money to look miserable in a painting, like you’re paying for it, at least make yourself smile or something.” Your jab was met with Ms. Abby’s impressive ability to carry on like you had said nothing negative at all.

“You know, the owner claimed it was a Jan van Eyck-original too.” Ms. Abby said as if letting you in on a secret, or town gossip. “Really, we’ve had it appraised.”

“And the appraiser confirmed it was a Jan van-whatever original?”

“…The owner really loved art; you’ll see plenty of paintings throughout the place.”

So that was a no. And speaking of no’s:

“Listen, Ms. Abby, I don’t exactly have the budget for a big house, as I already said. I especially don’t have the kind of budget that the kind of person who’d commission an artist to paint them for their foyer would have.”

Abby laughed nervously. “Well, you see, the value’s dropped as I mentioned. We haven’t been able to sell it for a long time, so the price just kept falling.”

“Right. But even so, it can’t have fallen that much.”

At this, Abby avoided eye contact, wringing her hands before, after a big breath, blurting it out. “The person in the painting was the last person to own the house.”

…

“Is this place built on top of an oilfield or something?”

Ms. Abby laughed a hearty if a bit shrill, laughter, before sighing and mumbling. “If only.” She clapped. “But! This is a charming house, why, let me show you the many rooms!”

“Ms. Abby, have you ever considered a field outside of sale?” You asked dryly but nonetheless followed along, eager to leave behind the painting, as you felt watched. The house consisted of many sprawling hallways, enough to almost make one dizzy, and you struggled to remember where everything was.

The house had many rooms, none of them particularly inviting, reading more like a historical display room lacking any warmth or heart (and perhaps even worse, any semblance of renovation despite old age), and all absolutely clustered with trinkets, knickknacks, and in the case of the walls, paintings – leaving very little free space.

It really did read like a historical display, as some rooms seemed older than others, suggesting partial renovation must have been done on some of the rooms. You’d like a word with whoever had been in charge of that lackluster, nonsensical effort.

Perhaps the lack of replaced furniture or renovation was why the house periodically seemed to creak and moan in odd ways, at times you almost confused it as Ms. Abby groaning or sighing, only to realize it was the sound of the house itself.

As for Ms. Abby, she remained undeterred regardless of how many snide remarks you made, which you had to commend her for, though the charm you initially had felt from it was quickly wearing off. Ms. Abby actually seemed increasingly happy, humming to herself. She didn’t think the sale was going well, did she?

“How much of the house is there left to see, Ms. Abby?” You asked, increasingly impatient and tired, having been dragged through an unreasonable number of rooms, which inexplicably, almost all were bedrooms (and yet, you had yet to see more than a single bathroom).

“Well, we’re still missing a couple rooms like the kitchen, oh! I know, how about the master bedroom since you’ll be spending every night there.” She said with a beaming smile.

“That’s awfully optimistic, Ms. Abby.” You noted, at this you received a good-hearted chuckle.

“Oh, this place is too lovely to pass up on, I think it likes you – it’s a match made in heaven. If you don’t like some of the features or decorations, it’s easy to change those, so it would be a waste not to live here.”

“I can’t imagine a house as empty as this holding much affection, and I’m not up for a big project.” All you wanted was a small but cozy house, a simple place. You felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of work you’d need to pour into a house like this to make it feel like home.

“Well, it’s perhaps not an easy house,” Ms. Abby admitted, her cheer at this point an unshakeable force, as a sense of confidence seemed to have sprouted in her. “But that’s why when that rare fit comes by one must take the leap and hold onto it.”

You’d feel insulted by the suggestion you were a good fit for this distasteful and unpleasant house, had Ms. Abby not already shown herself as incompetent but well-meaning. You simply sighed, giving up the conversation, figuring you’d find another real estate agent when you came home.

“Well, take me to the master bedroom then.”

Ms. Abby led you through the foyer again, the bedroom apparently at the other end of the house. Your eyes were drawn to the painting once more, its eyes felt more sunken in than before, shadows forming beneath, to which you tiredly sighed. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

The master bedroom seemed to be at the stopping point to the sprawling hallways on the right. You were just aghast at the fact you had gone through another set of sprawling hallways, you wondered who had come up with the confusing layout of the place.

Ms. Abby tried to imitate a trumpet to build up suspense but trailed off after you shot her an impatient look. After a weak cough, she simply said “Tadaah” and opened the door.

You stopped up, your right foot hanging in the air, about to cross into the room. A sense of foreboding filled you; it was a bit different from the first time, however. The prickling sensation you felt and the cloying attention, it felt smothering, less like a shove away and more like… Being held in place.

Ms. Abby waited patiently inside the room, not commenting on your hesitation, though you had been snarky and displeased the entire tour, so perhaps this just seemed like more of that. You swallowed and ignored the pressure as you put your foot down and entered the room.

The air felt different here. You had hoped the odd sensation would disappear if you just carried on, like when you entered the house, to begin with, instead, it worsened. The air clung to you, terribly heavy and sticky. It took you a moment to actually focus enough to realize Ms. Abby had spoken, so when you finally snapped back to reality, Ms. Abby was standing in the hallway.

“-tively spellbound already. I’ll give you some time to look around and get acquainted together, one-on-one.” And then she closed the door in your face. The room was, oddly empty, compared to every other room. Nothing but a big, red bed, the empty walls that you could’ve sworn were further away when you entered, and that feeling of being watched, lodging into your skin like stitching.

Nothing except an almost empty room that didn’t feel empty enough.

That’s it. Ms. Abby had officially used up all her pity points, you were leaving. You opened the door, a tad more aggressively than what was perhaps called for, but Ms. Abby was nowhere to be seen in the hallway.

For how annoyed you were with her at this point, you found that you missed her company as you walked down the hallway, nothing distracting you from the odd sounds of the house that seemed to have increased. It felt as if the floor beneath your feet moved and rumbled slightly, the velvety carpets uneven and bumpy, as if walking on something breathing, something living.

You wished that Ms. Abby had given you the floor plans, as you struggled to remember how to return to the foyer through the hallways and occasional rooms you had to cross seemed to hold no real rhythm and didn’t feel as if it obeyed any rules about directions.

At one point you could have sworn you turned back, only to be in another room than where you had emerged from originally. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you found the foyer again. Even in your rush to find the door, your eyes were drawn to the painting, though you continued to rush by it. In your haste, it almost looked as if the painting’s colors were smudged.

You attempted to open the door but found it didn’t budge. It was an odd choice to lock the door, but you were certain that was the reason, it had to be. A locked door was no issue from the inside, but even after hearing the click of the lock, the door didn’t budge when you attempted to open it.

You attempted to kick, pry, tear, and even throw your body weight at the door, but with no luck.

Settling in the foyer after your final attempt at prying the front door open, you huffed, out of breath. You laid on the stairs, trying to settle your heart and pulse, when your eyes landed on the painting again.

…You rubbed your eyes and sat up, thinking what you had seen was owed to your tiredness and the upside-down angle, but no. The painting really did look smudged. Like someone had blurred colors and borders together, the hair’s vibrant color having lost its radiance.

And the mouth, it was oddly smudged between the lips, that it almost gave the impression of a mouth being pried open.

…

No, that was silly, you were being silly. The painting was smudged out, which was already creepy enough on its own, or rather, the house was already creepy enough on its own – your mind was just working overtime and was making up new things to get scared over.

“Well brain, if you like overtime, I guess I’ll have to put you to use and think of an escape. But you don’t have a union, so it’s unpaid hours for you, I’m afraid.”

If the front door was a bust, then you’d find a window. You struggled to recall any windows on the ground floor, but surely there had to be some. Or… That’s right! The kitchen, it had a glass door. You never got around to seeing the kitchen, having mainly been shown the upstairs so far, but you recalled Ms. Abby mentioning it back when she had given her pitch for why you should show up.

You hadn’t been on the left side of the house, at least not on the ground floor, so you figured that was a good direction to begin, in your search for the kitchen. You opened the door, urgency in your steps, only to find you weren’t in an unfamiliar room.

Instead, you were back in the empty master bedroom, which somehow felt much more crammed than any of the other rooms. But… That didn’t make sense. The master bedroom was upstairs, you had fought through a confusing hallway to find the foyer, so this… this didn’t make sense at all.

The air felt oppressive in the room as if your heart would be forced to a halt from the sheer weight of it, like a physical presence. This time you were sure that the walls were closer than they had been before. A bed table had been added next to the bed, and the part of you still delusional enough to hope thought maybe it meant that Ms. Abby was still around. As if this was an elaborate prank.

You tried to swallow despite how dry your mouth felt, your heart hammering painfully against your chest. This was ridiculous. You slammed the door open again, the door shaking on its hinges. Beyond the door, it revealed a hallway, but even if the hallway was confusing, you had been through it twice by now, you could do this, you could find the kitchen or a ground-floor window.

Hurrying along the hallway, it felt as if the floor and walls shifted and moved. Were you dizzy, or was this actually happening? The restrictive air of the master bedroom followed you, as you dragged yourself through.

“Huh?” you furrowed your eyebrows when you opened one of the doors. You were sure this was the one you had gone through before, but the room behind was unfamiliar. Cold dread filled you as a horrible thought crossed your mind.

No, no, no. You ran to the next door but behind it was another unfamiliar room. Were the layout… Changing? Your hand trembled as you tried to open a third door, and you felt like crying when all it revealed was the master bedroom again.

A lamp now stood on top of the bed table. Were new things going to be added each time you returned to the room? You thought back to the cramped bedrooms Ms. Abby had so cheerfully shown off. You weren’t sure what to make of it but felt sick all the same.

“I don’t have time for this.” You had to snap yourself out of it. You could spiral and panic later, but for now, you needed to get out. So, turning on your heel, you returned to the hallway. You’d go through each door that didn’t lead to the master bedroom, hoping to somehow find your way downstairs.

You almost cheered audibly when you finally saw the staircase, rushing to it. Once again, as you passed it, your eyes were drawn to the painting.

The painting no longer looked the same as before, the person it had been long erased by smudged and changing lines. You couldn’t tell what it was changing into but felt your heart race with familiarity all the same.

The mouth was a gaping hole by now, outstretched awkwardly. You thought it might have been a smile, but it looked much more like a pained grimace to you.

You only took this as further encouragement to get out of there.

When you failed to find anything of use, you realized there was one room that you seemed to always find. So, as counterintuitive as it seemed, you walked upstairs again, and as confusing as the changing layout was, it didn’t take you long to find it.

You saw the familiar bed, the bed table, the lamp, and the newly added clock on the wall (which didn’t seem to be working) and closed your eyes for a moment. You took a deep breath. And then you decisively walked in to grab the lamp, shivering a bit as you brushed against a much-too-warm wall.

If you couldn’t find the kitchen or a window on the ground floor, then fuck it, you’d find one up here. Whatever broken bones or bruises you’d get from the fall, you’d accept. Finding a window upstairs proved much more doable, as one would line the walls every now and then.

You threw the lamp against the window and braced yourself for impact.

But nothing happened.

The lamp fell to the floor with a hollow thud. When you opened your eyes, you found not a single scratch on the window. So, you tried again. And again. You tried punching the window, earning nothing but a stinging fist.

Yet you continued. At some point, it became more of a tantrum, an expression of your desperation colored in violence, than an attempt to escape. Hitting the window, kicking the wall. “Why-“ you hated this house. You hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. You just wanted to leave. Your ears rang, whether it was from your headache, or the way the house’s groans and creaks had grown in severity, you didn’t know, didn’t care, couldn’t care.

Already unsteady on your feet, your final kick caused you to lose balance entirely.

Stumbling and falling onto the floor, without realizing it, you found yourself by the stairs, and face to face with the painting. Your blood ran cold as you stared into your own lifeless eyes staring down at you from above.

 

Quiet had fallen over the house like a blanket, only the slow rumble throughout the house bellied any activity. In the heart of the house rested a painting, donning a toothy smile and a certain glint in their eyes.

A satisfied Ms. Abby removed the “For Sale” sign out front and drove away with a hum.

[mxchxelschmidt]

-a/n- this is the barista!reader mall security!mike I was talking about. There will probably multiple parts if it’s enjoyed enough. I may cross post to ao3 at some point. It’s not proof read so bear with me.

Mike hadn’t been working at the mall long when he first came up to the coffee shop you worked at. You were only working there because the last job you had didn’t line out exactly how you wanted it to. Waitressing was different than coffee. Waitressing was more taxing mentally for you. The people getting angry with your service and then tipping you terribly instead of speaking up was annoying and you hated your income depending on how much of a people pleaser you were.

His coffee order was simple, black americano. Espresso and water. Personally you would take the espresso shots over the watered down version. The man before you looked like he needed the coffee. His eyes had dark bags under them. His hair was messy, as if he rolled out of bed to come to work. You could admire that. You had your fair share of days that required you to roll out of bed early with no regards to how you looked to come get the shop open in time for customers to have morning coffee. In fact you’d just had one of those days not too long ago.

He was wearing his security uniform, black dress pants and the long sleeve grey button up adorned with a security badge. It was tucked into his pants and secured with a black belt. His radio at his hip ready to take any of the very important calls about a teenage shoplifting from hot topic.

“Black coffee? You don’t want to sweeten it a little?” You ask half playful, half serious, because coffee on its own was just bitter to you. There wasn’t much enjoyment in it.

He kind of makes eye contact with you but he seems distracted. Focused on something else. Which is fine, most of your customers are distracted by the turmoil of their own life. They don’t care much to talk to the “barista”. This guy should be no different. Something about him draws you in though, makes you want to know more.

“Yeah. Not really a fan of coffee, just really tired today I guess.” He says almost sounding interested in talking to you but there’s something missing in the way he speaks. Something far off and distant. He’s more distracted than your usual customers, like he’s not here, far off in another world, focused on anything but what’s going on around him.

You shrug and go to pour the shots focusing on that instead of the stranger that’s only half there in front of you. Once his coffee is made you take it to the pickup counter and call out his name, “Americano for Mike.”

You start saying that every day. He keeps coming back and you’re not sure why. He still looks just as tired as each day passes. You grow to admire the look. He’s messy but he’s also pretty and that’s enough to keep starting small conversations with this stranger.

He’s ordered coffee from you a dozen or so times by now. Your coworkers begin to notice he isn’t coming to the coffee stand on the days you aren’t working, and so the teasing begins.

One of the next times he’s there you hear your male coworker call out, “Hi Mike!” And you cringe inwardly at his goofiness.

Mike tips his head to the side and you can’t help but compare him mentally to a puppy. You bite back a laugh and shrug, “What can I say, you must be a regular now Mike. You want that americano again?”

He’s less distant the more he comes to the coffee stand. He shakes his head and leans against the counter, “I can’t lie, as much as I’d rather not spend the extra money to make it taste good, I don’t think I can stomach anymore black coffee.”

You smile, you knew it would only be a matter of time before he gave up the black coffee charade. You pick up a cup and your pen looking at him, “Do you know what you’d like instead?”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and shrugs before shaking his head, “Mmm… No. I was hoping maybe you had some suggestions?”

You can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips and you write his name on the cup. He pulls out his cash to pay you, holding it out across the counter and you shake your head at him, “On the house for your first try.” you give him a playful wink and walk away to start making his drink. This time it’s similar to what he’s gotten in the past. You pour two shots of espresso. And put them in the cup. You steam milk with a bit of caramel flavored syrup and layer it on top of the espresso shots. When you’re finished adding a caramel drizzle to the drink you walk it over to the pickup counter and and hold it out to him instead of placing it on the counter.

He walks up and does that thing where he tilts his head curiously again and you can’t help but feel a little twinge in your chest at his cuteness. You can’t muster up the courage to say anything but, “You’re going to want to stir it before you drink it. That way it tastes better.”

He gives you a nod and a hint of a smile before taking the cup, “Thanks, I appreciate it. Sleep has been rough to come by recently. I think the coffee helps.”

You give him a small laugh and a nod, “Coffee is the sleep deprived persons best friend. Gotta make sure you’re awake enough to chase those shoplifters down.”

Maybe it’s the way that he holds the cup up to you in cheers way before walking away. Maybe it’s the fact that you know nothing about him. Maybe you’ve got a crush on the mysterious security guard that keeps coming to get coffee from you.

When you leave from your shift that day you notice Mike sitting on a bench by the exit and he has a cell phone pressed up against his ear. He’s got a look on his face that reads as mildly annoyed and very pissed off. You can faintly hear the words, “No I get it, but I just don’t have any one else to go to to watch her. I can’t leave work I have to be here for the whole shift. There’s no one to cover me.” He says and rubs the bridge of his nose with two fingers, leaning back on the bench.

You can see the stress painted across his face. He looks like hes going to get emotional and you cant help but feel bad for him. It’s the way he’s pleading into the phone as if it really is his last option. You walk over to him as the conversation ends and his cell phone returns to his pocket. You look at him for a moment and he doesn’t seem to notice you, but you speak up anyways, “Hey, mike right?”

He looks up from his lap and his mouth is parted slightly like he’s caught off guard by your presence. Once again too wrapped up in his own lifes turmoil to notice the world around him. He nods, lips still parted slightly before he fixes his slack jawed appearance and stands, “Yeah Mike,”

“Black Americano guy, that is until today,” You say with a smile. “By the way how was your drink? It’s what I suggest to most non coffee drinkers that want it to taste half decent.”

He gives you half a smile which is more than you’ve gotten in the entirety of your interactions. Mike seems to be coming back to this plane of existence, considering hes giving you the time of day, “It was good actually, much better than what I have been drinking.”

You’re not sure how to segue into it but you’re curious about the heated phone call you had so you pluck up the courage to say it, “Trouble with the missus?” You ask half sarcastically. Maybe you’re overstepping your boundaries but it’s too late now, you’ve already brought it up.

He looks confused for a moment and then looks down at himself as if he’s looking for a hint to what you’re talking about. He then looks back at you and here comes that half smile again, “Oh no just babysitter troubles. My sister isn’t old enough to be at home alone and her babysitter just called to tell me that she can’t watch her tomorrow. Some family emergency or something. I don’t know.” He rubs his hands on his pants nervously and shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

“You work tomorrow though don’t you? That’s tough,” You say and cross your arms thoughtfully.

“Yeah, now I’m kind of just shit out of luck. I don’t really have a back up since that was my backup.” He says and rubs a hand on the back of his neck sheepishly. His face gets that far off look again like he can’t get his mind off of the amalgamation of problems that is his life.

You tap your foot once, then twice, a thoughtful look on your face and your lips tighten into a line before you finally speak up, “I don’t work tomorrow.” you blurt out. He looks at you with a confused look on his face like he doesn’t know why youve brought it up and then you see the lightbulb, “I have babysitting experience too, so I mean if you need someone to step up, I’m your girl” you say with a smile.

He looks like he’s taken aback by your kindness. By the wear and tear of this mans existence you can tell he hasn’t had much kindness in his life. He finally speaks up moments later, “Really?” he’s not sure if this is real or if he’s daydreaming it but it’s the best chance he’s got at not losing this job he so desperately needs to support him and his sister, “That would be amazing I don’t know how I could thank you enough. She’s a really easy going kid she’s just quiet.” he says and feels the hope building in his chest.

You smile at him and nod, “Sounds great. I think I can handle that.”

He digs around in his pocket for a moment and pulls out a small notepad and a pen usually used for taking down descriptions of criminals in the mall but this time he uses it to scribble his address down for you. He rips the page out of his notebook and hands it over to you. There’s a phone number accompanying the address and you assume it’s his. “There’s my address, if you could be there at 8am that would be great. She’s usually had breakfast by that time so it will just be lunch and dinner in terms of cooking. I’d have to pay you on payday. I’m a little tight on funds until then.” He says sheepishly.

This is the most Mike has ever spoken to you and you can tell how much he cares for his sister. You finally know what’s going through his head when he is ordering coffee and seems like he’s a million miles away.

You nod dutifully and smile at him “You got it Mike, I’ll see you bright and early.”

He smiles back, it’s not half this time, it’s a full smile. Seeing it break past that rough and tough exterior is nice. He has a nice smile.

“Thank you again.” He says and suddenly theres a call over his radio for a blonde teenage girl inside wet seal stuffing clothes in her purse and he’s off. Waving goodbye to you before turning on his heel and jogging in the direction of the store he was called to.

You walk to the parking garage with that little slip of paper tucked into your pocket. You get in your little beater car and head home actually excited for a change in your weekly routine. You’re excited to get to know more about him, even if it involves babysitting his younger sister.

[marlynnofmany]

Small-Scale Comedy

A lot of the time when our little courier ship makes deliveries to alien planets, the captain will send someone of the customer’s species for the hand-off. It puts them at ease to see a familiar face and all that. Usually. Other times, the customer is of a notoriously egotistical species, likely to feel affronted if the delivery person has a shinier exoskeleton than they do.

Guess which today was.

“Good greetings,” Mur said, looking up at the insectlike bundle of limbs that loomed over him. Our customer for today was colored in white and the palest pinks, edging into more vivid red at the ends of her legs, and the blades of her pincher arms. She looked like a murderous flower.

And while we had two perfectly eligible Mesmers back on the ship, one of whom I’d accompanied on similar deliveries before, Captain Sunlight had decided to send in two of the squishiest crewmates instead.

Mur lifted the package with half of his tentacles, using the rest to hold himself up at a respectable height. I stood behind him with the payment tablet. I tried to stand very still.

Instead of grabbing the box or offering to pay, the customer called imperiously for someone to come open it for her. We were indoors, in what I’d thought was an empty room aside from all the tables molded from the same brown clay as the walls, and the copious amounts of junk on them. (Buildings here were made of the classiest mud I’d seen in a while, with burnished tabletops and patterned walls. But the mess of scientific equipment and photography supplies was much less classy.)

One of the locals scurried out from one of the many holes in the wall that I’d honestly thought were decoration, but now that I thought about it, there had been a balcony at about that height outside. No need for elaborate doorways when you’re shaped like a centipede.

Yeah, our customer was a large bug person spending time among smaller bug people. This was a comparison that was probably only amusing to me, so I kept it to myself. I’m getting good at that.

The centiperson — no idea what they’re actually called — scuttled over and took the box from Mur. This looked like a risky operation to me, and I had my hands out to catch it just in case the leg-sized whatever toppled over backward, but everything went fine. Their many top legs clung to the box while that long body curled into an S, and their bottom legs skittered over to set the box on a table. Then the centiperson manipulated the combination lock with some very skilled little leggies, and opened the box.

The Mesmer swooped in to pull out a sheet of what looked like tiny stickers, muttering and inspecting it for flaws. When I was starting to wonder if Mur or I should remind her that she still needed to pay for the delivery, she handed it off to the centiperson, whose many legs handled it with more dexterity than her little wrist fingers could. Mesmer pincher arms are excellent at doing damage, but not great for detail work.

“Right, yes, money,” she said, turning back toward us. “Put those on the three in the test chamber!” That part was for her assistant, who was already climbing up onto a table full of terarriums and lightboxes. “Tell me they’re doing better!”

I held out the payment tablet. She grabbed it with a pincher and typed in her information, making me glad for the thick rubber casing on the edges. We could have used a metal case for it, but Zhee had demonstrated how easy those were to dent by crushing one with his own pinchers. It had turned out like a work of art.

“They are healthy,” reported the small voice of the centiperson. “I have applied the cameras.”

“And?” demanded the Mesmer, striding over without giving the tablet back. “Show me!” She peered down into a white-sided box that currently had a lot of lights aimed at it.

Before I could ask, something happened in the box to make the Mesmer exclaim in frustration and lift the tablet skyward. Mur made a noise, worried just like I was that she was about to smash it.

But instead she just stalked back over and thrust it into my hands. “Here. Either of you know much about animals?”

I, with my veterinarian training, had to answer, “Yes.” Mur was pointing at me with multiple tentacles.

“Good. Tell me what is wrong with these animals.”

I found myself ushered over none too gently, while the centiperson moved aside and the Mesmer spoke at length about the videography work she had come here to do.

“The final thing I need is a point-of-view recording from one of these, and I have acquired the absolute smallest of camera tabs, and I am starting to worry that the local population is diseased.”

“Why?” I asked uneasily. The white box held three tiny whatevers, each smaller than my last finger joint, as brown as the walls. They had froglike hopping legs, though none seemed interested in going anywhere. Their faces were pointed like bird beaks, and an itty-bitty camera tab sat on each head like a tiny hat.

“Their jumping is impaired,” the Mesmer said from above me. I made a mental note not to turn around quickly. “And I know that it’s not the cameras throwing them off; those have the molecular weight of smoke. I’m more concerned that something is wrong with all of the creatures here. None of the ones we’ve caught can land on their feet.”

To demonstrate, she stuck a pincher blade into the box, which made the three not-frogs scatter.

Wow, she’s not kidding, I thought as they landed on everything but their feet. They scrambled upright quickly enough, but that was some spectacular tiny pratfalls.

From right next to me, Mur asked, “Is there a disease that causes that?” He’d climbed onto the table himself, and was watching with interest.

“It’s possible,” I said. The centiperson was observing in silence, and I asked, “Are they always like this?”

“Yes.” The answer came quickly, in a flat voice that suggested this conversation had happened before.

The Mesmer waved a pincher arm, folded this time. “The entire population may be suffering from something, either a creeping illness or a low-level poison.”

“It could be,” I said slowly, watching the centiperson turn their head toward the ceiling in what looked an awful lot like exasperation. “Or these animals could be built like a small animal on my planet, with a similar problem.”

I had all their attention now.

“What problem?” demanded the Mesmer.

“Their inner ear is too small to work properly,” I said, gesturing toward the side of my own head. “The part that senses which direction gravity is pulling. It has fluid that needs to slosh around, but the channel isn’t big enough to do it.”

There was silence for a heartbeat, then Mur said “Wow,” and the Mesmer said, “WHAT?”

The centiperson just said, “That makes sense.”

“An entire species can be like that??” exclaimed the Mesmer, stepping back to where she could gesture without hitting anything.

“We did tell you,” said the centiperson.

“I thought it was toxins!”

The centiperson looked at me. “The common name for them is ‘headhoppers.’”

“I thought they had a habit of jumping onto people’s heads!”

Not replying to that, the centiperson produced a little hand net from the far side of the table, and deftly scooped up the tiny not-frogs. They really were about the size of Pumpkin Toadlets, just not bright orange, or fully frog-shaped. Once these had their tiny camera-hats removed, they tumbled willingly into a terrarium full of plants.

“Well,” Mur said, “That’s interesting.” He hopped to the floor with a splat.

The Mesmer was complaining to the world at large that fate was cruel and she’d never get the recording she wanted.

I looked to the local. “Are there any similar animals that are a little bigger?”

“YES.”

“Did you already tell her that?”

“Also yes.”

The Mesmer whined, “They’re nocturnal.”

“Flashlights exist.”

I stepped away from the table, careful to bring the tablet with me. “I’m pretty sure you can come up with a workaround. You should listen to your local expert here; sounds like there’s a wealth of information ready and waiting.”

The centiperson spread many legs and looked skyward, which looked grateful to me. The Mesmer grumbled but didn’t say no.

Already halfway out the door, Mur said, “Good luck with everything!”

I echoed the sentiment and followed him with a wave. The centiperson waved back: a rolling motion along one side that looked especially jaunty. The Mesmer’s arm motion was more of an “Ah, whatever,” but I’d take it.

“So tell me more,” Mur said as we walked back to the ship. “The tiny animals on your planet land on their faces every time? How are they still alive?”

“Well, they’re too small to really get hurt by it,” I said with a shrug. “And I’ve heard it said that any predator is probably laughing too hard to eat them.”

“Yup, that’s definitely it. Your planet sounds hilarious. I’d love to visit someday.”

“You should!” I said. “It’s a great place. Though you know what other animal jumps like that? Fleas.”

“What’s fleas?”

“Oh, let me tell you about fleas.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[bakugosatoru]

Pretty for the Press

Requests Open! Warnings: Graphic Smut (This is pure PWP smut, MDNI) Genre: Smut Fic Type: Medium Length Fic (4.5k Words) Fandom: My Hero Acadamia Ship: Dabi x Hawks Authors note: My first longer fic! I'm not sure how I feel about it but I like it enough that I do want to share it! I've been working on it for an embarrassingly long time so I hope you like it! Also Dabi is really soft in this and its a little out of character but oh well. Synopsis: Hawks has defected to the side of the villains and is now standing in the League of Villains hideout bathroom, and he needs a haircut. Dabi offers to help. What could go wrong.

Also here on AO3 if you prefer to read over there.

It isn't exactly the Marriott. The yellowing porcelain of the benchtops and the stained brown sinks work to remind him exactly where he is. The bathroom at the league of villains hideout. The porcelain is cool against his hands, his face leaning in towards the cracked and dirty mirror.

It's been three months since Hawk defected to the side of the villains, away from the world of heroes, the world of being a hero. So here Hawks stands, instead of his hero funded penthouse with the nicest things money can buy, he stands in a bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Tugging at the strands of his hair. He always forgets how quickly hair grows when not being cut every two weeks to keep up an appearance. 

“So this is why you spend so fucking long in the bathroom huh? Damn you really love looking at yourself that much Birdie?”

Dabi stands, lounging against the doorframe dressed in black sweatpants and a ratty old tank top. Hawks scowls, wondering how long he’d really been there.

“Fuck off Dabi, was just trying to figure out which one of you psychos I’d trust with scissors to cut my hair” The ex-hero smirked, leaning back from the mirror to meet Dabi’s gaze.

“And what was the verdict?” Dabi mused as he wandered over to stand next to Hawks, whose wings quickly tucked into his body to make room. 

Hawks didn’t answer, just going back to pulling and rearranging his hair before huffing and messily tying it back in a stubby ponytail. Dabi spun around and sat against the sink, watching Hawks intently. Hawks feathers puff and ruffle slightly, subconsciously, as he feels Dabis gaze dig into him. It's not often they get time alone together, usually they are either surrounded by other members of the league or fighting for their lives. Doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time for talking. Dabi picked up the discarded and rusted scissors off the counter and held them in front of his eyes, cutting at the air a few times for good measure.

“I mean, I could do it..” Dabi said, spinning the scissors around his pointer finger and tapping his other hand mindlessly against the counter.

“Promise I won't slice ya” 

“Well that just fills me with confidence” Hawks scoffed.

“I mean, the offers there if you want. If you want to keep growing out your hair ‘till you start looking like a homeless guy hanging outside the headquarters that's your call Birdy” 

Hawks paused for a moment, looking over at Dabi. Dabi glanced at him momentarily before returning his gaze to the scissors spinning in his hand. Hawks hated to admit that Dabi was probably his best choice. He couldn't trust Compress or Twice to just do a small trim (they always had a flair for the dramatic), Himeko might get a bit too snip-happy with the scissors and Shigaraki isn't exactly a big fan of… hygiene in general. 

“Fine” Hawks huffed, finally leaning back from the counter.

“Yea?” Surprise painted Dabi’s voice as he hopped off the counter and strolled behind Hawks, yanking a cheap plastic chair over from the corner of the room and placing it right in front of the mirror.

“Well take a seat, get comfortable. Want me to wash your hair first, scalp massage maybe? Perhaps I should get you a cup of tea?” Dabi mocked in a sing-song tone.

“Oh please do, I expect only the best service from a stylist as famous as yourself” Hawks scoffed as he rolled his eyes. He sat down on the chair and leaned back, Dabi now towering behind him in the mirror. A moment paused between them as Dabi looked down at his hair, a hand reaching out gingerly to hold a few strands between his fingers, the back of his hand brushing against Hawks neck gently. Hawks felt a shiver pass through his body to the tip of his wings and he just prayed Dabi didn’t notice.

“Uh actually I might have to wash it…” Dabi mumbled, all the joking bravado in his voice replaced with a nervousness Hawks had never heard coming from the villain before.

“Hm?” Hawks questioned, tilting his head to look up at Dabi, seeing the living skin on his face dusted with a soft pink hue.

“It's just easier to cut wet hair.” Dabi said as he spun the plastic chair around, so that Hawks was now facing him, his back to the sink. Hawks' breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Dabi, who was leaning over to turn on the faucet. Was Dabi going to wash his hair? This really hadn't been how he expected this to go, he assumed Dabi would cut a few inches off his hair and be done with it, but this was a side of Dabi he hadn't seen before. A softer side.

“Okay lean back, the water shouldnt be too hot but my hands aren't exactly great for gauging temperature so if your skin melts off, not my fault.” Dabi said as he moved over to the shower in the corner of the bathroom and snatched up a bottle of shampoo and conditioner. Hawks leant back, awkwardly tilting his head under the faucet to line himself up so the water was in his hair instead of covering his entire face.

“Twice will kill you if he finds out you're going to use his weird expensive shampoo”

“No, he’ll kill you. You're the one using it, I'm just putting it in your hair” Smirked Dabi as he strolled over to the left of Hawks and reached into the sink to help rinse his hair. Hawks felt himself tense as Dabis fingers brushed against his scalp, before relaxing into the touch and letting his eyes shut to prevent getting water in them. 

“So what about that tea you offered?” Hawks smirked as he felt Dabi pour some shampoo on his head and start massaging it into his hair. If he tried really hard he could probably pretend he was back in one of those swanky hair salons his agency used to send him to, but honestly? He preferred this, though he wasn't fully sure why. 

“Hey what the-” Hawks sputtered as he felt water be splashed onto his face. Dabi laughed as Hawks wiped his eyes with his sleeve, opening his eyes to look up at Dabi. His mouth opened to scold him but he paused, Dabi had this mindless smile on his face, not one of his signature smirks, but a genuine smile. 

Hawks hadn’t ever seen Dabi smile like this before.

“I was about to say you were good at this but after that I might have to retract that statement” Hawks teased.

“Aw c’mon Birdy, you like it” 

“Yea I guess I do” Hawks said, his voice quiet, so quiet that Dabi nearly didn't hear him…. But he had heard him.

“I’m sure you had this done all the time when you were a hero” Dabi snipped, a strange venom in his voice, but Hawks just shook it off.

“Yea, too much actually. They would send me every few weeks to make sure my hair was always perfect. ‘Gotta keep up appearances’ they would tell me. So they’d send me to some overpriced salon and get me all dolled up for the press” Hawks sighed, remembering his old life wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime. 

“Which do you like better?” “Hm?”

“Your old salon experiences or this one?” Dabi asked as he washed the last bit of conditioner out of Hawks hair and swapped to rinsing the hair clean. Hawks paused for a moment, staring up at Dabi.

“My old hairstylist was never so gentle” Hawks mumbled, still gazing up at him. Dabi tensed at his words, pulling his hands away and wiping them on a towel. Hawks scolded himself in his head, he was having the perfect moment with Dabi and he had to go say something stupid and spook him. 

He opened his mouth to apologize, or try to play it off, or do something to turn back time to only a few moments ago, but he was stopped by Dabi’s hand resting against his cheek as he leaned in and began to softly dry his hair. Hawks leant forward so he was no longer halfway in the sink as Dabi gently dried his hair with the towel before using the towel to wipe away the water that had splashed on Hawks face.

“I'm sure your old hairstylist never did this either.” Dabi whispered as he placed the towel on the counter and leant down, cupping Hawks face in his hands and brushing their lips together ever so softly, as if asking for permission. Permission that Hawks was more than happy to grant as he reached up and wrapped his arms around Dabis neck, kissing him deeply. Hawks’ mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour. Never in his wildest dreams could he have expected this. Of course he liked Dabi, Dabi was strong, funny, passionate and beautiful. But Dabi was also, well, Dabi; he didn’t expect him to feel the same way.

“Well?” Dabi asked, breaking the kiss but not pulling away. Their lips softly brushed against each other as he spoke.

“Oh, huh?” Stuttered Hawks, every thought in his brain fully occupied with what had just happened.

Dabi chuckled softly, gazing at Hawks' kiss-drunk expression. 

“Have any of your hairstylists ever done that before?” He smirked, kissing Hawks for just a moment before pulling back to allow him to answer.

“No, but I don't mind if this one does” He murmured, mustering every ounce of confidence in his body to stand up and pull Dabi back into a scathing kiss, his hands gripping his black spiked hair, being careful not to pull any staples or hurt the scarred skin. Hawks was usually good at this kind of thing, being a confident hero was all part of his image. Swooning the ladies, charming the press, it was second nature to him. But this? This was different, he had never felt so exposed, he was laying himself bare for a man who he had assumed wanted nothing to do with him. He was offering himself to Dabi, and if Dabi pushed him away now? He would never recover.

But Dabi took his offer

“Wanted to do this for months” Dabi whispered against Hawks lips. Scarred hands gripped his thighs and lifted Hawks up onto the bathroom counter. The plastic chair clattered to the side as Dabi stood between Hawks thighs, kissing him deeply. One of Hawks hands began to tug at the hem of Dabis' shirt. Dabi lifted his arms, allowing him to lift the shirt over his head and toss it to a corner of the bathroom. His hands began to trail along his scarred chest, his finger gently tracing the seams between scarred and living skin. For the first time, Dabi seemed to pull back, breaking the kiss and turning his head to the side.

“You okay? Does that hurt?” Hawks quickly started to pull his hand away but Dabi grabbed it and placed it back on his chest, holding it there and squeezing it slightly.

“No it's fine, just… been a while since anyone touched them, I guess; weird feeling. Just…keep going” Dabi sighed, his head dropping against Hawks shoulder, his hand dropping to the birds thigh as he began kissing along his neck.

“Okay” Hawks whispered, his hands dragging along Dabi’s chest, dragging down towards the hem of his sweatpants, mindlessly fiddling with the drawstring for a moment as he felt Dabi bite down against his neck, licking at the indent left behind.

“Shit- Dabi” Hawks hissed, his hips twitching. 

“Your room, now, please” 

“Don't gotta tell me twice songbird” Dabi hummed, stepping back and dragging Hawks off the counter.

Songbird… Hawks liked that one.

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

Hawks got the wind knocked out of him as Dabi slammed him against the now closed door to his room. He was going to wake up the entire League and he truly didn't seem to care. Because he finally had that stupid bird in his arms.

“Do you know how long i've been trying to get your attention?” Dabi growled against his ear, his hands grabbing Hawks waist. Hawks let out a whine, flattening his chest against Dabis.

“So fucking pretty birdy, everyone wanted to be with the hero Hawks hm? Fucking sucks for them all, ‘cause I get villain Hawks and he is so much better.” Dabi used his grip on the ex-heros waist to push him towards the bed, shoving him backwards. He fell back, his wings splaying across the bed. Dabi couldn't help but smirk. Laid out just for him. He crawled over and straddled Hawks, before leaning forward to catch his lips in a kiss once again, their hips rolling against each other sloppily. They were making out like two teenagers and they couldn't care less. Hawks broke the kiss for a moment to rip his own shirt over his head, but it took a little longer as he had to slide his wings out of it, which Dabi thankfully helped with.

“Always wondered how those wings got in the way of getting dressed, guess now I know” Mused Dabi, his thumbs rubbing circles in Hawks thigh.

“Heh, yea, just as cumbersome as you would think” Laughs Hawks as he finally manages to escape his shirt, launching it across the room.

Dabi paused for a moment, his hands now pressed flat against Hawks chest as he shifted his weight, sitting on his lap. 

“Well Birdy, how do you wanna do this?”

“I mean, being on the bed is a good start…”

“No you dumbass,” Laughed Dabi.

            “Do you wanna top or bottom, I don’t mind either, I mean I usually top but I could be convinced to switch…I just need to touch you” He hummed as he dragged his nails across Hawks chest.

“Oh yea.. um” Hawks paused, his heart leaping into his throat as he looked at the ceiling, his face going bright red.

“Songbird?” Dabi paused, his hands flattening out to gently rest against Hawks hips.

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I didn't mean to…” Dabi trails off, self doubt filling him. Did he force Hawks into this? Hawks was probably grossed out. Was it his scars?. Dabi's mind raced a hundred miles an hour as he slowly went to climb off Hawks lap.

“No No it's nothing like that” Hawks exclaimed with a slight panic, his hands pulling Dabi back to his lap. He paused, Hawks entire face was burning red.

“I've just… fuck this is embarrassing. I've never done anything like this… before?” He mumbled, his eyes still avoiding meeting Dabis at all cost.

“What? Really? This is your first time with a dude?” Dabi exclaimed. He didn't mean to sound so surprised but, the number 2 hero? The professional flirt? Had never been with a guy?

“No not just with a guy” Hawks whispered, he looked like he wanted to curl in on himself until the world itself disappeared.

“Birdie, you a virgin?” Dabi asked, surprise lacing his voice.

“Yea…. The commission didn't exactly like letting me out of their sight and dating or hookups were out of the question so…” Hawks shrugged. 

Dabi paused for a moment before reaching a hand out and gently tilting Hawks chin down so their eyes met.

“Songbird, do you want to do this?” He asked, his voice that soft whisper from before that made Hawks heart melt.

“Mhm”

“I need words, Birdy.”

“Yes,” Hawks said before kissing Dabi softly. There's no one else he'd rather have his first time with. He threw his old life away to join the league, but deep down, he threw it away to be near Dabi, he wanted a new start, he wanted to do all the things he could never do, and if one of those things is getting railed by his hot edgy villain friend? Then he was going to do it.

“Alright then Songbird, here’s what we’re gonna do, you're going to leave everything to me, I’ll take the lead and take care of ya’. Any point you wanna stop, just say the word and we will.” Dabi smiled, that sweet smile again. Hawks would trust this man with his life… ironic considering their past. Dabi hooked his fingers into the loops of Hawks pants and worked to pull them off his legs. Hawks lifted his hips so Dabi was able to fully free him, his boxers doing absolutely nothing to hide the shape of his arousal straining against the fabric.

“This hard for little ol’ me Birdy? I’m flattered” Dabi teased, his mouth latching to Hawks exposed collarbone as one of his hands gave Hawks a light squeeze over his boxers. Hawks opened his mouth to reply, but he was only able to muster a whispered whine as Dabi set his mind racing with just a few touches.

“Fuck, your voice Songbird” Dabi groaned as he pulled back for a moment, quickly ridding himself of his own sweatpants. He grabbed Hawks hand and pulled it to feel against the growing bulge in his boxers.

“Feel what you do to me baby?” Dabi asked, Hawks didn’t respond, his hips shifting as he fought to get any friction against the growing desperation between his legs. Dabi smirked. Watching Hawks get so desperate before even getting his boxers off was driving him crazy. Dabi finally gave Hawks some respite, grabbing the waistband of his boxers and pulling them off him, his cock red and the tip wet with precum. 

“Lie back for me okay? I’m going to make you feel so good” Dabi murmured as he tilted Hawks back on the bed before positioning himself between Hawks legs. He leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the small bottle of lube he kept there for… personal reasons. He quickly discarded his own boxers before pouring some of the lube on his fingers and warming it up.

“This might feel weird at first but I promise it gets better” Dabi said as he dropped his slicked up finger down between Hawks legs, gently circling it around the rim before pushing it in softly. Hawks let out a hiss as his body got used to the strange intrusion. Dabi leaned forward and kissed along his collarbone in apology as he began to work his long finger in and out. He kept going until he was sure that Hawks was ready.

“Shit” Hawks moaned quietly as Dabi slipped a second finger into him, moving them around and scissoring them apart gently, working him open.

“Oh just you wait Songbird” Dabi smirked as he started to move his fingers slightly deeper, moving around, looking for that spot that would make his Birdy see stars.

“Fuck Dabi!” Hawks clenched around his fingers as he moaned loudly.

There it is.

Dabi let out a chuckle as he slipped a third finger into Hawks, loving how the ex-hero had begun rocking back onto his fingers. He kept working him open, making a conscious effort to only brush against his prostate once and a while, as to not end their fun too early, it was the birds first time after all. Hawks moans grew louder as Dabi continued to fuck into him with his fingers, his lips attacking any blank patches of skin across the birds chest, covering him in hickies. They would definitely have some questions to answer from the rest of the league tomorrow but neither of them could care at this moment.

“Dabi, fuck me please, I can’t take it anymore” Hawks whined out, his hand gripping against his partners scarred shoulders.

“Well how could I say no to that pretty voice baby?” Dabi purred out, but his mind was anything but calm. He didn’t realize how much of an effect Hawks voice had on him, he was shocked he didn’t cum right on the spot from hearing him beg, he was even more shocked he had just called Hawks baby. But no time to unpack that right now, right now all he needed was to get inside the stupidly sexy bird hero strewn in front of him. He quickly poured some more of the lube onto his hand, stroking his neglected cock a few times. He locked eyes with Hawks, the ex-hero was breathing heavily, his eyes watching Dabi hungrily, his whole face and neck bright red, besides the patches of hickies that were already starting to turn purple. Every breath seemed to send a quiver through each and every one of the feathers that sprouted from his back.

“Deep breath for me Birdy” Dabi pushed Hawks thighs apart as he lined himself up between his legs and slowly began to push inside. 

“Holy shit”

“You okay? Need me to stop?”

“Stop and I’ll rip your dick off” 

Dabi let out a laugh that quickly tapered into a groan as he bottomed out inside Hawks. He paused for a moment, his thumbs rubbing circles in Hawks hips, in an attempt to give the bird a moment to adjust. Hawks quickly let out a frustrated chirp and began to rock himself back against Dabis cock.

“No fucking patience” Dabi smirked as he slowly started to thrust into Hawks, not wanting to be too rough and hurt the poor bird. He dragged his nails up and down Hawks chest and shoulders, worshiping his toned body and the way his feathers quivered every time he brushed them with his fingers. But it wasn’t enough for Hawks, he wanted more. Don’t get him wrong, he was very thankful that Dabi was being so gentle and patient, but he didn’t want gentle, he wanted Dabi to make sure he never forgot this feeling. He wanted Dabi to make him scream. He rocked his hips impatiently back into Dabi’s thrusts, willing him to speed up.

“More Dabi, please” Hawks pleaded again, in that begging voice that Dabi couldn’t resist.

“Your fucking insatiable” Dabi chuckled darkly.

“Here I am, trying to be a gentleman” He slowly pulled out, until only the tip was still in.

“Be nice and gentle for your first time, but I think you just want me to fuck you into this mattress… isn’t that right Birdbrain” Dabi quickly slammed back into Hawks, yanking his thighs to bring them flush against each other. Hawks let out a choked moan, nodding eagerly as Dabi set a brutal pace, using Hawks hips and thighs to yank him back to meet his thrusts. Moans began spilling out of Hawks mouth completely unashamed, his hands gripping into the sheets for any kind of support as his body shook with each of Dabi’s thrusts. Dabi reached up and grabbed Hawks face, yanking him into a searing kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of the whimpering bird's mouth. 

“Fuck me your tight” Dabi growled against Hawks lips.

“Your jus -fuck- just big” Hawks choked out between his moans, eliciting another laugh from Dabi. He gritted his teeth, still slamming his hips roughly into his whimpering Birdy. Dabi really didn’t want to cum first but fuck did Hawks feel fucking incredible.

“Hey Birdy, roll over for me okay, wanna try something” Dabi said, pulling out and helping Hawks roll onto his stomach, his wings splaying out into the air after being cooped up against the bed for so long. Dabi slowly pushed himself deep back into the ex–hero, Hawks letting out a satisfied coo as he felt himself be filled again, this position making it feel even deeper. Even more intense. Hawks lifted his hips up, leaning forward on his knees, arms folded on the bed, his head resting against them. His ass on full display.

“Fuck Birdy, you’re gonna be the death of me” Dabi growled out as he returned to the brutal pace he had started before. Hawks kept up his chorus of moans, whimpers and chirps as he felt Dabis cock hit his prostate head on, this position making it even harder for him to keep it together.

“Dabi” He stammered through his whimpering tears “Not gonna last”.

“Gonna cum for me Songbird? Need to feel you clench around me, come on baby” Dabi cooed, one of his hands snaking down to Hawks dripping neglected cock, stroking it roughly in time with his thrusts, while his other hand grabbed the base of his wings roughly, his fingers curling and tugging on the sensitive feathers.

“Agh- Fuck Dabi!” Hawks let out a litany of loud moans and whines as his back arched into Dabi’s touch, his climax hitting him at full force, painting his stomach and the mattress with his cum. 

“That's it Songbird, just a little more, you're squeezing me so tight… shit” Dabi gasped out between gritted teeth as he felt Hawks climax rack his body. Both his hands shot to the base of Hawks large wings, gripping them tightly as he hit his limit. He collapsed forward against Hawks back and wings as he came, filling Hawks as deep as he could. Hawks mewling and chirping from the overstimulation. 

They laid there, both desperately trying to catch their breath. Dabi using the last of his energy to pull out, earning him a quiet whine from Hawks, and flop to the side of his sweet, exhausted bird (being careful not to crush his wings).

“C’mere birdy” Dabi mumbled, yanking the tired bird onto his chest, allowing him to nuzzle into the crook of his scarred neck, a hand gently running over his sides and the tips of his wings. The large wings had curled around the two of them, covering them both in a soft red canopy.  

“You good?” Dabi asked, turning his head to press a kiss onto the side of Hawks head.

“Mhm, so good” Hawks sighed, his words muffled by Dabis' shoulder. Dabi lets out a relieved breath he didn't realize he was holding and wraps both his arms around Hawks waist tightly, kissing the top of his head. 

“You know, we still have to cut your hair, Songbird” Dabi mused, resting his head against Hawks’. 

“Can do it tomorrow, don’t wanna move” Hawks whined.

“I have a feeling we’ll be a little busy tomorrow” Dabi smirked.

“Why? I didn't think we had a mission” Hawks asked, suddenly much more conscious.

“We don't, but Birdy, you just moaned on my dick loud enough that I'll be shocked if anyone didn’t hear it. We’re gonna have some questions to answer”  Dabi laughed, rubbing Hawks back as he saw his neck and ears turn red.

“Shit…” Hawks let out a groan. He had forgotten about that… tomorrow was going to be a long day. Dabi let out a laugh, hugging Hawks tightly to his body.

“A problem for tomorrow Birdy, get some rest for now” Dabi sighed, pulling the blanket over the two of them and relaxing back into the mattress, clutching his Birdy closely to his chest. He finally had him, he wasn't going to let him go any time soon.

[stemmmm]

My second entry into this series...

Stem's Thoughts on the Game Design of Harvest Moon 1 for GameBoy

What is a farming game if you take everything away other than the farming? If you whittle the whole thing down to its very core without any distractions? In this case it turns into a paradoxical kind of game that wants nothing more than for you NOT to play it.

Intro –  Memories of the Past

To understand what I mean by that, let’s take a step back to explain exactly what this game is. While I wasn’t overly familiar with this game before I played it for my research purposes, there were certain aspects of it seared into my brain as a child because it was the first Harvest Moon game I’d ever played (and one of the first games I’d played period). I remembered you could farm, and there was some kind of weird cave. I remembered you could have a cat or a dog and that you could play as a boy or a girl. I remembered that the town was just a menu where you could see the girls who run the shops. Most importantly, I remembered that the game autosaved. I remembered all of this because I had borrowed my friend’s copy of the game before going on a family trip where my mom made me share my games with my toddler cousin. He promptly destroyed my friend’s save file and I spent that trip in a 6-year-old panic trying to cover up that anything happened by making the file look the same as I remembered it being, in a desperate hope my new friend would still talk to me after I returned her game. (Everything was fine but she was mad.)

Returning to the game over 20 years later, I discovered that it’s pretty much a port of the SNES game, though not a good one, but I felt forgiving because it was on the dinky GameBoy. Instead of leaving home to take on a random farm, the game opens on the ghost of your grandpa pleading to you to become a MASTER RANCHER! He tells you that he’ll come back at the end of winter to see how you’ve been doing before he floats back up to heaven and leaves you with a video tutorial of how to farm, which existed in the SNES version but as an option on the title screen, so it was a bit less intrusive. 

So, similarities with SNES: the farm layout is generally the same, with all the same buildings like house, barn, coop, and shed, and the fence is still there too. Details like the well and the stumps that you’d originally find Harvest Sprites in are gone, and the flowerbox that keeps track of your power berry progress has been moved inside your house, which means that your fields have a lot less random stuff blocking off spaces, and that there’s actual room for crops inside your starting fence! The tool shed is the same, holding all of your working equipment, plus one of each kind of spring seed to help you get started. The shed is a more mandatory part of your daily routine than it was previously, because the lack of buttons on the GameBoy means there’s nothing you can press to swap out your tools, so swapping just isn’t an option. This doesn’t end up being as painful as it sounds because you’ll want to go to the shed every day anyway to see the Harvest Sprites who live in the cave in the back. The cave has four rooms, a main room where you can harvest mushrooms that grow every day, which makes up for the lack of forest to forage in, then there are three side rooms with a hot spring, a river which starts blocked off by a giant rock, and a room full of impassable stone pillars. The last two rooms don’t come into play until much later in the game.

Inside your house, there’s a note on the dining table that lists your animals, money, and also how much food and drink you have stocked. This is, in my opinion, part of the most interesting mechanic this game introduces, which is having to buy food to eat. There’s no cooking mechanic, so you’re forced to spend your money to buy meals and beverages at the restaurant and bar in town. Every morning, noon, and night, your character will automatically eat something, which restores a little bit of energy and indicates to you what time it is in the day. This mechanic existed in the SNES version too, but you never had to buy food. Having food in this game helps keep your happiness score up which is required for good endings, and it gives you something to spend your money on, though food and drink don’t really cost enough for it to be noticeable.

The town is, of course, a menu. You get to choose between the flower shop, bar, carpenter, church, tool shop, restaurant, and animal shop. Each place is manned by one character from the SNES version, mostly the marriageable girls, with the carpenter and animal shop manned by the two men who owned them in the other version since they ran out of girls. You have the ability to buy things, but that’s it. I won’t keep you waiting to know if there’s anything more to their stuff in this game because I already knew it going in. There’s no relationship mechanics with any of them, no marriage (after all, you can play as a girl and this game is old). You can't even talk to them. There’s a couple random events with the girls but they trigger based on the day more than anything else.

And that’s it! That’s the whole game! Get farming! 

I won’t lie, I was actually kind of excited at this point. From any reasonable angle, a farming game where the only thing to do is farm and farm and farm with no other real goal or progression outside of that is very obviously a red flag for what is at best an extremely boring game, but I was in something of a mood I guess. I was riding the high of SNES and at the time, I was interested in playing farming sims in the worst possible way– spending every last cent I ever made on crops, whether I could sustain all of them or not. It was my way of inserting a challenge into games that were otherwise extremely easy, because I found that once I stopped struggling, the game stopped being fun. By some kind of miracle, I had stumbled into a game that seemed to be designed for me to do exactly that, so I ran with it!

Immediately, I spent every last cent I could scrounge together on seeds, and while I waited for them to grow, I made friends with the Harvest Sprites. They told me that if we became better friends, they would help me on the farm, which was an interesting proposition! They didn’t do much of anything for me in the last game, so I was curious what they could do here. I gave them the mushrooms growing in the cave rather than sell them, to get the sprites’ friendships even higher. My efforts very quickly came to fruition when one offered to take my sickle to upgrade it. It would only take twelve hours, how exciting! One in-game day later and I learned that they meant twelve REAL LIFE HOURS. 

This is where things became concerning. I was trying to avoid wikis at this point because I wanted a genuine-feeling blind playthrough, so I didn’t know if this meant twelve hours of gameplay or twelve hours in general. I also wasn’t even sure if any of it would work right because I wasn’t playing on original hardware, though I expected whoever put it on the 3DS eShop wouldn’t make such a poor oversight that would cause the game to straight up not function… right?

A day of real life later and I noticed a distinct lack of sickle in my toolshed. It was about to become a problem. I managed to finally plant enough grass to buy a chicken, but I wasn’t able to actually cut the grass and the game wouldn’t let me take the chicken outside, so rather than earn money on eggs, I had to spend it all on more feed for it at the animal store. I was also using whatever time I had left in my short days to clear out my field of tree stumps, stones, and weeds to make room for my ever expanding crop empire. While this was happening, I started purposefully leaving the game on and idle whenever I wasn’t playing to make time pass more in hopes that I’d get over the twelve hour mark. By the end of spring, the sprites started to tell me that we were good enough friends that they would help on the farm, but I never noticed them do anything. My greatest saving grace was that when summer came, my unharvested crops didn’t wilt. Rather, they just vanished completely and left their tilled spaces in their wake ready for more planting– a blessing because without a scythe, I would have been completely screwed by having a massive amount of unfarmable land around my house.

On the 2nd of summer there was a typhoon, and that’s when I really started to realize something was wrong. My chickens weren’t fed and grass wasn’t cut after a day of forcibly not being able to do anything, which proved to me that the sprites didn’t help at all. On the flip side, my crops seemed untouched, no tilled land was untilled, no new weeds or debris had shown up in my field. To top it off, after a full season of weather happening, none of my fences had rotted. Could it be the case that these things were also tied to real life hours? If so, why would nothing ever happen? Neither passing time in real life nor manually changing the time of my 3DS clock made any difference.

The Sprite Timer

I couldn’t take it anymore at this point. I gave in and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with this game, or with the emulation of it at least, if that was the source of my problems. Spoilers didn’t matter if I couldn’t just play the game, and besides, why was I so worried about spoilers? There was barely anything TO be spoiled!

It turns out this game has a nifty feature where if you press “select” twice, not once but twice in a row without backing out of the first menu with the B button, you can find a hidden menu with a setting called “timer”. If you press that, you’re asked if you want to turn on Harvest Sprite Help and can set the speed to fast or slow. This whole time I’d been worried that I’d miss out on parts of the game by not having the little manual that came with every GameBoy game, and my god, I was feeling it now. How on earth is anyone supposed to find this otherwise? This is never indicated anywhere in the game that I could find. Meanwhile in SNES, I was constantly running into signs every two feet explaining the most basic mechanics to me inside the game!

After recovering from that heavy blow, I turned on the timer set to fast and put my game down to do a little more research. In short, time passes inside the game while help is turned on. I tried looking more into some old forums to see if people had anything to say about this, but none of them got even close to bringing it up. I did however find a thread on reddit where someone mentioned having to not just close out, but reset the game to make things work. That actually made sense to me because the virtual console really only seems to do save states. So I reset the game, set my 3ds clock 4 more hours forward, and then got back in. The game was two full days later, my grass was cut, and the sickle was done. I felt sick.

I almost dropped the game then and there because this deranged mechanic freaked me out so much. If I forgot I set the timer and left the game, I could lose entire seasons to this hellish mechanic. Why even have it? Why take the experience of playing the game away from me? The only things that kept me in were the fact that technically, I would never need to use the help mechanic again because it’s only opt-in, and the game honestly felt very good to play. I made sure the timer was turned off, and went back to the daily grind. I harvested my crops, cleared my field, bought some cows, realized that my cows couldn’t be let outside at all (but they could be taken out for walks which triggered a VERY cute animation) so the fence was truly a meaningless entity here… Then things just kind of stopped happening and I started to get bored. 

I finally went and looked up the ending requirements. Ship 4,500 items and have found six power berries. 4,500 items is steep, but I’d been planting a crazy amount and didn’t keep good track so maybe I could surprise myself. Six power berries though? That was literally impossible. Almost all power berries are dug up from your field, and only 5 in total are available until your grandpa magically expands your field at the start of year two. To top it off, if I didn’t find all of the existing ones before that happened, they would be erased. That doesn’t seem like too much of a problem since I still would only need six, but that’s only for the first ending! There are THREE! And each time the requirements increase. So with little time to spare as I was already getting into fall, I started plowing.

And plowing. And plowing. And plowing.

I was pretty over the game now. The shock of the timer mechanic was a pretty big blow, and learning the requirements for the endings, mixed with the fact that it would take years of in-game time before I’d get to use any of the rewards associated with them, had worn my enthusiasm down pretty completely. My only hope was that just maybe, if I got everything but the power berries, the game would decide that my efforts were good enough and would give me a good ending anyways. Unlike SNES, this game at least has crops for fall and winter so I wasn’t completely out of things to do when those seasons came around, but still, by the end of the first winter, I was broken. I knew I had only gotten half the crops I'd needed and was short by at least 50 happiness. My options were either to throw the game in the garbage or push through another year trying to make up for it and get the genuine experience myself. I wasn’t on a hard deadline like in the previous game anyways, so I had infinite time. The years were going to keep rolling. I should have stopped playing. Instead, I learned why the sprite timer exists.

Winning Through Inaction

Come spring of year 2, Grandpa upgraded my fields to be twice as big for absolutely no reason, since it was already a pretty unusable size to start with. I got to work spending all the money I could on all the crops I could, and covered my field in them. I did my best to manage them myself, but I was exhausted by the game at this point. One day when I was done playing, I set the timer to slow and turned the game off. When I returned and reset the virtual console, the game presented me with a screen telling me the day, time, and how much the sprites had done to help me while I was gone. The numbers were pretty meager but this made time pass faster in a game that I was truly beginning to hate, so I started doing it more. I started being more purposeful in my actions and would try to make sure my fields were freshly sown before I left so there was less chance of days where the sprites would have nothing to do, and I would get more crops out of the deal, but even that didn’t seem like enough.

So in fall and winter, I stepped it up a notch. I bought 100 seed bags at the start of each season and then went into my system settings to change the date by a few days while the sprite timer was on. It wasn’t an exact science, something didn’t go to plan pretty much every single time I did it, but the result was that by the end of winter, I’d actually shipped twice as many things as I needed to somehow, despite having only shipped half of what was needed before and working my ass off for it. But we take what we get!

I thought I was short 20 happiness by the end of year 2, but grandpa was forgiving and he gave me a fishing rod that almost exclusively pulls garbage. This item is the exclusive purpose of that one room in the cave that has a river in it. It’s useless and adds absolutely nothing to the game at a point where it’s already boring as sin to get through.

To get to the next winter, knowing I didn’t need anything else, I switched the help to fast and skipped days that way, which felt very pathetic and like a waste of time and effort, but I finally got my pickax and went to town on the last room in the cave, the one filled with pillars. There’s actually two of those rooms, and they're just wall to wall pillars that I could smash for nothing but a couple of power berries to get myself to full completion.

By the way, the last completion item you can get is an umbrella that makes it rain the next day. I don’t remember accurately, I don't think I made it to the end of the next year to pick that one up, because why would I. I didn’t actually farm anything in that last year I played because the requirements to reach the level of “Master Rancher” were already attained when I got the first special item. There was truly absolutely nothing else to do. There were no more house upgrades to get, no more fields left to clear or plow, no more money I needed– good god no, I couldn't get rid of all the money I’d made by this point if I tried. Therefore there was no reason to fish either when I’d gotten that rod; I can’t cook it, there’s not a compendium of collectable fish (foreshadowing), all I can do is sell it, so why bother? The pickax gets you power berries which are useless at this point beyond giving you a completion percentage because all they give you otherwise is more energy, and since you aren’t farming, you aren’t burning that anyways. The only unique things that can come up at this point in the game are single, random events with each of the girls that I couldn’t even get to trigger for half of them. I don’t know if they got missed because I was sleeping away entire years or if I just needed to keep playing random days until they hit, but for a couple seconds of content, is it really worth it when I’m already this sick of the game?

Don’t Play This Game

It was really, really disappointing coming from the exhilaration I felt after finishing SNES to be met with… this travesty. The game has nothing in it and gives you nothing for your time, in fact it’s so baffled at the thought that you would spend time playing it that it encourages you not to. The one good thing about this game is the fact that since the 3DS eShop closed down, there’s no legal means of easily obtaining it anymore (as far as I’m aware).

[icey--stars]

Stories To Be Told: PART 18

Series Index

A shadowsinger, a warrior, an Illyrian, that's what she was. Trained by one of the most formidable female warriors. Escaped the Illyrian camps and her clipping when she was barely sixteen and is now the holder of 6 siphons. What happens when she tries to sneak into the City of Starlight? And starts down a whole new road of chaos?

a/n: ya’ll just gonna have to deal as i make y/n more of an oc without a name lmAO, im enjoying this characterization. bit longer part too! enjoy <3

��� 『 ☾ 』 ↣

“Alright! First order of business,” Mor announced to everyone. “We’ve got to find a dress–or something else–and jewelry!”

I smiled faintly. I didn’t know Mor very well, but it seemed someone must’ve told her that I didn’t really like dresses too much. Luckily, I did also have some money I could use to splurge a bit like this. I never did spend too much of my earnings from the docks. The House was luxurious, and all I’d had to do was find some clothing, and someone willing to put wing slits into it, or do it myself haphazardly.

Mor pulled Emerie to her side by her waist, and I saw a small blush creep onto the Illyrian female’s face. I shot a cheeky grin in her direction. Her blush only deepened when she caught my eye.

We walked through the streets of Velaris, heading for the Palace of Thread and Jewels. I’d foregone my leathers today, instead in a simple undershirt and leggings. But I did still carry a weapon.

“Alright, this is my personal favorite boutique,” Mor said, stopping in front of a window that had a beautiful navy blue dress on show. “I’m sure we can all find something here of interest.”

The bell rang as Mor barged in, startling a few of the people already inside. A brown-haired female came walking toward us with a huge smile on her face. “Mor! It’s so great to see you again! Here for Starfall?”

“You know me so well Isa,” Mor replied, grinning from ear to ear. “I have a couple friends.”

“Ah yes,” Isa focused her gaze on us. “Nesta, it’s great to see you again. Gwyn and Emerie! I’m so happy to have you here…” When her gaze fell on me, her gaze scrunched up in confusion. “You’re new… What's your name?”

“Y/N,” I answered, shoulders folding in. I felt so out of place with all the finery in this place. It made me feel as if I had to be small. I pulled my wings in tighter as Isa came walking over, holding out a hand.

I took it, shaking gently. “I’m Isa!”

I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Great. Mor, straight to the red section. Nesta, how would you feel about navy blue? Emerie… you follow Mor. An orange might look good… or cream? Yes… Gwyn, straight to the blue section. Pick out a couple things and I’ll help you out. But first I plan to assist the absolutely stunning Y/N pick something out,” Isa directed, pointing in the direction of each color. I saw Nesta wink at me before wandering off in the direction of what I assumed to be the blue section.

“So! Y/N,” Isa regarded. “Tell me what you’ve looked good in in the past. Colors?”

I winced. “I don’t like wearing dresses,” I said plainly. “Makes me feel trapped.”

Isa’s smile didn’t falter. “That’s fine sweetheart. We’ve got loads of other options! Are you not too experienced with clothing?”

“Not really,” I admitted. A life full of running and only training to fight would do that to you.

“Great, that means I get to have more fun with you. How about we… hmm. Actually, I might have the perfect thing already. I designed it personally… yes. Yes, follow me,” Isa ordered, turning to walk farther back into the store. I passed Mor who was looking at two different styled red dresses. One with an off shoulder neckline and the other sweetheart. She was holding them up for Emerie, probably asking which looked better. Emerie’s blush had not gone away in the slightest, and for some reason, that filled me with a giddy sort of joy.

I quickly followed after Isa, not willing to fall behind too far. Isa took me into a back corner, covered by a velvet curtain.

“So, I’m not one-hundred percent sure you’ll like it or it’ll look good… but here it is,” Isa said, side-stepping to reveal a manikin covered in a dark gray fabric.

“I’ve been looking into stylish non-dress options,” Isa explained, letting me observe the clothing.

It was a near-skin-tight polyester long-sleeved shirt with a high collar and swirling silver embroidery covering the upper part, before swirling down the sides of the shirt, ending just above your hip bones. At the shoulders, two separate capes came down to about what would probably be mid-calf, that were made of a tightly-woven, clear, gray lace. It was paired with equally gray high waist leggings where the silver embroidery followed down the sides of the legs.

“I could probably put in some wing slits in easily. Might need to find someone who’s made wing slits before… but what do you think?” Isa asked, looking at me hopefully when I met her beautiful amber eyes.

I looked back to it for a moment before a grin broke out on my face. “I think I’d love it. It’s beautiful,” I complimented.

Isa grinned wide immediately at my approval. “Oh! I’m so glad, I was worried! I was searching for someone with slightly darker skin to wear it, if anyone at all… and you’re an Illyrian so it just worked out so well! It’ll match you so well.”

“Emerie might be able to help you with wing slits,” I offered. “If not, I can certainly try.”

She nodded, listening intently. “I’ll definitely ask her. She makes sense to ask, since she has wings!”

“How much do you think it’ll cost me?” I asked curiously.

She listed a price that was surely too low for something that seemed so beautiful. Way below what I was expecting to spend to be honest.

A squeal sounded from the other room and I pivoted immediately, shoving my head out of the curtain to look around, heart rate picking up.

I saw Mor holding Emerie in a hug and I raised a brow, seeing no danger. I walked toward them, hearing footsteps telling me Isa had followed me out. 

“Mor? Emerie? Everything okay?” I asked. I saw Nesta and Gwyn also walking over, probably equally as startled as I was.

Mor turned to me, a huge grin on her face. “Oh nothing,” she lied. “Emerie just agreed to be my date for Starfall.”

My eyebrows shot up, eyes widening. Emerie squealed again, and I recognized the tone as excited. “Mor! You could’ve asked me months ago and I still would’ve gone with you!” Emerie exclaimed, dragging the female into another hug.

I smiled warmly. “I wasn’t aware…” I trailed off, not sure how to put it.

“Oh yeah,” Mor sighed, shoulders falling. “I prefer females. I’ve been meaning to tell everyone… but I was worried.”

“Don’t be-” Gwyn immediately protested. “I certainly don't care. I have numerous friends who enjoy the company of females and males or one or the other!”

I nodded in agreement. “I haven’t exactly… explored anything, but I always did find both appealing,” I admitted.

“You and me both, sister,” Emerie said, grinning wildly. “What did Isa show you?”

I smirked. “Come see,” I prompted, waving her over toward the curtained area.

Emerie gasped when she saw it, turning back to me. “That’s perfect!” She shrieked, running forward to run her hands along the fabric and embroidery. “Oh it’s so pretty…” she cooed. “Is that a cape!?”

Isa was clearly also enjoying this as she chuckled and moved forward, lifting the right cape to show Emerie. “I was hoping you might be able to help me make wing slits.”

Emerie nodded. “I can do that quickly and show you where to sew in clasps real quick.”

“Nonsense!” Isa exclaimed. “Go pick yourself a dress first.”

I wandered back over to where Nesta was scanning two different styled dresses, one a dark navy blue and the other being a sky blue. Gwyn was staring at a peach and sky blue as well, in a different style than the one Nesta had chosen out.

“Need help deciding?” I asked, walking up to Nesta’s side.

Nesta nodded, “Please, I can’t tell which one will look better. I look good in all blues! It’s an issue.”

“What’s Cassian’s favorite color?” I asked curiously.

“He doesn’t give a fuck. Red maybe? I don’t know, he likes the night sky and that’s all I know about his favorite color,” Nesta said. “He doesn’t realize how hard he makes this for me.”

I chuckled in amusement at her frustration, and took the sky blue one from Nesta, holding it to her torso. Nesta wordlessly handed me the navy blue one when I held out a hand.

“Navy one, or find something silver,” I said. “But I definitely think the navy one would match you better. But you’d better try them both on.”

Nesta nodded, holding both the dresses close when I handed them back. “You’re a lifesaver Y/N. Now go sit over there near the mirrors while I try these on. You’re now officially the person I’m asking the opinion of.”

I scoffed. “Nesta, I don’t know dresses that well. Gwyn-”

“Too bad,” Nesta snickered. “You’ve been chosen.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling. “Fine.”

Nesta tried them both on, and the navy one still ended up looking a lot better on her. Gwyn picked her sky blue one, and Mor returned with the off-shoulder red dress, and Emerie ended up picking out a beautiful rusted orange dress with criss-crossing straps going up to a collar around the neck.

“Now!” Emerie said, setting down her dress beside the others’. “Wing slits, come on Y/N, I might need your measurements.”

I followed after her, jogging slightly toward Isa who’d moved the manakin out of the curtains and into plain view.

“Now, this fabric is quite stretchy, so it’ll fit most body styles. So we don’t need to worry about that,” Isa explained. “The leggings are the same. The issue is, I have no idea how wing slits work.”

I turned around, spreading my wings out a bit to let her view the slits I had in the shirt I had on right now. “I did these myself,” I explained. “It’s just mostly an oval around the wings cut out, with a line per oval down to the end where clasps can clamp it together.”

“Zippers sometimes work too, but it has to be a small one where it won’t chafe the wings,” Emerie added. “Say, Y/N,” She said. “What if we got one of your other shirts? And used it for measurements?”

“That’d work,” I replied. “I can go grab that… like 15 minutes? Maybe longer?”

Isa nodded. “Yes, yes, that’d be so helpful. Emerie, could you also show me your shirt? Just to see how they look against the skin.”

Emerie nodded, turning.

“Spread your wings a bit?” Isa requested.

I saw Mor pop up out of nowhere. “I’ll help,” she said, whispering something in Emerie’s ear before I saw her grabbing onto the claws at the apex of Emerie’s wings. I tried to keep my eyes from widening in shock. Isa examined the shirt before turning away. When Mor let go of Emerie’s wings, I saw the female Illyrian let out a swift breath.

-----

After bringing back one of my more… well stitched shirts, Isa promised to have it done tonight, so I can pick it up tomorrow morning. My sisters eagerly ushered me into the jewelry store next.

“Come on! Y/N! You have piercings, we’re getting you earrings!” Mor dragged me into the nearest store, with Nesta cackling delightfully behind me, shoving my thighs with her knee.

As soon as I was in, I had no choice but to stay when the store owner greeted us all gleefully.

“Welcome! I’m Meri, how can I help you gals today?” The owner introduced themselves, walking out from behind the cabinet and smoothly darting past all  the little displays of different types of jewelry.

Mor grinned. “Mer, we have a friend here who has no idea how pretty jewelry will make her and we definitely need to get her something.”

Meri’s face lit up in pure joy. And set her sights on me immediately. “I can definitely help with that. I’m assuming this is for Starfall?”

Emerie nodded.

Meri smirked. “Come here,” she ordered. “I trust you all are more experienced?”

“Oh yes,” Nesta replied. “We’ve got it covered. Y/N, you go with Meri, and find something pretty.”

I blushed, and followed after Meri immediately, pulling in my wings tightly and trying to be conscious of where my back ended up.

“Now, I see you have 4 loops, how about we find some earrings first?” Meri asked, leading me through the small corner store easily.

“Sure,” I said, trying to hold back my shaky voice.

“How do you feel about chains hanging in between?”

“Uhm…” I hesitated. “Maybe?”

“Good enough,” Meri chuckled. “How about you take out those loops and start browsing this section? I’ve got to find one particular piece I have that I think will be perfect for you.”

I nodded, obediently pulling out the loops and sliding them into a small pocket on my pants. The earrings Meri had set me in front of were little crystals with chains in between, meant to hang between two different piercings.

I picked up the first one that looked interesting. A sapphire decorated one with a dark metal holding it in place and a similarly colored chain in between. It looked like a similar color to Azriel’s siphons.

My thoughts paused. Why did I care if it matched the color of his siphons? And yet I still kept a hold of the earring. I tried to convince myself it was because it would easily match the gray and silver of my outfit for Starfall.

“Alright!” Meri announced herself. “I found it.”

She held out her palm, revealing an ear cuff with Illyrian wings. One piercing went through one of my lower ear ones, and then a piece of metal looped around the back of my ear to create a second wing just over the crest of my ear.

I picked it up, staring at it with interest.

“Oh, and that sapphire…” she hummed, noticing the other earring I had a hold of. “That’s perfect.”

I smiled at her approval.

“I agree, get them both.” Nesta’s voice made me jump as I turned around to look at her. “The blue matches the gray well and the Illyrian ear cuff is just so you.”

I smiled. “Alright, fine,” I conceded.

“Try it on!” Meri urged. “I can clean it off if you don’t want it.”

I nodded, popping open the package the sapphire one was in and easily sliding it into the hole in my ear. One went in my lowest piercing, the other in my second to highest. The dark chain hung just below the end of my ear. 

“Yes,” Gwyn said, staring at me from where she’d walked into the aisle. “Yes. Y/N, that is perfect.”

I smiled, blushing a bit at the compliment. I slid the ear cuff in next and got the same praise from Emerie and Mor. I had a feeling they’d all been curiously watching or listening in on me. I popped in the loops into the remaining piercings I had open and looked up again, almost flinching when the chain came back to hit my ear. I’d have to get used to that, I thought to myself.

“Want anything else?” Meri asked. “I could find some smaller things to fit in the other places.”

I shook my head. “I think this will satisfy me for now.”

Meri nodded in understanding. Nesta handed me a necklace with an amethyst sphere with metal swirls going around it.

Once everyone had everything they wanted and we’d paid, they also forced me to get some small navy blue heels with little support, and I’d almost stumbled in them in the store, but Nesta promised to help me get used to them before Starfall with all the dancing.

Returning to the House was a step-by-step process, with Cassian and Azriel busy with something apparently, I had to take turns carrying everyone into the House.

“Right, tomorrow morning everyone,” Nesta ordered. “We all meet and help each other get ready, got it? Y/N, you’re with me for dancing practice in those heels.”

I almost groaned. Almost.

-----

“Never thought I’d see you in heels,” Azriel’s taunting voice echoed in the hallway. Nesta had just left, and as I was about to lean down and take off the torture devices, Azriel had appeared.

I rolled my eyes. “Nesta insisted,” I reasoned. “I blame her. These things are dangerous.”

“Hmm, and new earrings,” he noted. “They look good.”

I pressed my back against the wall, lifting a foot to peel off the heel and stand barefoot. I sighed as my feet were allowed to stop suffering.

“How was shopping with everyone?” Azriel asked, leaning a shoulder against the wall casually. “Find what you were looking for?”

“I did,” I answered. “Shoes, jewelry and an outfit.”

“Oh?” Azriel asked. “What’s the outfit look like?”

“You’ll have to see like you will any of them,” I chuckled. “Is patience a quality you lack, spymaster?”

I didn’t know where the sudden confidence boost to taunt Azriel had come from, but I was definitely enjoying it.

“Oh I can be as patient as I want,” He replied, smirking. For some reason, I felt like that had a very particular hidden meaning. “Especially with someone as beautiful as you.”

I blushed. I hadn’t heard him compliment me before like that. So openly. “Shut up,” was the best response I could come up with.

His chuckle was deep, reverating throughout his chest before it came out of his throat. “Very well, see you tomorrow.”

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added)

@mis-lil-red, @bunnymallowo, @judig92, @biblophilefox82, @azzydaddy, @thegirlintheshadows101, @whatupmydudes01, @feyres-fireheart, @elizarikaallen, @xenlynn, @panzees-bizarre-adventures, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @baebeepeach, @nyctophiliiiiaaa, @brekkershadowsinger, @officiallyunofficialperson, @bookslut420, @margssstuff, @bluephoenix908, @goldentournesol, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof,

[nobedofroses]

December 13th

pairing: Marcus Moreno x reader

warnings: fluff

words: 650

a/n: getting a little out of hand with a school bake sale Hot chocolate/baking/dancing prompt from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️

more Marcus, Full List

🌨️🌨️🌨️

One of Missy’s class’ last hurrahs before winter break was holding a bake sale to raise money for… something. Probably new music stands or a football stadium or something like that. You didn’t really remember because as soon as the words, “bake sale” were out of Missy’s mouth, your focus jumped to strategy and the rest of her sentence was lost in a swirl of brownies, cookies, and popcorn balls. 

In the week preceding the sale, you made multiple grocery trips as each new idea was solidified. Everything together, you were making three kinds of cookies, two kinds of brownies, winter-themed popcorn balls, and a couple batches of macarons just to elevate things a little bit. 

Missy was pretty much just allowed to help with the scooping and decorating (and licking the bowl of course) and that was fine with her. Marcus, after nearly measuring out a tablespoon of baking soda instead of a teaspoon, was not allowed to help with anything. The only time he was allowed in the kitchen was when he got to try the wonky leftover-dough cookie that seemed to be a part of every batch. 

It was going pretty well, despite Marcus’ sulking, but you were somewhat behind. Missy had gone to sleep, so you had to scoop things yourself which meant less time to do things while the batch in the oven baked. 

At 11:00pm, Marcus came gingerly into the kitchen, “How are you doing, angel?” 

“I’m good, it’s fine. The macarons are resting and the popcorn is made and one of the cookies and two of the brownies— or was it two of the cookies and one of the brownies…?” you trailed off, hurrying over to the boxes of completed treats to count them. 

Marcus, sensing your impending spiral, came over and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. “Sweetheart, I know you love doing this, and you’re doing a great job, but this is supposed to be fun, right? I mean really, shouldn’t something like this be time for you and Missy to spend together? And maybe even your husband if he needs to remember his glasses before trying to bake?” 

You couldn’t help but melt back into his arms as he talked, the rumble of his chest soothing you instantly, “It’s just— I love baking—”

“I know.”

“And I want to help Missy’s school—”

“I know.”

“And—” 

“Angel, everything you’re saying is great, but need I remind you that you also have a full time job? I mean, if you wanna turn baking into something more intense than a hobby, I’d totally support you. But now, right now, you don’t need to spend up baking seven different things when they only asked if you could bring a dozen cookies,” came his gentle but firm reminder. 

“They only asked for a dozen?” you asked incredulously, turning in his arms to face him. 

“Yes, sweetheart, because the 23 other kids in her class will also bring something to sell, and that right there is nearly 300. Hell, they might turn you away with your, what, 150 all on your own?” Marcus guessed. 

“161…” you murmured. 

“You’re so ridiculously sweet, angel,” Marcus said with a laugh. “But let’s just finish up the batch that’s in the oven, and put everything else in the freezer. You need to get to bed. We both do.” 

The little look in Marcus’ eye was enough to make you realize what he meant, and remember what you typically did on Thursday nights. 

“Oh! Yeah, good idea, we can bake these next week for us. Um, let me just put that away, if you can load the dishwasher?” you were already out of Marcus’ arms, grabbing the containers you had that could hold so much scooped dough. “And then bed.” 

“And then bed.” Marcus agreed, and the two of you had that kitchen cleaned up in record time.

🌨️🌨️🌨️

[yonemurishiroku]

All the ways Hades can do to look after his son

I know, I know, Yone you’ve rambled enough about Hades and Nico, yes I’m aware. Too bad I don’t care. It’s not like I haven’t claimed that I’m unhealthily obsessed with this underworld father-son duo.

So here’s how I picture every little thing Hades does to make sure he’s a part of Nico’s life. (Some of them is in my Immortal Nico AU, the rest might or might not. Idk)

- Hades definitely has a sort-of soul-link to Nico and Hazel. A thread. A guiding light. His death radar is top tier ofc because duh? But when it comes to Nico and Hazel, Hades/Pluto has this constantly present connection, by which he can actually zero in on their life forces effortlessly: every fluctuation, every beat, every up and down they make - he can feel them all.

Hades feels them walk the earth, hears Nico swiftly melt in and out of a shadow, knows Hazel just opens a new cave underground - their heartbeats a sweet, sweet tingling melody in his mind.

He’s the first to be alerted when there’s something wrong with their well-being.

He would definitely know if Nico just suddenly mysteriously disappears from the earth.

- Hades doesn’t keep track of where Nico goes to - bc he values personal privacy, thank you - yet when the need arises and with a bit of concentration, he can pinpoint his son’s destination easily enough - provided that there’s no divine intervention.

(And if that happens he flips)

- He greets Nico with a soft ‘Welcome back, son’ every time he visits and a “Well done, Nico” when he returns from a mission/ errand.

- They fight, of course. Children and parents fight all the time, more so when you have… rocky history and both of you are somewhat socially dysfunctional. When it happens, Hades resorts to asking Hestia for help. She’s always happy to share her advices and insights, bless her heart. And although every god has their ego, Hades is willing to be gentle and patient to Nico.

He had been harsh enough on him during all those teenage years.

- Zagreus always takes Nico’s side, btw. Why, you ask? Because I say so.

- He gives Nico black cards (plurals because I can’t let go of Nico di Angelo fanning himself with a set of credit cards like a spoiled little prince he is) with unlimited balance. Hades keeps track of the transactions, though.

Nico doesn’t spend much except for a few Happy Meals here and there. He isn’t the type to go around wasting money for unnecessary luxuries since he lived through the Great Depression. So while Hades doesn’t mind how much Nico spends, he does notice when there’s a suspicious purchase and would check in, just in case.

- Hazel has a few, too. She rarely uses it since she doesn’t go out of New Rome so usually as Nico travels around.

- Hades also gets Nico a mobile phone (it’s canon btw). And a tablet, the same one Thanatos uses. Because you can’t keep track of hundreds of souls by only your mind.

- And thus I say Nico is not tech-inexperienced because he is the first one to actually get his hands on his own electronic devices. He can play a game on his tablet just fine though only in the underworld.

- Weekly calls!!! Actually it’s only Zagreus, just because he’s stubborn, much to Nico’s annoyance. Hades calls monthly for catch up.

They rarely use IM but instead have this special underworld network, which is installed on a Smart TV in the Hades cabin and Nico’s cellphone (don’t ask). So this time a demigod just walks in on Nico reluctantly sighing in front of his TV “Yes Zag, I’d show you around when you come” or “You tell Melinoe to stop then I’ll be there on family dinner”, with either Zagreus of Hades on the wide screen.

- They text. It’s canon (technically).

- In case of urgency and importance, Hades sends a ghost to deliver his messages.

Hence, there’s this frequent scene in which Nico is saying something and abruptly shuts up before turning away, his eyes widen as he stares at the air. Then, after a few seconds, he just nods and waves his hands, “Alright, I’ll be there soon”.

“Sorry, Dad called!” and there he goes.

- His birthday presents get more and more meaningful as years pass and Nico grows up. They’re still weird, though, like this time Nico woke up to a freaking big black ram sniffing his hair - Hades’ equivalent of a puppy. He must have thought Nico’d want one since Cerberus can’t leave the Underworld and Mrs. O’Leary is technically Percy’s.

To others, the ram is indifferent at best and downright hostile at worse, yet is pretty clingy and protective of Nico. She might or might not understand what Nico says so he rambles to her anyway. Her hair is fluffy and warm, he enjoys taking naps with her.

(- Hades makes sure Hazel gets her birthday presents too, despite having to send it through Nico)

- On Maria’s and Bianca’s death anniversary, Hades resurfaces and together, they visit their graves then have lunch in the di Angelo residence. As Nico talks about his newly-gained memories, Hades shares his own reminiscence.

Maria’s grave is located in Italy so they basically jump continents (and an ocean) in one day for their beloved woman and girl of their lives.

- On other special occasions, Persephone takes them out on a low-key family vacation - just because the goddess wants to show off the new flower species she creates and Nico knows she wouldn’t use magic on him as Hades is there and she’s in good mood.

Nico always comes back from those days struggling to hold freaking huge bouquets in his arms, a flower crown resting on his head. His death aura is gone and he smells like… well, flowers. The Demeter cabin laughs at him.

- He makes sure to share Hazel, too. Both the Hades cabin and the Pluto shrine smell and look like flower shops until the following week but Nico dares not to tell Persephone to stop.

- When Nico actually takes it on himself to come back to school, Hades gives him the best tutors he can find amongst the remaining souls. So Nico has 1-on-1 classes in Elysium (bc the palace is too dark and gloomy for studying, and not so ideally for biology) regularly until he finishes the high-school curriculum.

He checks in with the tutors, btw. I mean like how an actual, authentic parent would talk to their children’ teachers. Nico always feels surreal and awkward every time he has to attend those… parent meetings.

- “I wonder which university I should attend…” “What’s there to fret? It’s not like you wouldn’t be able to afford a life if your major turns out to be useless.”

- Pampered-rich-kid-with-his-billionaire-dad energy. Damn I want one too.

- Hades takes his parenting seriously. It’s truth. It’s canon. I refuse to believe otherwise. Argue to the walls.

In conclusion, Hades loves Nico dearly and this is the hill I will die on.

This father-son duo is so wholesome yall every time I think of them I just cry in happiness.

I’d like to add more but the time’s up and my headache is killing me. Please gods bless me with dreams of this sweet, sweet, precious father-son love.

[eunchancorner]

It's a little late, but here's part 4 to the RatQueen series!

“So, what do you do for a living, Richard?” Dexter asked, seated on a nice, white couch, holding a small glass of expensive scotch that the couple had supplied. He had to admit, while he still felt a little strange in such a grand, expensive home, the hospitality he’d been shown was helping him immensely to feel comfortable in such a new setting.

“I work with Carmen in an office building just a few blocks away. I trust she’s told you how well that job pays,” he smiled, gently gesturing to the room around them with his glass. “And I hear you’re a freelance exterminator? Must be nice to keep all the money your customer pays you, instead of entrusting someone with all too much power over you to give you a suitable paycheck.”

“Yeah, heh, it doesn’t pay as much as you’d think, but it’s enough to survive, I guess…”

“Oh, yes, that reminds me! Dexter, I was wondering if you’d like to stay the night after dinner? You’d be welcome to stay in my room, or a guest room if you prefer,” Carmen offered.

Dexter thought for a moment. He really only had his truck to sleep in, and at least getting to stay over after all this time might be nice. He really didn’t see any downsides, except…

“As nice as that is, if I did, I’d probably want to sleep with you, and not have Richard there, but I don’t wanna kick the guy out of his own bed, so…” he trailed off, getting the sense they understood.

“I guess I should have mentioned that me and Carmen don’t have an ordinary sleeping situation. We actually have separate, adjacent rooms and separate beds. The architect may have had tough nights in mind when designing the house but Carmen and I find it easier to sleep on our own. Not to mention the rooms being adjacent make it easier to change that should we be feeling extra affectionate,” Richard explained, watching how Dexter seemed to brighten up a bit at the news.

“Which means,” Carmen got to the point of the explanation, “if you want to sleep with me, you can, and you won’t even bother Richard.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then, yeah, I’d love to stay the night! I mean, hell, it’ll probably be the nicest night I’ve had in a while…”

“Wonderful! We’d both love to spend the extra time with you. In fact, that might give you more time to get to know our son.”

“Speaking of son, we should call him. After all, he’s going to have to meet Dexter tonight, since he is staying for dinner,” Richard pointed out, Dexter nodding in response.

“Ah, right, can you get him, darling?” Carmen requested, and, with a nod of his own, Richard rose from his seat and went to go get the kid.

“Are you alright, darling? I understand if this is a bit much for you,” she asked Dexter now that the two were alone. 

“Mhm, yeah, I’m fine. It’s kinda weird just being in a gigantic mansion with two people whose monthly income could probably buy my whole truck and everything in it, but hey, I’m honestly just proud that I was able to pull you at this point…” he assured her. He still felt a little self-conscious about his income but it was helpful that her and Richard weren’t being super judgemental about it.

She moved closer to him, taking his face in her hand gently, causing him to blush as she ran her thumb along his cheek.

“Good… but if you start to feel overwhelmed, please let me know. I want this to be a happy occasion for you, and everyone else, and that all starts with making sure you’re comfortable.”

“Don’t worry, I will… just… thanks for even giving me a chance…” he leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers, closing his eyes as he just let the softness of the moment envelop him. He always cherished how soft and calm these moments made him feel.

“You’re welcome…” she kissed his nose softly, causing him to blush even more, something she couldn’t help but find absolutely adorable.

“Uhmm…”

The two turned as they heard an audibly confused voice coming from beside the couch, greeted by the sight of Richard and Roy standing there, the younger having a very puzzled expression, his eyes locked on Dexter.

[2700k-moogie]

This is my pen that i use for inking! I figured i’d yap about it for a bit because one of my mutuals mistook it for watercolor (which is understandable, because it is flowy and water based).

So the pen i have (well actually i have other pens but this one is objectively cooler than all the others) is a 0.5mm tip Platinum Preppy, which is an “entry level” fountain pen according to the website i got it from. They’re actually pretty cheap, only 6 dollars, but i got a converter for it that cost twice as much as the pen itself. Which is dumb, but whatever, it allows me to use the COOL INK i got. I will talk about that in a moment. I’d never used a fountain pen before this purchase, and i do enjoy using it. I have plans to buy more pens but unfortunately spending money makes me feel like slime. It’s whatever. But yeah fountain pens are fun because they’re big and spit out thicker lines than ballpoint pens. Plus, you can shade with them, instead of just having to cross-hatch everything.

And then there’s the cool ink i got. I was deceived on the website for the ink and bought 40 mils of ink instead of, like, 10 or something. How i didn’t notice spending an extra 20 dollars than i intended is beyond me. But yeah the ink i got (as shown in image number 3) is called Golden Honey. (It’s actually black in the bottle but don’t tell anyone. And it doesn’t smell like honey. Waste of 20 dollars) In spite of my grievances and the amount i lost trying to figure out how to load the pen, it is very nice and cool. I expected the long dry time to be a problem because of my. Ahem. Heckin big pawbs. But it’s actually fine. Also according to my vague napkin math, i shouldn’t run out of this ink for another two years if i continue using it at the current rate. So if all else goes to shit i can continue drawing sexy rodents in my cave. Smiles cutely.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Controllers

Dear game developers:

I would like to flag up with the increasingly problematic issue of PC ports. Or rather, you being somewhat shit at them.

Now, please understand. I am not giving console players shit here. I think that “console gamer vs PC gamer” bullshit is ... well, just that; bullshit. People have ways they prefer to play. It’s just that a lot of people who play video games (or at least those of them who make playing video games a shorthand for their personality) have taken so much shit that they need to feel superior somewhere, and that’s the hill they’ve chosen to die on. Now, I don’t like that part of it very much, for one simple reason:

I CANNOT USE A CONSOLE.

Now, part of this is about money. I mean, given the economic mess we’re living in, fair enough. I have a perfectly good PC; why should I spend that much money on another method of playing games? Especially ones that won’t let me have chat from friends or an episode of something on the second monitor. I love my Gilmore, as I loved Morrigan, Leandra, Frankenbox, all the way down to Crudpuppy twenty or so years ago. Why would I want or need anything else?

Thing is ... it’s not just about money. If it was, I would have worked around it, because I really want to play Horizon: Forbidden West and Guerilla is notoriously slow at PC ports for those games. Still, if it means as good a PC port as Horizon: Zero Dawn was, I’ll happily wait. Because that’s the other reason why I cannot use a console instead of will not:

I. AM. FUCKING. DISABLED.

Console controllers are heavier than they were when I was younger. Rumble packs and so many buttons and thumb-sticks and I don’t even know half the time. They are heavy, and they require a certain two-hand grip to hold. Because I have fibromyalgia, I cannot maintain that two-handed grip for long, especially when I am having to hold something that weighs much of anything. I’d probably struggle with the old lightweight NES controllers that came with my first and only console (yes, I am that old). The new ones? Not a chance in hell.

You know what this also means? It means that, if you throw out a PC port and say you ‘recommend’ using a controller because you haven’t really bothered working out a K&M configuration that works to any great degree, I cannot play it. Because it’s not the console itself; it’s that I physically cannot use the controller.

Do you know how many games I picked up the demos to and had to uninstall without touching because they recommended a controller and I tried to use keyboard and mouse anyway and it was a fucking nightmare? I own a copy of CODE VEIN thanks to my bestie and I can’t play it because BANDAI NAMCO fucked up the PC port to the point where no matter what you do with your keybinds, you need to use right-shift for one particular element of combat. Which is ridiculous because the whole point of console gaming that combat-heavy is left hand on keyboard (mostly for WASD) and right hand for mouse, and how the fuck are you supposed to take your hands off either of those to press right-shift mid-combat? Left hand? Even if it didn’t take your hands of the movement keys in the middle of combat, it’s not just right-shift you’re pressing; it’s right-shift plus a thing on the left side of the keyboard. Right hand? It’s left mouse key to attack; taking your hands off the mouse mid combat is just as bad as the alternative.

I know some games are built for controllers. I mean, I don’t like it, but if you want to lose the PC market, that’s your business. I can respect a company saying, “We tried a PC port for this but could not get it right so it’s console only”. (It’s better than being trapped in console exclusivity by Sony or Microsoft wanting money, anyway.) However, what I do not have any time for are games that throw half-assed PC ports at people and go, “Well, it’s fine if you use a controller”. Some of us can’t. So ignoring the K&M option on your PC port is garbage.

Please do better, or stop teasing people like me and then torturing us with a janky, unintuitive nonsense of a PC port where the keyboard and mouse are concerned. Or at least think for five seconds before you hard-lock an entirely unintuitive keybind.

Regards,

A disabled PC gamer who just had to uninstall the Lost In Play demo because fuck that noise, frankly

[yumnasfunblog]

Takes place during Chapter One. Praline finally gets enough money to take Marjan out to Ambrosia:

…

Of course Dr. Keh noticed his new customer. He noticed all his customers, but this one in particular was taller than him. He allowed himself a second of being annoyed before deciding that she must be wearing heels. Her Disney Princess like dress hid her feet well, it certainly was possible.

But then he got annoyed again because heels or not, he still had to look up to address his new customer. So instead he decided to focus on the blue haired girl right next to the tall customer, who happened to be ordering…

“One all dressed pizza please!”

Nope.

“I don’t serve those here.” Dr Keh says.

The girl then looks at the taller customer with a look of vindication on her face, and says “I told you so! We can stop making all dressed pizzas now!”

The tall girl doesn’t loose her smile. “But they give us money, though. Lots of it.”

“Yeah, but they’re annoying! And the customers always get mad if you don’t give the pizza within seconds! Like dude, I’m going as fast as I can, I just can’t top a pizza that quickly!”

Wait, they’re Ovenists? Dr. Keh doesn’t recognize them. And he doesn’t remember hearing about any new Ovenists in town…

The two bicker for a while, and then the tall one says ‘If you actually want to ban all dresses pizzas then you’ll have to have to make a menu.”

They don’t have a menu? They’re joking, right? Dr. Keh studies the two girls, and doesn’t see any sign they’re lying.

Oh. So that’s why he hasn’t heard of them. Any Ovenist who didn’t use a menu simply isn’t worth noticing.

The blue haired girl frowns, rolls her eyes, and then focuses on Dr. Keh. “I’d like the pizza with the most toppings.”

It is not profitable to yell at customers. It is not profitable to make fun of customers to their face. It is not profitable to yell at customers.

He wants to, though. Why is she ordering all dressed pizzas if she hates making them?

The tall girl then says to the blue haired girl, in Arabic (which they probably assumed he doesn’t understand), “We don’t have enough to get more than one topping, Marjan. Please choose something else.”

“What about Olives?” Marjan asks.

“A topping that you like.” The tall girl says.

“Fairuza likes them!” Marjan says.

“But you don’t. And I’d prefer you don’t throw up in the car.”

“Fine.” Marjan says. Then she orders a Jalapeño pizza in English.

The tall girl then pays, and Dr. Keh writes down the order.

The two customers then go to their tables.

Dr. Keh makes the pizza and delivers it to the table. Oddly enough, the tall one’s expression changes for a second, so quickly Dr Keh can’t determine what it was, then goes back to a smile.

———-

Dr. Keh is taking another customer’s order when he sees the tall one take a bite or of his pizza. She hadn’t touched it for a while for some reason, and he was glad she’d finally chose to take a bite.

And then she gags. Gags!

Dr. Keh had had people react negatively to his pizza before, but he hasn’t had one nearly throw up because of his food.

He wants to go over there, to talk about it, but these customers are taking a long time to order.

It is not profitable to hurry customers.

And they also have the audacity to order the pizza with the most toppings. Wonderful!

By the time they’re finished the tall girl and Marjan have left.

Dr. Keh then is thankful that his customers ordered the pizzas with the most toppings, because it means he can spend more time in the kitchen. Composing himself.

Through the window, he sees the tall girl. Throwing up in a nearby trash can.

Then she gets up and walks away like nothing happened.

Like she hadn’t just crushed him.

Dr. Keh then goes back to the kitchen to compose himself again. The customers can wait.

….

[nellie-elizabeth]

8, 10, and 15 for Malex for the OTP asks?

8. What were their first impressions of each other?

I feel like they probably knew of each other vaguely once Michael was back in Roswell and they were at the same school, but they don't have like... a specific memory of the First Time they saw each other. But Alex probably had this vague sense of Michael as an outsider, maybe even knew he was poor/didn't have parents, and didn't really think much about him more specifically than that at first. Then I picture one day people are giving presentations in class and Michael stands up and pulls something totally brilliant, and Alex suddenly notices how smart he is... and he's so cute, too...

And then Michael thinks of Alex as Liz Ortecho's friend, whatever, but then does a double-take and starts noticing Alex when he shows up to school with a septum piercing for the first time. And then he's like hmmm okay I've gotta get this guy's attention somehow...

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them

"It wasn't exactly your finest moment," Alex says with an eye-roll. "You were supposed to be my rescuer and you left me chained to the radiator."

"Oh, come on!" Michael says, indignant. "I accurately assessed the degree to which you were going to be an idiot and run straight for danger if you were free--"

"Says the guy who ran full-tilt towards my father holding a gun at Crash-Con."

"Yeah, after you confronted him first. I'm only stupid after you've been stupid. My stupidity is actually the inevitable consequence of your own bad decision-making."

Alex raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Sure, yes, it's definitely all my fault."

“I didn’t exactly have any other choice. And besides, I’d done exactly what they wanted. I didn’t think they’d hurt you.”

“Mm,” Alex says, vague and quiet. He stares down at his hands, and Michael’s no longer sure the degree to which they’re joking about the ridiculous circumstances of the past, or if this is actually bothering his husband, all these years later.

"Hey. I really would have come back for you," Michael says, a little more gently. "You know that, right? Always.”

Alex looks up, a smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I know.”

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

I think an actual genuine trait that Michael dislikes in Alex is the way he shuts down and turns really cold and logical during an argument. Alex is getting better at it now that they're together, at actually accessing his feelings and expressing them, but for a long time he'd shut down and make it hard to get to the actual core of an issue, and that makes Michael feel rejected and like his own emotional reaction isn't being respected/taken seriously. He also wishes Alex would admit when he needs help more readily, although Michael has gotten better at giving him the space to feel comfortable being vulnerable.

And I think Alex probably finds some of Michael's frugal habits from his years of housing insecurity to be frustrating. Like, Michael always wants to keep doing things the way he's used to, because it's "fine" that way, and Alex doesn't like having to convince him again and again that they can afford something a little nicer and more convenient. Getting Michael to buy and use suitcases when they go on trips instead of just using garbage bags. Or spending extra money on a nicer item of clothing that will actually last longer.

I also think when they first start cohabitating they move each other's shit around a lot? Michael is trying to consolidate/make sure he knows where important things are located at all times, and Alex is trying to tidy up, and they're both constantly like "where tf did you put my shit" lmao. They get better at it after a while.

But in all the ways they clash, they both take their relationship super seriously and have learned to talk through and find solutions that work for both of them.

[disappearinginq]

You know when things seem to be going suspiciously well, and then you're like 'why should I be suspicious? I deserve good things' and then the universe is like SOUNDS LIKE PRIDE - BETTER KNOCK YOU BACK A FEW STEPS. 

I got laid off very unexpectedly at the end of March. And I mean, out of the blue on all sides. My boss legit cried telling me that they’d just gotten rid of my position entirely and if she didn’t have two kids at home, she would’ve rage-quit on my behalf. This layoff came in the middle of the one year I decided to spend money - by paying for half of a major home renovation that my parents couldn’t afford otherwise (or would eat so far into their savings they would have none). Cue Panic Time. 

But because everyone was so upset, they bent over backwards to help me get another job, and I was unemployed less than a week, got a job doing basically the same thing but for $10/hr more (no more unlimited vacation, though, which is lame). Huzzah! Panic Time is over!

New job was gonna start right in the middle of kitchen demolition, which I was supposed to help with to save money (my parents are in their 70′s and 80′s). 

New job let me push my start week back a week to accomodate. Yay!

New start date is the date my new puppy was supposed to be coming home, and I’d originally planned on going out to get him. 

It’s fine - new boss is a dog lover and said I could take a sick day to go get him and it’d be fine. 

Things are looking good!

Here’s where the universe really sucks. 

This was going to be the first time I didn’t get a dog from a rescue in my 37 years of owning animals. But between my niece and nephew, my dad being in his 80′s, my oldest dog going senile and my youngest one afraid of everything bigger than her, and not wanting to get an emotional grab bag of various and unknown behavior/health issues (we’ve seen it all - cancer, a stroke, early onset arthritis, severe and unpredictable aggression, etc), I decided I wanted a dog that I knew the parents, grandparents, great grandparents, etc, from someone who went out of their way with love and adoration for their pets to make sure they were healthy, happy, and sane. 

I picked out Dalmatian (which are specifically bred for 3000 years to do what I wanted and needed from a dog), and his name was Oreo. He had a flower on his nose, and he was adorable. I was going to meet him for the first time in three weeks, after watching him grow up on camera. 

Instead, the next door neighbors’ demonic and aggressive German Shepherds broke through their electric fence and attacked the farm where he was. They went after the horses, which needed to be sutured up, and they killed every last puppy, and maimed the mama who was desperately trying to save her nine babies from these monsters to the point they don’t know if she’s going to make a full recovery. 

I love animals as much as the next person, but I absolutely would’ve shot these dogs. I don’t know that I won’t if I see them when (if) I decide to take home one of the other puppies from a different litter. This is not the first time they’ve come after the animals and even the people on the farm. 

Fucking fence your dogs in. Electric collars and fences don’t mean shit. Especially if you have absolutely no recall on your dog. I have been attacked more than once by supposedly “friendly” pets. Golden retreivers. Labs. Huskies. Cocker Spaniels. Shepherds. Mutts. And every single time, all I’ve been doing is walking my dog(s) by on a public road on a leash, and every single time, the owners have gotten mad at me for my dogs (or me, in one very memorable moment) for defending ourselves and our right to a peaceful existence. I have had to pulls dogs kicking and biting off of mine, getting bitten in the process. I have brained one with a branch I found on the side of the road. I have kicked one so hard it literally went flying, only to land and come back after us. I have had to chase them down with a horse when they were loose in the woods and wouldn’t return to the owners and tried to bite the shit out of one of the two horses with me. I have had my neighbors’ Dutch Shepherd go after my horse while it was in its own paddock for the night - a half mile from the goddamn property line which is fenced meaning he jumped it or gnawed his way through it (Phoenix is a sociopath though, and kicked in the dog’s jaw - $6000 reconstructive surgery and zero fucks given by me). All the while, the owners are screaming at their dogs to come and being ignored, and then screaming at me for defending myself when their dogs don’t listen. I don’t care what breed it is. I don’t care what age it is. My barely fucking civilized coyote mix had 100% recall in the middle of a fight. I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is. Your dog doesn’t have more right than me to live. 

[ltleflrt]

My current obsession is gay audio books with narrators who have British accents. It started with Nicholas Boulton, and when I ran out of the gay stuff, I started looking for other good narrators.  Anyway, this morning I’m listening to a book that’s good, but I keep getting distracted by thoughts of my own writing.

In this book, the protags are in love by their 3rd meeting. 

It’s a lovely story, well written, very emotional.

But so unrealistic.

To be clear, I’m very much enjoying it, but like I said, it’s really making me think.  It’s stuff like this that reminds me why I could never write a book for a trad-pub company.  I’ve talked to my bestie @jupiterjames about how books get edited, because she used to do that professionally, and she’s mentioned how I tend to “meander” in my stories.  She’s not saying it’s a bad thing, she’s just pointed out things that would usually get cut out because there’s a formula that must be kept to and a wordcount limit, and I am always AGHAST because THOSE ARE VERY IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPMENT BITS.  But it’s clear what she means, because I saw it in her earlier writing before I infected her with longficitis (HAHA 200K BITCH I WIN), and in how traditionally published books often tell romance stories.

The book I’m listening to is about romance, but it’s not about falling in love.  If I was writing this book, there would have been at least 3 more chapters between the 1st and 3rd meetings where they had many more meetings where they run into each other randomly and get to know each other.  As it stands in the story, they barely even know each other, and they’re already talking about moving in together.  And it’s like.. what?  Why do they like each other?  This is a classic case of trauma bringing them together, which is fine but if the rest of the story is about them dealing with the trauma, and not like... having some fun together outside the bedroom... I’ll still probably say it’s a good book because of the narrator’s performance, but I’ll never relisten to it, and if it was an actual book, it’d go straight into the donations box, because I’d certainly never read it again.  It was a free book under my Audible subscription, and I’m glad I didn’t spend any additional money or a credit on it.  I mean... it’s still good! If someone were to ask about it, I’d say sure it’s worth a read!  It’s just not to my specific tastes when it comes to romances novels.

I like to read about how characters fall in love.  I like to write about how characters fall in love.  Sure, there’s plot and trauma in my stories, and the characters have to navigate around that.  But I at least try to make it clear WHY they fall in love, aside from trauma bonding.  And if a trad-pub company made me cut that stuff out, the story would feel soulless, and I’d give up on writing altogether.

Anyway, these are the thoughts that distracted me so much from the last half hour of the book that I’ve gotta rewind and re-listen, because I know I was missing stuff while my mind wandered.

Sometimes my favorite thing about reading books instead of fanfiction is realizing that my writing is better than some stuff that’s published....very good for the ego lol

Oh, I just realized something as I was rereading this post looking for typos... you wanna know where I got it in my head that characters need something to make them fall in love besides their trauma?  The movie Speed.  They actually lampshade the idea of falling in love during a traumatic event.  I adore that movie.  In fact, now that I’ve thought about it, I might watch it today.  But Sandra Bullock’s character Annie saying how the love probably isn’t real because of how it started, and the fact that in Speed 2, it turns out she was right, has stuck with me for decades.  If Speed 2 hadn’t been made, then I could have lived in the fantasy that Annie was wrong and that she and Jack lived happily ever after.  But Speed 2 did get made, and because Keanu Reeves didn’t come back, they had to actually prove her right and ruin my suspension of disbelief.  I guess I have Keanu to thank for the way I write my stories lol