#i mean to get to my asks soon i’m very dogshit at this if you haven’t noticed

[mmmairon]

Why not enjoy the view together?

#manspreading diluc haunts my dreams he’s just so large and beefy thanks for indulging with me #life is still really busy and i’m always tired so sorry for not being on here much #i mean to get to my asks soon i’m very dogshit at this if you haven’t noticed #someone very kind gave me a generous tip on kofi to finish the sketch to this painting so how could i now #not* #diluc #my art #genshin impact #genshin #diluc ragnvindr #diluc fanart

[agreatescape89]

SNK Reader x Sasha, Annie, and Mikasa

Mikasa and Annie fall in love with Y/N, unknowing they're already with Sasha

Neutral Pronouns, Word Count: 1308,

Mikasa and Annie weren't ever the best of friends, but their first quarrel was in the first few months of cadet training. I don't think most would guess these stoic soldiers' first epic battle was over a common love interest.

Y/N joined the cadets after seeing how many lives were ruined and torn apart and wanted to help in any way they could, so they figured why not go into the survey corps. On orientation day, they were all lined up in rows while the instructor, Shadis, gave his less than heartwarming speech.

When it was all over, Y/N went to introduce themself to the other cadets. They first saw a group of three and thought, why not meet them? The shortest one of the trio had medium long hair and softest, ocean eyes you could ever imagine. The other boy was a bit taller with brown, short hair and rebellious green eyes, he stood himself in a confident manner and was the first one to talk when Y/N approached. “Hey” The brown haired spoke. “Hello.” The shorter one shyly followed. “Hi i’m Y/N!” They then noticed the third person of the group, who was previously turned to face the taller boy who’d now Identified himself as Eren. She was tall, about the same height as Eren. She had long midnight hair, grey eyes like a wolf. The look she gave Y/N was confusing; Her mid-face seemed tinted pink, but her eyes glared at them both like they were a God, and like they were a bag of dogshit left on the sidewalk. The four chatted and introduced themselves for a while but the Girl, named Mikasa, didn’t speak once as far as Y/N could recall.

Day one of training began, Y/N and Mikasa met up for breakfast and they’d met Eren and Armin. Y/N saw Sasha and called her over, when she got close Y/N immediately got up and gave her a big hug and introduced her to the trio. Y/N never specified Sasha was their girlfriend, which will later prove to be a big mistake

A few hours later, everyone was paired up to practice hand to hand combat. Y/N got paired with a short, blonde girl named Annie. She looked very strong, but lucky for Y/N, Annie thought they were cute. Though she's not the type of person to feel like that, she figured it was normal to feel like that once so she might as well enjoy it a little bit. “Hi, i’m not really sure how to do this” They admitted when Annie walked up to them. “That's ok, i'll teach you.” She said less than enthusiastically. Y/N surprisingly understood the directions Annie was giving them, though she seemed pissed to have to interact with another human being. Y/N practiced what they’d just been taught, subsequently leaving Annie flat on her ass. “Oh my Goddesses! Annie are you ok? I'm so sorry, are you ok Annie?” They ran to her side to check her, thankfully she was ok (it wasn’t much of an attack anyway) but Annie was flustered, her cheeks painted red. Woah this persons hot, and so nice, nobody had ever knocked her right down and worriedly made sure she was ok. “Yeah i’m fine, uh, good job..” She replied not fully knowing how to respond. After that, Annie tried to be paired up with Y/N as much as possible

Mikasa and Annie were both luckstrucken by the Y/H(eight), H/C cadet. They had to have them, though they did not know each other even existed then, they were going to learn soon enough.

Mikasa was the first to move in; Within the first week of training Mikasa was simping and offered to do all of Y/Ns chores, they declined the offer because they didn't want Mika to do that much for them, but She'd managed to convince them to at least help. Annie was the first to notice the other. She'd seen Mikasa spending so much time together, Y/N was hers.. She’d need to step up her game! At the next partnered training session Annie made sure to team up with Y/N. She asked to train them privately everyday because she thinks they have potential. They excitedly accepted and spent every afternoon together.

Mikasa hated that they spent more time with Annie than her. She had to find a way to win them over. Mikasa tried to take Y/Ns time away from Annie, being more caregiving than ever. It turned to Y/N alternating evenings, one day with Annie, the next with Mika, neither of them were satisfied with this. Each day they’d try to step each other up, either by trying to win their heart or impressing them and Y/N was oblivious to it all. Sasha was too though I bet any normal partner would be suspicious as hell but somehow these two were completely unaware of the rivalry that developed.

Finally one night, Y/N, Sasha, Reiner, Bertolt, and Connie were all conversing together, eating dinner. “So, Y/N, what’s up with you and Mikasa and Annie?” Reiner questioned. “Huh? Nothing, we're just friends.” Y/N laughed confused. “It’s pretty obvious, neither of them treat anyone else so nice, what’s so special about you?!” Connie joked. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about, if they had feelings for me I’d think I’d know, plus they know I’m with Sasha anyway who doesn't!” “most people actually, you two don’t really act like a couple.” Bertolt Chimed in. “That doesn’t mean we don’t love each other like any normal couple.” Sasha added cuddling into Y/N.

Suddenly there was loud ruckus in the dining hall. The group quickly joined the cadets who seemed to be surrounding something, whatever it was had to be interesting. The excited event that pumped up the entire cadet corps was 2 of the strongest soldiers fighting fist to fist. The dark glares they gave each other sent shivers down Y/N’s back, this wasn’t good. They both waited and watched each other, calculating their movements. As they stepped towards each other, both with their fists up and ready, Y/N stepped in. “Stop! What are you two fighting about! Please don’t do this!” They pleaded. The girls stopped and looked at them with shocked faces. “Y/N, I love you, we both do, you need to pick one of us.” Annie said, her blue eyes desperate for Y/Ns love, Mikasa watching them with a similar look in her eyes. Whispers among the crowd grew louder, and a few cheers and woo’s as well. “I’m sorry you guys…” “Y/N I would treat you way better than she would, I would actually take care of you rather than beat the shit out of you.” Mikasa impulsively said, strangely, it wasn't like her to do that but she couldn't stop herself. “Mika, I-” “Y/N I would never hurt you, I can take you far, I can take you places you could never imagine, please, be with me..” Annie cried. She had thoughts of the future, anxiety started to overwhelm her. “Um I'm sorry you two but they’re with me.” Sasha finally chimed in. An awkward silence filled the room. After a few, long, almost unbearable seconds, Annie ran out of the building to get some fresh air. Mikasa stayed silent. Eventually Reiner stepped in being the social dad that he is, “Ok guys, it’s over, it’s nobody's business just leave them be alright, they got a lot to work out here.”

And that they did. It took a while but eventually Annie and Mikasa got over their heartbreak and stayed close friends with Y/N, all the way to the end.

#snk #snk fanfiction #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #anime #anime fanfiction #anime x reader #attack on titan x reader #mikasa ackerman x reader #annie leonhardt x reader #sasha blouse x reader #manga #from an ask

[userrhaenyra]

opening lines game !!

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories. (if you have less than 20, just list them all!) see if there are any patterns. choose your favorite opening line. tag some people to play the next round!

thank you so much to @highscal for tagging me !! this was so much fun <3

i’m not sure who’s done this yet actually so i’m going to tag @escapesos @pixiegrl @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists and anyone else who sees this!! sorry if you’ve already done it hfkdks

1. the twilight hyperfixation harry potter, gen

It was suggested as a joke at first, for the Marauders to watch Twilight at their weekly film night.

2, 3, + 4. according to your heart, my place is not deliberate (falling for you) 5sos, muke

Luke didn’t like getting the bus at all. chapter one

Maybe Michael didn't have to use Open Sesame on the doors to the dining hall, but he felt like it. chapter two

Michael was pretty much already dressed when Luke woke up. chapter three

5. i don’t want to be your friend (i want to kiss your neck) 5sos, muke

Every time he asked, Michael managed to change the subject.

6. everything is never as it seems (when i fall asleep) 5sos, muke

Luke’s flat was filled with smoke as his potion bubbled over the pan, spitting out at him as if it wanted to attack him ― which honestly, was probably a suitable punishment since he hadn't been paying much attention to the love potion at all

7. you are the sun (and i’m just the planets spinning around you) 5sos, muke

Michael wasn't too sure what to do about his current situation, honestly.

8. make me your radio (turn me up when you feel low) 5sos, muke

Luke was starting to get the shakes from how much coffee he’d been consuming on a day to day basis.

9. my heart’s a stereo (it beats for you so listen close) 5sos, muke

When Luke woke up, he could already tell that it was going to be a god awful day.

also going to include some wips under the cut because i’ve ran out of fics! guess that means i need to actually finish some and post more :’)

10. untitled soulmate fic harry potter, wolfstar — currently 1.3k, i impulse started this tonight after i told gigi about an angsty wolfstar soulmate au idea i had and they encouraged me to add yet another wolfstar fic to my docs :’)

Remus Lupin had grown up knowing that he was skinbound.

11. untitled baby fic the raven cycle, pynch — currently 3.7k. have i finished the raven king yet? no. however that’s not important, ronan lynch accidentally dreaming up him and adam’s baby, despite them not even dating, is important !! i wrote almost 4k in one sitting and then planned to write it the next day however. someone (me) got sick and then someone (also me) went to a 5sos concert and now someone (me) is sick and lacking the braincells for writing so! it’ll probably be finished soon, pynch is on my brain a lot right now actually

Ronan Lynch was a dreamer.

12. i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you (but not as much as i do) harry potter, wolfstar — currently 1.6k, this is my spiderman wolfstar au that’ll probably take about two years to fucking finish at this point :’)

“Now, I would like to remind the returning students and new sixth form students that this academy has rules. No fighting, no pranking—” McGonagall gave the Marauders a pointed look at that comment. “—And absolutely no bullying. This is a place for education and you’ll all do well to remember that.”

13. untitled starstruck fic 5sos, malum — currently 7k ish, this one has taken a… very long time, it’s never really been my top priority fic wise however. i think i might make it my top priority? it deserves it, hopefully it’ll be great when it’s finished!

It was 3am and Luke was watching an old, shitty recording of a Calum Hood concert.

14. look up here, i’m in heaven carry on, snowbaz — 1.1k! i actually finished this AND posted it ages ago however i convinced myself it was dogshite so i deleted it like a lot of my shorter fics

Baz had always liked smoking.

15. you’re my lover boy (i could be your baby) pjo/hoo, valdangelo — currently 4.6k despite me not even being finished with the second scene of this 5 + 1! it’s 5 times leo kissed nico and one time nico kissed leo :) including but not limited to: the first kiss, the dared kiss and the accidental kiss!

It wasn’t often that the Seven & Co. hung out when there wasn’t a battle to fight.

16. you’re not my homeland anymore (so what am i defending now?) harry potter, regulus black & sirius black — currently 1.6k :) another 5 + 1 fic, also it’s NOT incest i promise i just wanted to write an angsty fic exploring the decline of their relationship as brothers as a gift to gigi <3

Regulus Black sobbed into his brothers arms, begging him not to leave him.

17. untitled marauders fic (but it’ll probably be called how evergreen, our group of friends!) harry potter, multiship, wolfstar centric — currently 3.7k, it’s a BIG sirius centric fic, i have abt a 15k doc just planning it but it’s proving to be difficult to write bc sirius is a difficult character for me to get in the head of, especially in the beginning when he’s like, fresh from eleven years straight of only knowing a life of abuse and not really realising it’s abnormal? hits a wee bit close to home however! i’m gonna write it, i’m determined. not sure i’ll ever post it tho hfkdks

Sirius Black was fairly certain that today was going to be the day he died.

18. untitled black widow annabeth x avenger percy pjo/hoo, percabeth — currently 4.8k. i don’t actually have a whole lot of this fic to write… literally like fucking. maybe another couple of thousand words. i could finish this in about an house… hm. inch resting

Annabeth Chase was ruthless.

19. i’m losing myself in you (and you, and you, and you) 5sos, ot4 — currently 2.4k! this is a fun hogwarts au, i don’t actually remember writing ANYTHING of what’s already been written, pretty sure i was high the last time i opened this doc so that’s fun! idk if i’ll ever finish this, it was completely based on the idea of luke going to a quidditch match and being layered with four house scarves (his own and all three of his boyfriends) so that he could cheer them all on. however! this one has been on the back burner for fucking ages so. not sure if it’ll ever be finished rip

Luke Hemmings was pretty sure that he was going to die… or combust, or something else that was fairly fucking dramatic.

okay that’s it! so sorry if you read all of this, i don’t even remember half of what i wrote but! yeah. i think all i can learn from the majority all of my first lines is that :) for some reason using the character who’s pov i’m exploring’s first name has a huge chokehold on me. i think it might be the fact that around the time i started writing properly i was reading heroes of olympus for the first time and rick tends to do that with all of his chapters. maybe. idk! i don’t do it all the time but i kinda like doing it, it makes my work feel a little more meish. anyway yes thank u for ur time xx

#mwah thank u again nat for tagging me this was a lot of fun #maddie.txt #tag game

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Mute in which ten cups of coffee change Mute’s life. (Rating T, slice of life/fluff/budding romance, ~5.8k words) - written for none other than @nutbrain​ for being a remarkable human being and an even better friend 💖 Please enjoy!

.

Mark eyes the shopfront before him with suspicion. His safe haven apparently gone, a flashier version has taken its place some time during the semester break, keeping nothing but the location and the proffered goods. Instead of the old-fashioned, thick-cushioned chairs and dim lighting, the new café shines with an open-floor concept, simple wooden furniture and an overall dark look with specks of gold to brighten it up. Leo Coffee, reads the sign next to a golden logo displaying a roaring lion. What big cats have to do with coffee isn’t obvious to Mark, but he overcomes his initial distaste and steps inside nonetheless.

As visible from outside, the place is deserted. The previous coffee shop was frequented by businesspeople and students alike, located halfway between the campus and Mark’s dorm – on rainy days, people often took public transport and bought their coffee elsewhere, but even on those occasions, it’s never been as empty as this.

Not that Mark is complaining. If the coffee is good, he’ll continue frequenting the new shop, and being able to work in peace would be an added bonus. He is quite fond of Julien and Timur, but even so, they’re not the… easiest to live with. To say the least. A quiet place would be very welcome.

He sets his books down on the table furthest away from the counter, slings his bag over the back of a chair and approaches the empty void where an employee should be standing. This is when he notices another curiosity: there’s no menu board. There isn’t even a menu card by the counter or anywhere, really, only a glass case with a handful of baked goods inside, most of which look like a child made them. So far, the only redeeming quality is the delicious dark smell of roasted coffee beans lingering in the air.

After another minute, still nobody has appeared, so Mark checks his phone for reviews. If the place has less than four stars – alright, three, he’s giving them the benefit of the doubt purely because of their convenient location and quietness –, then he’s out of here. He can’t even remember the last time he had to wait this long to -

“Are you going to order or what?”

Nearly dropping his phone in the process, Mark jumps at the sudden gruff voice and looks up to find himself face to face with a grizzled man. The black apron is all that betrays him as an employee as the unimpressed glare and casual attire do nothing in his favour. “Uh”, he replies eloquently and vows that he’ll never set foot in this place again if this is how he’s going to get treated.

The old man’s expression melts into friendliness. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Welcome to Café Leo – it’s your first time here, so have a loyalty card, lad.”

Mark accepts the piece of paper without thinking, still thrown off by the bloke’s sudden appearance (how does he move completely silent like that), and at least has the presence of mind to inspect it. Its contents are so absurd that he forgets to ask how the man opposite him knew he hadn’t been to the shop yet. “‘After 10 coffee purchases, you’re eligible for a free wish’”, he mumbles, reading the text printed white on black aloud. “‘This offer is not transferable.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that only you can redeem your reward, not anyone else. Would you like some coffee?”

He blinks at the bearded man, trying to ascertain whether he’s being serious, and is met with an almost bored stare. Weighing his options, the scales are only slightly tipped in favour of staying, but only because he knows Julien has a ‘visitor’ over today and there’s no other place he can study – the library is overrun by frantic procrastinators who left finishing their coursework assigned over the break to the absolute last minute, and Manu is coming back tomorrow. Apart from her and his roommates, there’s no one with whom he’s comfortable enough to invite himself over.

Especially not him. God knows why Mark even considered him for a brief second.

Looks like he’ll have to deal with this awkwardness if he wants to get any work done whatsoever. “Alright then. What do you sell?”

“Coffee”, comes the curt answer.

Mark rubs his eyes in exhaustion. He’s beginning to understand why there’s no other customers here. “Sure. Yes. A coffee, then.”

“That’ll be…” The employee trails off while frowning down at his wristwatch. “…um, about £7.92.”

“For one coffee?”

“It’s free refills, son.”

Oh, so maybe this is an American chain. That would explain quite a bit. Mark considers whether he’s staying long enough to get the most out of his money, but seeing as the bloke doesn’t seem the chattiest type and he’s unlikely to get interrupted, he decides it’s worth it. Still, there’s something he simply can’t let go. “… what do you mean, ‘about’ £7.92?”

“Are you paying cash or card?”

Alright then.

The next ultimatum: if the coffee turns out dogshite, he’s never coming back. He’d rather travel an increased distance to a normal coffee shop than to have to deal with this nonsense. Wordlessly, he sets down a £10 note and scoops the change into his wallet before watching the obviously American guy (and maybe the chain imports all their workers, who knows) pour a cup of the darkest coffee he’s ever seen. He unceremoniously sets it down in front of him and makes no indication of mentioning neither cream nor sugar. He’s lucky Mark prefers his energy supply as-is.

“Ta”, Mark mutters and scurries away, glad to escape that hard stare. To make sure he’s not being scammed, he takes a quick sip of the fragrant liquid and is surprised at how pleasant the taste is. Minimal bitterness, a gentle, almost floral note, and just strong enough to satisfy his craving.

Well, crap.

Looks like he’ll have to come back after all.

.

~*~

.

“Did you guys know the old coffee shop closed?”, Mark voices his thoughts into the middle of a medium-sized food war between Manu and Timur involving entirely too many packets of salt.

“The one on campus?”, Manu asks and accidentally elbows Julien in the ribs, causing him to actually look up from his phone for once.

“No, the one halfway to our dorm.”

“I was there last week”, Timur pipes up, making him furrow his brows. A week can’t be enough to refurnish the entire café, let alone switch owners completely. “Is it closed now?”

“There’s a different one instead. It was dead when I went, but the coffee’s good. The bloke serving me was weird.”

“Look at you, stringing multiple sentences together”, Julien chimes in, grinning. “Something novel must’ve happened for you to even bring it up. Was the dude hot?”

“Because that’s the only reason anyone would ever get excited about anything”, says Manu drily. “We can check it out if it’s good, even if the employees suck. Not like we have to socialise with them.”

Mark shrugs and regrets mentioning the café in the first place – it feels somehow personal, whether it’s to do with the odd experience overall or the fact that he ended up staying more than three hours. His productivity was through the roof, the calm atmosphere helped immensely and the thought of his loud friends – as much as he appreciates them – invading his newfound hideout isn’t one he particularly enjoys.

It turned out that the employee wasn’t so bad after all: as soon as Mark considered asking for more coffee, he appeared right by his side and filled his mug again, without bothering him at all. Still, Julien would complain about him and Timur might agree and Manu is likely to judge his impolite manner, and Mark wouldn’t be able to defend him. Even if he doesn’t mind the silent company.

For the moment, he needn’t bother with these thoughts as his friends are wholly occupied with arguing over some internet memes (and Mark remembers vividly how they all had to talk Julien down from nibbling at their laundry detergent pods), so nothing could be further from their minds than sitting down and actually studying for their degrees.

Not that they’re bad students, quite the opposite, they’re just not as… ambitious as Mark. Some have called him obsessed, yes, and he can’t quite refute it, but he prefers to call it ‘determined’. There have been few who are able to keep up with him, which is probably partly the reason why he’s made friends with people from completely different departments. He tends to be a loner in most classes, which suits him just fine.

Well. Most classes.

.

“I would give my left bollock for you.”

Mark certainly doesn’t appreciate the imagery. He hands over the photocopied sheet to the bloke nearly bouncing in delight before shuffling after his fellow students into the lecture hall. Closely followed, of course. “Make sure to change enough details”, he repeats the reminder, earning a scoff.

“I’ll make it illegible, babe, don’t worry.” James plops down next to him, stretching and taking up too much space. “You’re the only reason I’ll actually get credit for this course.”

Oh, Mark is very aware of this fact. He lets his seat neighbour prattle on as he takes out his materials, lines up his pens, and waits for the lecture to start. If he were pressed to explain how he ended up in this position, with a chatterbox glued to his side too lazy to do any of the coursework, he wouldn’t have a concise answer. Other than his inability to say no.

The problem is that James knows exactly who to befriend. Mark is naturally drawn to the overachievers in each class and carefully selects his group for projects, going by people who do put the time and work in to get a good grade – anything where students are meant to collaborate is 30% actual work and 70% politics. The right people tend to listen to him whenever he knows better, because they’re interested in improving and learning, they tend to go along with his division of tasks, because he distributes them fairly and suited to everyone’s skills, and they tend to work best independently, so they can get it done even without excessive communication.

And James? He follows the same strategy as Mark, except that he’s a leech. He latches onto the teacher’s pets, chooses the easiest tasks, always volunteers for presentations (meaning he’ll just have to regurgitate what his group produced), and bribes his groupmates so they don’t throw him out. Whether it’s snacks or drinks after class, whether it’s attention and compliments, or playing matchmaker: he knows how to make himself useful in all aspects other than his studies.

He’s a clown. He makes everyone laugh and worms his way into their hearts so they would feel bad about calling him out. Not having to do any work is his reward for asking questions everyone’s thinking but doesn’t dare ask for fear of looking stupid in front of the prof.

Obviously, James has latched onto him ever since they crossed paths in chem last semester, and Mark considered dropping the current class when he found out that he was in it as well. Even worse, James began asking him for homework, giving excuses like having had no time, not being able to write it down concisely, and so on – and though Mark initially refused, classmates approached him and gently nudged him towards sharing his results with James. Just to be nice. Just to help him. He’s such a good guy after all.

So Mark’s homework gets copied and passed along. And James’ fondness of him only grows.

During the long, meaningless rant interspersed with an impressive amount of curse words, he perks up at a quiet: “Wait, this one doesn’t make any sense.”

His pride won’t let him ignore it. “Which one?”

James points at one of Mark’s answers, a complicated equation. “Shouldn’t that be on top?”

“The denominator?”

An uncertain glance. He points again. “This.”

“You mean the bottom fraction? That’s the denominator, yes. And it is where it should be.”

James frowns, indubitably not content with the reply but possibly unsure how to voice his dissatisfaction.

“Trust me, it’s correct. Just copy it.”

“But I want to understand it.”

Fat chance. No way did he get any of the previous homework without having engaged with the subject matter at all, so it’s impossible for him to work it out, even if Mark explained it. Which he doesn’t want to. Because he figures it’d be like explaining string theory to a brick wall. He’s saved by the prof’s entry, knowing James at least has the decency to shut up during class, and hopes he can simply slip away afterwards.

It turns out, however, James is fully aware of his biggest weakness. “Do you have a bit of time after? You think you can explain it to me? Please?”

Yikes.

Not only is Mark burning to show him how wrong he is, he’s also entirely unable to refuse a plea for help. And there’s no doubt James knows this. He can’t keep getting away with it, he’s exploiting Mark enough as it is without offering much – if anything – in return, plus it’s obvious the endeavour is futile and doomed from the start. And this is disregarding the possibility of James suggesting more meetings in the future. So, like the reasonable adult he is, Mark replies: “Sure.”

And has never wanted to kick himself more.

.

If this bloke really is the only employee they have, it’s no wonder the place is dead yet again. They stare at each other, unblinking, and seem equally dismayed about each other’s presence. “Hi”, says Mark after a few seconds of tense silence.

The old man is wearing the same clothes as last time, apron and jeans – even his disinterested expression hasn’t changed. “I’m Sam”, he offers completely out of the blue, surprising Mark with how unexpected the introduction is. “I figured you shouldn’t have to keep calling me ‘this bloke’ in your head.”

“… Mark”, he responds hesitantly.

“Is that a threat?” Sam barks out a brief, mirthless laugh. “I know. You wrote it on your loyalty card.”

He most certainly did not, but only because the card is solid black with white text. “Look, I’m just here to buy coffee.”

“You brought a friend.” Sam indicates James who already sat down by a window and is absorbed in his phone for the time being – and for all his faults, Mark has to admit that at least his (limited) attention is always on the person he’s talking to; he’s never seen his fellow student even checking for messages during a conversation.

“Not really”, he says nonetheless and is reasonably sure they’re out of earshot. “We just have chem together.”

“You have chemistry, hm?”

He wonders if it’s possible to set someone on fire with a hard look alone. “Just sell me the bloody coffee.”

“For the both of you?” Sam turns around and studies the clock on the wall behind him, whispering to himself for a few seconds before announcing: “That’ll be roughly £15.84.”

“Fine.” He holds out a card, scowling when Sam makes no move to take it.

“No complaint?”

“Is it gonna be cheaper if I do? Besides, he’s paying. So I don’t care.”

“Oh. Then it’ll be £22.43.”

“Why is it -” As quickly as his annoyance spikes, it ebbs again. It’s obvious there’s no logic behind all this nonsense, yet he still tries: “If it’s cheaper for me, I’ll pay and get the money back from him.”

“That’s illegal. You’ve already told me he’s paying.”

“I’m not trying to buy liquor, why would it -” Deep breaths. He already told James about how good the coffee is, and if they go anywhere else, someone else might see them. He’s strongly incentivised to stay. “Fine. Here.”

Sam runs the card and, as last time, pours two very unimpressive mugs before, to Mark’s horror, reaching into the display case and pulling out two slices of cakes on their own respective plates. The chocolate one is drooping and threatening to fall over if anyone looked at it wrong, and the sponge cake seems suspiciously wet. There’s no telling how long they’ve been sitting there. “It’s on the house”, Sam says, almost begrudgingly, as if he was the inconvenienced one.

Mark considers asking for forks or napkins but decides that the shorter their interaction, the healthier his sanity. “Ta, mate. Do you need my loyalty card?”

“No need.”

Fair enough, though he’s not sure what the point of it is, then. He carries the coffees and cakes over in two trips and wonders how he’ll get rid of the sickly-looking bakeware without Sam noticing. When James eventually tries his piece and doesn’t keel over immediately though, Mark gives his own a try.

It’s the best chocolate cake he’s ever had. And he’s never been madder in his life.

.

~*~

.

At some point, it turns into stubbornness. There’s a few mannerisms, the odd hobby and some of his preferences which started out as either ironic, as guilty pleasures or as things he actively disliked, but the more he engaged, the more he developed the attitude of: you know what? This is mine and I don’t care what anyone says about it.

He’s starting to adopt Leo Coffee. The awkward vibe about it, the indecipherable employee, the delicious food and drinks – it holds its own charm in a way, and he’s stopped wondering about being the only patron. It’s perfect for studying or unwinding, and does wonders for his stressed soul. He’s been returning regularly now, about once a week, and even brought James with him a second time to argue about yet another homework he criticised. The atmosphere renders Mark calmer, more patient, and so he endured the other man’s presence for much longer than he would’ve thought possible. They stayed for almost three hours the first time, even longer the second.

Just to make sure he’s not being a nuisance, he tried to check the coffee shop’s opening hours and wasn’t even sure what he expected to find. They’re listed nowhere, of course, and Sam switched topics the instant he brought it up.

So now the only people he has to drag in here are his friends, who have somehow evaded his efforts so far – but not today. Timur and Julien promised to come even though Manu has to go to some recital or other, meaning she’s excused. For now.

Eyes idly following pedestrians outside, he’s resting his chin in his palm and waiting. Being the only punctual one has always meant boredom, so he’s lucky his mind is imaginative enough to keep him occupied in the meantime. His train of thought meanders through all the topics occupying his brain recently, how the new guy Julien is seeing is basically moving into their apartment, how Timur keeps hanging around the wrong crowd, how unfair it is that Manu aces all her courses with so little effort, how he happened to run into James during his break today and almost suggested spending it together -

His phone buzzes, interrupting his aimless daydreaming and prompting him to check the colourful screen.

I got ambushed, writes Julien and it’s unclear whether he’s being cryptic on purpose. Mark sends a question mark and has to wait a minute or two for the explanation: Sudden date night, looks like Netflix & chill boys ;) sry for ditching you but the shop isn’t gonna go anywhere right?

An eye roll later, Mark responds with a simple TMI.

I don’t think I’ll make it either, adds Timur, a friend wants to yarn bomb the stature by City Hall and they need me as lookout.

This one gets points for creativity at least. He sighs and reassures them with a quick sure, no problem before commending himself for not going home first to drop his bag off. Now he can just study instead. Woohoo.

Another brief vibration, this notification from a completely different group chat, one Mark apparently forgot to leave once the project was done: @Mark: are there carrots in carrot cake?

The number is translated to ‘GirthControl’, so there’s just one person this could be. He stares at his screen. Is that a trick question? Yes, he feels confident enough to affirm to James.

Ah okay. Thanks babe.

This is when it occurs to him: Wait, why did you only ask me?

Silence. Whatever quest James is currently on, it apparently required Mark’s input and Mark’s input only.

He can’t help but laugh at the absurdity and suddenly feels a lot less abandoned. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter whether his friends don’t rank him at the top of their priority list as long as he’s on it somewhere. And knowing that he’s left a lasting impression on James beyond being the lad who supplies him with homework is oddly reassuring.

When he approaches the counter, Sam once again materialising out of nowhere (at least that’s what it feels like – he’s always there when Mark needs him and never at any other time), he’s decided to not get weirded out by anything today. “A coffee”, he orders confidently and inspects the haphazardly thrown together bagels featured prominently in the infamous display case. “And a bagel.” He doesn’t bother specifying, Sam will choose for him anyway.

After peering at the digital alarm clock on the counter, Sam announces the approximate value of the aforementioned items and then squints at him. “Weren’t you going to meet with somebody?”

Mark half-shrugs. “Kinda. They’re busy though.”

“Mind if I join you?” He must notice Mark’s surprise because he adds: “It’s your ninth time here. Would be a shame if we didn’t get to talk before you’ve filled up your loyalty card, don’t you think?”

“Alright”, he agrees and waits until Sam has poured himself a mug as well before they sit down at Mark’s usual table – tucked away in a corner but close enough to the windows to be able to do people-watching if his eyes need a rest from staring at textbooks or screens all day long. It’s the first time he examines the man opposite him more closely: the distinguished features, greying beard, wild mane of hair. He looks too… important to be working in a coffee shop, like he was destined for greatness. Mark can’t picture him angry even if he exudes a bitter, cynical aura which he’s likely to hide behind sarcasm.

“How did you end up here?”, he wants to know, genuinely curious.

“Good question.” Sam takes a few sips of his excellent coffee as he ponders how to reply. “It’s a temporary thing, that’s for sure.” He leaves it at that. “What do you study?”

Mark eyes the disorganised heap of books keeping his bagel company and sighs. “At this point, I don’t even know anymore.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is”, he emphasises. “I love studying.”

“Where’s the problem then?”

There is none, he wants to say yet his mouth refuses to comply. He stares into the dark liquid, running his thumb over even porcelain and then decides to sod it – he asked, right? And somehow, it’s always easier to unload on a complete stranger. “I feel like it’s all I’m doing.”

“You keep others at a distance on purpose.” He nods, even though it wasn’t a question. “So don’t be surprised if they do the same.”

“I’m not.” The warmth seeps into his palms as he wraps his hands around the mug, providing as much comfort as Sam’s gentle tone. “I just want it to be different.”

“Make an effort. It’s never to late to change. I’m sure your friends will appreciate it. Put some trust in them, they’re your friends for a reason.” He nods again, lost in thought. “Have you figured out what you’re going to wish for next time?”

He scoffs, amused. There isn’t a single thing he can imagine himself wanting from the old man before him, so he’s unlikely to wish for anything at all. “No. Not yet.”

“Well, think about it. I believe in you, son.” With that, Sam downs the last of his own coffee and gets up, ready to walk back behind the counter and only stops when Mark calls his name.

“Is there someone you care about?”

It’s the first time he sees Sam smile. “Yes. There were two, but I lost one – so I keep the other one twice as close without trying to be suffocating. It’s hard. But remember, Mark, it’s never too late to tell the people in your life how you really feel.” And then he’s gone, disappeared into the back, leaving behind a faint nostalgia tinted with hope.

There’s no challenge from which Mark has shied away in his life, and this one isn’t going to be his first.

.

~*~

.

The word fuck on his lips, Mark bursts into the café like a panicked chicken. He’s juggling two bags and his phone, his frantic typing only interrupted by the need to breathe now and then, and nearly drops it when he slams his book bag to the ground at the counter. “Sorry, one sec”, he addresses an unimpressed-looking Sam as he dials a number and curses once more when it’s not immediately picked up. “Can I get a coffee to go?”, he asks, out of breath, as the dial tone beeps in his ear.

“I don’t serve people who are on the phone”, Sam replies, as calm as ever.

Mark mentally increases the number of people who’d be dead if his looks could kill by one. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me”, he says gravely and hangs up after thirty seconds have passed. “I’m gonna fail this class.”

“An event without precedence, I assume?”

“You have no bloody idea. But yes, a coffee please, I need to go back to the library and get an entire semester’s worth of material because I’m too fucking dumb to read a syllabus correctly. This has never happened to me, I have one day to write this assignment and I’m lacking so much -”

“Can you give me the time?”, Sam interrupts him nonchalantly and stares at the screen of Mark’s phone as he holds it up for him to read. “Thanks. Let’s say £2.63.”

“And I can’t study at home because Timur has his friends over, and Manu is in a panic herself, and I know the library is going to be overrun by people who treat the study rooms like their social media accounts by loudly oversharing all the time, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this. Maybe I’ll just accept fate and fail. No clue how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

“Your loyalty card.”

Distracted, Mark fishes it out of his wallet and puts it on the counter. “And the other people in chem aren’t answering or are no help at all, I don’t get it, I’ve done group projects with them and still they don’t have the courtesy to help me out in this. It was a genuine mistake, as stupid as it is, and I’m just -”

“You need to write it down.”

He’s briefly interrupted in his rant to frown at the black paper card. “Write what?”

“Your wish.”

“But you won’t be able to read it. I only have black or blue pens.”

“Doesn’t matter. Write it down.”

With an irritated sigh, Mark takes out a pen and thinks for a second, the majority of his attention elsewhere still. Eventually, he scribbles someone who cares, not that it’d be legible in any way, and hands it to Sam. “That’s it? I’m not sure this reward system is going to pay off in the long term, you know.”

Sam holds the card up to the light as if he was inspecting a bank note and nods, apparently satisfied. “You’re all set. Good luck.”

“Ta, I’m gonna need it.” Mark shoves all his belongings in various pockets, hoping he’ll remember where he put them, and grabs the to-go cup. And then, without so much as a goodbye, he storms back out, steeling himself for an all-nighter certain to mess up sleep schedule for days, if not weeks.

He ascribes it to his flustered state that he doesn’t look up as he exits the coffee shop, and promptly runs into someone, collides with what feels like a solid wall. His coffee gets squished and sloshes over, soaking the front of his clothes – fortunately, it’s not hot at all, more like lukewarm which is odd in and of itself. He swears again, yanking his phone out of his pocket before it gets wet also and it’s only due to another hand grabbing the device that it doesn’t plummet to the ground straightaway.

“Oh bollocks, I’m so sorry”, says the wall he ran into which turns out to be none other than James. Of all people. “Are you alright? Is it hot?”

“No, no, I’m fine”, Mark presses through clenched teeth, the stress slowly overwhelming him. “But now I have to go home and change before I can start on this stupid fucking -”

“Babe. Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath and ignores the quickly cooling wet patches on his clothes for the moment. “I still have to do the report. I didn’t realise we were meant to -”

“Oh, you haven’t done it? At all?”

“No! No, I didn’t, and everyone else is partnered up so I can’t just join someone else, so I’ll have to -”

“I’m not paired up.”

“Sure, once I’m done I’ll put your name on there, whatever, but that doesn’t -”

“Babe. Mark. Listen to me.” James waves in front of his face with a slight grin. “I did it. It’s almost done. I’ll put down that we did it together and you’re good.”

He stares at James, mouth open, for several unflattering seconds. “Wait – you… how?”

“I can show you, but it’s at my place. My roommate is around your height, he can lend you some clothes. Let’s go.”

And yet again, Mark finds himself unable to refuse. He drinks what’s left of his coffee in one go (and it really is tepid, he must’ve gotten really lucky), tosses the cup in the nearest bin and leaves Leo Coffee behind without a single glance back.

.

James’ flat looks exactly like Mark would’ve imagined it, only louder. Double bass and epic vocals are permeating every room, and all available horizontal surfaces are littered with stuff. The walls are plastered with posters, some funny, some pretty, some morbid, and it reeks of weed.

A small part of Mark feels right at home, oddly enough.

“Turn the fucking music down!”, James yells at the top of his lungs, throwing him an apologetic look, clearly uncomfortable with the state of it all and ignorant as to Mark’s growing amusement.

Somewhere, a door opens and the shrill guitars become clearer. “Whot?”, someone replies just as loudly.

“Exactly!”, is James’ deafening reply, and a few seconds later, the melodies decrease to a reasonable level. Another bloke joins them, tall and well-built with an unkempt beard and a band shirt as well as no socks.

“Who’s that? Is he allowed to be here?”, asks James’ roommate and regards Mark with suspicion.

“That was Sabaton, wasn’t it?”, Mark inquires back. “Primo Victoria?”

The dude’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, a connoisseur. He can stay, James, I like him already.”

And while the two of them exchange more words, Mark goes exploring. He ends up in what must be James’ room which is covered in paper, be it books or hand-written notes, and most of it seems related to chemistry in some way. Curious, Mark looks around until he finds a spiral-bound notepad titled with the name of the course they’re sharing this semester. Contrary to his expectations, it’s far from empty – not only does it contain copious lecture notes, it also features every assignment they’d been given since the start of the course.

Solved differently from Mark’s own answers.

Confused, he checks more closely and finds a recurring pattern: equations that are struck-through, calculations lacking several steps in between which wouldn’t be accepted by the prof this way, and very little text. It looks like the writings of someone who certainly understands the material but simply has a hard time putting his thoughts in order, putting his ideas into neat writing.

He’s been immersed for several minutes when James finally joins him, and when he does, Mark holds up his notes and greets him with a simple: “What the fuck?”

James doesn’t seem to realise where Mark’s problem lies and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m a hopeless case, I know.”

“No. No, you’re really not. This is – look here, if you just shift this around, you end up with the correct result. You’re like 95% of the way there, you just didn’t finish it.”

“Oh.” James blinks at him. “I guess. It’s kinda like that with the report. I was hoping you could help me write the conclusion, I’ve got the rest, but -”

“Sure. Yes.” Mark’s agreeableness seems to astonish his host. “That’ll take an hour, maybe two. And I won’t have to pull an all-nighter. James, you have no idea how much you saved me.”

And James, bless his soul, is blushing. “Well. No problem. I owe you anyway. Right?” He suddenly remembers he’s holding spare clothing and vaguely gestures in Mark’s direction. “You, uh, you can change in the bathroom. Don’t mind the cat, she just loves staring at naked people. Dom found out the hard way.”

Twenty minutes later, Mark is reading through James’ report with a ball of fur purring on his lap, faint metal playing in the background. There’s a lot of grammar and spelling to be fixed, as well as phrasing, but content-wise, it’s near flawless. He’s smiling to himself, enjoying the way James turns almost bashful whenever he compliments his work, and remembers Sam’s words from the second-to-last time he visited the café: it’s never too late.

He’s definitely treating James to dinner after he’s saved his arse like this.

.

The next time Mark passes by that familiar spot, the next time Mark develops a craving for caffeine and some peace and quiet, the next time he plans to go to Leo Coffee, all he finds is the same coffee shop which has been here for years already, the afternoon crowd populating the tables and several diligent employees taking care of the customers.

Somehow, Mark isn’t the least bit surprised.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #zero #fanfic #oneshot #I combined a few things I know you like and hopefully it's the same with the result #I want to remind you that there is no need to retaliate #but also that'd mean I've won this war

[supernatural-freek]

Love Me, Trust Me, Leave Me To Drown

Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Synopsis: You stayed, and like the giant space cat thing promised, your memories of before have long since left you. Things are good, things are great, but then Jack shows up like a glitch in the Matrix, and those floodgates open right back up. Soon, the one secret you didn’t know you were keeping might very well destroy everything you have.

NOTE: The long awaited Part Two!

MASTERLIST (PART ONE) (PART 3)

.

Okay, if anyone ever tells you that Sam can cook, kill them. Literally just stab them right in the fucking face because they are lying to you. Sam can’t cook for shit. You want breakfast made for you? You go right up to Dean and you give him puppy dog eyes and he will make you a feast.

“It tastes great,” you told him with a strained smile, desperately trying not to throw up whatever the fuck you just ate. Same called it porridge, but God damn, it didn’t taste like it. It tasted like a dog pissed on cardboard and then you burned a fucking Wendigo on it and then you ate it.

Holy shit, you were never going to look at porridge the same ever again.

Sam’s sweet little smile made you feel a little better, but it wasn’t enough to make you swallow down another mouthful of-of-

You shuddered. It didn’t need to be thought about.

“I’ll make it every morning,” Sam decided, watching you earnestly. You narrowed your eyes. He played the doting brother really well, but he was just a demon in disguise. A demon whose torture speciality was really fucking bad food. 

If this was what was waiting for you in Hell, you were going to cry. And then find a way to live forever. Perhaps they’d let you off the rack if you just agreed to whatever they wanted straight away?

Sam was still waiting for an answer though, and your smile withered to a grimace. “Sure bro,” you answered heavily, resigning yourself to your fate. You’d just get Dean to smuggle you burgers from the outside world. He loved you enough for that.

You brightened. Dean. Your other brother would save you. Dean would do anything for you. He always had, even when John didn’t approve. You’d always adored him for that.

Grinning brightly, you shoved the bowl back at Sam and got to your feet. “Thanks for the food, Sam! I’m gonna go find Dean!”

You bounced away before Sam could say anything. You were weak for your brothers - anything they asked you to do you would do. Even if it meant pretending to like rat poison. 

Yuck, the aftertaste that lingered in your mouth was even worse how was that possible-

“Dean!” You cheered, bursting into his room without any sort of warning. Thank God he wasn’t naked and masturbating to the bad pornos he loved so dearly. Thank God it wasn’t him fucking someone. That would be awkward on all fronts.

Pfft. ‘Fronts’.

Anyway.

Like the actual drama queen that he was, Dean had thrown himself off the bed when you’d kicked his door open, and so he was laying on the floor, blinking up at you in a daze. “Y/N.”

You sprawled out across his bed, burying your face in his pillow. Ew. It was kind of sweaty. “Clean your shit,” you mumbled.

Something poked your ribs. “What?”

You raised your head up to stare over the edge at him. “Sam is trying to kill me with his cooking and I need you to smuggle me actually edible food so I don’t die a premature death.”

Dean snorted, getting to his feet and simply laying over the top of you. You grunted in protest as his weight pushed you into the soft covers. Fuck. He was a heavy son of a bitch. “What will I do?” Dean pondered.

“Get off me for one. Christ, what do you eat?”

Dean huffed some sort of offended noise. “That’s rude. Do you want my help or not?”

You instantly let go of the weight thing. “Yes.”

Satisfied, Dean rolled off of you and instead laid down next to you. It was like being at a sleepover. Except it was your brother. Your brother who was literally just a grown child with stupidly adorable freckles. This man was precious. 

“Let me tell you a secret,” he whispered, just like a high school girl.

You rolled your eyes but indulged him anyway. “What?”

“Sam knows he can’t cook for shit. He just likes to fuck with you.”

You shot up, mouth hanging open. Fucking what?!

Oh, Sam better watch his fucking back. Cause you were gonna be standing behind him with a fucking knife that traitorous little bitch.

You barely heard Dean’s protests as you vaulted off the bed and sprinted down the hallway, intent on finding Sam and shaving his entire fucking head. You couldn’t believe he’d made you eat that disgusting pile of dogshit and hadn’t said anything.

What had you done to earn this betrayal? Dean was the one who was always being a dick and playing pranks, and instead, Sam had turned on you? You were just his sweet, innocent little sister! What the fuck!

“Samuel!” You roared, voice echoing and doubling.

“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice answered you, and you faltered in your rampage, immediately seeking out the owner of the tentative greeting. You found him easily, tucked away around a corner and peering at you with large eyes.

“The fuck are you?” You asked gruffly, coming to a stop. He was young, whoever it was that had appeared in the bunker. Vaguely familiar too, but you couldn't, for the life of you, figure out where you knew him from. "How'd you get in here?"

The boy frowned, looking adorably confused and concerned. "It's me," he answered nervously. "Its Jack."

Jack. Yes, you remembered him now. Memories appeared like fog in the morning, cementing in your mind as if they’d never been gone in the first place. Of course you remembered Jack. The son of Lucifer, but also the son of Kelly. 

A wide smile broke out across your face. “Jack!” You greeted eagerly, immediately reaching for his hand and tugging. You’d always been so easy with tactile actions - Dean hadn’t spoken to you for almost two weeks after you’d given Jack a tight hug and an affectionate pat on his cheek.

Jack followed without much protest, but there was still a hesitance in his movements, as if he’d noticed that something wasn’t quite right in this situation. You couldn’t for the life of you think why. You and Jack had always been close. It was like Dean and Cas.

You were friends.

“Samuel!” You roared, upon entering the kitchen and finding your brother eating a nice fresh salad. “You have some explaining to do!”

Sam looked up, brow furrowing in mock innocence. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered. His eyes flicked to Jack, behind you, and something about him visibly softened. He’d always loved Jack like he’d love a son.

You scowled at him. “Whatever the fuck you made me eat before - you know that it’s worse than shit.”

“You said you loved it.”

“Because you’re a pussy, Sam, and I’d hate to hurt your feelings.”

Sam’s mirth fell away. “Watch your language,” he warned. “Dean’ll have your head.”

You scoffed, twirling away from Jack to grab a bottle of Coke from the fridge. “Dean can kiss my as-”

“Finish that sentence, sis, and I’m going to lock you in your room for a week.” Dean’s voice was gruff, but teasing, and you grinned as you took a swig from the bottle of soft drink. 

You threw him a cheeky grin. “Just means I get to sleep for ages.”

Dean returned your smile, and then sat next to Sam, screwing his face up at the healthy food. You hid your snort in another drink of Coke. God, both your brother were such wussies about certain things. 

Jack, who’d simply watched the interactions up until this certain point, spoke up, his voice soft but forceful. “Y/N, who gave you those memories?”

Time seemed to come to a complete standstill.

What the fuck, Jack?

You had no idea what he was talking about - absolutely none, you swore it. All of your memories were real, you’d lived these things. You knew Jack and you knew Cas and you knew Dean and you knew Sam.

(Deep down, you knew something was wrong with them. You’re memories were shiny, as though someone had tampered with them. No. No. They were real.)

“Jack.” Dean’s voice brooked no room for argument. He needed an explanation. You all needed an explanation.

Jack’s wide eyes flitted over to you, something like unease passing over his face. “Her memories,” he said, suddenly unsure. “They aren’t real. They’ve been implanted. It’s why she didn’t know me until I introduced myself.”

Your mind went very, very, very very very very far away from your body for a very long pause. No. No, you remembered Jack. Of course you remembered Jack! You’d taught him to play tag, running around the bunker in a frenzy, loud laughter bouncing off the walls. You’d-You’d introduced him to ice cream and-and-

It was real. It had to be.

“So where did I come from?” Your voice doubled and echoed as your body swirled around the room. You were still sat in that fucking chair of course, but your body was swirling anyway. “Who am I? Am I a Winchester?”

Nobody said anything for too many heartbeats.

Right.

Of course.

Of-fucking-course.

Dean’s voice was steely and yet still wounded when he said, “We’ll get Cas. We’ll figure this out.” He pushed away from the table and stood up, his green eyes hooded and his face shadowed. “I need some air.”

You reached for him. “Dean-”

He winced away, hurrying off with almost-silent footsteps. You looked to Sam, eyes wide and pleading. He didn’t look up from the table, fork limp in his hands.

You looked to Jack, who just looked back with bottomless eyes that made you fall and fall and fall.

#supernatural #Supernatural fanfic #Supernatural angst #sad supernatural imagines #sad supernatural one shots #supernatural one shot #supernatural sister #sister!winchester #dean x sister!reader #sam x sister!reader #supernatural-freek

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Skadi, 3-turn set-ups, and why niche is good

Do you know what DSS is? If you don’t, you probably haven’t been playing F/GO for long, but DSS stands for Double Skadi System. Skadi, a Servant soon to come on the NA server and one that JP has had for almost two years now, completely revolutionized the game when she came out. Being the most functional and usable Quick support, as well as being really viable general support, Skadi gave birth to the Double Skadi System, where you’d use two Skadi in tandem with an AoE Quick Servant, such as Lancelot, Atalanta, or Marie Antoinette. 

If you’ve wondered why those three Servants have such bad NP gain, its because they actually get pretty decent refund off of their NPs, which are Quick and score a lot of hits. For Lancelot and Atalanta, it’s actually part of their core gameplay gimmick where they use their NPs to generate a lot of critical stars. The Double Skadi System allows them to get refunds of over 50%, which means it becomes functionally possible to do 3-turn set-ups. 

Now 3-turn set-ups have existed ever since Mordred (Rider) was released (and had her NP gain altered to not be total dogshit), but those comps generally required multiple Arts and NP Gain supports, and usually multiple unique SSRs. DSS only requires you, generally, to have a single Skadi and a support Skadi to function, and usually only a MLB Kaleidoscope.

What are 3-turn comps used for anyways? 

Well, your answer to that is, farming. DSS 3-turn comps allow you to complete farming in 3 turns, which is almost always the minimum amount of turns you need. This, in turn, is fast. But that’s the only upside. It’s fast. There has not been a single instance where DSS is required for farming. Probably most importantly, DSS making farming fast typically doesn’t come with any notable benefits either. You’re still AP gated meaning you’ll have to spend Apples to farm more, and in almost every event, there is a massive drop in returns once you complete the event shops. Turning Gold mats into QP is very rarely worth it over farming the QP missions. The only time the time spent with DSS might actually matter is in Lottery Box events, since those have very consistent (and profitable!) rewards. 

So, what DSS gives you isn’t always super relevant, and is only really impactful in one specific scenario. 

So that’s the gist. Obviously if you personally care about spending 3 turns or 7 turns farming that can change your priorities, but speaking as someone who has never had access to DSS ever, it really does not matter in the scheme of things. 

DSS, Tier Lists, and Viability Discussions

If you’ve been around long enough, you’ve probably heard the Appmedia tierlist panned as “The Merlin Tierlist”. I don’t know where that spark of rightfully panning the Appmedia tierlist went, but they were right. That tierlist was heavily biased in favor of Buster servants because it assumed you had everything. It was much more accurate to call it a “Whale Tierlist” because that’s what it has always been. 

There are a lot of Servants that are super hyped up but only because they’re very good in DSS. The Count of Monte Cristo is a rather infamous one. Dantes was generally considered a super mediocre Servant prior to Skadi’s release. Not a bad one, but his poor NP gain, lack of any survival options, and only having burst damage output made him far less attractive than Jeanne Alter, who had more consistent damage, was a ST Avenger which was a much better niche for the class, and had an Invulnerability skill. 

This completely changed once Skadi came out. DSS turns Dantes into a farming machine, and even gives him much more consistent damage. It dramatically boosted people’s opinion of him, to the point where if you’d ask what Avenger people thought was the best, it would probably be Dantes. But notice that I said with DSS. This is something that’s important to point out. Jeanne Alter was very good with Merlin, but Jeanne did not rely on double Merlin to be viable. She didn’t even rely on any Merlin to be viable, just because her native kit and generation are that good. Dantes, however, does rely on Skadi to be viable, comparatively. Important to note again, this does not make Dantes a bad Servant without Skadi. But using Dantes without using Skadi is essentially going back to the same time period where Skadi didn’t exist. 

This is the same case for Servants like Lancelot, Atalanta, and Marie too. Servants who are generally rated much higher than they actually should be, because the assumption is that you’ll always have DSS to run with them. But if you don’t, you’re going to notice their viability dramatically fall. 

A very good example of this fallacy is with Maou Nobu. I’ll say it pretty simply: in a general context where you are not assumed to have the servants to fully utilize everyone to their maximum potential, Maou Nobu is flatly better than Dantes, and arguably better than Spishtar. She has more consistent damage than Dantes, a hard survival option that comes with a ridiculous steroid, the ability to remove Defensive buffs from Divine enemies with her NP, and an NP battery. Spishtar’s 50% NP battery is probably what keeps her from being completely outclassed by Maou Nobu. 

What happened, however, was that even when Maou Nobu was given a rightfully pretty good Strengthening, people panned her. They compared her unfavorably to Dantes and Spishtar to the point of ridiculousness (I’m sorry, how does Dantes do more damage on average than Maou Nobu with his 1 turn attack up?) because the assumption was that viability is to be rated at the whale spectrum. It was assumed you would have DSS, or Skadi / Waver / Tamamo for Spishtar. Maou being incredibly functional in her niche is considered a demerit.  DSS has, in almost every way, completely warped the way people look at Servants. 

AoE Quick Servants are rated purely in their ability to loop. Achilles, who by all metrics has a functionally insane kit with survival, taunt, an NP charge, critical damage up, Quick up, is generally not rated favorably because he cannot consistently loop with DSS. But DSS isn’t even that functionally important! All it does is save time! ST Quick Servants, by comparison, almost always get universally panned because...well, DSS is good for farming. If you can’t consistently access your NP, how can you be good in DSS? 

Final Thoughts

I cannot sit here and say that Skadi isn’t something you should consider. When I did my analysis on Voyager (which you should read, its quite good) I did specifically talk about Voyager’s ability to loop with DSS. However, we need to remember that not everyone has access to DSS, and it is definitely not for a lack of trying either. We need to discuss Servants and their viability outside of DSS, and not let DSS be assumed the default when we discuss Servants. 

Is Lancelot good without Skadi? No, probably not in all honesty. He has no survival, pretty much has to be tied to K-Scope or multiple top tier support Servants to function well, and is generally just there for RNG reliant burst. Is Marie good without Skadi? She can be if you need someone who has a lot of survival in her kit but has damage problems. Is Dantes? Yeah, actually he is. It’s important to remain realistic about the viability of Servants outside of DSS too. 

Basically, if you’re reading this and you didn’t inherently agree with these arguments, clean your head for brainworms. 

#fate grand order #fgo #scathach skadi #I have literally never had DSS and always find it hilarious as an assumed default

[thinkofduty]

responsum

"You can't feel up Ashildr like that, my lad! That's for sure the wrong way to kiss!"

The melody is as flat as it is loud. No doubt every poor bugger between the valley and the palace can hear them marching - including the deaf ones - with the way every cliff bounces the song back down to the singers.

"Ain't you know that down here, my boy, the girls like it best like this?"

Orella recognises the tune, if not the words, much to her dismay. In the day of Theodoric most marching songs had been limited to praising his strength or likening his deeds to the Spinner, but that hadn't stopped the soldiers from doing what they knew best. If the king had known his men were peddling joy as they went from town to town he'd have had the lot of them killed, but not even the strictest soldier thought the odd bawdy song worth an execution. Men are men, even the serious ones.

"Oh, I say elvede to the Garleans! But şükür for their girls!"

If Berend ever bore a grudge of any sort toward his once-comrade, it's been either forgotten or buried. Both of them walk arm-in-arm like brothers, with Wilhelm in tow, singing so loud it's a wonder no bandits have come down on them. Not that there should be any around here, with the Resistance keeping the so-called peace, but who can truly trust the open roads?

"I have a headache," Ingvald mutters.

The singing men lead, far enough ahead that the other half of their group can just about make out their backs and pretend as though they've nothing at all to do with them. If they ahead are the merrymakers, the ones that follow are sober and somber in comparison, and much prefer it that way. They'd been called boring, amongst other things, but they could not be swayed to join in, and that had been that.

"You and I both," says Milleuda.

They walk with an arm's distance between them, a far cry from the rest of their company, as though they want to disavow themselves of one another. For Milleuda to complain is a rarity: so quiet has she been that more than once Orella has forgotten she's been travelling with them. The silence has been something of an improvement on Gisfrid's motor-mouth, though vexing in its own way. They know nothing of her beyond her name and her face.

"Maybe you should talk to her," Ingvald had suggested some time back. "You're both-"

"If you're about to tell me to make friends because we both have a cunt," Orella had said without looking his way, and Ingvald had left his thought unfinished.

Now she looks at Milleuda with a rueful expression. "I pity you. He was always a noisy bastard. If he's been the same all these years..."

Milleuda snorts, but does not smile. "He's not so bad," she allows, and then winces when she hears yet another song strike up, led by the man in question. Orella recognises this one too; an ode to the staves that men carry 'tween their legs and how much mighter than even Rhalgr's staff they are. "Usually."

"Then you're seeing him true for the first time. This is exactly the man I remember."

Ingvald nods agreement. "And me," he says, "Though his voice has not aged particularly well."

"What, like his face has?"

Ingvald will not dignify that with a response, which - well, is fair enough, really. Milleuda's eyes stay dead ahead as they listen to the incult verse. "Tell me," she says after a while, low and soft in the natural way she has. Orella and Ingvald turn their attention on her in full: for her to initiate conversation is beyond rare. "Was he always so..."

Stupid? Orella might've asked, but holds her tongue. She doesn't even need to glance sidelong to know it's a bad idea, and Milleuda finds her own soon enough.

"Stubborn?"

Orella laughs. "Yeah," she says, and is content to leave it at that, but Ingvald takes the proverbial branch. "Is this about the trial? He'd have talked the crowd into more than a fury if he'd had the chance."

"Not that. I know that. No."

When Milleuda scowls, lines appear as if by magic, deep in her forehead and between her brows. They look at home on her face, and she seems wearier for them, if not older. As she thinks, she twists her mouth so far to the side it seems as though it might fall off. "He has always been very... particular, in the years I have known him."

"... an' when I promised her the crown, she let me pull her knickers down-"

Milleuda winces as the song wends its way back to them. She might have been a soldier like the rest of them, but Orella can make a good guess that she didn't take part in such songs when she'd been part of the army. She might have been a better addition to the Kingsguard than her brother.

"Sounds right to me," Ingvald says, unbothered.

"It hasn't made him well-loved."

The tip of Orella's head speaks volumes to him. The floor is his.

"In... your Brigade?"

It is uncomfortably warm in the sun. Gyr Abania does not afford its people much in the way of shade, and they have learned for the most part to tolerate it, but those of paler skin do not have an easy time of it. No doubt Ingvald can already feel the first pricklings of a burn across his nose; Orella herself is spared this fate but can still feel the trickling of sweat down her back. Paler by far than either of them, Milleuda seems not to mind whether the day is clear or overcast.

"Hm," is all she says, and that is the end of that.

***

Ingvald's mouth is right against her ear, his breath warm. "So what do you think? About them?"

They'd marched until sundown, barely pausing even to eat, and carrying on quick enough once they had. All six of them are exhausted, not least the ones that had spurred them ever on with seemingly endless songs to guide them. The silence now is wonderful, in this shallow cave, clean and dry enough for all of them to sleep in.

"I try not to," Orella whispers back. Flush against her back, there is movement - she bites her lip when Ingvald's fingers find the meat of her ass and pinch. "Ow. Alright, alright," she grumbles, just a touch louder than Ingvald cares for, for he pinches her again. Then, quieter: "It could mean anything. He was always an annoying son-of-a-"

"Shut the fuck up, lovebirds," Berend growls a few paces away from them. He's curled around his spear like it's a lover, his back to them. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

It's unfair - they aren't the only ones snuggled so sweetly for warmth. There's only one fire, and that burning low enough that the night air can steal in. Far away from the rest, but close enough that the embers illuminate their entwined frames, Gisfrid and Milleuda lay back-to-back.

"Shut up, you fool," Orella growls, but the damage is done: the spell of sleepfulness is broken like a snapped string and hush flees like dark from the dawn. Past the fire, a silhouette struggles with its coverings, and Gisfrid sits up.

"Lovebirds?" he asks, loud as anything, and then, with all the tact of a pile of dogshit, "Wait - you're fucking?"

"Right now?" Orella asks, tone mild. Her head is pillowed in the crook of Ingvald's arm; she can feel him tense like he means to grab and hold her down. "Sure, I've got his-"

"Do you mind," Ingvald hisses, and pinches her again. She yelps.

"How long?" Gisfrid demands. If Orella squints she can just about make out his features in the gloom. Perhaps it's just wishful thinking, but she thinks he looks distraught. "How long has this been going on?"

Still wrapped around his weapon, Berend starts to laugh, the bastard. "Sounds like someone's jealous," he says. They all of them can hear the grin he sports without needing to look. "What, is it that weird? Get a life."

Beside his sitting form, Milleuda stirs. "Shut up," she grouses, tone firm even her words are quiet. "Who cares. Shut up."

"But-"

"Shut up or I'll cut your cock off," she threatens, and Gisfrid lays down immediately. There's some rustling as they fidget with the thin blanket, and a moment's silence, but he can't resist a parting shot.

"We'll be talking about this tomorrow. You see if we aren't."

"WILHELM," Orella calls, loud as she can manage, and Ingvald groans as he rolls away from her. " I'M TAKING OVER THE WATCH."

***

Gisfrid can be called many things: a craven, a coward, a bastard and much else besides, but never a liar. Not once has he ever seen the point in falsehoods. Come the morning, he waits until Orella and Ingvald have laced their boots back up, and inserted himself neatly between them, as though he is determined to be as irritating as possible. By Orella's expression, he's managed that simply by existing.

"So," he grins, chipper as though the night had not been cold, and his rest unbroken. The others are wasting time covering up the ash of their fire. Eager to away, Orella starts walking, and Ingvald with her. Her jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might fall off, or perhaps she'll simply grind her teeth to powder.

"Don't ignore me," Gisfrid whines, ignoring the tension easily. "We're friends, ain't we?"

"Fat fucking chance," Orella grumbles. Pretending he didn't hear, Gisfrid slides an arm around her shoulders, casual as can be, as though he isn't afraid she might jerk her elbow into his sternum as hard as she can manage.

"Now, now, that's no way to speak to a trusted comrade," he says amiably. "All I'm asking is to be filled in on the gossip. Is that so bad? Am I to be left in the dark to flounder?"

He's no Einar, master of poetry and persuasion. Likely he can charm an answer out of a girl if he tries, but his best will never be enough to disarm Orella, who thinks the world would be better served if his mouth was laced shut.

At his other side, Ingvald twists to make sure the others still have them in sight. It seems as though two groups is going to be the preferred method of travel from now on: easy enough to adhere to, but they've no linkpearls between them to talk if they lose sight of one another.

"Tell you what," he says, almost absently, still looking over his shoulder, "We'll tell you... if you tell us."

Gisfrid also twists, and Orella with him. There's nothing of note, just the endless dusty cliffs of Gyr Abania, and the rest of their travelling party, moving slow, weapons winking in the sun. "Tell you what?"

Ingvald catches her eyes and raises his brows, just barely. She understands immediately. "Why, how long you'n Milleuda have been a couple, of course."

The silence that follows is buffeted by the wind screaming through the distant towers of Specula Imperatoris, and burst when Gisfrid laughs, nervous at first.

"What?" he asks, tongue stupid with surprise. "I - what? We're-?"

"Come now," Orella says, letting viciousness ebb into her voice. She stretches an arm out to slap against his back, hard enough to make him wince. "We're friends, ain't we?"

The reply is more strained-sounding laughter. No doubt he's thinking of a way to extradite himself from the hold he initiated, but she has him firm. "Ballsy bitch," he says, and Orella just grins. "I've been meaning to ask why that was your first impression."

Orella doesn't need to be reminded of their reunion and laughs outright, more cheerful sounding than she feels. "Thought it was obvious," she tells him. "You take orders well enough, she's younger... lucky man. Didn't even have to pay for her to talk down to you. You let her press her boot against your throat, too?"

He splutters again, and his ears are scarlet where the sun hasn't already burnt him raw. "That's not," he tries, and starts again. "I, I mean, I-"

"Wasn't your mother a whore?" Orella asks as though oblivious to his suffering. "Not like you to get so flustered over something as straightforward as fucking, Gisfrid. Or, wait - you caught feelings?"

He finally wrests his arm away from her shoulders and lets it drop heavily. Orella catches Ingvald's eye over him, and she follows suit with a little shrug. "A jest," she says, and steps away. The air is sweeter when not affected by the smell of his body and his leathers.

"Still," Ingvald says after a long moment of walking in silence, their boots crunching evenly on the gravel. "There's no denying you're like us."

"Like you?"

He needs a moment to put words to it, but Orella knows what he means without needing anything more, which is the very heart of it: whether an aftereffect of spending so many years by one another's side or something else, they are closer than others they've known. Silence is as important as words in their conversations; they can trade glances and know the intent as easy as breathing. Easier, sometimes.

"You need each other," he settles for. "More than anything else."

In his wake, silence, once again: Orella finds herself touched and fights to hide it. No point in giving their friend additional ammunition. It doesn't take long for the honesty to be shattered by Gisfrid's rough snort, and a retching noise, exaggerated beyond ridiculousness.

"Gross," he says. "You went and grew up and got feelings yourself, green boy."

"You asked," Ingvald grumbles, stung. "Am I wrong?"

The answer is mirthless laughter. "Fuck," he manages. "That frigid bitch? Rhalgr's colossal sack, she barely strings together more than three words at a time."

"You've no problem cuddling close at night," Orella points out. Gisfrid shrugs.

"Sure. She's warm. I'm not about to turn away a bit of comfort. It's not like the last couple decades have been easy for me either, you know."

She can imagine, and far too easily. At least the Garleans had given her a bed to sleep on, hard though it might have been. Gisfrid has had nothing but stone to rest upon, nothing but hot days and frozen nights in the desert, surrounded by hatred and guilt and wariness on all sides. He might be so chipper because the night spent in the cave was exactly what he is used to... and that paints a broader picture than his words ever could.

"Besides," he continues, "Even if I did, that's long since passed."

"Ah," says Ingvald knowingly. "What happened?"

That thoughtful silence draws close again. From behind them, laughter floats up to join them, but none of them turn to look this time. Let Wilhelm and Berend be the life of the whole party: they're good at it.

"What do you know about the Brigade?" Gisfrid asks, thoughtful. "As it is now."

"No more than anyone else," says Orella with a shrug. "Ragtag exiles and bandits under Theodoric's banner. Not all Mhigan, either. Few enough knights."

"... True enough," he admits. "Few knights, and little honour shared between them that are. They're thieves for the most part," he adds, with a scowl. "A handful of cutthroats, too. It's the only common banner for us, now. We're a family, loathe as I am to say it."

"And Milleuda?"

"She just... turned up one day," Gisfrid says, slower, like he's trying to wade out of a memory that's knee-deep and holding him there. "Made herself at home, like it was nothing. I thought... once I thought we'd be better off holding hands and leading them all back here. Back home."

Ingvald catches Orella's eye before she can open her mouth and ruin his loose tongue. He doesn't need to shake his head - though he does anyway, just barely - and she turns her eyes on the road ahead instead. The hills are dreary, yes, but they will be drearier if they are forced to abandon this line of questioning.

"She didn't want that," says Ingvald. It's not a question.

"She did not," Gisfrid confirms, with a little nod. "Said my ideas weren't good enough to move forward with. That if we wanted change..."

Now he shrugs, as though the past means nothing to him. They are all sentimental in their own way, dragging around ghosts like a ball and chain. "Well. It was long enough ago, now. Can't say whether or not I like this shiny new republic of yours yet, either," he adds, with a tone that might be accusatory, or mayhaps playful and missing the mark. "It can stand. For now."

With his more tender feelings run dry, Orella is free to snort and roll her eyes once more. "Oh, come off it. You want that throne filled again? Come off it, the seat's cursed. As if the mad old bastard wasn't enough, the viceory wasn't much better. Either of them," she adds meaningfully, but Gisfrid simply shrugs.

"Never said anything about a throne," he says, and Orella and Ingvald's eyes meet once more. "Never said anything at all."

#p07

[artlessictoan]

this one’s actually a request I got on the ao3 version of this drabble collection, butch!sak/tomboy!hina coffe shop au! and is this the first coffee shop au I’ve ever done?? I think it might be!

(requests open)

(ao3 mirror)

---

It had been a long morning and Hinata desperately needed caffeine.

She’d had to wake up hellishly early – which might’ve been fine if she hadn’t been up until three in the morning desperately trying to finish her thesis in time for her first class – then spent almost an hour being jerked around by the aggressively indifferent receptionist of her school’s laboratory, before learning that the time she had booked for her vital preliminary experiments, had in fact been given to another student and the next available slot wasn’t until the end of the week. Handily throwing a wrench in her entire year’s calendar that she would be trying to work around for months to come.

And, on top of all that, the heavens had opened up the second she stepped outside, releasing several days’ worth of water all at once, leaving her to trudge home through a downpour, or hang out in the waiting room of the lab until it passed.

With the smirking receptionist, who she was too polite to tell to fuck himself, but who she dearly hoped would suffer several minor inconveniences for the rest of the day.

She chose the cold, wet walk instead.

Perhaps it had been a mistake, she could probably have found an empty classroom to quietly study in for an hour or so if she’d tried, but with her mind only lightly tethered to reality in her current state, it was more likely she would’ve just had a cry-nap instead.

It wouldn’t be the first time, but if a lecturer found her like that again, someone was bound to try and contact her father to inform him of her struggles, and he would wield that knowledge like a sledgehammer against her dreams of a career of her own; one without constant parental oversight and criticism.

She was absolutely not going to let that happen. Right now, however, what mattered most was getting out of the rain.

Squinting against the water running off the hood of her coat, she searched for somewhere – anywhere – that she could duck into and while away the time until her next lecture in a few hours. When she spotted a small café tucked away between a derelict bookstore and a corner shop that proudly called itself ‘Cheap-mart’ she didn’t care how dingy it looked, she just threw open the doors and shook herself off like a dog the second she was inside.

The barista leaning against the counter with his head in his hand glanced up at her; she offered him an awkward smile as she tried to brush down her damp hair. He returned with his own smile, one somehow even more awkward than her own, but straightened up and waved her over.

“Welcome, what can I get for you today?”

She didn’t bother to peruse the blackboards painted up behind him. “Black coffee, thank you.” Definitely not a drink that fit her usual tastes – she was more of a tea person – but she was about five seconds from collapsing on the cold, hard floor and wanted as little diluting the terrible, life-giving substance as possible.

If she’d had a syringe with her, she would have injected it directly into her bloodstream.

“Can I interest you in something to eat?” he asked, voice robotic and smile unnaturally fixed in place. “A sandwich, perhaps even one of our homemade cakes?”

The word ‘cake’ immediately caught her fraying attention and she stared into the glass display to scrutinise the options available with the same keen eye she would use for chemical analysis. It was actually quite impressive how… unappetizing they all looked; sponges were wonky, frosting looked like it had been applied with a slingshot, one was painted in the garish colours of a toddler given free reign of the crayon box and they had apparently all been cut with a chainsaw, she had no other explanation for the crumbling edges and uneven slices.

“I’ll have the coffee and walnut.” She glanced back outside, noting that the storm didn’t look like it would be passing any time soon and she had already skipped breakfast. “Actually, make that two slices.”

Dark eyes blinked at her in pure shock, before the man wordlessly fulfilled her order, only breaking his silence to tell her the cost and exchange cash.

She barely noticed, taking her plate and her cup and her sopping bag, she stumbled to the nearest table and sank down into the wooden chair like it was a plush, feather pillow. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the barista slipping through a door that presumably led to a kitchen; she might’ve found that a bit unprofessional, if it weren’t for the fact that she was literally the only customer in right now.

As she gulped down half of her coffee – grimacing at the taste, but pushing through it regardless – she wondered if the place was always this quiet. Sure, it was a little out of the way and if she hadn’t been looking for somewhere to escape the weather, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it was even there, but it had a stylish interior, wall painted with abstract ink patterns and rustic furniture.

And, when she shoved a generous forkful of cake into her mouth, she had to wonder even more about how a café with such incredible goods had flown so completely under the radar.

She literally closed her eyes and moaned.

Her fatigue was completely forgotten as she eagerly shovelled another mouthful between her lips, then another, and another. She was onto the second slice in about thirty seconds.

“Holy shit, I didn’t actually believe it…”

Hinata glanced up, absolutely no clue who would be disturbing her mid-meal and, even if her mouth hadn’t been full of soft, melting deliciousness, she probably wouldn’t have been able to say anything.

The short, stocky woman, with arms practically bursting out of the sleeves of her chef’s jacket – which presumably had been white at one point, but was now littered with so many stains in basically every conceivable colour that it was basically tie-dye – pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down heavily, crossing her arms on the table and leaning forwards with a slight frown. “Someone actually bought a cake.”

She was still chewing and had to wash down her bite with a generous gulp of coffee, just to respond.

“Huh?”

Very eloquent. Her father would be proud.

“No one buys the cake, we get about fifteen customers a day, I would remember someone buying the cake before-” she jerked a thumb in the direction of the barista leaning boredly against the counter “-Sai was so shocked he immediately came into the kitchen to tell me about it.”

That a customer actually choosing to eat the food on offer was such an anomaly that the chef had to come out of the kitchen, just to see if it was true, was a damning report on the state of their business. “Really?” she asked, looking down at the slice on her plate. “I can’t imagine why, it’s delicious.”

Dark brows narrowed over her green, green eyes. “Are you making fun of me? Did my mother send you here? Are you an EHO?” The woman was standing up now, leaning ever further into her personal space, flour-covered hands steady on either side of the table. With her face only a few inches away, Hinata could pick out individual pores on her nose and several old, faded scars. “I assure you; all my paperwork is up to date,” she said slowly, in such a low, threatening tone that left Hinata less assured than ever before.

She waved her hands in front of her face and backed away as far as the chair would let her. “I don’t’ know what that means and I came here on my own, I just… really like the cake?”

The speed at which the chef’s entire demeanour switched left Hinata feeling a little dizzy. Suddenly her bright eyes were sparkling and she had a wide, toothy grin stretching across her face as she asked, “For real? Even though it looks like absolute dogshit?”

“Well, as long as it tastes good, I don’t think the appearance really matters that much.” A statement easily reinforced by the fact that she was wearing an old, faded hoodie and some leggings she’d technically bought just for the gym, but were so comfortable that they’d wormed their way into her everyday wardrobe anyway.

Also, she was still soaked through and probably looked like a bedraggled cat, but she was trying to ignore that right now.

“Finally, someone who appreciates my genius!” Slapping a hand against the table hard enough to make it rock on its uneven legs, she turned around to shout at her co-worker, “You hear that Sai?”

“As glad as I am to have a satisfied customer, I would point you to the forty-seven other slices of cake that have been consistently rejected by everyone else who’s come in today.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but Hinata got the feeling that he really was trying his best. “You can’t decorate cakes for shit and no one wants to eat them.”

The scoff and dramatic rolling of eyes suggested that this was a regular argument for these two. “Ignore him, he just thinks that he’s a better artist than me-”

“I am an objectively better artist than you.”

“Anyway-” she displayed a middle finger at him over her shoulder, all while keeping her gaze fixed on Hinata “-I’m really glad you like the cake, I know my presentation’s a bit… rough, but I know what tastes good, just wish more people would give it a chance.”

Hinata had to give a wobbly smile at the woman’s childish pout; ohhh she was in trouble. “You do have a talent for flavour, I must admit,” she said, “I think this is the best coffee cake I’ve ever had.”

“Right? I’ve been playing around with some ideas for new recipes- actually wait here a sec, I’ll go cut you off some samples.” She was charging through the door leading to the kitchen before Hinata could object, but, looking at the rain still hammering down against the windows and taking another bite of beautifully soft cake… she could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than being fed a selection of baked goods by an incredibly handsome woman with biceps that could probably crush steel.

Maybe she could even come up with an excuse to touch them. Just to satisfy her scientific curiosity.

---

By the time the rain had settled down to a slow drizzle, she had completely forgotten everything that led her to the café in the first place, so distracted was she by chatting to the charmingly exuberant chef – who was called Sakura, she quickly learned.

They had shared several slices of experimental cakes and, while none of them looked very pretty, Hinata had been blow away by the taste each and every time.

If her alarm hadn’t started buzzing insistently, she would’ve happily spent the whole day getting lost in sugar and soft pink hair and distractingly shifting muscles and a boisterous, snorting laugh that had absolutely no right being as cute as she found it. Alas, she still had classes that she could not afford to skip and she really shouldn’t keep Sakura from her work for any longer. Even if she didn’t seem to have much to do.

As she gathered her things and pulled on her coat, she glanced down at the woman with a soft smile. “Thank you for all the wonderful food, and conversation.” She rummaged through her bag and drew out her wallet, dropping a few notes in the tip jar as she passed. One benefit to coming from a wealthy family, she afford to be very generous.

Sai grinned at her, slapping a hand over Sakura’s mouth before she could object to the payment – and judging from the look in her bright eyes, that was almost certainly what she was planning.

Rolling her eyes as she pushed his hand away, she leaned over the counter to grin widely at Hinata. “Please, come again!”

“Yes, and bring friends with you next time, as you can see, we’re pretty desperate for business.”

“Idiot, don’t tell that to the customers!” Sakura yelled, slapping a hand to her forehead hard enough to leave a red mark there.

He gave her a Look. “It’s advertising.”

“No, it’s desperation, you better not have been telling that to everyone who comes in here.”

“Are we not desperate?” He asked, voice completely even and reasonable. “Do I have to show you our account books again? Maybe you should focus on trying to find a cake decorating course, before you start criticising me.”

Hinata laughed softly to herself, but not quietly enough that she didn’t catch the attention of both workers. She smiled at the pair, marvelling at their bizarre friendship that she wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of. “I’ll tell everyone I know that the food here is delicious and they need to come try it-” she glanced at Sakura, who was almost glowing at the compliment, and had to duck her head to hide her blush “-and I live pretty close by, I’m sure I’ll be coming in here a lot more too.”

Before she could rush out of the doors, a voice called out to her, “Hey, what’s your favourite kind of cake? I wanna make it for the next time you come here.”

She stopped and had to take several calming breaths before turning around. “Anything with cinnamon,” she said, not wanting to give herself too much hope, but unable to deny the rush of excitement fizzing through her veins at the thought of spending more time – much more time – with the wonderful, strange, charming baker.

Sakura nodded, eyes already sparking with ideas. “Alright, I’ll make you something amazing, you better come back to taste it soon!”

“I will,” she said, stepping out into the damp afternoon, feeling lighter than air and ready to take on the whole world.

---

#ictoan writes #sakuhina #hinasaku #hinata hyuga #sakura haruno #naruto #hinata is Relatable and sakura is a Disaster and all is right with the world

[dirtycoolcatconfessions]

COOL CAT DVD PACKAGE FULL ANALYSIS

  As some of you may know, as a birthday present I have finally received the Cool Cat movie from a friend of mine. Seeing as I am the self-proclaimed front-runner of the ironic Cool Cat fandom, I feel it is my duty to provide you all with my full analysis of all that comes with this monstrosity, so strap in fellas, this is gonna be a long one.

  Here's an image of the full package:

  Alright, let's start off with the "Thank you for your purchase" type paper.

  Right off the bat, let me say that every paper (bar the "poster", though that one is still preeeetty bad, though I'll analyze that when we get to it) is literally just standard-fare 8.5x11 printer paper. Now, let's start from the top. It says "Cool Cat Productions" as opposed to Derek Savage Productions, what he listed in the movie from what I can remember, so that's pretty strange. To the sides you can see two horrendous pictures of the cartoon form of Cool Cat, which both look like they were drawn in different art styles, with the one on the right for some reason reminding me of some kind of old 2D Chuck E. Cheese drawing, and the other on the right appears to be crying out in pain with weirdly-detailed clothes, a curly pig-like tail, and looking like a failed attempt at perspective. After that it lists the website, (nothing new here) and the email, which uses Yahoo, which I find fairly unsurprising.

  Another thing I love which shows just how much love and care (sorry, "love" and "care") Derek puts into his products is the fact that it doesn't even specify what you ordered, (in addition, the fact that it lists "bookS", since Derek doesn't even have the Cool Cat books for sale, and the Cool Cat Stops Bullying book comes with every purchase of the DVD, and soundtrack, of which they don't sell at all, though I believe Derek stated something about wanting to sell it in the future) which really lets you know that Cool Cat Loves You in particular and cares who You are as a person. (The capitalization is really weird throughout the paper, especially when listing the various products you could have bought, really lending to the "Copy-paste" feel of the whole thing, and the Cool Cat Loves You part somehow evokes a ™ without one even being there.) Further down it asks you to print out free "Cool Cat Loves You" posters (instead of just saying Cool Cat posters, for whatever reason) which is strange for a vast number of reasons. First of all, the poster section of the website is NO LONGER ON THE WEBSITE, and second of all, using the Wayback Machine to go back to an instance when there was shows that the 11x17 "poster" is identical to the poster received in the movie package, which makes you wonder why you would want a second one. 

  (One fun thing to note about this image is the fact that promises that Cool Cat greeting and birthday cards are "Coming Soon!" which I feel really shows you just how much commitment Derek has towards his projects.)

  Back to the original paper, we reach the bottom third of the page, we have Derek begging you to tell everyone you know about Cool Cat so that they know it's time to cut off all ties with you, followed by a call to follow the official twitter @CoolCatLovesYou, officially confirming that that twitter is indeed the real one, fucking weird and not-so as it may seem. Then there are a number of images of potential merchandise you can buy, mainly consisting of the horrendously drawn books that Derek isn't even selling because he's "still looking for a publisher." (Yeah, he couldn't get anyone to publish his books, what a fucking surprise, right? In addition, upon incredibly close inspection of these low-res images, I found that they don't even list the "Illustrated by" that's shown on the Cool Cat Stops Bullying book that came with the movie, since Derek wasn't actually the one who drew this shit. And it's not because it was only on the Cool Cat Stops Bullying book, since among the books on here IS that exact book, sans the "Illustrated by" like all others on the page. I just found that interesting.) Finally, reaching the very bottom of the FIRST ARTICLE OF LIKE 6 (told you it was gonna be a long one) we have a reminder to visit Cool Cat online for Game"s" (There's only one game on the Cool Cat page, "Cool Cat's Fun MatchGame") "Cartoons" (Neither of the two cartoons are accessible from the current page anymore) and More! (Which if by more you mean continuous self-advertising, shitty web design, and child-unfriendly content that can be easily clicked to from the page.) 

  Alright so, the next article, well, honestly I'm not sure what to call this one. It's got two sides, so let's start with the side I'll probably spend less time on.

  Alright, so I guess this side is some kind of info paper? Still not sure what to refer to it as. If you notice at the top it lists the quote that's on the cover, "Cool Cat is Cooler than Barney the Dinosaur!" and I would like to bring to attention the fact that the quote is attributed to Ben Daka, the producer of Cool Cat Loves You, which helps in making the quote seem as incredibly unbiased as possible. (Also yeah, the fact that someone actually produced this steaming pile of dogshit surprises me likely just as much as it might you.) It proceeds to list the summary of the movie, saying what kinds of movies it is, etc. etc. etc. It also lists that it "Includes FOUR Original Cool Cat Songs" however as someone who has watched the movie before online when it was on Youtube for a brief day or two before getting taken down, I can say that there are only two that actually play in the movie proper, "Cool Cat Boogie" and "Cool Cat Loves To Rock", while one is only in the movie as an instrumental while the actual lyrics are only in the DVD menu from what I can remember ("Cool Cat is My Best Friend") and the other only plays during the credits, and is just the song from the now-defunct Cool Cat "cartoon" ("Cool Cat is Cool") however the one in the credits does have an instrumental track behind it, but I'm too lazy to find somewhere you can find that version at the moment.

  Moving on, we have the "STARRING" portion of the page, in which it lists Vivica A. Fox and Erik Estrada despite their 2-3 minute appearances. In addition, if read from right to left, then it technically lists Vivica first, and even if you do read it from center outwards, the way it was likely intended, it still has Derek listed where you would most likely begin reading instead of Cool Cat, which I feel really shows off his vanity.

After that, we have the imperative ">Get Your COOL CAT Today<" which makes it sound like some kind of cat adoption poster or something. After that there's the blatant lie of "We Appreciate Your Business" followed by a statement saying that discounts for schools, libraries, and stores are available, which honestly makes me wonder if there are any places that even carry the movie that aren't online. Also it's kinda weird that they'd have that on one of the papers that comes with the movie. Does Derek expect people to be so blown away by their movie that they just have to bring this flyer to stores and shit so that others can feel the joy of the movie? I don't fucking know this entire analysis is just me talking to myself and probably pointing out shit you could have noticed yourself, but hey if that's not what the blog itself is I don't know what is. Anywho, another fun thing to note is the fact that according to the flyer, the runtime of the movie is 75 minutes, which actually makes it debatable as to whether or not it could actually be considered a film. Final thing to note of this side is that I was indeed correct in my previous assumption that the movie was supposedly made by "a Derek Savage Productions" as opposed to the "Cool Cat Productions" stated on the earlier paper, which is weird.

Anywho, next side of the paper, let's go.

  Now this side, this side infuriates me to no end. It's pretty much one glorified advertisement for the movie you already purchased. To save on time, I think I'll probably speed through this one tbh since the last time I wrote this thing it took me like 4 hours and it mainly consisted of pointing out every little thing on the page, so I'll just give the main things. First of all, why the fuck would you advertise your own movie in the flyer that comes with the fucking movie??? In addition, why does it advertise the books? As I previously established, the books aren't for sale, since Derek's still looking for a publisher. After that, it states that there are Cool Cat eBooks, which I'm pretty sure there aren't any, and they wouldn't even need a publisher I don't think. Also, just to point out, Derek actually managed to misspell merchandise as "MERCHINDISE" at the very top.

  The movie also claims to be a "DOVE AWARD" winner. After some research (I.E. one single google search) I found that the "Dove Award" is actually an award given to exceptional Christian music, so unless the soulful ballad of "COOL CAT IS COOOOOOL" won one of those, I find it highly doubtful that its correct. Next to it, you can see a logo with the words "FAMILY APPROVED" and "ALL AGES". This is the "award" Derek was actually talking about, which is really just an organization that makes sure that movies are family friendly, which sure is a real fucking accomplishment. Below that the flyer claims that it's **STARRING** Vivica A. Fox & Erik Estrada, who really nailed their 2 minute "starring" roles. After that there's some quotes, including one by the late Adam West, may he rest in peace, saying "Cool Cat is Cool!" despite the fact that on the Cool Cat site the quote from West actually says "Cool Cat is Fun!" which shows just how trustworthy this quote was, plus the fact that Derek most likely got the majority of celebrity quotes by walking up to them and asking them to say it. After that there's a quote of "I Love Cool Cat!" from Bo Derek, an actress starring in such great films as Tarzan the Ape Man,  Bolero, and my personal favorite, Ghosts Can't Do It. (All of those films had incredibly negative reception btw, apparently all three of which won her three seperate Golden Raspberry Awards). Finally, below the advertisement for some hideous hats and shirts, there's the godawful pun of "Get Your Cool Cat Purr-chindise" which manages to misspell the latter half of merchandise again, though on the current website, it says "Purr-chandise" so Derek had to have fixed it sometime, but seeing as this flyer is advertising the hats which only just came out a month or two ago, this flyer was made recently, so I don't fucking know.

Moving on, we've got the Cool Cat Loves You Poster.

  The first thing to note is that the poster feels like it was made on 11x17 printer paper, and all-in-all feels really low quality. In addition, it's fairly creased and banged up since Derek apparently doesn't know that you're supposed to roll up posters when shipping them. The main thing I want to note that stands out to me is the fucking background. When I first got it, I thought Derek, like, spilled coffee on it or something, but when I went to look at those posters online using the Wayback Machine, I found that it was completely intentional. I have no worldly idea why anyone would think that this would make a good background, since it gives off either an accidental coffee spill vibe or a 1984-esque dilapidated post-apocalyptic "Big Brother is Watching" sign from it.

That's about all I have to say for the poster, so let's move on to the keychain.

First of all, I'm debating whether or not to put this keychain anywhere since I would probably run a high risk of getting the shit kicked out of me. Anywho, there's not much to say here, it feels like a generic truck stop souvenir keychain, except the fact that Cool Cat is weirdly not centered is bothering me.

Here's the back side to the keychain.

  Again, not much to say, other than the fact that I never want to see the question "Got Cool Cat?" ever again.

  Now we have the book that came with the movie, Cool Cat Stops Bullying. Here's the front cover:

  As you can see the art is fucking hilarious and it looks like Cool Cat is being held at gunpoint. And again, I'd like to point out that it wasn't even Derek who drew this, it was some guy named Robert Rainbow. Imagine paying someone to draw your book and getting this in return. Also, fun thing to note, Daddy Derek is actually a cat in this one (Yes, that is actually supposed to be Derek, since Cool Cat refers to him as Daddy Derek in the book) which poses the question of why the ever-loving FUCK isn't Derek a cat in the movie? (I'll tell you why, it's because Derek still thinks he's hot and wants to show off his "body" in the movie, plus the fact that he was likely way too cheap to have more than one costume made, though it could have easily been avoided by not having the parents, namely Derek, show up often, or in such complex scenes, etc etc. You get the drift, it's just lazy and self-aggrandizing).

Following that, there's the back of the cover.

  Again, not much to analyze in detail, except for the fact that Derek would apparently charge $3.49 for this shitty thing, despite the fact that you can read it in around 2 minutes or under.

  After that there's the side of the cover, which actually has some sad little tidbits of its own.

  If you look closely enough, you can see that the book is fucking stapled together, which I find hilariously depressing. In addition, the publisher is sourced as "Blue Thunder Books" which from my extensive google searching towards the topic, doesn't seem to be a real publisher.

  I would love to post every page of the book itself, but I feel like that might be grounds for some kind of copyright takedown from Derek, though I'll continue looking for some legal way for you guys to see each page, since each one has an illustration, and they're fucking hysterical. Here's a single image for you guys as a little teaser:

  Anywho, onto what you all have been waiting for, the main attraction, the only thing that was purchased and all this other junk just came with for free: The movie. You all have probably seen the box a hundred times, so there's not much for me to analyze there, but here's the front:

  One thing I'd like to point out that I haven't seen anyone else discuss is the fact that Derek and Maria, though most notably Maria, are incredibly low quality and poorly cropped in, to the point where you can't really even make out Maria's face since it's so blurry.

Here's the back:

And here's the side:

  What's interesting to note here is the fact that on the top of the side there's two little icon image things, one of Cool Cat, and one of Vivica Fox, both of which are pretty low quality.

Anywho, enough stalling. Time to open this motherfucker up.

  I'll be honest, when I first opened this thing up, the first thing I noticed was the smell, oddly enough. It's really hard for me to describe, though I will say it's a weirdly bitter, sour smell, maybe something like glue mixed with something else. I have no idea. Anywho, as it was previously pointed out by YMS, the image on the disc is literally a fucking sticker. Unlike YMS's, however, is the fact that it doesn't come off just by breathing on it, so I'm guessing it was just glued to the disc. In all honesty, I haven't even put the disc in my computer to play it yet, since I'm afraid I'll either somehow get a virus from it or that it'll melt inside my computer. I'll just put it in.

Okay, so after putting the disc in the DVD the Disc Drive I got this.

Alright, so there are two folders, the audio one is empty. Great. Then there's the video one.

No idea what this means. Guess I'll have to play it on a DVD player for now.

  Anywho, I guess that there wraps up my analysis! It was mainly me just blabbing on and on about things you probably don’t care about, and doesn't really have a conclusive "end'' or anything, but hey if anything else pops up I'll be sure to notify you guys. Thanks for reading this far if you did, and hopefully Tumblr won't crash before I can post it this time.

#mod cool cat #cool cat #cool cat saves the kids #cool cat loves you #this took forever #I put too much time and effort into things #dirty cool cat confessions #i wonder if derek would appreciate my review of his shipment ;)

[invitedfool-blog]

Answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.REPOST. Don’t reblog. WHAT’S YOUR OTP8 FOR YOUR MUSE?: OT8 OR RIOT. OT8 OR RIOT. I am a massive dirty polyshipper and I love the idea of “the Investigation Team cares a ton about each other and that ends up with them becoming a hilarious poly spaghetti pile.” If someone put a gun to my head and said “pick a PAIR,” though, I’m definitely Souyo garbage. 
 WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO RP WHEN IT COMES TO SHIPPING?: Not quite sure I understand what it means, but I honestly enjoy exploring any kind of relationship between two characters, including strong platonic ones. I’ll RP pretty much anything, though I don’t have any particular fondness for angst just for angst’s sake. I’ve seen too many people who try to do ‘everything must be angst to be deep! artistic suffering! nobody must ever be happy!’ and it honestly makes me want to legitimately fucking vomit. Angst based on headcanon traits, like Souji having a blind spot regarding people wanting him in a relationship, or things like long-distance relationship blues? Sure! But if you never see me reblog general angst starters, that’s why. Angst for the sake of angst is a huge RP turn-off for me, and if someone tries to drag me by the nose into it? Nope, sorry. Life is too depressing and sucks too much to lay there in a pile of Needlessly Dramatic Misery. This does not mean I disdain really fucked up ships, as long as both parties go in with full acknowledgment that very problematic, possibly-triggery shit (for people other than us) lies down this particular road? Seeing the psychology of how a really fucked up ship like say, Adachi/Souji (say, in an “accomplice ending”) would be an interesting dynamic to explore. But the reason it’d be interesting to me is because it is fucked up, and my partner’s attitude in a ship like that would be massively critical, because nothing grosses me out more than Twilight-esque romanticizing problematic, toxic, and fucked up relationships. 
 HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?: It depends on the age of the characters involved. For Souji at 16, a gap of as little as 2-4 years would be squick for me unless it was part of a known, admitted fucked-up pairing. As soon as he’s older and more mature, age differences matter a little less, but I think anything double his age would be a little squidgy at 18? It’s more about the difference in experience than anything, so a very experienced person 10 years his senior would be more squick than someone who had no experience in 20 years additional. Again, since I am okay with playing fucked up shit with the acknowledgement of it being fucked up, this discomfort zone is flexible and mostly based on the difference between “wow, this is a horrible and yet somehow fascinating absolute disaster of a relationship” and romanticizing 50 Shades of Gray-level dogshite as the height of romance. If we’re playing out something terrible, so long as it’s played with the frank mindset of it is fucked up, I find this kind of thing to be an interesting sometimes food. 
 ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?: 
 Yyyyeesss and also no? I’ll ship with pretty much anyone if there is IC chemistry- cobviously that’s a little easier with other P4 muses, especially the Investigation Team. HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY’RE CONSIDERED NSFW?: 
I am a horrible person because I am so inconsistent about tagging NSFW? But I will also tag nsfw-ish if I think of it. Stuff that is overtly NSFW, especially mentioning any kinks, is definitely tagged, but as soon as clothes start coming off with a sexual trajectory or boners start getting popped, that NSFW tag is DEFINITELY on. WHO ARE OTHER MUSES YOU SHIP YOUR MUSE WITH?: 
So far there seems to be a ship actually going with @kunaiflourish ! DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?: If the chemistry develops naturally, I’m probably screaming in tags/IM to the other mun anyway… If someone wants to do a pre-established ship, or a really fucked up ship, we need to be talking. 
 HOW OFTEN DO YOU LIKE TO SHIP?: 
If it comes up naturally, more than anything. That could either be naturally in Discord IM between muns, or 'holy shit I think our muses want to make out’ in-thread. ARE YOU MULTISHIP?: 
AND polyship! ARE YOU SHIP OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?: Ship more-or-less. It’s a sometimes food, like donuts. If all your food is donuts all the time, you will get sick of them unless your name is Aoi Asahina. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?: OT8 OR RIOT 
FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?: If you have a ship you think would be fun and have a reasonable backstory to it, IM me on discord to sort out background if y'wanna play it as ongoing ship. Otherwise just scream about shipping chemistry. 

Tagged by: stolen from @misetos Tagging: Do you want to do it? Do ya!?

#netflix on my phone; mobile

[kiruuuuu]

Thatcher/Lesion oneshot in which Lesion has a tattoo and Thatcher hates it. (Rating T, fierce denial and fluff I suppose, ~2.5k words) - dedicated to @glazkov-smile​ who put this ship into my brain where it now festers and grows shakes fist

.

The first time Thatcher catches a glimpse of it, all he feels – curiously enough – is betrayal.

No part of it makes sense, it’s neither his body nor his decision and yet it’s as if he’s been deceived in some way, left in the dark about a topic concerning him personally. It’s irrelevant how nonsensical his emotions are because they’re there regardless and no amount of logical arguing with himself is able to make them vanish. He can’t rationalise it even if he tries, and he tries desperately. He’s merely being a judgemental old fart, probably, something he’s been called before in differing contexts. But he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It was no longer than a second: Bandit pulled on the back of Lesion’s collar to drop an ice cube into his shirt, and Thatcher just happened to look over at the commotion and saw colour lick at the back of Lesion’s neck, usually hidden by whatever garish shirt the man inexplicably chose to wear that day but now revealed in a flash of ink. And it’s enough to conjure up a profound disappointment in Thatcher.

They’ve known each other for years now, stayed in contact where Smoke exchanged irregular messages which taper off now and then, only to rekindle once in a blue moon. No, Thatcher and Lesion wrote and called almost every week, given their work permitted it, left messages on a variety of media depending on their current location and sent each other postcards even, both of them carefully and happily maintaining an unlikely friendship. They differ in many regards though not the most important ones, and thus remained pointed towards each other like magnets. Friendships like this one are rare, Thatcher has come to understand this all too keenly.

And he can’t stand tattoos.

To him, they’re much worse than gaudy jewellery, flamboyant clothes and unnaturally dyed hair together – not only are they alarmingly permanent but also usually horribly tacky. Who cares if someone managed to father a child? Congratulations, they fulfilled their purpose the way nature intended, no need to plaster their kid’s heartbeat or birth date or entire bloody face all over their arms and legs and basically rub it under everyone’s nose. He doesn’t care to know the names of people’s partners nor is he interested in cringy quotes or supposedly deep and symbolic bullshit which allegedly holds so much meaning for its bearer. They’re ugly. They mar skin instead of decorating it.

He much prefers freckles, scars, stretch marks, hair, natural discolouration, any sort of blemish which tells him this person is alive and breathing and not airbrushed or genetically engineered to look this way. He doesn’t care tattoos have been around forever, to him they’re a disgrace and can erase all his interest in someone. Can, and have.

Thinking back, he’s fairly sure he ranted about this to Lesion’s face before, was met with the usual calm patience tinged with amusement whenever he complains about something at length, earned no more than a half-reply implying his position was at best a bit too extreme and at worst complete and utter dogshite in Lesion’s opinion. He’s never dismissive about it, merely pokes fun but ultimately chooses to respect Thatcher’s views which is probably one of the reasons why they’re still friends.

So when he catches sight of precise strokes lining Lesion’s back, Thatcher is appalled. Indignant. Offended, even.

He needs to see it.

Just like he demands details about all the unnecessary so-called ‘apps’ most people around him use so he can judge them accordingly, curiosity grips him in its iron hold and compels him to view the entire disaster Lesion immortalised on his body for reasons unknown. Maybe it’s linked to a previous partner, a family member, a time in Lesion’s life about which Thatcher knows nothing yet, something deeply personal – in which case he’ll still disapprove of the ink but possibly gain more insight into his friend’s past. In that case, it’d be a worthwhile endeavour despite the knowledge of what exactly is tainting Lesion’s skin. He won’t be able to unsee it afterwards.

.

“Do you want to fight?”, he interrupts Lesion’s current conversation and gets a good-natured laugh from his friend and a concerned look from Ying in return.

“I thought we agreed not to argue politics in the workplace anymore”, Lesion replies cheerfully and moves his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other, Thatcher’s gaze following its journey momentarily.

“You said you were a little rusty in whatever fancy martial arts style you always torture the recruits with, so I thought you could use a refresher.”

“It’s much too warm to fight”, Ying points out and Thatcher barely bites back a response along the lines of that’s the point.

Lesion ignores her statement and leans back in his lawn chair, one of Rainbow’s most sought after commodity in summer – ants are prevalent and therefore sitting in the grass ill-advised. “Even if I did, I’d go to Yumiko and not you – no offence.”

“I bet you’ve been doing it for longer than she has.”

“Possibly, but she’s still lengths better.” The younger man raises an amused eyebrow. “Mike, are you bored?”

Oh. It’s the perfect excuse, his entire team is known for their eccentric solutions to boredom as well as striking fear into everyone’s heart as soon as it looks like they’ve got nothing to do. “Yes”, he lies smoothly, “so you can either join me willingly or spend the rest of the day anticipating a non-consensual fight. I’ll know when you least expect it, Tze Long.”

“Sounds like you don’t have a choice at all”, Ying sighs, shaking her head. “Men.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t jump on the opportunity to roll through the mud with Elena, my dear”, Lesion comments casually after which neither of the two stick around for long enough to watch her turn crimson and splutter at the accusation. “So, tell me. Was this a misguided rescue mission or do you need my help with anything embarrassing?”

Thatcher blinks at the unexpected question until he realises his excuse sounds so terribly flimsy Lesion didn’t buy it for a second, correctly assuming an ulterior motive. Even if he’s nowhere near guessing it. “Oh, neither. I really just – it was a genuine suggestion and I…” He trails off when crinkles appear around dark eyes.

“Aren’t we a little too old to kill time by beating each other up? Let’s go drink some green tea to cool down instead, shall we?”

His objection dies on his tongue as his friend turns away, wearing a small smile. “I don’t even like green tea”, Thatcher protests quietly yet trails after Lesion nonetheless.

.

“Let’s go swimming.”

Lesion pauses visibly, marks his spot on the page he’s currently on and then glances up sceptically. “Now?”

Yes, Thatcher almost blurts out but catches himself just in time, checks his watch and pretends like he didn’t completely lose track of the hours ticking by purely because of Lesion’s presence. It’s a common occurrence, oddly enough. “Of course not”, he scoffs, “but what about tomorrow?”

“Where is this coming from? We’ve never gone for a swim together, you prefer going alone.” Fortunately, there’s no suspicion in his voice, only curiosity.

“I just thought you might want to join me. When’s the last time you went swimming?”

“Yesterday. Meghan invited me.”

Ah. Thatcher squints before he can help himself – they probably spent the time showing off their respective tattoos, and for some reason this thought makes it worse than as if Lesion had gone with anyone else. Even Blackbeard. “Well. If you don’t want to, that’s fine”, he concludes curtly and directs his attention back to the book in his own lap, fighting down another wave of dismay. So others are allowed to see it, apparently, where he’d not even been aware of it at all.

“What? Of course we can go, I was just surprised -”

“Nah. Nevermind.”

“Mike.” There’s gentle exasperation in Lesion’s voice now and he leans forward in the armchair which has become basically his over the course of several months – it bears his imprint and smells of him. Not that Thatcher would know. “I didn’t say no.”

“I’m busy tomorrow anyway”, he lies through his teeth and wonders whether he sounds cranky.

Lesion silently examines him for a few seconds longer, expression unreadable, and finally shrugs. “Alright. If you do want to go, just let me know.”

.

The doors of his wardrobe have mirrors. It’s the perfect plan. Thatcher buys the Dutch beer Lesion likes so much, and while Maestro is in the middle of listing all the exotic animals he’s eaten in his life with Smoke listening intently (and probably adding quite a few to his bucket list), while Mute snitches on Bandit’s newest plan to Sledge, while Sledge pointedly ignores Maestro’s hand slowly creeping up his thigh – while all of them are gathered in Thatcher’s living room, he makes sure to spill some of it down Lesion’s back.

“Whoops”, he says after his friend has jumped up with an undignified noise of surprise and hopes dearly that either none of the others watched him very deliberately tip his bottle or that they at least know to keep their mouths shut. “Come on, let’s get you something else to wear.”

“Why did we even stay in if I end up smelling like pub anyway”, Lesion complains weakly on the way to the bedroom, lamenting the wasted drink and accepting the fresh t-shirt Thatcher presses into his hands. “Thanks. You can go ahead.”

Thatcher pauses, hovering uncertainly. This – isn’t how it’s supposed to go. The last time, Lesion undressed in front of him without any qualms and he hoped it would be the same now, positioned his friend between himself and the mirrors so he’d get a good look no matter what. “I, uh -”

“Do you want to watch me change?”, Lesion asks, audibly entertained.

“No, I just – you probably need a towel, right? To get rid of the beer.”

“Sure”, the younger man agrees easily and Thatcher nods more to himself than for his benefit, leaves the room and dashes as soon as he’s out of eyesight. He’s never fetched a wet towel faster in his life, hoping to at least see part of it if Lesion’s in the middle of undressing, yet when he returns, Lesion is still wearing his soaked shirt. As well as a meaningful smirk. “Thank you, Mike. I’ve got it from here.”

No, he’s not going to let this opportunity pass. “Are you sure you don’t need help with your back?”

“Do you want to see it that badly?”

Oh.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Your personal vendetta against my shirts. It took me a few days to realise why so many of them ended up ruined, stained, ripped or threatened. You’ve not seen it before, have you?”

He hasn’t been that obvious. Has he? Thatcher considers denying everything but his curiosity prevails, triumphs over the prospect of never living this down. Defeated, he shakes his head, prepares for the inevitable ribbing yet is merely awarded with Lesion’s fingers reaching up to unbutton his soiled shirt, a gesture so hypnotising all speech evades him.

“I didn’t know you were that interested”, Lesion comments nonchalantly as if the temperature in the room hadn’t just jumped up a few degrees – or maybe Thatcher is experiencing a heatwave, yet whatever it is, his face is burning.

“I’m not”, he replies petulantly and is in the middle of justifying all his actions to himself in his head when the piece of fabric drops, carelessly gets discarded, and then Lesion turns.

It’s -

Well, it’s large, first of all, covering the entirety of his back and seemingly continuing even below the waistband of his trousers, just shy of curling all the way around his ribs. The ink is vibrant and mesmerising, no part of Lesion’s natural skin colour visible between all the vivid colours crassly at odds with everything Thatcher considers desirable. To him, it looks more like a yakuza tattoo than anything else, the motif of a roaring tiger familiar yet kept in a more tasteful style, no cartoonish bulging eyes or exaggerated features. Part of it is shiny with moisture, making it look even more recent and amplifying the otherworldly feel of it.

And it’s still a tattoo, even if the fact that it’s Lesion’s back changes something about it; even if the outline of his shoulder blades, the dip of his lower back, the gently curved spine do something to Thatcher, its nature remains intact. He doesn’t know why anyone would choose to deface their natural beauty like this, would spend a horrendous amount of money on something this hideous, would endure a million needle pricks only to look like this.

He also has no idea why he can’t stop staring.

A detail catches his attention and, without thinking, he lifts his hand and brushes over the tiger’s face with a thumb, the skin warm and slightly sticky. “He’s got a scar below his eye”, Thatcher murmurs and fights hard to keep this odd, uncalled-for reverent tone out of his voice.

“Do you want to watch him dance?”, Lesion asks him quietly and his brain is too occupied to process his words, discern the meaning behind them because – surely, he’s not -

The air is thick around them and it’s not only a byproduct of the season; it’s not stuffy yet heavy nonetheless, struggles against Thatcher’s deep inhale. His other fingers join his thumb in resting on intricate swirls, scared to move in case they smudge the ornate ink. “What do you mean?”, he hears himself mumble, possibly hoping for a repetition only, not even a clarification.

“Oh. Nevermind.” Lesion’s reply is soft and it sounds like he’s grinning. “I’m glad you seem to like it though.”

“I don’t”, Thatcher protests immediately and withdraws his hand, suddenly light-headed with the rush of oxygen, air flooding his lungs, returned to normal from one second to the next.

His friend throws him a look over his shoulder and he really looks like the Cheshire cat for some reason, as if he’s having the time of his life and Thatcher feels like he missed something somewhere along the way. “Alright”, Lesion agrees readily.

They get him cleaned up and into Thatcher’s shirt without any more interruptions, but when he turns to leave, the Brit holds him back yet falters at the expectant, amused and open smile with which the gesture is met.

“How about”, he begins, suddenly sheepish, “we go swimming this weekend?”

And to his relief, Lesion nods immediately, grinning and extremely pleased with the suggestion. “Of course. I’d love to.”

#rainbow six siege #thatcher #lesion #thatcher/lesion #fanfic #oneshot #had I known I'd get myself stuck I never would've encouraged you #all it took was those 1k words you wrote #I already have more ideas #crying