#ive got gripes brother

[trisqwik]

There are little lesbians who are obnoxiously in love with each other in my house and I want them to be in a lasting happy relationship somewhere else that isn’t in my house.

#ive got gripes brother #I’m happy they clearly feel happy and safe #but I’m gonna wring their necks like dishrags if they don’t start rinsing their bowls covered in melted cheese #and start heeding my sticky note pleas to put the fucking butter away so the cat doesn’t eat it #they forget how to complete tasks when they’re together #an adhd echo chamber with the little weirdos

[robotnikium]

Another incoherent tangent but one I ... need to get out?

I don't care for the push of Orbot/Cubot being seen as Eggman's "other kids" because Eggman is mean to them! Unrelentingly mean to them. He constantly talks down to them, smacks them around, yells at them and can barely stay in the same room as him. It's consistent around the board.

Also I guess … they've always seemed like grown as men to me? I know they're shapes but they've always acted like adults to me … they're just goons.

#brought to you by the ''ive been shipping Orbot & Cubot before we got anything after colors'' gang #which quite frankly. I know sounds odd but this is my one gripe w frontiers / recent sonic content #'are they like ... my brothers ' ian i will not out the gun down until you remove this line from frontiers

[stevesharrlngtons]

a family affair.

tangerine x reader

word count: 3.5k

summary: there is an interloper in tan’s family and he doesn’t like it one bit.

or: tan really hates change.

an: as i said, in my atj era and couldn’t help wanting to write a lil something for tan (as that’s all the fanfic ive been reading lately lol) enjoy!

“All is well, my love,” you murmured comfort to Tan as your eyes roamed the plastic plated pub menu in front of you. 

His fingers had been playing an angry tune on your waist for fifteen minutes, the solid gold of his rings battering your skin in a way that had started to smarten. He expelled ragged exhales through his nose every few moments, and with all his fidgeting next to you, you weren’t confident about the headspace he was in.

“I know that,” Tan replied in a cold clipped tone.

“Really? Because I can hear you grinding your teeth from here. Keep that up and when they get here, you’ll open your mouth to say hello and powder will puff out.” 

“I won’t be sayin’ fuckin’ hello to ‘er.” 

Your brow ticked and you took your eyes off the menu to turn to him, “you will absolutely be saying hello, and you will absolutely make conversation. We talked about this.” 

“I know we talked about this,” he seethed and crouched low to your ear to say, “but I told ya then and I’ll tell ya now, I don’t got a best behavior.” 

His free arm extended across the table as he shook the linked bracelet he wore back down on his wrist, his biceps flexing to test the already tired seams of his navy button down. The tension pulsing through him was palpable, you could sense his wound muscles and hear their screaming aches.

“Well, you better find one,” you said with a shrug, then returned your gaze to the tri-fold pages in front of you. The loud peeling the pages made as you pulled them apart effectively silence your boyfriend’s anxious knuckle cracking while his eyes burned into your profile. No matter how edge he was, you refused to give into his griping to ditch out on the evening and head home.

This evening at the pub was a night of much contention for Tan, and one he had hemmed and hawed about all week. He pulled out all the stops to get out of tonight, but to no avail. No “forgotten plans” or “last minute jobs” or “I just want to have a night in, just the two of us, love”’s would get him out of this, and deep down, you knew he knew that, too. Because tonight was for his brother, and he would do anything for him. Even this. Sometimes, he just needed a little reminding.

“I don’t bloody understand-“ you cut him off before he could continue.

“Because Lemon was extremely accepting of me, almost more so than you in the beginning may I add,” Tan’s grumbling continued, “so we are doing the same for him. He is your brother and you love him.” 

His mustache twitched with discontent and you rolled your eyes. 

“If she sucks, then we can talk shit about her all the way home, OK? But until then? She’s innocent until proven otherwise, and we’re giving her a chance.” 

“Not wise to quote the legal system to me, love. If ya know one thing ‘bout me, it should be that I don’t give a rat's arse about that.” 

“Well it’s not wise to be snippy with me, because it seems I am the only one holding this meeting together.” 

You stood after your retort, Tan’s hand that had been resting on your waist fell to his lap. His face soured further at the action. 

“Now excuse me while I go to the bar to order us a round. You keep scaring off all the waiters and we need to look friendly and warm when they get here. Beer and appetizers are how we are doing that.”

“Warm,” he scoffed, “I ain’t fuckin’ warm, darlin’.” 

“Well,” you leaned back toward him and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple “you are for me.” 

He blew out an unconvinced breath through his nose (but didn’t disagree) that left you laughing. You turned to make your way toward the bar before Tan stopped you. 

“Just sy’know, if that bartender looks at your ass like he did when we were comin’ in? I’m takin’ his eyes out with a fuckin’ melon baller.” 

“Best behavior, remember?” you sing-songed and walked away before he could respond. Though, you knew that his retort was no doubt a string of expletives. 

After a good natured conversation with the bartender, whose flirty banter you were glad Tan could not overhear, you armed yourself with your purchased supplies and headed back toward the booth. With four glasses and a pitcher of lager held strategically in your hands, you were so focused on not letting anything slip from your grip, that you almost didn’t notice that your table had grown by two. 

“Well look who's playin’ barmaid tonight,” Lemon exclaimed as he noticed you nearing the table. 

He stood from his seat immediately to come to your aid, something you thanked him for profusely. He waved you off with a smile and placed his cheek to yours in greeting. You couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing a new aftershave, one that smelled similar to his brother’s, and that his face was clean shaven. 

Once you two parted and had divided up the glasses and beer, you finally had a chance to peek at the evening's guest of honor. 

“You must be the girlfriend,” you said cheerily, extending your hand, “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Pin straight black hair acted as a curtain to reveal a pair of thick glasses and brown eyes as Lemon’s girlfriend turned to you. Her face was expressionless, bare of any makeup and smooth of any distinguishing emotional wrinkles. The turtleneck sweater she wore, thick and wool,  was a deep purple and rose to the bottom of her jaw. Her gaze flicked over your form and then landed on your awaiting right hand. 

“Likewise.” her tone was flat and disinterested, her handshake just the same. 

Without even looking at Tan, you knew that the tips of his ears were turning red and his nostrils were flaring at the perceived slight made against you by this new woman. Respect was everything to him, and when not given to him, or worse, you? His blood began to boil. 

“Rebecca this is (Y/N), and (Y/N) this is Rebecca.” Lemon introduced. 

You looked back toward him once you had released Rebecca’s hand, the grin he offered was cheek splitting in its size. Your heart squeezed at his clear happiness. Only if his brother felt the same way.

“Well, it’s so awesome to finally meet you,” your tone was sweet and Rebecca’s face was disillusioned by your friendliness.

“Yeah, so awesome,” she barely controlled the eye roll you knew she was itching to complete.

You made your way to Tan’s side of the booth, who practically manhandled you back into the seat next to him, his arm lasoing you to his side. His large palm squeezed your hip tight in silent communication. One to say “I was right about this crazy bitch, and I’m going to lose my bloody mind”

You gently placed your hand over his and extended up to place a soft kiss to his jaw, your silent reply of “I’m right here. It’s ok, we’ve got this”

Tan only wished he could believe you. 

His eye had begun to twitch seven minutes after Lemon and she arrived. The tension in his shoulders had reached a peak of almost unbearable pain and he swore he was about to crack a molar or burst a leak in his tongue by how hard his jaw was clenched.

The woman who accompanied Lemon tonight (yes, he was refusing to say the harpy’s name) was quite possibly the most vile and unpleasant woman he had ever met. That was certainly saying something too, as he was a contract killer and killed vile men and women on the daily. But this woman? The one Lemon was looking at with stars in his eyes? Somehow topped them all. 

Pompous, arrogant, self righteous and shrill. He'd known her all of thirty minutes and he could already tell she was a pretentious martyr. Quite frankly, he thought she was a cunt. 

And the worst part? The part that was really sending his anger into orbit? That both his brother and his girlfriend didn’t seem to notice. Well, Lemon didn’t seem to notice, you just didn’t seem to care. 

You were a people person, you liked to talk to strangers on the subway, to census takers at the door and doctors office receptionists on the phone; you liked to make people smile, make them happy. You could also schmooze. You could say exactly what someone wanted to hear and pin the inner workings of people psyches and youtheir sore spots in the blink of an eye. While Tan needed to be in physical control, the looming threatening force in every room, you were happy to sidle up next to him and find out what made people tick. You were polar opposites and the perfect team. You were the sweet to his salty (and yes, he knew there was a joke about his namesake in there somewhere…) and the tamer of the wildfire that swarmed in his stomach.

Even as a sunny extrovert, you had your tells for when discomfort and nervous energy would start to creep in. And Tan? He knew every fucking one. 

Your smile would grow just a little too wide, a hair toward painful and not so cheerful. You would start to nod in long intervals that would weigh on the side of awkward. You’d tap your fingernails together like Dolly Parton and trace the scar on your pinky that you got when you were eight, the repetition soothing to you.

And now, while Rebecca droned on about United Kingdom policy reform or… whatever drivel she was talking about, Tan could see all your tells in full swing.

And yet? You continued to engage the spider in friendly conversation while Lemon continued to giggle like a schoolgirl at her rubbish responses. She was lucky she hadn’t said anything outwardly offensive to either his brother or his love, because truly, Tangerine had no problem with putting a bullet between her eyes and every other patron in the bar so there were no witnesses of his execution of this terrible double date. 

He knew you wouldn’t be happy about that, and Lemon decidedly less so, but you’d both get over it. You would place your hands on your hips and sigh (the way you always do when he got a little too murder-y outside of working hours) but Tan would grovel so nicely for you, kiss you tenderly and whisper sweet nothings in your ear and then happily do the same between your legs. And Lemon? He’d buy him a Guinness in a few days and ring his favorite call girl from London and things would be peachy once again for the three of you. 

The three of you, his mind emphasized, just the way he liked it. 

“Oi, mate,” Lemon said and he tipped his chin up toward his brother, effectively breaking Tan from his thoughts “did ya hear me? I said Becca went to Oxford and MIT in the states. She was at Oxford the same time we were in the area ‘bout five years ago, you ‘member that? What are the odds?” 

Yes, Tan did remember. They were in Oxford to kill some geezer scientist who swore he had struck up an invention to turn water into gasoline. He and Lemon got a pretty penny for that job. 

“Bloody rivetin’, it is,” Tan replied, sarcasm oozing out of his mouth. 

“It’s like we really have been just one step apart our whole lives, aint it?” Lemon nudges Rebecca with his shoulder, which rocked her slightly in her seat. Her expression stayed stagnant. 

Tangerine swallowed a long pull of beer before he replied, “Truly unfortunate you crossed paths now then, ‘innit? Could’a kept up the game of being strangers a while longer. Hell, maybe forever.” 

Lemon’s eyes widen and Tan can tell it’s taking effort for his brother to not let his smile slip. He was feeling the four large beers he had consumed while suffering through the night. His composure and any hint of “best behavior” he’d had, had begun to slip away and fast. Combine that with your shared discomfort over this spider? He was ready to escalate this evening to deadly levels. 

Until your soft hand crossed over Tan’s chest and rested on his left shoulder, your cheek moving to rest on his right. The reminder of your presence gave his fury pause, and when your lithe fingers broke the barrier of his unbuttoned shirt to dance across the skin of his collar bone he felt his racing heart slow. 

With one simple touch, you proved you knew his own tells, too.

“Well, I may not be a ballet prodigy like this one,” you gestured to Rebecca, “but I have been watching people dance all night and I want to go join them.” 

Ballet prodigy? When had the table learned that? Fucking hell, maybe he was drunker than he thought. 

“What do you think, honey?” 

Lemon responded before Tan had the chance.

“Yeah, y’know what? I think that would do us all some good,” he inhaled a deep breath through his nose, before he stood and pulled out Rebecca’s chair for her. 

“Bar dancing. How very Footloose,” Rebecca drawls and took Lemon’s hand he was offering you. 

“Oh bloody fuckin’ hell,” Tan shook his head with a scoff. 

“OK, let’s go,” you huffed and hauled Tan up by his arm.

He left the booth without a fight and let himself be maneuvered through the sea of dancing pub patrons and drunken social groups. His head was on a swivel in an effort to keep his brother in his sights, but his bleach blonde mop soon was lost in the sea of people, likely what you were striving for. Soon, a gap appeared on the dance floor for the two of you to take residence in.

“Well, that was a god damned shit show, wasn’t it?” Tan said as his hands quickly found your waist and pulled you to his chest, “don’t wanna to say I told ya so, but…” 

He pursed his lips smugly and you chuffed a laugh. 

“You’re such a dick." 

“Imma dick? Really? After we just sat with Margret fuckin’ cunty Thatcher for an hour?”

A boisterous laugh left you this time, an Tan felt his chest puff in pride at the sound.

“Y’know what? Two. Two I told ya so’s for tonight. For the best behavior bollocks, and the fact that that woman is in fact, a complete fuckin’ bitch.” 

“Oh, she’s not that bad. She’s definitely a bitch and a bit cold, but she’s not horrible.”

Tan pulled you even closer as you both swayed gently to the old folk song that played from the jukebox. His eyebrows raised incredulously and his mustache shuffled under his nose. 

“On a scale from not that bad to the fuckin’ spawn of satan, I’d say she’s broken the meter, love.” 

“I thought you said it was a scale, not a meter?” 

“Of fuck off, don’t get smart with me.” 

You grinned, but began to relent, “OK, so she’s not the most,” you floundered for a word for a moment, “pleasant, but not everyone can be! There has to be sucky people so the best people can stick out.” 

“Sucky? You’re going with sucky to describe the hag now?” his tone was baffled. 

“You already called her a cunt. I didn’t feel it was necessary to repeat. She’s bad, but not a cunt times two.” 

It was Tan’s turn to laugh, “You’re too sweet for your own good, ya know that?”

You made a sound in disagreement. 

“Not too sweet, just trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s bad with new people? Fuck, maybe her only coping mechinism is superme levels of bitch, who knows.” 

“I thought you were an expert on figuring out why people are the way they are?”

“Well, she’s a tough bitch to crack. I’ll get her, though. Eventually.”

A grin continued to stretch on Tan’s lips as he looked down at you, his hands still on your waist and your hands gently cupped the nape of his neck. 

“But really, I wanted Lem to see us giving her a chance, alright? I wanted him to know we are giving her a fair shot, just like he gave us.” 

“Wrong. Lemon loved ya the moment he met ya because you are fuckin’ wonderful darlin’, and he isn’t blind so he knew it. His little creature is nothing of the sort,” Tan shot back quickly. 

He wouldn’t let you even entertain the idea that you and her were similar. Tan wasn’t even sure you two were born on the same planet.

“Still, she deserved a fair chance. I didn’t want him to think that you were going to go all sterile soldier on him and reject her before we even got to know her.” 

Tan rolled his eyes at the nickname. It had been given by Lemon the very first time his brother realized how adverse he was to emotions and change. You weren’t lying when you said that Lemon had been more welcoming than Tan had been in the beginning of your relationship. He didn’t like change. He liked things the way they were: him and Lemon, the way it was supposed to always be. Meeting you? That fucked everything up. You were the gorgeous cog in the carefully organized assembly that was his life. It took him longer than he cared to remember, or admit, to realize that maybe he liked his life a hell’uve a lot better with an intruder like you in it. You were what his well oiled machine was missing. 

“It ain’t that, love,” he replied and pulled you closer. His chin went to rest on the crown of your head and he inhaled your floral shampoo.

“Maybe it was a little, though?” you asked against the skin of his throat, and Tan didn’t have to respond for you to know the answer. 

Of course it was that. Rebecca being a slag only worked to solidify her as public enemy number one, but she had secured that placement before Tangerine even knew her name. She had the ability to cause a rift in his life- the ability to take his brother and the comfort Tan found in him- and he just couldn’t have that. 

“You know how I am,” was all he said in return, and you did know. 

“I do… which is why I am proud of you, baby,” you pulled away enough to meet his gaze, “because four years ago, you wouldn’t have even entertained this night. But look at you now.” 

Your smile thawed him further, though the compliment made him feel awkward. 

“So what? Ya sayin’ you fixed me?” 

“Nah,” you moved your hands to frame his cheeks, “just shaped you up a little.” 

Tan shook his head at your words and did his best to not be charmed by them, but to no avail. 

“See? Too fuckin' sweet. If I were watchin’ us, I’d fuckin’ retch.” 

Your lips met his a moment later, and your sickening display of affection continued to onlookers. And Tan didn't give one flying fuck. With the taste of your lips on his and your plush body pressed to his front, the only worry he had was if he could shuffle you to the bathroom in time to fuck you the way he needed to.

“But really,” you pulled away abruptly (far too soon) (much to his and his cock's annoyance), “Me, sweet? C'mon, I mean I can be… but listen if Rebecca had said one bad word about you at that table? I would have jumped across it and ripped a chunk of her hair out. No holds barred, the gloves would be off, baby.” 

It was Tan’s turn to laugh, full and hearty. And hell, maybe even a little warm.

“S’my girl.” 

Then he took your hand from his face and rose it above your head to spin you in a wild circle like a music box doll. Your sequel of joy was music to his ears. When he was finished with his expert twirling he pulled you firmly back to his chest. Tan wasted no time to let you catch your breath or recenter yourself in the still world before his mouth was on yours again, picking up right where you left off moments ago.

As he devoured you with his kiss and groped your body up just the way he liked, he slowly started to forget the terrible start this evening had.

Tomorrow, he’d talk to Lemon to smooth things over. Fuck, maybe even ask about the spider and how his brother was doing in the relationship, even if it pained him to think about. Sure, he was doing his best to be more in touch with his “emotions”, but the thought of a full heart to heart with Lemon did make his stomach queasy. 

He’d have to decide what he needed to do in the end, but for right now with you in his arms and the promise of a hot night ahead, the discomfort of what was to come didn’t seem so bad.

well, i hope you liked it! (: not my favorite thing i've ever written, but i just really wanted to start writing fics again!! lemme know if you want some more atj stories and if you enjoyed this, i'd love to hear it with a reblog, comment or like <3

#i have two other fic ideas so theres that lmao #tangerine x reader #tangerine x oc #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #bullet train fanfic #bullet train fanfiction #aaron taylor johnson x reader #tangerine bullet train #stevesharrlngtons writes

[atopvisenyashill]

since falling into my hotd brainrot ive been reminded of one of my gripes which is this misunderstanding that daenerys lived in "abject poverty" (to use the language from an ask you got not that long ago) before her introduction and this is just... not true?

That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever."

people living in abject poverty don't have access to servants or their own rooms. does this mean their time here would equal the upbringing viserys and daenerys would have had in the red keep? absolutely not. for one thing, daenerys wasn't tutored by a maester or septa which is pretty standard for most noble children of a similar standing, let alone a princess.

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper's hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

they would have needed coin for those ships.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother's crown had gone. 

what happened with ser willem was absolutely terrible but this idea that daenerys and viserys were living on the streets is inaccurate when their targaryen name is what allowed them to live with the likes of magisters and merchant princes. nor was this something that happened overnight, as indicated by the "years past". they also had "treasures" (meaning jewels) which again no person living in abject poverty would have. those treasures were a lifeline for them but it was a lifeline that a character like nettles never has.

Her brother Viserys had once feasted the captains of the Golden Company, in hopes they might take up his cause. They ate his food and heard his pleas and laughed at him. Dany had only been a little girl, but she remembered. "I have sellswords too."

people living in abject poverty don't feast captains.

it just irks me because when you compare it to the details of nettles' life, it feels wrong to me to believe that both these girls lived in abject poverty. that was nettles. that being said though, that doesn't mean daenerys had an easy time living in exile with viserys. he was a monster to her and she deserves sympathy for that. but while daenerys and nettles' upbringings were similarly tragic (orphaned etc), they were still worlds apart in their differing levels of privilege. it also irks me when they try to use this to compare daenerys to sansa (funny how its often just sansa and not the other starks)

yeah those are all definitely good points. as you say, I don't want to discount that Daenerys had an incredibly stressful childhood (to say the least), much more stressful than The Average Noble by far because she and viserys were actively thinking about and worrying over where their next meal will come from, how to keep a roof over their heads, and they aren't learning jack shit because they don't have a maester, a guardian, a parent, or a single person in all of Essos looking out for them. but it's also like. first of all, we have two canon characters that actually do experience real poverty, the first being davos though he doesn't experience it on page and the second being arya - she's actively avoiding capitalizing on the stark name so she's actually living the life someone who is born poor would live.

and one thing about dany's life - which i've touched on before re: noble girls getting sold in marriages in what a previous anon referred to as slavery - but her last name and the class she was born into if not the class she lived in cannot be disentangled from the life she lived. i pointed it out there that for example, if poor jeyne poole found some dragon eggs in the crypts, used ramsay's dead body to hatch them, and started burning shit down, she's just not amassing the sort of following dany would because she doesn't have the name. and you can see that directly with Nettles, as you point out - despite everyone seeing clearly that Nettles manages to claim Sheepstealer, has a strong bond with her dragon, because she's lowborn and Not White (and not even an acceptable Not White, like dornish, but some ~random brown girl~ from nowhere with no claim to any specific heritage in canon) she's still seen as a temptress, a whore, a witch, all because she claimed a dragon and had some old married dude following her around. dany and viserys regularly trade away their jewels, hype up their titles and heritage, in an attempt to gain basic necessities and this is certainly a marked difference from the way other nobles have lived and important but arya, gendry, hot pie, lommy - they don't get that. lommy just gets killed. and he's not even running his mouth the way viserys is in vaes dothrak. he's just a dumb kid whose leg is broken and asks to be carried and he's murdered for it. hot pie is a normal ass kid who has to learn how to defend himself because it's literally life or death while dany regularly has some sort of guard protecting her.

and again - it's not to say dany doesn't experience a lot of trauma and instability that other nobles will never face that gives her an understanding of violence and war that others don't have. but just like you can't say she was truly "sold" as a slave to drogo because her class is tied to the concept of these nobly born child brides, it's not exactly true that she lives in abject poverty either. it's something a lot more complex than that.

#i'm sorry to start dany discoursing again i'm clearing out my asks #anti daenerys targaryen #i was gonna link to that child bride post but i'm lazy. if u kno u kno alsdkjf #asks #anons

[professional-sephiroth-scrungler]

I finally finished rebirth! Here is my unsolicited review cause i don’t want to melt my brother’s ear drums with my rambling

First off, Rebirth is a wonderful game. It’s not perfect by any means but it’s still great. The graphics are stunning, the soundtrack is absolutely amazing, and all the issues i had with story flow and confusion in the OG are basically fixed.

Story: I’ve got so much to say but thats mostly theories so i’ll keep it brief. I love where they are taking things. They’ve done a wonderful job of blending the OG story with the new stuff and the new directions its going. We arent really gonna full know whats happening until its all wrapped up but I am here for it!

Gameplay: its a good improvement on what they did for the first part. I however, have slow reflexes with the bumper and trigger buttons so they milliseconds they give you to block for immunity is not great for me. Dodging around is really fun though

Side quests/world intel: the side quests and world intel are hit or miss for me. Most of the stuff that doesn’t enhance the story, give lore, or deepen character relationships feels like a chore sometimes. Getting all the lifesprings, phenomenons, summon alters, and intel fights is repetitive and annoying sometimes but its easy to fall into the groove of if you have something playing in the background for the dull bits and running around the world to get to another story/side story beat.

Characters: Wonderful, amazing, exceptionally characterized. The nuances of the cast have been fleshed out a lot and it’s great. Even with their limited screen time, Vincent and Cid have so much substance and i am extremely excited to see where the story takes them. No, i am not ignoring one character in particular, what do you mean? None of the characters have made me seethe and mald at all and make me want to stop playing because of how annoying they are! And im definitely not afraid of the wrath my opinion of the character will bring if i say who! … Fuck it.

Yuffie: Yuffie definitely has more character than in OG and has sure been fleshed out since Intergrade… In the sense they took the happy go lucky, hyper, materia obsessed kid and multiplied it by 1000. It doesn’t help that she is also inserted into situations she 100% does not belong in. What could have been bonding moments for Aerith, Tifa, Barret, or Nanaki, what would’ve fit well in those situations, have Yuffie instead. And it seems her story is not until part 3 so why is she here so much? During tense or sad moments, she says stuff that ruins the vibe or is just irritating. Many time, she would say something during the story, and right after i would think that the moment would’ve been 10 times better if she was not inserting herself into it. Sometimes it feels like the writers are partially writing her as the main character when in the OG, she was an optional side character. Its not to say its all bad, she can have some funny moments. Except those where near when she just joins the party and the more those “silly moments” happen, the more grating they become. I hope that whenever her story arc happens in part 3 or a dlc (god i hope not a dlc the game is already $70), she has some growth and mellows back at least a bit. But who knows, maybe this is just a personal thing and she is actually a fine character. If you like her, thats fine. In the end, her character just isn’t for me and i just dont understand. These were just things that annoyed me personally and if you are fine or like how much more Yuffie there is in the remake trilogy, thats perfectly ok. Anyways

Expectations vs Reality: my only real gripe with the advertising is around Sephiroth and him being called a “protagonist” and supposedly us learning more about him in some english translations ive seen of interviews. I don’t quite understand where the protagonist thing came from. He is still very much the penultimate antagonist. But i expected to at least be able to read some in the manor about his childhood and play as him in combat a bit more. Maybe some TFS promo material got mixed up in my brain. If not, the best i can come up with from where the protagonist thing came from is that Sephiroth believes he is the protagonist, that he is doing the right thing, that he is the hero saving the planet and all other worlds through his twisted vision. And i guess through that, we have learned a lot about his motivations now and how he currently sees things. Not the backstory stuff i was hoping fore, but still really cool to see and analyze.

Over all, i would say Rebirth is an 8.5/10 for me. Some stuff dragged, was fluffed out a bit much in parts and such but over all a great game!

Actually, no. Sephiroth didn’t fast ball a materia at us in the basement. Maybe that will happen in Part 3. But that loss makes it a 0/10. RIP baseballiroth

#final fantasy 7 #ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy vii #ff7r #ffvii rebirth #ffvii rebirth review #my thoughts #final fantasy vii rebirth #mostly serious review except for the last part #please dont come for my throat yuffie fans #ff7 rebirth #final fantasy 7 rebirth #final fantasy vii remake #ffvii remake #review

[transkenobis]

this is a silly thing to gripe about in the grand scheme of things but like. cannot believe my dads side often has perfect pitch and it skipped me. like his dad had it his brother has it and instead ive got a passable amount of ear-trained relative pitch that is relegated almost exclusively to chords

#like i could have gotten the fun party trick one built in. though i think it would make me so much more annoying #matt speaks

[therogueheart]

What about Billy being spit out of one of the ever-widening cracks in Hawkins as the final victim was taken, alive but so so weak from being stuck in the Upside Down since he “died”, Vecna’s power fluctuating and Billy getting thrown out of the place. Spending time recovering in the hospital when he’s found, gradually being able to go see Max, sticking by her side even when the nurses disapprove no, he should be resting etc etc. Kind of redeeming himself in the party’s eyes by how staunchly he’d start protecting her. Also being able to work with El to try and get Max back, having some good memories to tap into

There's something so viscerally soft about the idea of Billy offering up his mind to El again to help Max. Soft and desperately heartbreaking.

Because I know everyone loves a good big brother Billy storyline but actually; Max is a huge source of conflict and trauma for Billy, and I think at least for the significant formative years of Billy's healing, he'd harbor some resentment towards Max.

Not the kind he did before; violent and volatile, but the way you resent the thorn that pricks you when you pick a rose. Look after your sister, Billy, still rings around his head in Neil Hargrove's voice.

And he hates that. It makes his hands shake and his teeth grind and its something stuck firmly between terror and rage but mostly he's just tired. So fucking tired.

But even so he gets caught sneaking into her room wheezing and limping so often that eventually they transfer them both to a larger room, one where their beds can fit side by side, where Billy doesn't have to nearly hack up a lung just to make sure she's still alive.

He talks to her, sometimes. Reads out snippets of the books that Steve brings him. Tells her how to change a tire and check the oil level in a car. (And tries desperately not to think of his Camaro as he does, throat tight, twisting his shaking fingers in his white hospital blanket.)

Tells her about Neil. His mother. Its the first time he's ever actually told anyone and he cries, wet and ugly and spiralling him into a coughing fit the nurse has to sedate him out of.

When the nurses come to check on Max Billy watches them from where he's slumped in his own bed, scowling as the nurse changes out the IV line, kitten-weak but hissing all the same.

"Hey! You wanna stick 'er a little less like she's a Christmas ham?" he gripes as they take blood samples. "Jesus fucking—brush from the bottom, or you break the hairs!" as they brush out Max's lank, greasy hair. "Oi, Meat-Mitts. She's not a fucking tire, you don't gotta roll her like that!" when they shift Max around to change out her gown.

He doesn't particularly warm up to El—beaten to last place only by Mike—because as grateful as he is to her for breaking the Flayer's control, she's got an open fucking window into his head and he hates that. It makes him feel peeled back and raw, exposed and bloody with no way to protect himself.

Doesn't warm up to her, but still awkwardly volunteers himself to be a helping hand in her revival. Because Billy knows he's not part of her happy memories, but he's always been on the outside looking in. Has a first-hand perspective on a few of them.

Like when she was the flower girl at Neil and Susan's wedding; little and chubby and beaming as she skipped down between the pews, tossing dried petals by the handful.

(He'd been stood off to the side, behind his Dad, starched collar and tight suit hiding the bruises of Neil's drunken rampage the night before.)

Perhaps the only good memory he is actively part of is teaching her to skateboard. She'd begged and begged for a board for her birthday, and she was Neil's little princess so of course she'd gotten one. And of course Billy had to be the one to surrender his weekends to teaching her, jogging alongside the board with her gripping his arm tightly, wobbling along and trying to find her balance.

She'd bought him a Twinkie with her allowance as a thank you, the night after she'd successfully made it down the street without his help or falling off.

The very notion of having Eleven inside his head again, digging around for memories, witnessing it all over... It makes him want to crawl right out of his skin and out the room's window, but he does, because Billy's not really a man of words when it comes to this shut but actions he can do, and maybe this makes them square.

Sorry I was a shitty person, sorry I took it out on you, but look, I'm violating myself to bring you back. Even-Stevens, right?

The first thing he says to her when she's coherent again is; "You look like shit." Her first words straight back are; "Fuck you."

And, yeah. He's not really ready to get over it yet. He's not going to be winning any brother of the year awards anytime soon, but.

They're gonna be just fine.

#stranger things #st #rogue talks #rogue fanfic #billy hargrove #max mayfield #fanfic #fanfiction #billy hargrove & max mayfield #stranger things fanfiction

[kevinwastaken]

sonic movie 2 spoilers under the cut i have A LOT to say holy shit

HOLY SHIT THIS MOVIE IS BETTER THAN THE FIRST I LOVED IT

theres so much i want to say but i have NO IDEA how to start or how to end

first and foremost they did knuckles SO MUCH JUSTICE sega wishes they could write as well as whoever the hell made this script. hes no longer the comic relief dumbass, hes a warrior!! like he used to be!! and he has dignity and honour!! and hes a little gullible but its okay, thats how he originally was anyway x

AND TAILS!! his camaraderie with sonic was so great. i loved how he came all the way to help him from whatever planet hes from and how they just bonded so well immediately and theyre already like brothers I LOVE IT

particularly i liked the scene on the beach where sonic and knuckles stopped and breathed for a sec after having lost the master emerald to robotnik and bonded over what happened to them both the day longclaw died. i liked how they related it back as knuckles’s family was fighting against her and UGH it was so sad but it was so great

AND THE REFS! they never cease to amaze me. i counted a dr robotniks mean bean machine ref (which is funny because ive been thinking about booting up my ps2 again to play it, i want to get good at puyo puyo), a sonic adventure reference during the dance off in siberia, AND ALL THE SONIC 3 AND KNUCKLES REFS!! jesus christ. theres probably more, but theyre slipping my mind

post sleep edit, remembered the manuel in the death egg looking like a manuel for a sega genesis game, that got a chuckle out of me iirc LOL

also kinda feel bad for rachel and what happened in her wedding. poor girl got set up and for what😭 a sting operation? its positively TRAGIC

ALSO THE WAY THEY ALL CAME TOGETHER AT THE END LIKE IT WAS SONIC HEROES I LOVED THAT!!!! I CAN TELL THEYRE GOING TO BE BESTIES JUST BY THE END SCENE WHERE THEYRE PLAYING BASEBALL I LOVE IT I LOVE IT

AND HOLY SHIT MY JAW DROPPED THE MOMENT I KNEW SUPER SONIC WAS GONNA SHOW UP OH MY GOD i shouldve seen it coming with the inclusion of the master emerald and the chaos emeralds and everything BUT OH MY GOD???? HE WAS SO STUNNING!!!! HE LOOKED ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS IN THE MOVIE I WAS IN AWE

AND THE ENDDDD OH MY GOD THE POST CREDITS SCENE WITH SHADOW!!!! I HAD A FEELING HE WAS GOING TO SHOW UP BUT I SCREAMED WHEN THEY SHOWED HIM I CANT WAIT FOR THE THIRD MOVIE!!!!! I BET THERES GONNA BE THIS WHOLE THING WITH GERALD ROBOTNIK, MARIA, THE INCIDENT WITH GUN STORMING THE SPACE COLONY ARK, I CANT WAIT!!!!!!

i did have a few gripes though. theyre a bit miniscule though

first of all, fuck whoever decided robotnik should floss. fuck you for that

second, did not enjoy how small the emeralds were. i know its probably so they can make sense in a human filled world but the emeralds were literally the size of my finger. and the master emerald was the size of ONE in game chaos emerald

also was a bit weirded out by agent stone drawing robotnik in his lattes but ummm hes gay so its fine idk the fujoshis will have a field day with that

alsooo kind of sad there wasnt anything with crazy carl drawing tails gets trolled or uganda knuckles. that wouldve been funny i think

ANYWAY GO WATCH THE MOVIE GO WATCH IT NOW IM GONNA PISS MYSELF I LOVED IT

ps whoever runs this show please bring in crush 40 to write the ending song of the next movie im tired of this kid cudi guy

#GOD THE MOVIE WAS SO GOOD #FUCKING LOVED IT #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic movie #sonic movie 2 #sonic movie 2 spoilers

[thcweasley]

Yours

PAIRING : George Weasley X Y/N

SUMMARY : George getting jealous of his twin brother for being closer to you .

WARNINGS : none? Make out? implying things? hehe

WORDS : 1.7k

A/N: lol this hits too close to home, growing up i was shadowed by heather sister :(  I was going to turn this into smut but im not sure.. cos i never wrote a smut before lol.

“Focus on your work Weasley” Snape smacked George Weasley’s head with the book he was holding, causing the whole class to look at his direction.

George was already an easily distracted person to begin with. but today especially, he got his mind somewhere else.

He was looking at you and his twin brother Fred, giggling while trying to figure out snape’s task. All of his life he never thought that he would feel this much jealously towards the older twin. Sure, sometimes it bothers him a bit that people pay more attention to him, or the fact that people always refers them as “Fred & George”, not “George & Fred”. But he knew it’s a silly thing to be bothered about so he always managed to brush it off.

But not today, Fred had been assigned with you. The girl George met on his last solo trip to honeydukes. It shocked him how he never saw you around before, despite being in the same house and grade. But hes glad that he met you. George didn’t like to be cheesy, but he was so sure that you were made for him. Whenever youre around, he just felt so happy. You’re funny, kind, and on top of all you’re prettiest thing he ever seen. Sadly, for him, other people seems to think that way about you.

He introduced you 2 weeks ago to his brother and friends. You seem to get along great with everyone. He liked that, his brother and friends is everything for him. But he cant help it but feeling a little bit jealous. He didn’t wanna admit it but this jealously is most probably because he was insecure about his feeling for you. Before everything he was sure that you fancy him the same way he fancies you. But now, hes not sure. And he hated it, youre supposed to be his girl.

The class that felt so long was finally over. George quickly stood up, walking towards the common room. he just want to burry his face onto his bed now. He felt an arm linking his. “Hey you” it was you. He let out a big sigh, not knowing how to feel right now.

“Hey, did you have a good time today?” He hated how catty he sounded. Knowing you, he knew you wouldn’t able to tell.

“Yeah it was fun. Your brother is hilarious you know that?” He rolled his eyes, feeling his face getting hot.

“Well yeah hes a clown” George answered shortly. Wanting you both could just drop this conversation. He didn’t like this, being jealous of his twin brother.

“ahah yeah true, youre also funny too you know” You leaned your head onto Georges arm. At this point it was hard for him to not just pulls you into a big hug. “Whats your plan for the rest of the day?” You asked looking up on him.

“Im not sure, probably just sleep” George answered looking down to you. You looked so cute leaning on to him.

“Wanna have a study date? Snape’s test tomorrow right?” George’s ears perked up at the word date.

A smile creeps on his face. “Yeah sure”

“Brilliant! I’ll see you in 2 hours then!” You gave his arm a squeeze before you go. Leaving George all smiley by himself.

2 hours later, George found himself getting ready for his study date. He finally going to make a move on you. Its obvious that you fancy him now right? At least you were the one who refers their study session as a study date.

He tried to look around for Fred but he was nowhere to be found. He feels weird do anything without asking for the older brother’s advice. But it was time to go to meet you at the Library and he didn’t want to make you wait, so he just decided to cross his fingers and hope for the best.

“Hey” George greeted you, big smile on his face. You look up at him from the book you were reading, smiling back at him. “You got a lot of stuff here” He sat down beside you, looking at paper and pens in front of him.

“Oh its not mine” You answered. “So, do you have anything you’re particularly struggling with?”

Whilst you tried your best to explain the things that he was struggling with. George was doing his best to stay focus on what youre saying instead of you. He cant help but admire your face, your cheeks, your lips. He wonders how would it feel like you press his lips against yours.

“Are you listening to me George?” You asked, knowing the answer pretty well.

“Uh yeah, im sorry I got distracted” he blinked.

You brought your hand on to his head, messing with his red hair. “you’ve been a bit distracted these days. didn’t you got smacked on your head earlier today by Snape?” you chuckled a bit running your fingers on the back of his head. “Did it hurt?” You tilted her head closer to him, rubbing the back of his head.

He couldn’t seem to think straight at this point. The fact that youre so close to him right now, he could smell your scent. He took a deep breath trying to be brave and make a move. He put his hand on top of yours, pulling it away from his head. “Y/N..” He started, linking his fingers with yours. “I think I like you”

“Yeah?” You chuckled feeling. your cheeks starting to get warm. “Whats going on George? Why are you suddenly so serious?”

“Well, Im not sure how you feel about me. But I got nothing to lose so here I am. I like you” Surprised by his words, you didn’t say anything. So he thought he could just make a move then. He leaned in closer to you getting you lips closer to each other. Not knowing what to do you just close your eyes. He smiled, taking this as a greenlight to proceed his act. Until all of the sudden-

“Your tea is here!!” Fred walked in, causing them to pull away from each other. “Hey that’s my seat George, do you not see the stuffs on the table?” He said as he sat down filling the gap between You and George.

“Fred what are you doing here?” George asked, clearly  frustrated with the situation.

“That’s not how you greet people, my dear brother” He said handing you the tea he was talking about. “Besides, youre not the only one who got invited to this study group. Right Y/N?” You just nod at him feeling flustered, thinking about what could’ve happened if Fred didn’t just walk in.

The next day, George has been avoiding you since last night. He thought you guys shared the same feeling. But yesterday proved him wrong. He was just another friend to you

Snape’s exam was a group work, being Fred’s partner obviously made you work with him for the exam. You looked so happy, George wishes it was him working with you instead of his twin brother. He hated this so much, it’s ridiculous how jealous he felt towards his twin brother right now.

The exam’s finally over, George saw you coming up to him from the corner of his eyes. “Hey” you greeted him. “Wanna go to Three Broomstick later? I haven’t really seen you all week”

“Who’s coming?” He asked, hoping this time its just the two of you. And everything that he thought about last night wasn’t true.

“Uh everyone. Fred, Lee, Angelina and others im not sure” George snickered. How stupid of him to think that you wanna be alone with him. How stupid of him to think he got a chance with you.

“I think im gonna pass on that” he took a deep breath. “Im tired. Ill see you around” He left you dumb folded, walking away towards his room.

The night comes around. The common room feels empty, his friends had left him for Three Broomstick. George just chilling alone on his bed when he heard someone opened the door.

“George?” You walked towards him, sitting at the end of his bed “Hey, im just.. I just wanna make sure everything is okay”

“Why you here” George answered bitterly. “Arent you suppose to be out with your friends, with my brother?”

“Well yeah but I wanna check up on you. And talk about last night..”

“What do you wanna talk about Y/N?” He took a deep breath. “I already get it, you see me as a friend. If anything, you like Fred more than me. I get it don’t worry. Everyone always picks him over me, im used to it”

“George…” you scotched in closer too him, trying to stop him from rambling all these nonsenses.

“Im not even sure why I thought you like me, he is the better twin. Im just me. I just thought I have a chance with you. Throughout my life, ive always get hands down from my siblings, share with my siblings.” He realised how ridiculous he sounded but it didn’t stop him. “I love how you get along with my friends. But, i just thought, I thought youre my person. Finally someone I can proudly say mine. I thought you feel the same way as I do…” Georges voice was getting quitter when he felt your hand grabbing his. “I like you a lot and I get that you don’t feel the same way. So if youre coming here to explain that i-“

His words were cut off by your lips crashing to his. “You never let me speak Georgie”  You murmured against his lips “I don’t know how you got it all wrong” you kissed his cheek lightly. “I didn’t know you felt that way. George. I like you, im your person. Ive always been“

With a big smile he pulled in for another kiss. He held on to your waist pulling you closer to him, positioning you onto his lap. You threw your and around his neck, deepening the kiss whilst his hands lazily griped your waist.

You can feel something poking between the inner part of your legs. With a slight smile you press your legs more on to him, grinding it against him. Earning a low groan from him.

He held your hips down on him, so both of you can feel more of the friction. His lips travelled to your jaw and to the back of your neck. You could feel his hot breath, sending shivers down your spine as he moved his lips closer to your ears. “Prove it” OKAY SO Let me know if you want a part 2 smut off of this HAHAH.

hehe part 2

this was quite hard to write cos i feel bad for him ahaha. this is loosely based on a true story. but i never got my Y/N :’)

MY OTHER WORKS follow me / send request / talk to me! im lonely (if u send me anonymously maybe click here) my collaborative ford anglia playlist Christmas with the Weasley playlist

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #hp #george weasley fluff #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #mine

[partylikemajima]

#5 of all the sections ??

For all sections?! Anon you want to know my thoughts omg I'll try (tysm wow i feel honoured but i ramble alot, you fell into this one yourself)

A.5 Favorite final boss(es)?

So tbh i’m struggling because does this mean the actual fight when i’m crying trying to succeed in the boss fight or like as a whole, with the build up/actual fight/aftermath? If the latter, I’d say the most memorable was Y4/Y0 since Y4 was the first one I ever played out of the RGG games and I was so mad I had to do 4 fights but it was worth it for the aftermath. and Y0 because the build up to it was so intense, the fight mechanics were so much cooler and all around loved it.

If you mean the former? idk tbh I cry whenever I have to do a boss fight like i’m so afraid when I see an area that looks like a boss fight is going to happen and panic all throughout the fight.

B.5 Which character do you think you would bump heads with most if you knew them in real life?

this is really hard too cause ive had my gripe with a lot of them over the years you know 3am waking up going “did they really do this??” but I think it would be Kaoru, because she’s been missing for 14+ years and it doesn’t make sense

C.5 Which character would you like to see as an antagonist?

well now, maybe the poppo customer assistant because i know they don’t get paid enough to deal with someone’s head being shoved into the microwave everyday there isn’t much people left who would make sense to be an antagonist like sega got everybody in on this. Its been 10 mins thinking about this so i’ll put in my brother’s answer: “Kuze when he gets out of jail”

D.5 which character do you think isn't portrayed well/is misunderstood by the fandom?

uhhh...so i don’t think I read much into the fandom of Yakuza oddly, mainly just rambling in my own corner for years, only character I didn’t know much about until now was @majimemegoro ‘s fav guy Okudera so i guess he is unless you’ve been keeping up with okudera content (which you should)

E.5 Disband: Tojo or Omi?

[Y7 SPOILER]

lol have you played Y7 yet? i hope you have or get a chance to my friend

F.5 What would be the first 5 pictures of your camera roll be of?

So I fully utilised the camera function in Y7 and its full of Zhao Tianyou, but it would probably of been a selfie of Kiryu, whenever i saw majima or i saw a nice location like some of the cafes at night

#cant believe i got asked all these #so excited anon who are you #well idk if this was great to read but you asked #y7 spoilers #y0 spoilers #?? #yakuza #rgg #great questionnaire op

[bevioletskies]

(and i’m lost) in a daydream

summary: Napping together, in Klavier’s opinion, is one of the most romantic things a couple can do. But, he has to admit, staying up all night with Apollo to talk about nothing in particular is pretty good, too.

word count: 5.4k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day six of seven (prompt: "sleep"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings, but doesn’t reference any specific plotlines otherwise. Fic title is from the song Daydream by The Lovin' Spoonful.

“Why are your feet still so cold? You’ve been lying here for like, ten minutes already!”

“Don’t question my blood circulation, baby, it’s rude.”

“I - what?” Apollo shook his head incredulously as he snuggled deeper into the mattress, pointedly moving his feet away from Klavier’s. “You know what? Never mind, I’m not even gonna ask. Just when I think I finally get you…”

“I’m an enigma, liebling. Hard to understand,” Klavier deadpanned, adjusting the covers so Apollo was snug underneath his duvet, weighted blanket, and faux-fur throw. Apollo seriously questioned how his boyfriend’s skin could be anything but blazingly hot with enough sheets on top of him to legitimately smother someone.

“You? You’re about as deep as a puddle on a freshly-paved road.” Klavier pouted exaggeratedly; Apollo leaned over to kiss his trembling bottom lip with a teasing grin. “Kidding, kidding. How could I possibly question the depth and breadth of someone who writes songs like 13 Years Hard Time For Love and Gonna Lock U Up? Clearly, Guilty Love is your magnum opus - ”

“You are so mean to me,” Klavier whined, wrapping his arms around Apollo’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “How are you still one of my favorite people in the world, achtung.” Laughing, Apollo buried his face against Klavier’s neck. “But...you’re not wrong about Guilty Love. It’s obviously my best work.”

“I prefer The Guitar’s Serenade myself,” Apollo mumbled into his hair, slowly detangling himself from Klavier so he could get a good look at him. He felt deliriously tired for some reason, like he’d been worn out to the point of restlessness. Strange, considering it was just like any other day; there was nothing that would’ve made him more exhausted than normal. Klavier seemed to be that way, too, blinking sleepily at Apollo with a wide grin, more lazy than flirtatious. “...hi?”

“Hallo.” Klavier kissed him again. “We should sleep, it’s late.”

“It’s barely ten,” Apollo pointed out.

“It’s late,” Klavier repeated, throwing an arm out across the pillows. Apollo took that as his cue to move in closer once more. “Some people need their beauty sleep, Apollo. We can’t all be fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked engels like you.”

“Now I know you’re tired, ‘cos that was complete crap,” Apollo said, poking Klavier in the cheek. “Have you seen this pimple on my chin? Look, Klav. It’s big enough to have its own legal system.” Klavier half-snorted, half-yawned. “Why’re you so tired, anyway? I thought you said you had a power nap at work, which is definitely not something you should be doing.”

“Herr Edgeworth can manage without me for twenty minutes, ach,” Klavier said derisively. “And I like a good nap, but it’s no substitute for sleep. And besides, it’s...it feels nicer, going to bed, when I have someone to share it with.”

“You are nauseating,” Apollo informed him, kissing him more intently this time. “...but I get what you mean.” He pulled back, swallowing. “Trucy and I were talking the other day about, like...stuff we missed out on by not growing up together. Y’know, family trips, home movies, falling asleep in the same bed...or, at least, that’s what I think it’s like. I wouldn’t know.”

Klavier went silent for an unsettlingly long time. “...it’s not all bad. Having a sibling. Until you look back on it and start to question all the...you know what, never mind.” He shook himself before he could finish his sentence. “You make a pefekt older brother, baby. Though you’re more like a little big brother, now that she’s taller than you.”

“By half an inch!” Apollo protested loudly, prodding Klavier more insistently now. “Look, her dad has the height gene - ”

“And your dad had the ‘loud voice’ gene, I hear.” Klavier took Apollo’s hand in both of his and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. “Well, thanks to you, mein kleiner sirene, I’m definitely awake now.”

“Asshole,” Apollo said affectionately. “So, what, you wanna get up or something?”

“Nein, not at all.” Klavier rolled onto his side, bringing Apollo’s hand to his chest. Apollo could feel Klavier’s steady heartbeat beneath his fingers. “Let’s just...hang out, ja? We can talk until we fall asleep, just like we used to when you were working in Khura’in. Or, more recently, just the other day.”

“Emphasis on ‘day’ - we were s’posed to be helping Ema finish the decorations for Kay’s surprise party!” Apollo spluttered. “That was not a good time to take an accidental nap.”

“Well, entschuldigung for wanting to reflect fondly on a nice memory we shared,” Klavier griped, poking Apollo in the stomach. “For a moment there, I forgot I was dating the most pedantic man on the planet.”

“We’re lawyers, we’re pedantic for a living.” Apollo poked him back. “Hell, you got mad at me just the other day ‘cos I accidentally swapped two of your face serums or whatever - ”

“My skincare routine is a delicate ecosystem, baby, you can’t just move things - ” Klavier then cut himself off with a long exhale. “Nein, nein, we’re not getting into this again. I don’t like being mad at you. It’s unfathomable, really.”

Humming, Apollo used his free hand - the other was still being held against Klavier’s chest - to gently run his fingers through Klavier’s hair, brushing it out of his face. It was silky smooth and tangle-free, naturally; Klavier had a whole wealth of products he used on his skin and in his hair to maintain their quality. He still hadn’t forgiven Apollo for telling him that his own skincare routine consisted of nothing but St. Ives’ apricot scrub and Ponds cold cream (“At least let me buy you an actual cleanser, ach. And don’t tell me you don’t wear sunscreen!”).

“What’re you thinking about?” Klavier said quietly, finally releasing Apollo’s hand so he could cup his jaw, his thumb brushing across Apollo’s bottom lip. “I can practically see the little hamster wheel turning in your head right now.”

“Shut up,” Apollo murmured, playfully nipping the tip of Klavier’s thumb with his teeth. “I’m not thinking about anything, actually. Which is kinda nice, not gonna lie. I don’t have, like, a million pieces of evidence flying around in my brain for once.”

“The benefits of date night after a trial is over, ja?” Klavier said. “We can enjoy each other’s company without...conditions. Though to be fair, you were right when you said we shouldn’t spend nights together while we’re working the same case. Separate the lover from the lawyer and all that.”

Apollo groaned. “I hated that saying when you came up with it, and I still hate it now.” Laughing, Klavier moved closer, neatly tucking his head underneath Apollo’s chin. He pressed a kiss to Apollo’s collarbone, winding his arms around Apollo’s waist. “One of the many things I gotta put up with, I guess.”

“You love it,” Klavier mumbled against Apollo’s chest. “You think I’m so clever - ”

“Rewind to about five minutes ago when I said you’re about as deep as a footprint on a hardwood floor,” Apollo said wryly, pinching Klavier’s waist so he would look up; Apollo ducked down to kiss him. Grinning, Klavier deepened the kiss, letting out a pleased hum as he did so. “...I don’t totally mind putting up with you, though. Wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“I’m still not completely convinced you aren’t here for my mattress and heated floors.” Klavier began pressing open-mouthed kisses along the crook of Apollo’s jaw, savoring the smell of Apollo’s shampoo as he went. “From what you’ve told me of your apartment, it sounds like an absolute nightmare. A complete schreckgespenst.”

“Gesundheit,” Apollo murmured, tilting his chin upwards to give Klavier better access to his neck. “Yeah, my apartment sucks. The only reason I’d want you to come over is so you can finally meet my cat. Hell, he’s a nightmare and a half on his own.”

“Is this the same cat I’ve heard you refer to as your son?” Klavier asked, sitting up slightly. “The one who you said eats more expensive food than you do - ”

“One and the same,” Apollo replied with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, fine, you caught me. I’m only dating you ‘cos you have air conditioning, a flatscreen TV, and food that isn’t frozen.”

The laughter that escaped Klavier’s mouth was near-hysterical; his exhaustion was getting more and more obvious by the minute. “And here, I thought you actually loved me. My mistake.” His laughter was swiftly cut off by Apollo’s lips on his, his breath hitching when Apollo quickly turned them around so he was now straddling Klavier’s hips. “So was I right after all - ”

“I can’t believe we have the exact same stupid sense of humor, you make me so angry,” Apollo said breathlessly between kisses. “God, I love you. You’re the worst. The absolute worst - ”

“You and your mixed messages.” Klavier moved his hands from Apollo’s waist to his backside, gripping him possessively; Apollo’s back arched at his touch, anticipatory. “Your thoughts are as confusing as your logic, you know that?”

“This is the part where you say ‘I love you, too’, not ‘I think you can be stupid sometimes’, you asshole,” Apollo retorted, grinning.

Klavier leaned in close, his lips brushing against Apollo’s ear, his voice low and warm and more than a little bit sensual. “Ich liebe dich mehr jeden Tag.” Apollo shivered with pleasure. “Ich kann nicht ohne dich leben. Liebst du mich?”

“Ja,” Apollo whispered, kissing Klavier yet again. “You know that I do.”

_____

Fifteen minutes later, Klavier reluctantly detached himself from Apollo long enough so he could get up and crack open a window; his bedroom had gotten noticeably warmer, and it wasn’t just because they’d spent the last ten minutes making out like teenagers with a limited window of opportunity.

“Warm,” Apollo grunted, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt. “It’s so warm - Klav, can we please get rid of at least one layer of bed covers already? I have no interest in getting roasted anymore than I already do.”

“Fine, fine.” Klavier rolled up his faux-fur throw, then disappeared briefly into his walk-in closet so he could set it aside. When he returned, Apollo was sprawled out like a starfish on top of the duvet, his fingers and toes brushing the edges of Klavier’s California king bed, staring up at the ceiling with an exhausted, yet blissful smile. “Er...you okay, baby?”

“Excuse me for enjoying the cool air,” Apollo huffed, smirking when Klavier crawled on top of him once more, knees braced on either side of Apollo’s hips. He automatically reached up to run his hands along the sides of Klavier’s waist, his touch warm through the thin fabric of Klavier’s t-shirt. “...hi. Can I help you?”

“Nein, you’re just fine where you are.” Klavier leaned down to kiss him, then rolled onto his side, letting out a contented sigh. “What do you think, are you good to sleep now?”

Apollo snorted, nudging Klavier’s thigh with his foot. “You’re the one who has a self-imposed bedtime, you tell me.”

Klavier propped himself up on his elbow, then ruffled Apollo’s unstyled hair, sweeping it out of his face. “I was thinking about what you said earlier, actually. About the things that you and Trucy missed out on sharing together.”

“...ah.” Apollo’s expression grew serious. “What about it?”

“Do you think…” Klavier hesitated. “It’s just, you grew up as the younger sibling. Not by much, natürlich, but you were still the younger one. Do you think you would've preferred being the older sibling instead?” He let out a bitter laugh that made Apollo’s heart ache. “Not that I’m projecting, of course. Nein, not me.”

“Oh, Klav,” Apollo sighed, wrapping his arms protectively around Klavier’s shoulders and pulling him into his chest. “And...I dunno, I don’t think it’s really comparable, you know? Nahyuta’s barely a year older, while Trucy’s a whole seven years younger...besides, it really comes down to personality and, like, compatibility. Would I be the same person if I grew up with Trucy instead of Nahyuta? Probably not. Hell, definitely not.” He then snorted. “I mean, for one thing, I wouldn’t be living in the mountains.”

“I’m still not convinced when Herr Sahdmadhi tells me he doesn’t have any other pictures of you two lying around,” Klavier chuckled, his laughter causing the mattress to tremble. “Papa wants to take up scrapbooking, by the way, and he’s been asking me if I have any gut photos of you. Ach, it’s like my parents already decided you were their son-in-law the moment we started dating.”

“I think it’s sweet...a-and a little intimidating,” Apollo admitted. “No pressure, right?” Still, he snuggled in even closer, legs loosely wrapped around Klavier’s hips. “But your parents are great, I’ll see if I can find some photos for your dad. I'm sure I’ve got something in those boxes I brought back from Khura’in that I never bothered opening.”

“Sounds like someone needs to do a little spring cleaning,” Klavier teased. “But danke, baby. It’ll certainly be interesting, seeing our childhood photos side-by-side. Me with my hot pink braces, you with your...what was it, pet rabbits?”

“So many rabbits,” Apollo said forlornly. “We didn’t have the means to stop them from, y’know. Procreating. So, uh, think I’ll stick with my neutered cat any day.”

“Did you have a favorite?” Klavier asked; he seemed much more relaxed now, though Apollo couldn’t help but wonder about his earlier comment, if it was worth mentioning at all. “I had a favorite hündchen. She was very stupid.”

“Nice way to talk about your favorite childhood pet,” Apollo snorted. “Though I frequently brag about how much of an asshole my cat is, so I guess I’m one to talk.”

“Nein, like - she was the kind of dog who ran into glass doors and barked at her own reflection,” Klavier explained, biting back another laugh. “Her name was Sascha, and she was this darling cream-colored retriever who loved to sleep on my legs every night. I would always wake up with numb toes.” His smile then turned sad, melancholy. “The first time I tried a weighted blanket after she passed, I...I almost cried. It had been so long since I had that feeling, you know? Like someone was hugging me while I slept...keeping me safe.”

“Babe,” Apollo said softly, gently cupping Klavier’s face.

“Mir geht's gut,” Klavier reassured him, placing his hands over Apollo’s. “It’s a nice memory, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, making small, soothing circles on the backs of Apollo's hands with his thumbs. “So, your favorite häschen?”

“Well, they were wild rabbits, so it’s not like they were ‘ours’, exactly,” Apollo said thoughtfully, leaning into Klavier’s touch. “We didn't give ‘em names or identifying marks, so we got them mixed up all the time. But there was one little guy who was a real piece of work. If I didn’t feed him fast enough, he’d bite my fingers. I had a weird soft spot for him.”

Klavier raised an eyebrow. “...you have a strange relationship with your pets, liebe.”

“Hey, maybe he was my favorite ‘cos he reminded me of me,” Apollo said defensively. “Just like how your favorite dog liked sleeping on your legs. You sure like hogging the bed, after all - which is an incredible feat, considering this is a California king.”

“True,” Klavier agreed. “You do remind me of kätzchen, sharp nails and all.”

“I accidentally cut you with a broken fingernail while holding your hand just one time,” Apollo sighed. “So, do you have pictures of Sascha? I’d love to see her.”

“At my parents’ house,” Klavier said, smiling softly. “I’ll have to break out the photo albums the next time we drop by.”

Humming, Apollo lowered his head to Klavier’s shoulder, half-burying his face against Klavier’s neck. Klavier’s hands moved to Apollo’s back, tapping out rhythmic patterns along his spine. They stayed like that for a while, quiet, almost zen-like, with the occasional breeze whistling in through the open window. Finally, after a few peaceful minutes, Apollo began to shiver, the hairs on his arms and legs prickling from the cold. “...it’s getting pretty windy now. Maybe it’s time for us to actually try to sleep?”

After closing the window, the two of them got back under the duvet, Klavier playfully prodding Apollo’s bare legs with his literal cold feet. Apollo countered him by aggressively poking Klavier’s cheeks with his frozen fingers, only stopping when Klavier begged for mercy. “You’re a cruel one,” Klavier sniffed despite the fact Apollo was now rubbing his face to warm him back up.

“And you’re such a diva,” Apollo said affectionately, pecking him on the nose. “Remember that one time we went to get poké and they didn’t have furikake? You honest-to-god pouted like a kid who didn’t get their favorite ice cream flavor.”

“I know what I like,” Klavier huffed. “And speaking of which, between the way you talk about Mikeko and the way you talk about me - are you sure you actually like us, schatz?”

Apollo softened somewhat. “To borrow a phrase from you - you know you’re, like, one of my favorite people ever.”

“I would hope so,” Klavier murmured, nudging his face against Apollo’s neck. His fingers then slipped underneath Apollo’s t-shirt so he could feel his warmth, feel the softness of his skin. “That’s something my parents used to say, actually. Back when they were in school, when they wrote each other love letters. ‘You are my favorite star in the sky’, Mama would write.”

“Did they end up keeping those letters?” Apollo asked. “It almost sounds like you’ve read them.”

“Nein, I could never,” Klavier protested. “It’s their private correspondence, after all. They just read me some of the nice bits, the poetic parts. I’d write you a poem myself, if I didn’t think you would absolutely hate it.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t hate it.” Apollo kissed the side of Klavier’s head. “I’m just not big on performative romance, y’know, big displays of love that seem to be for people that aren’t part of the relationship. But this right here...it’s more my speed.”

“I can tell,” Klavier hummed, kissing him. It wasn’t long before the two of them found themselves distracted again, caught up in each other’s embrace. Despite seeing plenty of each other over the past few days, Apollo couldn’t help but - privately - admit that he’d missed being able to see Klavier as his boyfriend, not his rival. Every time Klavier smirked at him from behind the prosecutor’s bench, he had to remind himself that he usually preferred to kiss him, not slap him. “...we’re never getting to sleep, are we?”

“Keep your shirt on, Gavin,” Apollo mumbled against Klavier’s lips.

“Not what I meant, but I like where your mind is at,” Klavier teased. “Besides, a bit hypocritical of you when you have your hands on my ass, ja?”

Apollo quickly withdrew his hands as if he’d been burned, ducking down underneath the sheets so Klavier couldn’t see how red his face had become. “Sh-shut up. It was just more convenient to hold onto than your waist, that’s all!”

“My ass is more convenient than my waist, you say? That’s a new one.” Klavier pulled back the duvet with a mocking grin. “Ah, there’s my favorite forehead. Where’s the rest of you, hm?”

“I hate you so much,” Apollo groaned, reluctantly crawling back out. “Why do you even start calling me that, anyway? It’s not like we were talking about my forehead, it was the location of Dr. Meraktis’s bullet wound!”

Klavier looked at him thoughtfully, his head cocked. The dog-like resemblance was becoming more and more apparent by the second. “Honestly? I don’t actually know. All I know is, I wanted to give you a cute nickname, and it just...stuck for one reason or another. And you have to admit, your hair makes your forehead quite...prominent.”

“Cute nickname?” Apollo repeated.

Now Klavier was staring at him more incredulously than anything else. “...I know we’ve talked about this before, but could you really not tell I was flirting with you from the start? Granted, it wasn’t meant to be anything serious until after our first case together, but still.”

“Oh,” Apollo said faintly, slumping back against the headboard. “I, uh...I honestly thought you were just making fun of me.”

“Achtung,” Klavier remarked, trying his hardest not to laugh. “Maybe it’s time we take a trip down memory lane and see what you thought I was doing. For my curiosity’s sake, if you don’t mind.”

Apollo yawned and stretched. “Hell, why not? It’s not like we’re sleeping anytime soon...apparently.”

_____

Thirty minutes later, the two of them were sitting cross-legged on top of Klavier’s duvet, trying their best not to touch anything with their still-wet nails. Apollo wasn’t a fan of having painted nails - not that he didn’t like nail polish itself, it was more the fact that chipped polish bothered him - but he liked letting Klavier do them, liked the feel of his boyfriend’s soft, gentle fingers as they tenderly held his own.

“Wait, wait, wait - you only said that you didn’t think Athena was my type ‘cos you wanted to know if I was single?!”

“I thought that was obvious,” Klavier said, sighing. “How are you so clever and so unobservant at the same time, ach. My boyfriend, the walking contradiction. The man who helped rebuild an entire legal system, the man who can’t tell when someone is asking him to dinner. You truly are a wonder, liebe.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me - ”

“My mistake, clearly. I should have just walked right into Themis, wearing a neon sign that says ‘Ask Me About My Romantic Feelings for Apollo Justice’.” Klavier snorted at the incredulous look on Apollo’s face. “What, too subtle?”

“I just can’t believe you were into me for that long,” Apollo admitted, his voice small. “Like, if you really thought I wasn’t interested...why didn’t you just...stop?”

“You say that like it’s easy.” Klavier turned away for a moment to delicately blow on his nails, pointedly avoiding Apollo’s eyes, then reached for his bottle of Seche Vite. “Remember what you said to me once? About...feeling your feelings before realizing you even have them. After all, it’s not like feelings are just something you can turn on and off, like a switch.”

“I got pretty good at doing that, actually,” Apollo muttered. “Compartmentalizing, I mean.”

“That’s not the same, though, is it?” Klavier said gently. “Pretending not to love you and not loving you are completely different things. I could act like a carefree flirt all I wanted, but...at the end of the day, my heart was always set on you.”

Apollo bit back a grin. “You are such a sap, sheesh. But I hear you. Sorry I made you wait around, I guess.”

“Don’t be,” Klavier murmured. “I’m just glad we got here in the end, you know?”

“Same.” Apollo leaned in to kiss Klavier chastely on the lips, both of them still taking care not to touch each other or the bed. “So, now that we - ” But before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a short, but loud grrrrr. “...Klav?”

“Achtung,” Klavier said, staring down at his stomach in surprise. “I guess we should’ve ordered more dumplings, after all.”

“Or you shouldn’t have let me take the last one,” Apollo pointed out, laughing. “Okay, okay, after we’re done here, we’re raiding your fridge.”

Another fifteen minutes later, they found themselves sprawled on top of Klavier’s duvet once more, this time with two empty bowls that once held ice cream sitting on his bedside table. Apollo’s eyes were closed in contentment as he hummed a little something - some strange combination of The Guitar’s Serenade and something else he couldn’t identify - only for him to jolt slightly at the feeling of Klavier’s cold fingers on his skin.

“Ah - babe, your hands are freezing - ”

“Sorry.” Klavier didn’t look all that sorry as he pressed a sticky-sweet kiss to Apollo’s stomach. “What’s that you’re humming, liebe?”

“I...I don’t actually know.” Apollo furrowed his brows in confusion. “It feels like something I’ve heard over and over again, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what it is. Weird, huh?”

“It almost sounds like…” Klavier then began to hum it himself, tapping out the rhythm on Apollo’s thigh. “...like a lullaby of sorts. Maybe that’s why you’re mixing it with The Guitar’s Serenade.”

“A lullaby?” Apollo repeated. “Wait, you don’t think it’s something that...I mean, Mom told me this story the other day that…” He swallowed thickly. “...she said my dad used to sing to me, like. All the time. Apparently, Mom would come home from work and find him making dinner, and he’d have me on his back in one of those baby wrap things, and he’d just be...singing. Bouncing up and down to the beat to make me giggle.”

Klavier placed his hands over Apollo’s heart, lightly resting his chin on top of them. “That sounds like a wunderschön sight to come home to. Your papa must have been an amazing man.” Apollo shot him a rueful smile, running his fingers through Klavier’s hair. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he separated a portion of it from the rest and began to braid it almost mindlessly, instinctively, resuming his quiet humming. “Ah - you know how to braid hair?”

“Muscle memory,” Apollo explained, continuing to braid. “I liked keeping my hair short, but Nahyuta experimented with growing it out all the time. Aesthetics and beauty are a big part of Khura’inese culture, so he liked switching things up, even though we were never around anyone but...but Dhurke. I learned how to do braids and buns and stuff so he could have a different hairstyle every day.”

“Maybe I should seriously get you to do my hair sometime,” Klavier mused, right as Apollo tied the ends off. “We’ve got that work event next month, maybe then.”

“Hey, I’m no expert,” Apollo chuckled, leaning back to rest on his elbows and admire his handiwork. It wasn’t quite as neat as it used to be, but even in the middle of the night, even with his sloppy attempt at a simple braid, Klavier was still one of the most beautiful people Apollo had ever seen. “But if you let me practice on you, maybe I will be.”

“As long as you don’t pull all my hair out while you’re at it,” Klavier said, preening.

Apollo continued to laugh; then, his expression grew sober. “...is it weird that I think about, like...if I should miss my dad or not?”

Klavier frowned. “Why is it weird?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to think about it, right?” Apollo said, shrugging. “Like, either I miss him...or I don’t. And it’s not like I can tell Mom, ‘cos she loved him, and she misses him all the time, but I...I…” He inhaled sharply. “...I didn’t know him. Not really. So, uh...how do I miss someone I never knew?”

“Well...maybe it’s not about missing him, per se,” Klavier offered. “Maybe you just...miss that you never got to know him. That all your mama’s stories are just that - stories, not memories. And you wish you had the chance to make your own.”

Apollo shot him a soft smile. “You got all of that out of one train of thought, huh? Though...you might not be wrong. It’s kinda like the whole ‘what if’ with growing up with Trucy versus growing up with Nahyuta, y’know, only with...with my dad. What if things had gone completely differently? Would it be better, worse?”

“You seem to be thinking about family quite a lot these days,” Klavier commented. “What’s on that beautiful mind of yours, hm?”

Apollo shook his head. “I meant what I said earlier - nothing, really. It’s just the kind of thing my mind comes up with at - well, it’s not that late, but still.” He then bit back a smile. “Would be, uh. Would be kinda nice, though, wouldn’t it? If that really was dad’s lullaby I was remembering, that I still - that I have a piece of him still with me?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier agreed. “You should sing it to your mama next time you see her, see if she recognizes it. Even if she doesn’t, it can become your version of The Guitar’s Serenade, for just the two of you.”

“I’d like that,” Apollo said quietly. Klavier squeezed Apollo’s thigh, then shuffled back up the bed so they were face-to-face, kissing Apollo chastely. “Hm...your lips are cold, too.”

“You could warm them up for me,” Klavier murmured suggestively; once again, it was his turn to grab Apollo’s backside, pulling him closer and closer until their chests were pressed against one another, his knee sliding neatly between Apollo’s legs. Apollo groaned at the cheesy line but continued kissing him regardless, his lips parting slightly so he could deepen the kiss. “What happened to us having the same stupid sense of humor, baby?”

“You still make me so mad.” Apollo captured Klavier’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging slightly with a wicked grin that made Klavier shiver. “It’s funny, whenever I complain about you to someone else - ”

“Which I suspect happens often,” Klavier commented.

“ - they always ask, ‘so why are you with him, then?’.” Apollo released him, nudging his nose affectionately against the underside of Klavier’s jaw. “And usually, I give ‘em some bullshit excuse. No need to tell them more than they have to know, y’know? But the actual answer’s pretty simple.”

Klavier smoothed Apollo’s hair away from his forehead, his thumb tracing a line across Apollo’s freckles. “Tell me.”

“Because it just...makes sense. Which doesn’t make any sense at all.” Apollo’s smile was so warm, so open, that Klavier felt as if he was falling in love all over again. “You get what I mean?”

“I get you, liebling,” Klavier said fondly, capturing his lips once more. “I’ve got you.”

_____

Sugar, sugar...oh, that night, in your embrace…

Apollo violently jolted awake at the sound of his ringtone, nearly tumbling right out of bed in the process. Groaning, he blinked blearily into the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows, then threw his arm out in an attempt to grab his phone from his bedside table without getting out from under the covers. Instead, he ended up hitting something else entirely.

“Ach! Apollo, what are you doing?”

“Crap - sorry, Klavier,” Apollo winced, sitting up properly so he could rub the sleep out of his eyes. He then turned to pick up his phone, letting out an annoyed huff when he realized it was just an unknown number. “Great, spam calls. And at this hour?” He paused. “Wait...what time is it? Shit, it’s - Klav, it’s almost eleven!”

“Perfekt,” Klavier sighed, rolling back over and pulling the duvet over his head. “Another seven hours, bitte.”

“No, i-it’s eleven in the morning!” Apollo shook Klavier’s shoulder. “Babe, we gotta get up!”

“Why?” Klavier said, yawning as he reluctantly opened his eyes. “It’s the weekend, süßer, relax. Neither of us has anywhere to be, ja? I missed my morning run, sure, but considering we didn’t fall asleep until...ach, three? Four? I’m in no mood to work out.”

“But...shouldn’t we…” Apollo was swiftly interrupted by his own yawn. “...fine, fine, you have a point.” He collapsed back into bed, defeated. Grinning victoriously, Klavier pulled him closer, fitting him snugly underneath his chin. Apollo braced his hand against Klavier’s chest; his heartbeat was steady, comforting, beneath Apollo’s fingers. “Seriously, though, let’s never do that again.”

“I don’t know about that,” Klavier hummed. “Personally, I thought it was a night to remember.”

“A night to remember, not a night to repeat,” Apollo muttered. Klavier merely laughed, dropping his head to rest on top of Apollo’s, briefly turning to kiss his forehead. “Klavier…”

“I mean it, liebe,” Klavier murmured; Apollo felt his own eyes drifting shut at the sound of Klavier’s low, soothing voice, his muscles relaxing as his body melted against Klavier’s familiar embrace. “We have nothing to do today. Sounds like the right time to take a nap, don’t you think?”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get a few more hours,” Apollo mumbled into Klavier’s chest. “Early dinner after we get up?”

“Someone’s optimistic,” Klavier chuckled, rubbing Apollo’s shoulder. “Sure, baby. Now go back to sleep, okay?”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my sixth entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the fifth of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. This is definitely the most plotless fic out of the seven, which is just fine by me, since as I've mentioned before, I love writing dialogue between these two - especially when they're together and get to lovingly snark on each other. It gives me a chance to slip in some little headcanons here and there without worrying about connecting it to the actual plot. For some reason, I have this really vivid image in my mind of Jove holding Apollo on his back while singing along to the radio and working in the kitchen; I think it would be adorable (and a little heartbreaking).

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

#KlapolloWeek2021 #klapollo #kyodoroki #klapollo fic #ace attorney #ace attorney fic #myfic #long post #this one is no plot all soft lmao #i keep wanting to make longer versions of all my klapollo week fics whoops

[gasolineghuleh]

hello!! could we have some sfw headcanons about what it's like to sleep with papa i/ii/iii/iv? do any of them snore or steal the covers? or end up cuddling whatever's nearby in their sleep?

Oh my god this is adorable, thank you Nonny.

Papa i:

This Papa sleeps like the dead.

No, really. You wake him up every so often to make sure he’s still alive. Deep, slow breathing and no movements are very convincing that he’s not.

He’s got a huge book shelf above and next to his bed that he’ll pull from to read before bed. His bookshelf above the bed has some running lights built into it so he can comfortably read.

He keeps a lot of blankets and pillows in his room, as a lot of the Siblings come to him for comfort. His bed is super cushioned and soft, and HUGE. Don’t be surprised if one or two siblings are scattered around the room sleeping. It’s just really cozy around i.

If you wake up and he’s not near you anymore, check the garden. Sometimes when i can’t sleep he’ll tend to the night garden that he has outside his chambers.

Papa ii:

He sleeps pretty still, on his back. It’s obvious that he’s pretty comfortable like this, and it makes him act as a pretty good body pillow to you. If you use him as once, he’ll huff out a sigh and drape an arm over you, warning “don’t get comfortable”. You do anyway. He does nothing about it.

One or two blankets, but not overkill. They’re plushy and warm, filled with goose down. They’re just enough to be comfortable and warm, but not overwhelmingly cushy like his brothers.

His pillows are in black satin pillowcases because they’re “good his complexion”. He won’t gripe if you bring your own though.

Absolutely not a blanket hog at all. It’s almost like he doesn’t move when he sleeps. Hibernates is probably a better word.

Papa iii:

Cuddly mother fucker. If there’s nothing in the bed that he can actually cuddle (you or a stuffed animal), he’ll ball up a pillow in his sleep and hold it.

His bed is tall and large, covered with purple silk sheets and a large black duvet that’s hardly ever made properly. If his bed is neatly made, it was the Ghouls who did it for him.

Loves cuddling, but he’s an absolute cover hog. He’s the type to roll all the way over and just *yoink* the sheets from you.

Murmurs a little bit in his sleep and shifts a lot, but you can never really make out the words of what he’s saying. Is it Latin? Demonic? Who knows, it’s fucking cute though.

If you’re not there, he’ll splay out on the bed like an overgrown moose. If you ARE there, he’ll splay out on the bed like an overgrown moose. 

Papa iv:

His bed is large, but it’s half books with bookmarks shoved into them.

He stuck with the red bedroom after ascending, since it suits him so well. His bed sheets are a striking colour of red with a large black duvet, similar to iii.

His rat cages are across the room from his bed. He likes to talk to them before he sleeps, and make sure that they’re doing well.

When sleeping with Popia, he favors the spooning position. He’ll tuck you tight to his chest and press little kisses to the top of your head.

He moves a little bit in his sleep, but nothing that would bother you or steal the covers from you like iii.

He talks! He’ll whisper or mutter in his sleep, and it’s usually understandable. Mentioning this to him gets you nothing more than a flapping hand and a “feh” of dismissal.

#lorraine writes #asks #hcs #fics #ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost #papa emeritus #papa emeritus 3 #papa emeritus 4 #popia #papa emeritus 2

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream III

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 4, 559

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything; It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i... she feels… (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Anything

Maybe I should kill my inhibition

Maybe I'll be perfect in a new dimension

On the Saturday the week after Barry’s impromptu visit, Iris finds herself down on Main Street about half an hour after 10 in the morning. Nearly the entire 8 blocks of the street are sectioned off, with a plethora of white tents set up on both sides of the street. She glances on as she makes her way down the sidewalk, as people set up books and jewelry and clothes; beer and wine and harder liquor; food and sweets and other treats.

It’s the setup for Central City’s Fall Fest, one of a multitude of fests in the city that Iris calls home. It’ll be open to the public in a few hours and, like usual, Iris will make her way up and down the blocks a few times, holding a beer in one hand and something fried on a stick in the other, a couple of bags filled with things she doesn’t need in the crook of her elbow.

Now, though, she steps into the alley that leads to the side door of Golden’s, an Asian and American fusion restaurant and bar owned by the parents of her best friend, Linda Park. She gives a heavy-handed couple of knocks and only moments later, Linda opens the door to let her in.

Iris first met the other women when they were in the 7th grade. Iris’s parents had divorced several months prior to a new school year and for reasons not then known to Iris, her dad had gotten full custody of her and six-year-old Wally. They’d moved into a new house on the other side of town and that had meant a new school for her. Linda had sat beside her in their homeroom/advisory class and the girl with beige skin and long dark brown hair was constantly scribbling something in a notebook. Iris had discovered that they’d been stories, usually with families as the starring characters. By then, Iris had begun to write in her own notebook—musings and wonderings about the neighbors she’d just met, about what it meant to be the oldest child of divorced parents. They’d bonded over their writing; well, that and being two of only a handful of girls at the school with skin darker than the pale and spray-tanned skin of their classmates.

For over a decade, it’s been Iris and Linda. Through the messy stages of puberty and their even messier interactions with high school boys; through late-night study binges and even worse interactions with college boys. Through the drug addiction that took Iris’s mom and the car crash that had put Linda’s older brother on life support until he’d succumbed to his own injuries, they’ve navigated it all together.

Now, life gets in the way. Linda, almost immediately after undergrad graduation, had begun shopping around a number of short stories and personal essays she had written until, finally, a publisher had bit and opted to publish them as an anthology. A few years and too many nights spent locked in a room later and Linda’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Iris’s own success story is pending. In addition to completing her graduate degree (which, at 26, she’d started late, after taking some time off and working at a local newspaper), she runs a blog, one she’d started by accident. Her middle school musings had become pointed interviews and, with the classes she’d taken in college, had gotten the necessary skills to begin writing up her own human interest stories. It’s amazing, she’s learned, what people will tell you when they can hide behind the face of someone else. What a Life You’ve Lived is growing in popularity, making some money too, and it’s starting to become more than just a hobby for Iris.

Neither Iris nor Linda is ever truly free; but in a concentrated effort to make time, they brunch at least twice a month. This morning, it’s at Golden’s (where Linda is working as a bartender while she writes her next book) because her parents want them to try out new menu items. When the door shuts behind them, Linda turns and gives Iris a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck. Iris returns it, smiling into her hair, her familiar lavender scent a warm comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” Linda says, squeezing her hard once before letting her go.

“Yeah?” Iris asks, mouth lifting in a smirk. “Is it because you’re tired of looking at Daniel’s beautiful face?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Never, though I’d rather put my eye out before I tell him that.”

Linda has been dating her boyfriend Daniel Ngyuen, nerdy engineer and man ridiculously head over heels for her, for a few months, after they met at a book signing hosted by Linda’s parents.

“You’re ridiculous,” Iris tells her, and Linda preens in response.

Something in Iris tightens, a faint film of green clouding her view for all of a millisecond. She’s ashamed she even had the thought, that she feels anything but happiness at the light in her friend’s chocolate brown eyes or the glow in her cheeks. She’s not jealous of Linda, of course she’s not. But Iris can’t help but find some envy at the feeling of contentment that so obviously surrounds her friend and the juxtaposition of her own drifting existence.

It’s almost tangible, these differences, at least to her. Iris can see the confidence practically emanating from Linda’s dress-clad form, the long-sleeved maxi dress and tall sandals, her wavy shoulder-length hair, making her look a little like a goddess. But Iris imagines that’s what it must look like, to be at the start of a career you’ve always wanted, to have the love of a man you’re secure in, to just...know your place, your purpose.

And maybe Iris is being dramatic. She supposes she looks as put together as she’s always thought she needed to be in her light denim jeans, pale pink cropped sweater, and tan block-heeled sandals. She’s been wearing her natural hair out this week and the wavy curls are piled up in an artfully messy bun. Still, even if Iris can’t touch on why she feels so scattered, like all of the pieces that make up the whole of her are floating aimlessly around her body, she cannot deny that the feeling is there, taking up space in her head like the songs she latches on to keep focused, maybe I should pray a little harder, or work a little smarter.

They walk through the restaurant, bustling with the waitstaff preparing for the 11 am opening. Golden’s isn’t an overly large place, only able to fit about 50 people at a time, but Iris thinks it’s a part of the charm. It’s decorated in dark brown wood and bright white and gold light fixtures; the tables and booths are spread out in a way that allows for privacy, making customers feel as if they’re in their own little worlds.

Linda leads them to their usual table, one actually tucked into a little alcove where only the Parks and their guests are allowed to sit. At the table, there’s already a carafe of juice too close to red-pink to be orange juice, along with a bottle of champagne. Outside of the wine and marijuana Friday nights and the occasional party or club, Iris only really indulges in alcohol when she and Linda have these brunches. They slide into the booth and Linda immediately reaches for the champagne.

Over the next couple of hours, Iris is reminded of why, regardless of her own issues, she loves his woman. They laugh, sharing stories of Iris’s students and the customers who come into Golden’s. They get on each other’s nerves, making jokes and ribbing the other any chance they get. At one point, Linda’s parents come out, her honey-skinned Chinese mother Xuan and her dad Theo, Chinese and white with skin like baked sugar cookies, and Iris blinks adoringly up at the both of them, always lost in their beauty—both tall and elegant with ridiculous cheekbones.

“It’s sickening,” Linda mutters as she watches Iris watch them walk away, “how you look at them.”

“I’ve had a crush on your parents for as long as I’ve known them,” Iris replies. “If they ever want a thre-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking statement,” Linda gripes and Iris howls in laughter until Linda points out the attractiveness of Iris’s own father. “You know I’d always hop on the chance to be your stepmom.”

“And I’d happily sabotage your wedding day.”

“But it’d be worth it when I got to climb on top of Daddy West during the honeymoon.”

Iris throws a strawberry at her.

She hears him before she sees him. She’s been at Fall Fest for only about twenty minutes after leaving Golden’s, full and tipsy, walking through the steadily filling streets. Of all of the festivals in Central City, of which there are several (seasonal fests like the Fall and Spring fests; food fests like the Food Truck and Italian Food fests; cultural fests like the Juneteenth and Hispanic Heritage fests), the Fall Fest is one of her favorites. It’s during the best time of the year, when the sun is still blazing but the wind cuts through the heat. When the leaves have begun to drift off trees and dance onto the ground, changing into the shades of yellow and orange and red that only nature can paint. When the booths run the gamut in what they sell, from cooked and packaged foodstuffs, to clothes and jewelry, to dance or golf lessons. It’s the one festival, besides the Pan-African Celebration, that their entire family would attend, even for a few years after the divorce. Her parents would take off work and put aside their differences to spend time together--until Wally had felt too old and her dad had needed too many more work hours and her mom had gotten too lost; and then Iris had started coming with Linda and then, this year, alone.

But she doesn’t dwell—she tries not to dwell these days—and besides, she’s just heard him.

He doesn’t sound any different in the light of the day. In her head, she keeps hearing him as he is in the throes of passion, when his voice is more of a throaty curse, when it’s a rumble against her heated flesh. Here, out here with children screaming from their blocked-off sections and ladies laughing as they smell through candle selections and men arguing from the faux sports bars set up at random tents, he should sound like anyone else. He shouldn’t even be heard over the music coming from the speakers they can’t see—down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; do do do down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; i hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will—or the sheer noise that’s true for events like this. But he is.

She looks up, ignoring the woman still trying to convince her to buy a bottle or three of perfume, and she sees him, right at the booth beside hers. He’s with two other men, one shorter with light brown skin and dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail; the other only a bit taller than the friend, with skin darker than Iris’s, glasses, and a short afro. Iris vaguely thinks that the three of them together are some sort of setup for a bar joke. They’re dressed similarly, in pants and t-shirts, though Iris’s eyes catch onto Barry’s hunter green chinos and white shirt, the beige pocket square matching his desert boots. All three of them have relatively full beers in their hands and Iris is looking at the cup in Barry’s hand (or rather, his fingers wrapped around the cup) for about three seconds before it jerks, beer spilling out. She looks up to find he’s looking back at her too, muttering “Iris,” in surprise.

She watches her hand and smiles back at him, a bit awkwardly, stepping away from the booth where the woman has already moved on to a new customer.

“Hi Barry,” she responds, walking over to them. She spares a glance at the other two, the Black man looking at her curiously, the Latino man a bit more humorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It’s not her smoothest line, but Iris thinks she might be in shock. When he’d left her, again, before she woke up on Saturday morning, she’d found his number written in tiny handwriting on the notepad on her desk, the unimaginative “call me” scribbled beneath it. She hadn’t. She’d thought about; oh had she.

On Monday, she’d debated calling him up to grab a coffee during her break. On Wednesday, she’d gotten an email about a new story and she’d wondered, for a moment, what he might think about it. But then she’d thought of his sweet mouth telling her “I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory,” and she had decided that he likely wouldn’t care about her days.

Now, he gives her a thorough once-over, probably remembering, and Iris feels a flush of heat run through her that she knows has very little to do with the warm late September sun.

“Iris,” he says again, his voice a touch higher than normal. His companions look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Iris,” the long-haired one repeats, laughter coloring his tone. “I’m Cisco.”

“And I’m Chester,” says the one with dark skin, and they both stand there looking at her, grinning like loons until Barry cuts in.

“Alright, stop being weird.”

They don’t. Barry rolls his eyes and pushes past them to stand in front of her. Even with the heels she’s wearing, she has to stretch her neck a little to look up at him.

“Hey,” he says, this time lower, a soft breeze on her skin.

“Hi,” she repeats, just as softly.

The sounds of the carnival don’t disappear so much as they become muted, such as if she were submerged in water or if there was a rushing in her ears, because everything becomes background noise save for the concentrated sound of his voice.

“You didn’t call,” he says to her.

“I—” she starts, but she’s got nothing to say, not anything that won’t make her sound needy or desperate.

“Hey Barry,” Cisco calls.

“Yeah?” Barry answers, but he doesn’t turn away from her. No, he’s looking at her still, assessing her almost. He’s trying to figure something out, she decides, or at least that’s how it seems, what with the way he stares so intently, blue-green eyes pouring into her, bringing up images of them staring up at her from between her thighs, bringing out impressions that feel like more than lust, like more than just two people who’ve only ever bared their bodies to each other.

“We’re gonna go to another tent,” Chester says. “Catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” is the reply, those eyes glittering like the sea in the afternoon sun, still fixed on her. There’s a slight frown to his mouth, and when he speaks again, she can’t tell if he’s reached his conclusion or not.

“Walk with me?”

She nods before she even thinks about it. “Sure.”

They start back down the path. The booths are in abundance this year; it’s a bigger festival than she’s seen before. For a while, they don’t talk. They walk side by side, arms brushing every so often, stopping at booths that catch their attention. For him is a booth with a variety of multi-piece puzzles, some featuring landscapes and gardens, others of the solar system or space. For her, it’s one selling notebooks, beautiful leather-bound journals. She stops, enthralled, picking up one in coral-colored leather with rose-gold edging.

“We can also engrave the name,” the sun-tanned woman with pale blonde hair behind the tent says. “Or you can order custom colors.”

Iris nods, murmurs, “these are really nice,” and continues flipping through the heavy cream paper in the coral notebook. These days, much of her writing gets done on her overused Macbook; it’s just easier that way. But when she writes, for herself—little anecdotes about her day, her feelings spelled out in poetry—she does so in notebooks like these.

“You’re a writer,” Barry wonders and it’s a statement as much as it’s a question.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him and nods. “I’m actually getting my master’s in journalism.”

She puts the journal down once she notes the $40 price tag and thanks the woman as they walk off, Iris looking back at the notebook with longing.

“I also run a blog,” she tells him, and the words tumbling out of her mouth are a shock.

“Really?” he looks at her in surprise. “What’s the site? Is it popular?”

It’s not like she’s embarrassed of her blog or anything, but it feels different, to tell people she knows about her work. Because it’s one thing for strangers to read what she types out in earnest, and in tears and in vulnerability, but it’s something altogether different for people she knows to do the same. They aren’t her stories, not actually, but they are always her words, always her emotions she puts into them, and it feels too, too telling somehow.

“It’s growing in popularity,” she tells him, because she’s the one who opened this can of worms. “It’s called What a Life You’ve Lived.”

He hums, like that means something to him, but before she can ask what, two kids come barreling through the aisle. Iris tries to step out of the way and she slips, her heel catching in a small crack in the asphalt. Her knees buckle, but before she can hit the ground, Barry’s arms are around her. One of his large hands holds onto her, pressed against the bare skin of her belly, and then she’s pressed fully against him.

It’s absurd how much she likes the feel of him—the slim but corded muscles in his arms, the apparent strength in his fingers; and she likes the smell of him too, the faint hint of his laundry detergent mixed with the heat of the sun mixed with the citrus of his cologne. It’s another moment (™), which doesn’t make sense because he’s only just caught her from falling. But he’s looking at her like there is more in her gaze besides the brown of her irises, the flutter of her lashes. It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i...she feels…

“Are you alright?”

Barry’s voice is quiet, too quiet for the energy they’re surrounded by. And maybe she doesn’t even hear it as she does read the movement of his pink mouth.

“Yeah, I am.”

He straightens, then, and gives her a half-smile. “You know, Iris, if you wanted to fall all over me, you could have just called.”

He likely had been trying for levity, but it’s pointed, right there at the end. She steps away from him and he lets her, his fingers sliding along the small of her back until they’re no longer on her skin. It leaves her cold

(only that can’t be true, because it’s far too warm out)

and she watches as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I was waiting on your call, Iris.”

They've moved into a corner where the direction of the festival booths turn right. Straight ahead of them is a 21+ section; it features a stage where performances will begin around 5 as well as a number of makeshift bar stations. There’s a similar set-up with kid-friendly activities on the other side of the festival. Barry’s friends are standing at one of the bar stations talking to two women, both with chestnut-brown skin and long kinky hair. Iris’s eyes shift to take in the rest of her surroundings, to the sound of people laughing and the couples holding hands and the families who seem elated to be together on a day like today.

When she turns back, Barry is patiently watching her, head tilted to the side, expression thoughtful, like it always tends to be.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Barry suggests “We can walk around some more. And once we get sun-tired, I can take you to this spot that I like nearby and we can talk. Maybe about why you didn’t call.”

She licks her lips, pulls the bottom one between her teeth. She hedges, long enough to tell herself that this would be a foolish endeavor, that she should just say no, that he’s nice and cute and what harm would it do. But, really, when he asks, those cyan eyes gleaming and his cheeks faintly pink and his face so goddamn hopeful it almost makes her look away, she really has no other choice.

“Okay, sure.”

She doesn’t tell him why she doesn’t call.

What she does is tell him about her dad and how she’s always been in awe of him, of his grace and his strength and the lessons he’d taught her. She tells him about Wally, who’s brilliant and searching, trying to figure out his way (not unlike her, though this she doesn’t say). She tells him about Linda, her sister in all of the ways that count, who’s always with her, even when she isn’t. And when he asks, because of course he does, she tells him about her mother who was beautiful and kind, all the way until sickness took her away.

She tells him this because he tells her first, about a larger-than-life father whose proximity to wrong-doing bureaucrats had landed him in prison, and an easy-going mother whose life had ended because someone else had been desperate for the money in her purse.

They do indeed walk around ‘til they’re tired, until around 6. Then Barry takes her to a little American bistro where they pride themselves on grass-fed meats and homegrown vegetables. They devour burgers the size of their heads and a mountain of fries that deserve their own table. He stuffs her with food and a piece of pie after, and he asks her some questions. He wants to know her favorite color and the television show she’s currently watching and if she’s always wanted to be a writer: yellow and Bridgerton and only since her parents’ divorce, when she’d needed to know that hers was only a unique story—or maybe she had needed confirmation that it wasn’t. She wonders about his dream job, his favorite hobby, the one thing he wishes he could do: forensic scientist, which he is, amateur theater, and getting his dad out of prison. That opens up a space for more convolution than should be allowed on a first date, and so she asks him more about amateur theater.

After, he walks her back to where her car is parked past Golden’s. When they get there, he listens for the sound of her car alarm, and then he turns her around, pressing her back against her car door. He walks closer, a hand at her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck, thumb circling lightly around her throat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers. “I had a really nice time.”

“Yeah?” His mouth ticks up, that half-smile that is somehow both charming and a little bit maddening. “Enough that I might get a kiss?”

She tilts her head as if in thought, even as she gives in to her desire to touch him too, reaching up to finger at the faint moles dotting her cheeks. She only barely nods her acquiescence when he closes whatever distance is left and kisses her. Iris is always surprised by how warm his mouth is, by how sweet he tastes. He tastes like the apple pie they had earlier, but also like early sunset coffee on cool fall mornings and like how slow sex in the middle of the night feels.

He’s gentle in some ways, his mouth moving slow against hers, his tongue licking into her mouth like he’s trying to find life inside of her. But he’s a little rough too, squeezing at her waist so he won’t fondle her in the middle of the street, tightening his hold on her throat, only a little, but enough that Iris begins to feel the action in the throb of her sex. They kiss, eyes closed, her own fingers scratching at the nape of his neck, her hips thrusting against his in time to the flick of his tongue across her bottom lip, until she feels the swell of his dick against her belly and her loud moan tears him away from her.

“Fuck Iris,” he all but growls, licking his lips as he looks her over, a little wrecked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, playing with the soft strands of his hair, until she notices it’s all messy, matching the state of his swollen mouth, his wrinkled skirt, the heavy dent in the center of his pants. She wonders what she looks like.

“Get in the car, baby.”

Wide-eyed at the endearment outside of sex, Iris does as he tells her to, sliding in and buckling up before he closes the door. When the purr of her engine starts, he motions for her to roll her window down. She does, waiting as he plants his elbow on top of the car, bending his lean frame down so that his face is level with her.

He smiles softly at her. “Go out with me next Sunday.”

She bites at her lip, if only to give herself another moment to breathe. Because this date would be moving beyond a two-night stand, beyond an impromptu date, far beyond kissing on the side of the street.

“What time on Sunday?”

“Early afternoon,” he says and leans in even closer. “I’ll pick you up.”

She nods before she can talk herself out of it, even if she knows that she should. Barry motions for her with a crook of one of his long fingers, and it makes her think of what’s been playing in her head, of down for the ride, down for the ride; you can take me anywhere, and when she comes to, he places a sweet kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, pulling away slowly.

And then Iris watches him—his strong and assured walk, his compelling and commanding aura—until she can’t see him anymore.

Do do do down for the ride, down for the ride

You could take me anywhere

I hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry allen

[divine-draws]

okay i had a whole google doc that i wrote a buncha shit but imma try to CONDENSE it and make my ideas more clear bc there was some wishy washy in there. BUT dabihawks ice skating au bc im gay for that shit. all of it under the cut bc this shit is gunna get LONG. buckle in fuckers. ALSO FEEL FREE TO ASK ME ABOUT this i will be happy to answer shit :3c

SO fair warning before we begin. i know shit about ice sports. im like 1) not THAT educated nor have i legit participated though ive always wanted to and 2) this is just self indulgent so like if i dont get shit right or whatever dont come at me bro. im here to have FUN and live a bit vicariously. also as for location of all this shit i dont know and dont care and am american so my perspective on things are skewed. anyway cw: abuse mention

so dabi (touya) is a previous figure skater

he’s a figure skating prodigy 

enji was a pro hockey player (id say figure skating but this man was BUILT like a brick shithouse idk man) has a lot of championships under his belt but doesnt even begin to touch the legacy of his one sided rival yagi toshinori

him and rei meet and marry at a young age. she like.. actually liked him then?? shit was kinda okay but things kinda.... got bad quick. the abuse etc was ... yeah. she ends up having dabi and fuyumi (they’re twins babeyy) at a young age too and kinda doesnt feel like she can get out of her horrible marriage 

we wont dwell too much on the bad part of all of this though. anyway rei was a figure skater

p well known and known for her fucking GRACE god she moved so well on the ice.

she was so beautiful and spoke through her movements and enji loved that... and so as a hockey player and with a (now previous) figure skater wife he was like aight my kids WILL take up an ice sport and be the FUCKING BEST

dabi isnt made for hockey. enji tries to get him into it but it’s... nah... fuyumi isnt the best with figure skating. she’s good!! and her and dabi do some pair skating when they’re younger but it’s.. hm. dabi is the one with the clear talent here. (fuyumi is a beast on the ice when it comes to hockey though. will dominate. but she kinda... didnt really continue with it)

enji isnt PLEASED that his son isnt gunna be a hockey player but he still values figure skating and will fucking make sure he’s the BEST at it. and so the brutal training starts. he gets some good coaches and also takes up the coaching mantle 

the thing is.. rei was amazing as a skater but her body just... wasnt really made for all of that??? and dabi unfortunately kinda inherited that. his body hates the impacts and such. he’s amazing at figure skating. he has a grace similar to his mothers but there’s something more fierce to him. 

and honestly !!! he gets far!!

also natsuo comes around. he’s a bit too clumsy for either sport and resents the fact that him and fuyumi are neglected by their father. he also loves touya and gets so pissed seeing his brother so hurt

and shouto is born and this kid was made to be on the ice. he’s skating from the moment he can fucking stand on his own.

obvs enji’s attention is split but it’s mainly on touya who is winning championships and GOING places but it’s still not good enough

anyway idk how far he goes?? but it’s the biggest competition yet and on ice mid routine he lands wrong

one thing leads to the next and he’s pretty much medically retired from a young age. he can skate. he can still kinda preform but he cant do what he used to at ALL and he cant keep up with the brutal pace enji sets. there’s a lot of trying to push him still and it’s just.. not happening

for all it’s worth dabi is kinda glad he isnt doing it anymore. but he fears for his babies brother. shouto is a natural and while yes being a professional athlete of any sort is brutal on your body, his body is a lot more capable

but like touya before, shouto is pushed to his absolute limits. bleeding and injuries and puking his guts out from being pushed too far

there’s a lotta resentment but he still pushes through w skating. 

(side note but there DEF is some todomido/tododeku w hockey player izuku who ends up being coached by THE yagi toshinori and who helps shouto out w making shit his own)

anyway so in the end dabi ends up working at a rink tho lol

it’s p much owned by shigarai and run by the lov (who in this au end up making their own little ragtag unofficial local hockey team p much and play games against other teams like them)

despite his father’s whole career, dabi does enjoy playing hockey with these dipshits

but yeah he enjoys his time working at the rink, fucking around and sleeping in random places and sometimes running the zamboni

he’s also best frenemies with shigaraki. they get along and both deal with a shitty upbringing and despite some slight animosity they both would kill if someone fucked w the other 

(also at some point dabi DEF teaches some little kid classes lol)

also dabi does sometimes skate his own routines from time to time. only when he’s alone really. though fuyumi has a pass to be there though he will gripe still

SO HAWKS AM I RIGHT??

now there is a couple ways to go with this and somewhere in me there is an au with hockey player hawks who takes skating lessons from figure skater dabi BUT

i think for this au we’ll just say he was a figure skater from the get go

i think he WANTED to do hockey as a kid. like shouto he’s also a fucking natural and was skating as soon as he could fucking stand and walk. and he looked up to enji and kinda wanted to take up hockey but 

listen,,, trans hawks. who wanted to be like todoroki enji and be a pro hockey player. shit just.. didnt work like that though and besides he’s a tiny dude and god he’d be fucking obliterated 

he kinda is self taught and the ice is his escape from his shitty home life

idk how this works but listen gotta tie in the commission somehow???

he’s scouted or whatever for figure skating at a very young age and his mom is happy to take the heavy scholarships and happy to sign him over to skate for these ppl and have them push him to be The Best

and this kid is FAST. he’s fast and is insane with his jumps and stg it almost looks like he’s FLYING (which gets him the nickname hawks)

the coaches are brutal and shit sucks and a lot of the time it kinda sucks the life out of the sport but he still enjoys it

he has a love for outfits that legit have flare to them (also im thinking of johnny weir’s one outfit w the feathers but yknow instead of white they are RED) and while he does do routines to boring ass music he mainly likes doing shit different (also dabi was p much forced the whole time to do shit to that boring ass music but on his own he’d use his own music taste to skate to)

and he’s good!! he GOES places. he’s like makes it to the olympics at a young age and is one of THE youngest gold medalists for figure skating

im sure somewhere along the line him and dabi DID meet. it was at some competition and hawks was VIBRATING bc there’s ENJI and he wants and autograph and oH GOD IS THAT HIS SON??? he’s HOT. (and at this time dabi still had his red hair and like no piercings and what little ones he had they were out but this dumbass will not recognize him later on)

but god he needs to chill TF out or he will fuck up in the competition 

he hears about dabi’s whole accident and like feels for him but again it’s not like they were friends. there was more of a slight rivalry and they barely spoke if they did

but so idk like.. between seasons hawks finds himself going like nearly every day to this rink.. aka shigaraki’s rink (also sidenote but lbr it’s really run by shirakumo who kinda has to fucking herd the cats w this group)

as frenemies dabi and shigaraki share their distaste for some of these pro athletes (tho some get a pass) and kinda complain about hawks a bit tho like..... shigaraki cant complain TOO much bc of the money from hawks renting out the rink for a few hours almost every day

dabi is too gay for this shit when he actually sees hawks in action. rip him 

tbh they dont really interact tho (besides dabi telling him to gtfo the rink or he’ll run him over with the zamboni) until one day that hawks catches dabi skating

he was done and should have been gone but he forgot something on the bleachers and then he sees dabi and.. oh boy he’s GAY AF

and also dabi is RLLY GOOD???

and so hawks makes a FOOL of himself and startles the poor guy and p much presses all the wrong buttons w asking why he doesnt compete or something

and i mean im sure they had some SLIGHT progress w talking before. nothing significant but god the walls go RIGHT THE FUCK UP and dabi is pissed

tbh dabi was gunna get to the point where he LEGIT talked to him and maybe lowkey asked him out (he says this but shigaraki calls his bluff) and now there is no way. he storms off and tries to avoid him so hard

and hawks tries to corner him a bit but after some time he does manage to corner him and be like pls just let me take you out to dinner to make up for that shit????

aaand dabi accepts bc listen okay he cant say no to free food ??? like he’s kinda pissy w this guy but also.. listen he has EYES 

anywayyy p much this just leads to them dating

hawks DEF looks him up and watches all the vids of him and like the idiot he is realizes that he met him before ( “oh my GOD i know you” “uh… we’re dating i hope u know me?????”  “nO I MEAN WE MET AT (insert comp)”)

but before that dabi did like tell him some shit. mainly about like how he used to skate blah blah and the whole thing that ended all of that

he doesnt really delve too deep into like his shitty childhood until well later

idk what leads to it but the convo finally comes up and it’s so draining for dabi and hawks is horrified and ready to fight his dad (“listen i just sharpened my skates i’ll just-”)

anyway some side things bc this is long and i will answer questions on this tho

rumi is a women’s pro hockey player and fuyumi who actually follows hockey and shit has the BIGGEST crush on her (they end up together)

also natsuo comes to see one of the leagues games (he hasnt really seen them play tbh?? he hears about it from dabi but he lives like at least a few hours away on campus and is going for med school so rip him) and like he meets shigaraki and anyway dabi is losing his FUCKING MIND bc his best frenemy/boss and his younger brother are FLIRTING. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM???

dabi and hawks are really gay together and have skated together by this point and made out on ice a few times and shigaraki was miserable and is like “NOW U KNOW!!” and dabi is pissed bc “yEAH BUT THAT”S MY LITTLE BROTHER??? IT”S NOt thE SAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” 

#dabihawks #bnha #ice skating au #figure skating au #hockey au #idk all the skating #todomido #tododeku #it's lowkey in this post but it's VERY much there and u SHOULD ask me about it #natshig #siganatsu #again lowkey buuut #and #same w #miruyumi #mha #boku no hero academia #dabi #hawks #todoroki touya #takami keigo #todoroki enji #lov #shigaraki tomura #im tired of tagging things actually #speaks #my writing #kinda #my aus #not art

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees: 1. Start

Inspired by this post by @whumping-every-day​ and @justtorturewhump​ about a group of whumpees. I’ve been thinking about it on and off ever since I saw it but I finally got the giddyup to actually write for it

CW: Modern slavery, implied + referenced abuse, death of a minor character, multiple whumpees, transphobia (brief), aftermath of torture/conditioning

--

Galo settled himself into the hospital chair, perfectly comfortable and positioned at a thoughtful angle to the side, opposite the door so physicians could easily enter. He’d intended for this to be a quick visit, but clearly his aunt had other ideas, so he might as well take a seat.

“Here I am on my deathbed!” Auntie Bethany raved, flinging her arm about wildly, and Galo internally winced each time she got too close to jerking on the IV, “Only ONE person comes to visit me! In my whole family!”

To be fair, your whole family is made up of jackasses, Galo thought privately, raising his hands in placation. “Auntie Bethany, please, you were just admitted today. I’m sure plenty of people will show up tomorrow.”

“None of them want to visit me, even when I’m going to die!” she persisted. To be fair, Galo didn’t really want to visit her either. He just… well, she was family. And she was in the hospital. And even though his family was estranged and largely filled with self-centered, arrogant individuals that made any kind of holiday event a stomach ache and a half, he tried not to be. So here he was. 

“You’re not going to die, Auntie Bethany,” Galo said patiently. “You’ve had this surgery before, remember? And you made it through just fine. I bet the same surgeon still works here, even!” Galo tried for a positive tone, cheerful. 

“Ah, you’re such a good niece for your dear old aunt, sweetheart.”

“I’m your nephew, auntie, we’ve been over this,” Galo said through grit teeth, smile significantly more forced now. This is why no one likes you, Galo thought.

“That’s why I’m leaving you all of my estate, darling,” Auntie Bethanie continued like she hadn’t heard him. Galo blinked twice.

“I’m sorry, what?” Galo asked nicely, sticking his pinkie finger in his right ear as though to clear it out. “You’re…”

“I have my lawyer coming to the hospital,” Auntie Bethany said, “Go get me a pair of socks. They keep it so damn freezing in here.”

Galo rose and went to the cabinet, pulling out the soft yellow cloth and helping the socks onto her feet.

“I had planned to split my estate between everyone who showed up, but you’re the only one! So you get the jackpot, you’re welcome!” she said, well, nearly-shouted, as Galo tugged the socks on over the socks she was already wearing, struggling with the tightness. He was strong; daily visits to the gym had his arms thickly muscled, his chest broad, but he wasn’t exactly trying to break his elderly aunt’s foot here, so he couldn’t just shove.

“Thank you, Auntie Bethany,” he said, trying to sound actually grateful and not just tiredly patient. So this was her newest passive-aggressive ploy. After Galo told the rest of the family there was money involved, the others would show up with their plastic smiles and loud voices and then she would get to gripe at how they were only in it for the money, but change the will up anyway to keep them visiting. She liked to play “games” like that. Galo tried very, very hard not to sigh. 

It’d probably keep up after the hospital stay, too, Galo mused as he sat back down in the chair. People showing up to her home with flowers and wine and “earnest” attempts to make sure she was recovering just fine. Honestly, who knew how long she could drag this out? Her poor lawyer. He hoped she was at least paying them well.

The lawyer did, in fact, arrive, and Galo quietly apologized each time his aunt criticized or scolded the poor man.

“You’re uh, gonna need to use my legal name,” Galo said, handing him his driver’s license. “Not the uh, childhood nickname she keeps calling me.”

The lawyer gave him a sympathetic pat, and it was hours after Galo had planned that he finally managed to get out from under his aunt’s endless conversation and go home already. He sighed, dropping his coat on the floor of his small apartment’s entryway. For all that he was competent, intelligent, and good with organizational skills and the like; Galo had not been particularly successful in his life. He was good with people and good with life skills, he just. 

Bluh!

Bluh bluh bluh! Now was not the time for a pity party, or else he’d turn into his aunt. He played an hour of his most recent video game, an open-world with a semi-voluntary plot, before turning in for the night. He should think about investing in a rabbit or something. He could eek out the money, and his apartment got awfully lonely, with just him, a computer, and a potted plant.

In the morning, he knew he should email his family and let them know Auntie Bethany wanted visitors, and she was messing around with her will. He should. A good son, nephew, brother, and cousin would. But then his dad would call him, asking for specifics (it never mattered how many specifics Galo put in the email. His dad would always call and ask for more), and that would mean talking to his dad and he really, really wasn’t ready for that, at the moment. Or at all. He could do it later. It wasn’t like Auntie Bethany was actually dying, after all, she was just up to her hysterics again. And god, if Galo’s sister or brother decided they wanted more than just an email… if they decided to “pop in” after visiting their aunt and gloat to Galo about how now it was their names on the will…

Oh and don’t even get Galo started on what Uncle Mike would do. He was a bigger attention whore than Auntie Bethany.

So he just… didn’t write. Didn’t call. Nothing that big was happening, they could afford to wait a few days before feeding into Auntie Bethany’s weird games. She could probably use a little disappointment for the first time in her spoiled, nasty life anyway.

Galo took a deep breath and covered his face with his broad palm. He shouldn’t think like that. That was uncalled for. Auntie Bethany was a fine person, she was just rude, and loud, and inconsiderate. But she was family. He should be polite. But, still, it would be fine if she had to wait a little while for everyone to get in on her weird ploys.

So imagine Galo’s surprise when the hospital called him after work, letting him know his aunt had, unfortunately, not made it through her surgery.

--

Her mansion (and that’s really the only word that could describe it, though “castle” was more fitting, in Galo’s opinion (it had an estate garden, who has an ‘estate garden’?!?!)) was huge. Galo had made that observation before, of course, every time he’d spent the weekend as a kid and the couple of times he’d visited during a family gathering. He couldn’t really believe it was his. The castle, the pool, the garden, all of her badass furniture he’d been warned to keep off of as a kid, her hella entertainment system that he honestly couldn’t wait to hook his game consoles up to. Didn’t she also own slaves? He wasn’t certain; he tended to get as drunk as possible as fast as possible at family gatherings, in order to survive said family gatherings, but he was pretty sure she’d mentioned putting away her servants for the evenings since they were “eyesores” or some shit. And he definitely remembered her having one when he was a kid, a glass-eyed guy only about a decade older than Galo himself.

Whatever. He unlocked the front door with her keys, attached to his keychain now, and took in the familiar foyer. He should go upstairs and check if her turquoise guest room was the same as when he was younger. It had an en suite bathroom with a bath the size of a hot tub, and it could definitely serve as his new master bedroom. Auntie Bethany’s had been the size of a ballroom, and he really didn’t need all that space (or to sleep in the same bed his dead aunt had slept in, guh).

“Mistress, w--” a thin woman with pale hair and over-wide eyes entered swiftly, then flinched back, grinding to a halt when she saw Galo.

“S-Sir, I’m sorry sir, but our mistress is out at the moment. You will have to visit her at a later time.”

“Oh, uh, I’m, not a home invader,” Galo assured, setting his little potted plant down near the antique vase his aunt had boasted about so frequently. The poor lady was trembling visibly, though he had to give her credit for not screaming and calling the police upon seeing a stranger enter her home. He probably should’ve called out and introduced himself when he let himself in; he’d just been thinking about how Auntie Bethany had kept slaves. “My aunt had a relapse, recently, and was admitted to the hospital yesterday. Uh, her surgery didn’t go so well,” Galo said, rubbing at the back of his neck. He needed to shave down his undercut, he thought rather inanely. “She didn’t make it. I uh, I’m sorta the sole inheritor of her estate? For the time being; at the funeral I’m sure we’ll get into plenty of arguments,” he said with a forced chuckle. 

“My name’s Galo,” he greeted, extending his hand to the woman.

He was a little taken aback when she genuflected and kissed his palm, dropping fluidly and with unexpected grace. “Oh, uh, okay,” he said, cupping her face and stroking a thumb over her cheekbone. Except, whoops, that was the wrong thing to do, he realized, since her face contorted and her whole body locked up.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you,” Galo said, pulling his hand away immediately. She went down on both knees and pressed her forehead to the floor, further confusing Galo, her movements still fluid as silk.

“I apologize, Master. I reacted poorly.”

“No, no,” Galo rushed to reassure, his words making her flinch. “You’re good, you’re fine, it’s alright,” he tried, and that went over a little better. 

“I apologize if I have angered you, Master.”

“You--didn’t. I’m just, surprised is all.” He bent down and touched his fingers very lightly against the back of her hand, and he noted that she flinched again. Okay. Probably a trauma response. His aunt had likely picked her up from somewhere bad, but that was alright. He had significantly more emotional intelligence than Auntie Bethany; he was better suited to help this kind of person than she was. Would have been.

“Will you tell me your name?” Galo asked, voice intentionally calm and reassuring.

“...” He watched her swallow, his brows furrowing. Did she… not know her own name? “Whatever pleases Master best,” she eventually answered.

“Oh,” Galo said, voice soft and pitying. “No, that’s alright. You can tell me what you’d like to be called.”

“I--wouldn’t, be presumptuous, Master, and put words in your mouth.” Man, she was shaking like a leaf. He would definitely be stuttering, if he was that scared.

But a direct approach clearly wasn’t going to work, here, he couldn’t just do it over and over again and expect different results. He’d come at this from a different angle.

“You’re so obedient,” he praised, stroking a finger down her fingers and along the back of her hand, light as a feather. “You’re very good, you were trained to answer just like that, weren’t you?”

“Yes Master,” she said, sounding relieved. Good. 

“But right now, what I’m asking for is your name. If you don’t like the one Auntie Bethany called you, that’s fine, you can pick something else, but I’m not going to think of one for you, okay? I need you to do that, now,” Galo said patiently, feeling a little silly for talking to a grown adult in the same tone he might take with a crying child, but, well. Trauma response.

“Nyla, Master.”

“Good girl, Nyla.” He heard her breath of relief, and tapped the backs of his knuckles against her hand. “Stand up for me?” he asked, slipping his hands underneath her palms. He rose, and she stood with him, again with that eerie grace, pretty much none of her weight against his hands, although he had intended to help her up. 

“So, is there anyone else here I should meet?” Galo asked, smiling patiently at Nyla who did not meet his eyes at all. “That other guy. Gr… G-something.”

“Greyson, if it pleases you Master.”

“That’s it! He still around?”

“Yes Master. I can fetch the others for you, Master, and bring them to wherever you’d prefer to inspect us.”

“Uh,” Galo blinked twice. Okay. Nyla was clearly going to require a lot of delicacy, and while he was definitely equipped to do that, he wasn’t fast. “Sure, how about you get the others in the--” No, not the living room, the furniture in there was all tiny and mostly just for her weird 60’s aesthetic, “--den.”

He mentally added “den” onto his brand new list of things that made Nyla lock up. He should probably turn it into a physical list, at some point, since he was going to live with her now, and it was important to make note of things like this.

But the damage was done, and maybe this would be a good way to show her his aunt’s den wasn’t like… whatever it was, that she’d experienced before here.

His den. It wasn’t his aunt’s anymore. Auntie Bethany was dead.

It was a weird feeling, he thought to himself as he grabbed his potted plant and went upstairs to the guest bedroom that was, in fact, still just as cool as he remembered it. He set it on the windowsill of his house. It was a weird feeling, a really weird feeling, that someone he’d known all his life was suddenly… gone.

He didn’t miss her. He didn’t like her, and they certainly hadn’t been close. He wasn’t mourning her. But. Hm. His grandparents had all died before he could remember them, so he hadn’t really had a death in the family before. It was strange and almost-melancholy, thinking that his aunt would never again walk through this place. Would never hassle him about his hair at family gatherings ever again, or complain about the TV being too quiet, or eat cantelope with her mouth open.

He shook himself. He had other people to say hello to and introduce himself to. He gave his cheeks two smart pats and left the room, mentally plotting where he would put his own personal effects. And ugh, he had to get rid of that weird hall painting. Actually, why not just do that now; he was there and it was large, but if he gripped under the frame on top he could sorta-shoulder-carry it down the stairs. The weight wasn’t much of an issue. He was a particularly buff stud, after all.

“Oh, there’s more of you than I expected,” he mentioned offhand, reaching the den. Five slaves stood at strict attention, ignoring the human-sized furniture he’d intended them all to sit on, including a girl who couldn’t possibly be older than twenty. He stared at her, a muted horror not quite breaking past the shock. She was absolutely covered in bruises. Some were purple, some yellowing, some bright red and fresh, hardly older than two or possibly three days.

“Oh god,” he breathed, very, very deliberately reminding himself to move slowly as he approached her. Poor thing! Had she fallen? The bruises differed in age too much for that. He reached out a hand to her, slowly, well within her field of vision, but she still flinched.

“Master!” Nyla interrupted before he could touch. “That one is Lilah, she’s the gardener for the estate.”

A little thing like her? The whole estate? Using the machinery needed to keep up with a yard this big, no wonder she was covered in injuries! She was way too small to be handling stuff that could hurt her like this!

“Nice to meet you, Lilah,” Galo said gently, extending his hand again, just as slow and careful as the first time. Lilah sank to one knee, almost as fluid as Nyla, and kissed his palm, which. Alright! Cool! Sure! Maybe Auntie Bethany had gotten Nyla and Lilah together? 

Galo gave her a single, quick pat on her head, not wanting a repeat of whatever distress he’d caused Nyla in the foyer. Lilah was tan and freckled, with sunbleached brown hair, and wow, yikes, she was so small. Galo swallowed and turned to the next person in the lineup.

“Greyson,” Galo greeted with a smile. He looked a lot like he had when Galo was younger, just sorta gaunt now. Reddish-brown hair that was only just starting to sprout a handful of gray hairs, tall and skinny with knobby hands. “Remember me?”

“I do, Master Galo,” Greyson said with a bow, hand raised to his chest, and Galo chuckled.

“Good to see you again, dude. It’s been years,” Galo said, leaving his hands in his pockets. He’d already met this guy, however long ago that it might have been.

“It has, Master, I am delighted to see you again,” Greyson said, monotone and still bowing, but Galo was inclined to believe him. Greyson had always been like this, as near as he remembered.

“Look a little different than last time, huh?” Galo asked with a proud grin. Greyson lifted his head and quirked a very, very small smile of his own.

“I believe you’ve put some weight on, Master.”

Galo made note of how everyone else in the room tensed up at Greyson’s words, but he also laughed. “You bet I have,” Galo bragged, flexing an impressive bicep, before taking a mental red sharpie and writing DON’T DO THAT around the action in big letters. Lilah looked like she might cry.

He’d have to catch up with Greyson later. Or, well, get to know the guy? He hadn’t had much interest in the man when he was a kid, more preoccupied with the pool and old movie collection. He turned to the next person, a man closer to his own age.

“What’s your name?” Galo asked, calm, friendly smile that he used during work on his face.

“Evan, if it please you.” Evan had fluffy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and strong, handsome features. 

God, everyone here was really formal. Greyson, he got. Again, the man had always been like that, but man. They sounded like they all came out of those weird books Auntie Bethany was always reading.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Evan,” Galo said, doing a little wordplay, and Evan lowered his eyes deferentially. Galo lifted his hand to maybe clap him on the shoulder or rub at his own hair or something, but Evan knelt mid-motion and kissed Galo’s hand and okay! Maybe his aunt had been the one with the hand-kissing-thing after all. That was weird as hell to think about, and Galo was gonna try not to.

“This is Sasha, Master,” Nyla stated when Galo turned to the last person in the room, a woman with thick, curly, dark hair and wide blue eyes. She was pale as a ghost. “If you will allow it, she does not speak very well, and I am capable of speaking for her, Master.”

“Okay, sure,” Galo said, not going to push too hard for information on that. And he wasn’t, like, gonna tell them no, either. If this was what made them comfortable, then alright, he could deal with that. “Nice to meet you, Sasha, you don’t need to kiss my hand.”

Sasha nodded tensely, and ugh, maybe he should have let her? Now she was the odd one out. Well, Greyson hadn’t either, so…

Nope, don’t overthink it. Galo could tell there was going to be plenty for him to overthink, moving forward, and he needed to get into the habit of cutting that in the bud right now.

“Alright, so, nice to meet you all,” he already said that. “I’m new, and I’m gonna be honest, the fanciest thing I’ve ever owned is my computer rig, so I’m probably gonna make a couple mistakes in the whole… running an estate, thing, at first. You’re all allowed and encouraged to make suggestions or tell me if I’m doing something stupid on accident, okay?”

It didn’t look like that was okay at all, but Nyla nodded with a “Yes Master” anyway so eh, Galo would take it.

What should he say now? Telling them they were dismissed would make him feel like a hoity toity jackass, but it also felt kind of lame to just… leave it at that. “I’m also a little slow,” he warned, “so please be patient with me. Sometimes I need an extra couple of seconds to think things through.”

“Understood, Master,” Nyla answered again, Evan swallowing nervously at Galo’s words. Yeah, he was definitely going to have to make physical lists of weird observations. Everyone here looked like they had trauma they were processing. Yikes. His aunt was hardly a philanthropist; why would she take in this many skittish people?

His stomach ended up saving him from further floundering, gurgling loudly. Lunch had been so long ago...

“Master, may we prepare dinner for you?” Nyla asked, swaning down to her knees and bowing her head low. 

“Yeah, actually, that’d be great. I’m allergic to mushrooms so nothing with those, please.”

“Yes, Master. Is there anything you’d prefer tonight?”

Hm. They seemed to like direction, and giving them a solid lead would probably be kinder than forcing them to think for themselves and worry about what he did or didn’t like. But at the same time, he had no idea what his aunt kept stocked.

“How about pasta with white sauce?” he suggested. Open ended, basic ingredients that they were pretty much guaranteed to have, and easy to make. And relatively quick; he was hungry.

“As you wish, Master.”

“Cool. I’m gonna start going through my aunt’s stuff. Lemme know when it’s ready.”

Galo left the den with a “Yes Master” chasing his heels, and rubbed at the back of his neck. Goddamn, these people were not having a great time. But that was okay. Galo was confident he could help.

Next

#GW #whump #slavery #slave whump #aftermath of torture #minor character death #transphobia tw #multiple whumpees #implied abuse #referenced abuse #galo #nyla #lilah #greyson #evan #sasha #master/slave #mine #writing #bethany

[littlebitoffanfic]

The Next Chapter

Fandom: Twilight Characters: the Volturi Relationship: Caius/reader Request: Would you ever write for Caius from the Volturi (twilight)? One where the readers running from a vampire and goes to them for some reason and they keep her even though shes a human because they realise shes Caius mate?

Walking through the large halls, you tried to stop your hands from shaking as you carried the metal tray with your note on it. You passed Heidi on your way, who frowned when she saw you didn’t flash her your normal smile. Most of the vampires had seemed to like you. Aro thought it might be a gift which would grow if you were turned. But some thought you were just naturally likeable. You had been the secretary for the Volturi for 5 years now, and had outlasted thousands of other. Most didn’t make it past 6 months, but you had settled quiet well into your role and no one had reason to grow angry towards you. At first, they had looked down their noses at you, but over time you had gained a little respect from most. Most surprisingly had been the closeness you had formed with Caius. Of the three kings, he was the one you were sure would kill you straight away. He was cold and uncaring in nature, his ruthlessness was know far among the vampire world. A world you had stumbled into when you had been kidnapped to be turned. The vampires had been planning to build a newborn army to challenge the Volturi. For months, they kept you hidden in a warehouse, waiting for their chance to change you. it was there that you managed to find out what their plan was and what they intended to do. One night, you had managed to escape and only had a handful of options. You could run but they would find you. they had your scent. Or you could go to the Volturi themselves. Either way you would die, but going to the Volturi would mean they wouldn’t keep kidnapping people. They wouldn’t be able to turn them. When you had ran into the large cathedral of a building, Felix had been the first to grab you. “I think you might have taken a wrong turn.” Demetri had purred, walking up with a smirk on his face. “I need to speak to the Volturi. Ive got information.” You gasped as you tried to calm your racing heart. They had taken you to the leaders. Perhaps they thought you could give information. Perhaps they thought their leaders could do with a snack. The first time you had entered the great room where the thrones stood, you had never been so fearful. Aro had taken your hand, read your thoughts and seen what you had seen. He flinched, turning to the others and relaying your experience. “Why does the human tell us this?” Marcus had mussed, deep in thought as his eyes trailed over you in curiosity. You couldn’t answer. You didn’t even fully understand yourself why you had come. “Strange, very strange indeed.” Aro had chuckled, dropping your hand and walking back to his throne. “She doesn’t want a war. She came because she believed she would be hunted by the vampire who took her.” “So she wants protection.” Caius had half spat at you, making you flinch a little. It wasn’t a question. “No, dear brother. She thinks we’ll kill her as well. She wants peace, like us.” Aro mused, tilting his head from side to side as if weighing options in his mind. “Jane.” The girl had approached with a soft but almost nasty smile, obviously thinking her powers would have been needed. But no one could have predicted Aros next move. “take young [y/n] to a room. We have been in need of a new secretary.” He had smiled at you. From then on, you had been a loyal servant of the Volturi. You were still human, but you knew their plans for you. The vampires who had kidnapped you had escaped barely when the Volturi had came for them. Over the last few year, two of the three had been hunted down and killed. Each one having to pass you when they came to face justice. It was something you were sure the volturi had made a spectacle of. As if to say ‘she stayed with us’. Either way, Jane always stay beside you. She was another you couldn’t understand her fondness of you. She was so cold to the others, yet you caught sight of a young girl who had been lost in a sea of blood. She spoke with you, and you often did her hair and makes up for her as you did Heidi. She came to rant about her other ‘co-workers’ as you worked and your room had often became her safe haven when she was irritated or annoyed. It was nice. At least you had her on your side if you were to go into this dark world. You knew they would change you when they felt like it. And it seemed that they knew something you didn’t. Aro and Marcus always seemed to volunteer Caius whenever you needed something. They pushed him to show you around, a duty he obviously thought below himself. After that it had been smaller ways. If you entered the room to speak to them, he was the one who walked up to you first, something you knew was normally Aro when others came. Caius was the one would had told you of the laws of the vampire world, making you feel like you were being chastised for something as he sat upon his throne. And yet, you couldn’t deny how attracted to him you were. Yes, all the volturi were beautiful, but you felt a real pull towards Caius. And, as like the others, he warmed to you over time. Whenever he was bored, he would summon you to speak with. He veiled it as he wished to double check your knowledge, but you two would have long conversations about old literature or key points in history. But now, as you entered the throne room, everyone knew something was wrong with you. Caius appeared in front of you, his eyes darting down to the shaking tray with the message you had written. From Felix. Taking it, he retreated to his brothers as they read the note. Felix and Demetri had caught the final vampire from the group who had organised your change. And he was bringing him back. “You fear him. But not the other two?” Marius askes, his own concern for you showing. “He was the most cruel. The others, it was a means to an end. But him? He was nasty to me. He’d taunt us, threaten us.” You looked to Aro, knowing he knew what you had seen in your time there. “Perhaps, our dear [y/n] should stay here for the trial.” Aro spoke to the others but his eyes didn’t leave yours. Caius suddenly stood right next to him, an almost aggressive stance with his back to you as he silently questioned his brother. Perhaps he didn’t want a human in the room during vampire affairs, perhaps he knew something else. The latter seemed true as Aro turned to Caius. “A fitting time, do you not agree? It will end that chapter quite nicely.” He smiled, and you saw Caius turn back to you. He guided you to the right hand of the throne room, where the ancient books and a desk were kept. You wondered if this was just because it would be the best place for you, or if it was because it was closer to him. “Be carful.” You whispered to Caius when you were out of earshot of the others. Not that it mattered, but a lifetime of living with people with normal hearing made you forget that they could hear the smallest whisper in this room. “Hes really dangerous.” “You have nothing to fear inside this room.” Caius suddenly turned you towards him and took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. This caught you by surprise. Not only was this an incredibly intimate gesture (especially for someone of the Volturi) but it was also something which showed incredible strength or control of on his part. He could very easily break your jaw, or twist your neck with such a movement. And in the moment, you melted and forgot about the rest of the room as you smiled thankfully at him. Again, you forgot about how they could hear your pulse, and how it started to race when he touched you, spoke to you in such a way. The moment was ruined when Alec walked in with his sister, who had both been away hunting them. Something happened which you missed. When Caius left you, Jane was there, standing slightly in front of you with her back to you, in an almost protective manner. You looked up to Caius who had taken his seat on his throne, a small smile on his lips. Then you heard them. Felix and Demetri hauled in the vampire, whos name you only knew as Arthur. You wandered how they had got him down here without a sound, till you remembered Alec had probably taken his senses until he was here and suddenly realized where he was. “Ah, Arthur. It has been a long time since we last saw you. Well, for some of us.” Aros gazes travels to you in the corner. When Arthurs red eyes find your own, you see only one thing. Hatred. “Ill kill you.” He spat before doing something that made your heart stop. He managed to twist out of the guards grip and started to lunge towards you. Caius stood, something you had never seen before. He didn’t normally rise from his throne out of concern. But then you realised why Jane was in front of you. “Pain.” She mumbled and Arthur dropped to the ground, writhing. “Time, I think, for us to close this chapter.” Aro spoke to Caius as Felix and Demetri moved to grab Arthurs arms again. Jane stepped to the side as something within the room seemed to shift and Caius was there. He was in front of you in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against his body before backing you till you felt the large table behind you. Then you felt it. His teeth sunk into the tender flesh of your neck. You let out a yelp, but didn’t struggle away from him. No, you clung to him, hands griping at the fabric of his suit as you felt the burning begin to race through your blood. Caius pulled back, your blood covering his lips as his gaze found your own. He then did something that had been more shocking than the bite. He kissed you. Hungrily and almost animalistic as he controlled every aspect which you gave him freely. You kissed him back, despite the pain that was starting to flow throughout your whole body. You knew it would get worse, and you knew it would be unbearable, but you were too wrapped up in his kiss. you whined, tugging on his jacket in a desperate attempt for more. You didn’t dare to reach up and cup his cheeks or run your fingers through his hair, no matter how desperately you wanted to. There was not just you two in the room. Suddenly, the pain erupted in your body, and Caius pulled back. “When you wake, you’ll be my queen.” He whispered in your ear, before lifting you onto the tabletop to lie down. You looked up and saw Alec walking towards you, the white mist already ahead of him as it crept up and slowly engulfed you. it took it away. The pain, the ache and even the feeling of the desk beneath you yet it kept you unmoving. All except your hearing and sight. Perhaps he needed to concentrate on the pain first, or perhaps he had been told to keep you awake for a bit. “It would seem you had tried to take attack Caius’ mate. Tut tut.” Aros voice was cool and calm yet there was an underlying sense of anger you had never heard from him. But his words were not lost on you. His mate. Your eyes darted to Caius who walked menacingly up to join his brothers side in front of the vampire. “I meant no-“ The male shook his head, obviously trying to plead for his life. “No what?” Caius interrupted. “no harm? Yet you tried to rile an army against us?” “no, please, that is not-“ The man tried to speak, but Caius stepped directly in front of the man. “You did drive her here, so for that, I’ll be gracious.” Caius growled, as he reached out and placed a hand on either side of the vampires head. Felix and Demetri seemed to know exactly what this meant, as they stated to pull at the same time. Caius ripped the head off the vampire while the others took his limbs. You felt your heart swell as you watched the man you loved kill the one who had hurt you in the past. Your… mate. You suddenly understood. They would have had to have a trial, like the other two, which had taken hours. Yet, by having you there, having Caius chose to turn you then, it meant Arthur was immediately allowed to be executed. They had discussed it, arranged it. Even down to the guards letting him slip through their fingers, placing Jane in front of you. You understood. This was the plan. Your vision began to become blurry as your seemed to dip in and out of consciousness. His words ran through your mind as you slowly began to fall into the final sleep. “My queen.” He had said. You were going to be his. You couldn’t wait for the next chapter to begin.

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