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starbleye · 2 months

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sculpted

Megumi has always been good with his hands, just not his emotions. Until now. (cw: smut; wc: 2200)

Megumi knew his hands like the back of, well, his hands. Art had always been a part of him from a very young age. Finger paints turned into oils on canvas, sidewalk chalk became charcoal sketches. Most importantly, mud pies turned into clay sculptures. If there was one form of art that Megumi was drawn to most, it was pottery.

The minute he came into contact with those dollar store modeling clay kits, he knew he wanted to hold on to it for the rest of his life. He dedicated years of his life, starting with throwing together simple shapes and dishes manipulated by hand. As time went on, his hands became more dexterous in fashioning the clay to match his vision. Delicate yet firm touches to the clay allowed Megumi to craft his imagination into the tangible world. He dedicated himself to his art, he worshiped his talent.

Until you came along.

Unwavering, unshakeable Megumi was rocked when you first entered his life. For the longest time, he believed he was content with his solitude, abhorrent to unnecessary connections that could only bring him pain. He only trusted the porcelain of his heart to be held in his own hands, yet he craved for your soft arms to carry the weight of his fragility.

You were always the source of light in a room from the way you carried yourself. You were sound with who you were and rooted in where you stood, drawing the energy towards yourself with a subtle hand. You lifted Megumi out of his self-induced confinement, but you never pushed or shoved him more than he could take. He could never understand how a person like you could even stand to be around a person like himself; cold, apathetic, protected.

Yet you never looked at him in pity. Instead you saw Megumi as a young kid who was thrust into a life he wasn't ready for and commended his attempts to open up, as small as they were.

But Megumi knew he stood no chance at having you. His desire to have you all to himself was one sided, but he would rather wallow in his craving to have you in his arms rather than scare you away with his feelings.

"How long have you been throwing that?" you asked, shaking Megumi from his thoughts. He looked up at your curious eyes before looking back at the clay on his wheel, smooth as can be. Not as smooth as her skin, he thought to himself.

"Long enough, I guess," he replied, solemnly. The only reason Megumi was in the studio today was to get his mind off you and the date that you were supposed to be on. As fate would have it, your date stood you up and Megumi's studio was the first place you turned to in order to let it all out.

He sat in silence at the wheel, twisting and contorting some sort of vase that widened and narrowed to his heart's desire. All the while, you ranted about your latest trials in love, condemning each and every man Megumi knew wasn't good enough for you. "That's the last time I ever go on a blind date," you finally sighed, relaxing your weight against a table.

He continued to sit silently, overflowing with the urge to hold you tenderly and prove himself better than any other person who dared look in your direction. "Do you have anything to say?" you asked, fishing for any advice or consolation from your dear friend.

"I need to wash my hands," was all Megumi said as he slammed a fist into the misshapen vase out of frustration. Wordlessly, he got up and headed to the sink, tryin oh so hard not to focus on the perfect pout you gave him. How he wanted to run his fingers against your soft lips, to let his own lips memorize the feeling and taste of them. Shaking his head to rid himself of such thoughts, Megumi did his best to thoroughly scrub the clay out of his hands. All the while, a sudden fire lit inside his core, spreading through the rest of his body despite his attempts to quell it.

He turned back around to find you observing the sculptures on his shelf. One had caught your eye; the bust Megumi had created to resemble his mother. Lithely, he slipped behind your frame, maintaining a friendly distance but close enough for either you or himself to close it.

You sensed his presence behind you and, without turning around, said, "This is beautiful, is that your mother?" He nodded. "Makes sense, you have her eyes..." you trailed off, suddenly feeling Megumi become dangerously close. Risking it, you turned around to come face to face with those blue eyes, clouded with an emotion you had never seen before.

Megumi's throat dried up as he attempted to rasp out your name. "Please..." was the last thing he could muster before he closed the gap, hovering his lips inches from yours. He could feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks as he waited for you to reciprocate.

A second passed as you tried not to reel from the shock, but your body moved before your mind could understand as your hands intertwined into his obsidian hair.

A noise escaped Megumi's mouth as years of pining escaped his body in that kiss. Tenderly, he felt your soft lips moving against his, tasting faintly of cherries. His own hands moved from his sides to the space between your hip and waist, fitting perfectly.

Mindful of the delicate pottery behind you, Megumi began to guide your body towards the closest and cleanest table. Not once did he take his lips off yours, only opening his eyes briefly to make sure no one would get hurt. When your body hit the edge of the table, you let out a small gasp as Megumi's strong hands lifted you up effortlessly.

Still, his eyes remained forcefully closed. "Megumi, look at me," you said, pulling away from the kiss.

"I can't, I'm dreaming," he murmured, tilting his head down to stop anything from breaking this fantasy come true.

A hearty giggle came from your chest as your hand cupped his chin, then his cheeks, before gently coaxing his eyes to open. "You aren't dreaming," you assured him, leaning in again and leaving a trail of kisses across his jaw to his neck. His core was close to yours and you both could tell the other was definitely real.

Your own throat started to feel dry in a way you had never experienced before and your hands trailed to the hem of your shirt. "Is this okay?" you asked, starting to wrap your legs around Megumi's waist.

A look of desperation crossed Megumi's face as he let out a hastened "yes" and brought his hands under your shirt as you began to lift it up. Never had you heard a man moan as tenderly as he had when his eyes fell on your breasts.

And never had Megumi felt or seen skin as beautiful and real as yours. With a careful hand, his fingers traced the span of your abdomen, taking in the full sight of you. "Oh, god. I'm touching an angel," he breathed out. He continued his hands upward to your bra, unhooking it skillfully and immediately laying his hands on your nipples.

With skillful digits, he rolled the flesh of your breasts as if he were shaping clay. Megumi was already committing the feeling to memory so he could use it when he was alone. "More," you let out quietly, not entirely embarrassed but definitely flustered at being held so well by your best friend.

Abiding by your orders, Megumi tilted his head towards one of your nipples and used his tongue to stimulate them, causing a satisfied groan to release from your chest. You had already started moving yourself against him, so Megumi moved his hands to your hips to start a rhythm. He also began to roll his hips against yours to increase the feeling.

Still, he needed more. Looking at you with an approving gaze, you nodded as Megumi began to undo the button and zipper of your pants and quickly discarded them. "You're so wet," he said in almost a question, amazed that his touch caused you to react in such a way. His hand made a path to your core, pushing aside your panties and stopping at your clit to start rubbing it.

Megumi seemed to know how these things worked as he applied firm pressure here and there, changing direction and movement depending on your reaction. He watched your chest heave as you breathed deeply to keep your grounding. Your hands were grasping for anything to keep your head tied to your body. Instinctively, your legs started to close from the attention, but Megumi's powerful hand held your thighs apart as he began to slip a finger into your cunt.

"Megumi!" you cried, the pleasure building. He looked up at you, the cloudy emotion from earlier finally being pinpointed as carnal desire. His finger stroked your insides as if he knew it by heart. Almost instantly, he found the place where you were most sensitive.

For every moan and groan and praise you let out, Megumi responded with the same if not more. You could feel yourself starting to approach your orgasm and you leaned up to hold onto his shoulders, digging your nails into the skin. Megumi could feel you tighten around his fingers and let out a moan, imagining how it would feel to have you tighten and come all over his cock.

Without warning, he sped up his leisurely pace to bring you even closer. You started to cry out his name in warning when he suddenly pulled himself away. At first you were confused as to the abrupt distance, but your confusion was answered as Megumi began to strip himself of his own clothing.

Quickly, you ran to your purse and grabbed the fresh condom you had put there earlier. Megumi hadn't fully taken off his pants or boxers before you pushed him into a nearby chair. He obliged to your taking of control, whimpering when your smooth hands came into contact with his searing cock. You pumped him a couple of times before slipping the condom on, earning a stuttered moan with each pull.

"I need you. So bad, please," Megumi murmured, eyes lilting in your direction. Wasting no time, you slowly began to sink onto his lap, your breath catching in your throat as you stretched around him.

Megumi was not faring too well, hands flying to your hips the minute your cunt enveloped his tip. Trying to practice his self-restraint, he gripped your hips to stop himself from shoving his whole length into you. If he thought clay was his life, you had officially changed that.

You continued to sink onto his length, Megumi noting that your pussy was more malleable than the clay that sat rejected. Finally, you had taken him to the hilt, both of you letting out euphoric moans. "You're so big," you sighed, looking down at where you two were connected.

Megumi couldn't take his eyes off the angel that was now seated on his lap. The sheen that had accumulated on your skin had you basking in an ethereal glow and he could've sworn you sprouted wings that fluttered so delicately. The moment you two connected, he knew he would worship you for eternity and more.

You started rolling your hips, coming off his lap slightly before taking all of him again. You held your bottom lip with your teeth as you started to speed up your pace, increasing the intensity of your rocks as well. "I need to hear you," Megumi said, in between moans. A slew of profanities slipped his lips as you released your bottom lip and a chorus of pleasure spilled from your mouth.

His hands began to wander your body, trailing from your hips to your inner thighs, then up again to your breasts. He moved on to your graceful arms that were wrapped around his shoulders. His hands found their way to your neck and he loosely closed his fingers around your neck, causing you to roll your eyes back.

Overwhelmed and nearing his own orgasm, Megumi wrapped his arms around your back and held you close, starting to thrust upward to meet your own rolls. A white fog began to seep into the back of Megumi's vision as he felt himself get close.

"I'm about to-" you started.

"Me, too," he finished, holding you impossibly tighter as both of your thrusts started to increase intensity. With an incoherent slur of your names, curses, and moans, you both finished simultaneously.

Megumi released broken whimpers as his own seed spilled into the condom and he felt your warmth trail down as well. He held you on his lap, keeping shallow ruts as you both rode out your highs. Your chest was rising intensely as you tried to catch your breath, not bothering to get off. "How long?" you asked.

"Since I met you."

(this is my first time writing in a LONG TIME, i really hope you enjoy and take care of yourselves !!)

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi smut #jjk smut #aged up au #pottery

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 5 months

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Day 6 — Christmas Goodies

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 700

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, very mild Smut — mild explicit content/language.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Advent Calendar 2023

Flour.

Eggs.

Sugar.

Butter.

“What more do we need?” you pondered, glancing over the recipe to ensure all the ingredients were ready for the cookies you were baking.

“Lots of kisses,” Bucky mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and peppering your cheek with sweet kisses.

“Yes,” you giggled, leaning into him, “lots of kisses.”

“And sex. Lots of hot sex,” he whispered against your neck as the sweet kisses turned into more passionate ones.

You groaned in fake annoyance at Bucky’s distracting tendencies, his sultry words, and fiery kisses. He was always tempting, always so goddamn compelling, but you fought to suppress the effect his actions and words had on you—a nearly impossible task.

“Stop thinking with your dick for a moment.” God, that glorious dick. “And start being useful by mixing the wet ingredients,” you quipped, playfully pushing him away with your ass.

“Hmm, do I make you wet, baby?” he murmured in your ear before stepping aside.

You gave him a blank glare, trying to be serious. “I’m as dry as these dry ingredients I’m about to mix into this bowl,” you teased, fighting to maintain your facade. But with a tilt of Bucky’s head and a smirk on his lips, you lost in, bursting into laughter, with him following suit.

Still chuckling, Bucky reached for the wet ingredients. “All right, all right,” he said with a grin, returning to the task of making cookies. “Let me focus on these wet ingredients while you handle the dry—no more distractions, doll. I promise,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Good,” you nodded in mock seriousness. “We’re making cookies, not babies,” you smirked, though you were sure there would be plenty of baby-making practice later in the evening.

After completing your separate tasks, you and Bucky combined all the dry and wet ingredients, creating the perfect dough. Bucky sneaked a taste, and you lightly swatted his hand, resulting in a pout from him and a demand for a kiss to make it better. You gladly obliged, moaning at the taste of both him and the cookie dough.

With the cookies on the baking sheet, you and Bucky shared a satisfied glance before sliding them into the oven.

As the cookies were baking, you and Bucky went to work assembling and decorating a gingerbread mansion kit. Sat at the kitchen island, you worked together.

It was always an adorable sight watching Bucky do arts and crafts. He always approached it with seriousness and professionalism while still maintaining his cute charm. As you assembled the structure, his tongue poked out while piping icing on the edges before carefully adding pieces to the rest of the house.

It was a comfort to watch him. It always was. No matter where or what you were doing, it was always a special moment to cherish, especially when it was just the two of you—playful and intimate. When Bucky could feel human for a moment with such mundane activities.

The sound of the oven beeping pulled you out of your daydream. You got the cookies out, and the aroma of freshly baked treats wafted throughout the kitchen. Bucky set aside the gingerbread mansion, and you gathered around the cooling rack together.

Bucky’s eyes lit up at the sight of the crispy cookies. “Ooh, cookies!” he cheered as you assembled a plate to share. The two of you sat down, and the room echoed with delighted moans as you took your first bites.

“These are amazing,” Bucky exclaimed between bites, a satisfied, boyish smile on his face. You beamed with happiness at your successful baking venture. You leaned into him, sealing the accomplishment with a deep kiss, tangling your fingers at the hairs of his nape, savoring the taste of cookies and him.

With the flavors lingering on your tongue, you returned to the gingerbread mansion, finishing the construction before moving on to decorating. As the final touches were placed, the mansion stood as a testament to the evening’s second successful mission.

“Another successful mission,” Bucky declared with a grin, and you couldn’t agree more. You celebrated with sweet kisses and bites of delicious cookies, enjoying each other and the treats for the rest of the evening.

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

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the-modern-typewriter · 10 months

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The Gallery of Broken Things

“Don’t you get it yet?” Victor’s voice cut cruel with pity. “They are never going to love you, not like I can.”

Adam swallowed against the lump in his throat. He willed himself to say something, anything. It didn’t even have to be snappy and clever, just something. Nothing would come out.

Lightning flashed above them, illuminating Victor’s handsome features in the storm, and their eyes met. Victor’s voice grew softer as the wind howled louder, but Adam heard him all the same. “After all,” he traced a cold fingertip along the scar on Adam’s cheek. “How could they?” Victor clicked his tongue. “Look at you...”

Adam didn’t want to look, he never wanted to look. His shoulders hunched in protectively.

Victor waited too, eyebrow raised, for Adam to say something.

“I—” Adam didn’t finish. He couldn’t pick out the right words from the maelstrom.

Victor’s lip curled, and he dropped his hand. Adam felt colder than ever, and he didn’t think it was the chill of the rain soaking through his clothes.

“Come inside,” Victor said, “and stop being ridiculous. Before someone sees you.”

He turned and walked back into the house.

And, as always, Adam followed him.

***

The first time that Victor left him, Adam wrote out a list of broken things that he thought were beautiful. He’d only ever learned how to love something beautiful, after all, and it was inconceivable to consider himself as whole.

The initial list contained: stars, in all their dying light; mosaics in their fragments; glowsticks that only shone once cracked; kintsugi; and stained glass windows. It was not a perfect list – but it would do, in a pinch.

London, in the year 2094, was a perfect enough sort of place already. A Victor sort of place. Everything was smooth shining lines of glass stripped of any unsavoury edges, and neatly lush gardens for those who wanted to enjoy wildness without the danger of anything too unruly ruining the view. Adam could admit it was lovely, idyllic even.

It had never once felt like home.

The first time that Adam left Victor, he found The Gallery of Broken Things.

A woman, who he later learned was Margaux, had been handing out flyers on a street corner.

She’d been tiny enough that Adam felt like even more of a freak of nature than he usually did around Victor, and Victor was six foot of lean muscle and magnetic presence. It had almost been enough to make Adam apologise (for existing) and shrink back.

People could be threatened by height, by bulk, Adam knew.

He was not the kind of man that anyone wanted to meet in a dark street, or possibly even a well-lit one. Margaux didn’t seem to notice that.

She’d marched up to him with a pretty wicked smile, like they were in on some private joke together, and an air of whirlwind determination. She shoved the flyer in his hand and asked him to come.

She hadn’t flinched at his face once.

The Gallery of Broken Things was not, Adam learned, a traditional art gallery. It was more of a support group for people trying to figure out how to put themselves back together again.

They rented out one of the more ramshackle buildings on London’s outskirts, and met on Tuesday and Thursday evenings to drink copious cups of tea, chat, and make art. The day Adam went, curiosity tugging at him despite his best efforts, they were working on patchwork quilts.

“I know the name is weird,” Margaux said, plonking down onto a chair next to him. “I don’t mean, like, that none of us have anything to fix. Or that we’re something to be gawked at, though people do. Or to, like, you know, romanticise being broken.” She set the sewing kit down on the floor, along with the unwieldly tower of mismatched fabrics she was holding. “I just…” she bit her lip and looked at him, finally going still for the first time since he’d arrived. “I just got so sick of people saying there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I will never be like everyone else, and maybe, just bloody maybe, that’s fine.”

Adam blinked at her, not sure what to say.

Margaux grimaced.

“I’m messing this up. I just mean, if we were broken, would that be so bad? Would that mean we had no value? Other people telling me I wasn’t broken didn’t make me feel less like there was something wrong with me. It just made me want to, I don’t know, love myself anyway. Screw them.” She tried for a smile. “All this to say, really, broken things deserve love and it doesn’t have to be good. Your quilt. Just, uh, try and have some fun making it.”

Adam found himself smiling back, shyly, as he sifted through the odd ends of material. He had never made a quilt before.

Victor always said that crafts were a woman’s hobby; the lowest branch of art when art was already a pursuit only suited for people not serious or clever enough to pursue science instead. Still, as the weeks turned into months with no sign of Victor, Adam learned two things:

Not everything beautiful was worthy of admiration.

He really loved making quilts.

***

“It’s this idea,” Adam said, “that you can take all the bits that nobody else wanted and still make something good.”

Victor looked at the quilt on their bed, and there was something so unbearably sad in his expression. He said nothing.

“Some of them get really intricate.” Adam shifted on his feet, mouth starting to go dry. “And they have a lot of historical value too. They’re sometimes passed down through families, with every generation adding a patch, until they have this massive blanket. It can tell us a lot about values, tradition, community.” He wanted to punch himself in the mouth, because he could hear that ‘desperate, kicked puppy, please love it please love me’ edge creeping in and he hated it. “I like it.” There, he’d said it.

“You would,” Victor replied, and his expression was unreadable once more. “Patchwork for a patchwork person.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Victor’s gaze snapped to him. “What did you just say?”

Adam sucked in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around the edge of his quilt.

Margaux had encouraged him to make it as ugly and cheery as he liked, but Adam hadn’t wanted that. He didn’t think he could do that, not yet and maybe not ever.

It was one thing relishing in ugliness when one was already beautiful, and was spitting in the expectation of it all, and another when Adam had never got to be beautiful in his life. At least it felt that way. Was it shallow to want that for a second?

The quilt resting on his and Victor’s bed was small, but Adam had spent hours on it. He’d learned how to embroider, and stitch, and yeah – yeah maybe it was patchwork for a patchwork person. But it was the prettiest damn bit of patchwork Adam could come up with, and maybe he didn’t know how to love himself and maybe Victor was right and no one else ever would after everything, but Adam could love the stupid blanket. Screw Victor.

“I said,” Adam’s teeth gritted, “that you don’t have to be a dick about it. At least I did a better job on these stitches than you ever did on me.”

“I saved your life! You wouldn’t even have a body to whine about if it wasn’t for me.”

Except, well, it was never Adam complaining. The realisation hit him low and sour in the pit of his stomach. He may not have liked what he’d become when he woke up to new life in Victor’s medical wing, but he wasn’t the one who made such a point of it. He tried to remember when Victor had first made a point of it. It hadn’t always been like that, had it?

Adam squared his shoulders.

“I don’t know, Vic. Maybe if you’d spent some more time on arts and crafts you wouldn’t hate your own creations so much.”

Victor stiffened.

“That’s it, right?” Adam pressed.

He watched as Victor’s dark gaze travelled up him, lingering on the places beneath Adam’s clothing where the stitches lay. The pieces of Adam clustered together from everything that the esteemed Doctor Victor Frank had once thought ideal.

“You were supposed to be my perfect thing,” Victor said. He picked the quilt up off the bed, folding it with care. “I know it’s my fault,” he added, with a small bitter sort of smile, “for not stitching you together well enough. But I bloody well tried, alright? You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“That’s not—” That wasn’t why he’d made the quilt. Did Victor really think Adam had done this to rub it in his face or something? “I didn’t mean—you started—I like the quilt.”

Victor scoffed. “Do you know what you get when you put together things that no one else wants? Something that no one else wants. If they did, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

The room felt airless.

Adam reached to take the quilt from Victor, because he clearly didn’t think it was worth anything, or at least not worth enough. To Victor, the quilt could only be a broken thing making some lame attempt at pretending otherwise, couldn’t it? He couldn’t see the love of making, of creating, anything anymore.

Adam’s ears were ringing.

Victor shifted the quilt out of reach.

“Would you?” he repeated. “You’d leave me in a heartbeat if you could. Even after everything I’ve done for you.”

“And what about you!?” Everything in Adam wanted to crumple, to retreat, to mutter apologies until he didn’t even know what he was apologising for anymore except for – well, everything. “As if you’d still be here if you hadn’t made me this.”

Victor’s silence smothered every corner of the room.

They’d met before the accident, Adam had seen the pictures and heard stories, but he couldn’t remember any of it.

They’d been together for two years apparently. Then, the accident happened. His body had been in pieces, the shrapnel of a person, when Victor stepped in. It had been an incredible feat to ensure he survived, some miracle of modern science, but…

Adam straightened to his full height and snatched the quilt from Victor’s hands.

It seemed to occur to Victor then, for the first time, that Adam was a head taller than him and much, much stronger. No. It wasn’t the first time, was it? It was something someone at the gallery had mentioned, once: if they actually thought you were small, they wouldn’t spend so much time reminding you of it.

Victor’s eyes narrowed.

The silence stretched, and stretched—

And then Victor laughed, shaking his head. He closed the gap between them, and wrapped an arm around Adam and the quilt.

“You know what?” He pressed a kiss to Adam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.If you want to spend your life collecting things that nobody else wants, then that’s just fine. It’s even sweet. You’re sweet. I think it’s an admirable hobby.”

The breath, the everything, deflated out of Adam.

“Thanks,” he said, though he wasn’t sure that was entirely what he wanted to say. He didn’t think Victor meant that as a compliment.

“But maybe let’s not keep it on the bed where people will see it, yeah?” Victor took the quilt once more and moved over to the wardrobe, cramming it into the storage space at the top. “We’ve got that dinner later this week, remember? It’s an important opportunity for me. A chance to get everything back on track. You know how judgy people can be.” The wardrobe door closed. “It can stay in here, just until after that.”

“Right.”

“Don’t be mad, I like it! I do. It’s just - it has to be perfect, you know?” Victor stopped in front of him again, cupping Adam’s face in his palms. “I have to be perfect.”

But we’re not perfect. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if we were perfect.

Adam didn’t say that though, because the viciousness had sucked out of Victor and left only pleading.

Victor could already see the hurt, the unsaid things and broken edges, couldn’t he? Then Victor looked away, as if scalded by the reminder, and busied himself smoothing out the bed sheets again. Without the quilt it looked like it was still straight out a home catalogue, pristine and colourless.

“It’s just a hobby, Adam,” he said. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m doing this for us.”

Adam said “right” again, even when the word tasted like blood in his mouth.

It was a hobby. Of course, it was only a hobby, so it didn’t matter. Not as much as Victor’s job at any rate. If things got back on track again, then maybe…

***

When Adam told Margaux that he wanted to make the gallery a, well, gallery, Victor had just left him for the fifth time.

It seemed to be their pattern, weaving in and out of each other’s lives. Victor left, and Adam trailed after him. Adam left, and eventually Victor hunted.

Margaux had lit up at the idea, though there were considerations to bear in mind. Space and time and what could be called the law against hideous things. London 2097 was perfect. It stayed that way by excising anything that didn’t fit. A Gallery of Broken Things was not the kind of exhibition that city council would approve of. Still.

The gallery space they managed to grab was a small, cluttered room which they all filled with an assortment of different objects and artworks.

There were patchwork quilts along one wall, of course. Some of them told stories, others were simply pleasing in colour and texture. Then there were other pieces too - a list full of ‘broken things’.

There were the shattered pieces of pottery glued back together in new forms, only more lovely for the fracture. In the corner, by the window, a shadowy ghoul made of garbage bags haunted the breeze.

Adam drifted around the space, adjusting lights, only to put them back. It had taken several months to get everything ready but they would be opening the gallery to the public tomorrow. Everything was set. There was nothing left for him to do.

He didn’t know if anyone would come. He didn’t know if anyone else would find value in broken things, or maybe they’d come but they wouldn’t get it. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“You okay?”

Adam turned to find Margaux standing in the threshold of the exhibit, grey rain clouds blustering behind her before the front door swung shut.

It was late, and everyone else had long since gone home. He’d thought she had too, though it didn’t exactly surprise him that she hadn’t. She’d clocked in as many hours and pieces to the gallery as he had, if not more.

Margaux’s main installation was a whole bunch of glowsticks painstakingly tied together into the shape of a human skeleton. The body glowed poison green and bloody red. Margaux had liked the thought of a chemical reaction being the base of her piece, even if it was different to where she had started out.

Adam shrugged, because, well. “Getting there.”

Margaux moved to stand next to him, overlooking their work. She buried her hands deep into the pockets of her trench coat and swayed a little with the same restless energy that Adam could feel twitching in his own bones.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, next. “You did a good job.”

“You hate beautiful.”

“I hate that we live in a world that sometimes priorities beauty over kindness, that’s not the same thing.”

Adam laughed under his breath at that, shaking his head. Even though she undoubtedly meant it. They exchanged a glance; Adam’s smile a little less shy now than it had been when they first met.

“Come on.” Margaux held out a hand, waggling her fingers in offering. “Let’s go for a drink. We’ve been much too busy. I’m now terribly deprived of chocolate biscuits.”

“You don’t have to be at group to have chocolate biscuits.”

“It’s not the same on my own.”

He hesitated, but took her hand.

Outside it was drizzling, a noncommittal grey that slicked the streets and left the world hazy. The forecasts said that by tomorrow it would be storming. Adam couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad omen – his new life had started with a storm, or so Victor had always told him. Would there be a time when everything didn’t make him think about Victor?

Margaux squeezed his hand, bringing him back to himself.

She wasn’t looking at him so he didn’t know how she knew. She always seemed to, though. Not just with him, but with everyone who had come to her gallery. Maybe she knew what to look for or maybe she simply paid attention. Maybe both. They’d talked a lot in the years they knew each other, sometimes about the big things but mostly about the little. It was nice.

“You invited him,” Margaux said. “Victor.”

“How did you—”

“It’s what I would have done, once.”

Adam quietened at that. He stroked his thumb along the backs of Margaux’s knuckles, and it was her turn to snap back to the present. They shared another smile.

“Yeah.” Adam turned towards one of the pubs they sometimes went to, eager to escape the rain before it got worse. “I wanted him to see. To – I don’t know. Maybe he won’t show.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to him.”

“I know.” Adam did know that, now, at least in theory. In his guts was always a different matter, but it was a start. “I still want to feel…to feel like he did right by saving me. He lost his job over it, you know? Lost everything. It wasn’t ethical what he did. But I lived, probably when I shouldn’t have done. I guess I want him to know it was worth it. That I was…”

“Doctors don’t only save people who go onto do amazing things. It’s not their place to call that.”

Adam grimaced at her.

She snorted, sitting down in one of the more shadowy booths in the corner, for his comfort. She studied him from beneath a fiery fringe, drumming her fingers against the table, before she seemed to make an effort to stop.

“Besides.” Her voice was deliberately casual, in a way that from Victor might mean an oncoming barb and from her meant – not that. “You’ve done amazing things, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re…amazing.”

Adam swallowed hard, and resisted the urge to clear his throat. She cleared hers, scrambling to pick up the menu. Heat rushed to both of their faces.

“Yeah,” he said. “You are too.” It seemed like a dumb, too pale thing to say, because she was so much more than amazing.

Their eyes met.

The rain outside began to pour.

“So,” she said. “Fancy splitting some nachos?”

***

“Adam.”

Somehow, Adam really hadn’t been prepared for the possibility that Victor would come. He thought he’d look at the invite, not bother to show, and then either way Adam would have done his part. He turned to face the other man, standing alone by the entrance of the exhibit.

Victor looked as impeccable as he ever did; more impeccable if that was even possible, as if even the swelling storm didn’t dare to touch him.

“Victor.”

Adam’s heart hammered in his chest, ever a reminder of what Victor had done, what Adam owed him, the blood that tied them both.

He watched as Victor pivoted on the spot to examine his surroundings.

They hadn’t officially opened yet. Margaux was in the backroom somewhere and the others would be on their way.

Victor paused by the wall of quilts, one hand rising as if to touch but stopping halfway. Dropping. Victor stuffed his hand into the pockets of his expensive coat.

“A gallery of broken things.” Victor hummed, swinging to face Adam once more. “You could do better.”

“Maybe,” Adam said, softly. “Maybe not. But I don’t want to.”

Victor’s brow furrowed at that, his head tilting to the side.

“You’re early,” Adam said. “We’re not opening until 11. I said that, right?”

“Are you really going to invite people to come and look at…this.” Victor stepped closer. “At you. Shouldn’t you at least be in the backroom or something? I’m just worried,” Victor added, quickly, taking his hand. “People can be cruel.”

“Yeah.” Adam looked down at his hand, huge and patchworked in bits of skin and sinew, strong but hideous in comparison to Victor’s. “People can.”

“So don’t do this.” Victor squeezed his fingers. “Come with me. That’s why you invited me, right? You mess up, I fix things.” He took a step back, as if to tug Adam out of the door.

Adam didn’t move. Victor may as well have tried to tug stone.

“I invited you because this is something I’m proud of.”

Victor stopped tugging.

Adam let go of Victor’s hand.

Maybe, it clicked, it finally clicked, that there was never going to be a point where he was good enough for Victor.

Because it was him.

Because if Adam did something for himself, then he wasn’t doing it for Victor.

Because he wasn’t some controlled experiment, eternally grateful for what he’d been given, but something – someone – alive. Victor had admitted himself, once, that when he saved Adam he’d wanted to know that he could do it. It had been scientific, not heroic. And when it worked too well…

Well, Adam was alive. Living people were not perfect, they messed up all the time.

Victor talked about their past relationship like it had been something wonderful, like they’d been the happiest people on the planet, like they’d had been perfect.

Once upon a time, Adam had believed it. He didn’t anymore.

Victor stared at him.

“That’s what people do, Vic.” Adam’s voice cracked. “Don’t you get it? When they want someone in their life, they invite them to the important things. They support each other. They say they’re proud, even if they think the art’s a bit rubbish.”

Maybe Adam had reasons, other reasons, which all seemed stupid now. Had he really thought Victor would approve? That he might have changed? Maybe he’d hoped.

“I support you,” Victor protested. “I’m supporting you now, even if you’re too—”

“No.”

“…what do you mean no?”

“I really hope you know what no means.”

Victor folded his arms. “I’m trying to help you. If I’d known this was what you’d been up to, I would have come sooner.”

Adam shook his head. He almost wanted to laugh, except it wasn’t really funny. Maybe it hadn’t been funny for a long while. “You’re trying to help you, like you always do, because you think what I do reflects on you.”

“Oh, come on!” Victor sighed, like Adam was being ridiculous. “So, what, you invited me here to lie to you? I don’t lie to you. Tell me one time that I’ve ever lied to you.”

“You said this was only a hobby. It’s more than that to me.”

Victor rolled his eyes.

Adam released a shaky breath, and part of him still wanted to wilt. He forced it down. “This was clearly a mistake.”

“This is a mistake, yes.” Victor’s expression grew colder, and he seemed to regroup himself. “They are going to hate it. They are going to hate you, and then you’re going to break, and then I’ll have to derail my life to put you back together again because that’s what I do.”

“No, you won’t.”

“What, because this time is magically different to all of the times before when you thought you could survive without me?”

Adam’s mind flashed back to Margaux, to the group, to nachos and – if not peace, then belonging.

People who wanted him around, who liked him, who didn’t act like if he got hurt it was his own fault for not being careful enough. People who didn’t say ‘the world is cruel’ as just another excuse for cruelty.

“Yeah.”

Victor outright snorted.

“So,” Adam said, “I think you should go. For good.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.”

Victor blinked at him, like he couldn’t comprehend what exactly was happening, like he didn’t recognise Adam anymore.

“Adam,” he began.

“Is there a problem here?”

The two of them both turned, to find Margaux had appeared from the back office. Her eyes were cold in a way that Adam hadn’t seen before, murderous even, as they fixed on Victor.

“We were just leaving,” Victor said.

“No,” Adam said. “We weren’t.”

“Is this gallery yours?” Victor held a hand out to Margaux, charming smile pinned back on his lips. “I’m Victor, Victor Frank. I’m Adam’s—”

Margaux ignored Victor, coming to stand by Adam’s side, studying him. “Are you okay?”

Adam managed a nod.

Victor’s dangling hand curled into a fist. He looked between them, at the way they stood close and comfortable with each other, as if he expected Margaux to be shrieking and reaching for a pitchfork.

“Is there a particular reason,” Victor’s voice was much too light, “that he would not be okay with me? Because, you know, this was a private conversation. I care about Adam a lot, and if you’re encouraging him to—”

It was Adam’s turn to take Margaux’s hand gently in his own.

Victor faltered for only a second.

“I can’t believe this.” His gaze flicked down, scalpel sharp, and then back up. “I really can’t believe this. Are you bloody well kidding me, Adam?”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “that you think everything has to be perfect, because you’re never going to be. And I’m sorry you think the world is full of people like you, because it’s not.” He squeezed Margaux’s hand and Margaux squeezed back. “I’m not sorry for leaving you.”

Victor’s mouth clicked shut. He opened it again, but didn’t speak. For once, he really seemed to have nothing to say at all. Then he walked out.

Adam felt like he could finally breathe.

It was time to break the cycle.

***

The opening of The Gallery of Broken Things was not a stupendous success, but as far as Adam was concerned it was a moderate one.

There was a steady stream of traffic and conversation throughout their opening hours, and while some people were less than complimentary about what real art was supposed to look like, others were…different. Maybe lots of people felt a little broken, sometimes, even if they didn’t appear that way.

The lot of them celebrated after hours, with cups of tea and chocolate biscuits. Eventually, again, it was only Adam and Margaux left.

They sat together on the floor, between the installations, the glow of Margaux’s skeleton beginning to fade. She’d have to remake it every so often to keep up the look.

It had been a busy day, so there hadn’t been too much time to talk if talking was even required. Still, he’d felt her eyes on him every so often.

“Thanks,” Adam said, eventually. “For, you know. Helping out with him.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“You did enough.” More than enough, even if Adam still didn’t quite know how to wrap his tongue around all the words.

Beyond the gallery doors, the storm had finally broken.

Because, maybe Victor was right about thing, maybe no one would love Adam like he did.

They would do it better.

#The Gallery of Broken Things #frankenstein #retelling #writing #fiction #some of you will have seen this before #I live in fear of my computer finally breaking on me so this is going here for now I guess #my writing #story #creative writing #frankenstein retelling

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the0nlyallison · 16 days

Text

Updated Introduction

Notes challenge

Books/Authors: Dean Koontz | Stephen King | Percy Jackson series

TV shows: The Office | Never Have I Ever | Atypical

Achievements: NSHSS ambassador | author of two poems | top 10% of my class | high honor roll

How I act: I match the energy of others. If you're an ass, I'll be an ass. If you're yourself, I'll be myself. If you're nice, I'll be nice | I don't have average feelings; I feel them as extreme | I get defensive if someone says something to upset me | I get real depressed easily

Academics/future: I take college courses, though I'm in high school. I'm working to get my associates degree in psychology at MUO to be a psychiatrist | planning on joining the Army National Guard

Other blogs:

@allisonswritings where I post my poems and chapters of books

@ilovetorunandjump for my sports, achievements, athletic goals, and things i see on social media

@allisonsacademics my academic goals and achievements

Pets: I have two dogs (Peanut and Flynn) and two cats (Kit Kat and Georgie) which i will and have posted a lot of

Dni: homophobes | racists | sh accounts | the usual

Socials: discord, Pinterest, Wattpad, YouTube all the0nly_allison

Tags I'll start using frequently:

Asks: allisons asks (I also include the name of the person who asked; if it's anonymous I put anon)

Conversations: messenger convos | discord convos | Google chats convos | Tumblr convos

Pets: Georgie | my baby

Guys: Maple Syrup (Chase) | silly goose (Karson)

Followers: 130

Mutuals:

@mqstermindswift (Nicky <3)

@brave-olive (Olive <3)

@kit-the-gaygent (Kit <3) (know irl)

@mackennalea (MacKenna <3) (know irl)

@likegoinghome (Matthew <3)

@shuhuaspookie (Aria <3)

@urbanflorals (Emma <3)

@percabeths-blue-cookies (Harley <3)

@deprivedofbraincellsandsleep (Zia <3)

@kimu-dem (Ki <3)

@lighter-like-a-feather (Kasi <3)

And all the others (I'm sorry I can't remember shit 😭😭) let me know if you want added or removed

#allisons intro #updated intro post #introduction

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wikitpowers · 2 days

Note

As an official Kit enthusiast what do you think his favourite school subject is?

IS THAT MY TITLE NOW? BC IM IN LOVE AHAHAHA! THAT’S THE COOLEST!

official kit enthusiast by order of the queen🎖️

↳ that was silly i apologise (but not really,,, i'm funny as hell what can i say)

ANYWAYS KIT'S FAVOURITE SUBJECT HMM i gotta say he seems like he would be into the more artsy subjects like music and art like he would slay it for sure and he definitely has a lovely singing voice!

OH! but i also really wanna say he would absolutely crush history and english lit purely bc he has the best supportive parents ever (jessa rules) and they help him w/ his homework + kit actually enjoys learning about it a lot and i get the feeling he probably gets the best grades in his class lmao

#like tessa for sure educates him on all the classics bc she was around when they were released im-#that's so funny and wholesome oml #petition for kit to take up violin at school so he can makes jem feel all lovely and warm #that would be so cute and jem would be so chuffed awwww #I also like to think he draws fairly well #and he brings some of his school work back for mina to look at #ALSO YES IK HE WOULD ACE PE #BUT THAT SEEMED TOO OBVIOUS #HE'S A SHADOWHUNTER C'MON #so i just went with the other subjects :]#kit herondale #the wicked powers #twp #tsc #asks

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allthingsfern · 6 months

Text

Why I have not been taking many new photos

So, in about a couple of weeks, I will be getting my cataract surgery for my right eye. As it is now, my right eye is kinda clouded over. I can still bike ride and drive, for example, but when I was at the ophthalmologist's office the last two times, the young man who takes images of the inside of my eye could not capture the back of my right eye because the cataract is so thick, so he had to use some kind of ultrasound thing they do? Anyway, it is very difficult for me to take photographs through the viewfinder because the camera, like all cameras, is pretty much set up for right-handed use. I can look through my left eye, but it is uncomfortable for taking pictures, so I stopped a while back, unless I could take my time and take the pictures at home. And yes, I could take pictures using the screen on the back of the camera, but it is not very bright, and for most light conditions it's just not something I'm comfortable with.

I have not, however, stopped working on photography, since I have been going back through my files and reworking some photographs, as well as going through Tumblr and liking and sharing photos on Lux Lit. Plus, I never stop watching YouTube videos and/or reading online articles and I started reading Margaret Bourke-White's autobiography, so yeah, I am doing photography, just not taking pictures.

My second surgery, BTW, will be a few days before Christmas.

I am not very nervous about my upcoming surgeries, because, in great part, I trust my ophthalmologist. He takes the time to explain everything, and he has a sense of humor about the whole thing, which helps me immensely. Also, my sisters, well, my oldest sister (she is the second born, after me) and her best friend are coming to stay with me to help me through my first surgery. They will be here for five days. Then for my surgery on my left eye, a very close friend (coincidentally, the guy who sold me the used Nikon D50 that started me back on photography and a great photographer himself) and his wife volunteered to take me in at their place to make certain everything goes smoothly.

Why am I sharing this? Well, I remember several years ago, when my kit lens for my D50 broke (BTW, the only lens I owned for that camera), that someone who followed me back then mentioned they could not think of themselves not taking pictures often, if not daily. Back then I actually went about 2 months without taking pictures before I wound up buying a used lens that worked beautifully. Since then, I have learned to very calmly accept periods of not making pictures, in great part, because as I mentioned above, I still keep doing photography, which means reworking old images, looking at all y'alls photos on Tumblr and sharing some of them on Lux Lit, and learning about photography via articles and YouTube videos and such. Oh yeah, and every so often talking to photographers I know about our beloved art form. For me, not taking pictures, not making pictures is still a part of the creative process, if one where I don't necessarily "create stuff." I've learned to have a very Zen attitude towards it all.

Kinda like life.

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eisforeidolon · 7 months

Text

[Question was about disappointing/worst gifts they've gotten. There's previous jokey discussion of Jensen's children's drawings, kits for kids, and Jared being given a cat which was like being gifted an additional job. They are winding down, talking about it being the thought that counts, when:]

Jensen: Oh! I remember! I came home, not came home - I came to set - on the show that he and I used to work on. I had just gone to this hobby store and bought -

Jared: Oh, yeah. [laughs]

Jensen: like a thousand dollar drone. [Jared holds up two fingers] And I got two of 'em. One for me, and I bought my friend one. And I bring 'em to set, and I'm like, check it out! And I get mine, and mine goes [mimes drone noises, slowly raising hand] - it's hovering -

Jared: We filmed in the hobby shop, and then you had stayed there, and been like, 'Are those drones for sale?'

Jensen: Yeah, I did. Yeah, we were filming there and then I was like, hey, can I take those two that are up on the top shelf? I was like, can I get both of those? Brought 'em back, mine's up there playing. Then Jared comes out and he's like [looking up], and I go, 'Check it out!' He's like, 'That's awesome!' And I'm like, 'Yours is in your trailer waiting for you.' He's like, 'No way!' He runs in like it's Christmas morning. He unpacks it, y'know charges it up, brings it out there, it goes [mimes drone flying again, but then immediately crashing violently].

Jared: [nodding] Not a word of a lie.

Jensen: [holding up a finger] One flight.

Jared: One flight. Not a word of a lie. So -

Jensen: He immediately destroyed it.

Jared: I was really excited about using it, so I didn't read the instructions? And I guess there - on this particular model, and I'm not kidding, it was like state of the art in 2015 or whatever. There was like, a toggle switch that's a kill switch? Like let's say you're flying towards power lines or something and you just click the switch that's part of the grip and everything shuts off and it just falls out of the sky. I didn't know that was what it did? [Jensen shakes head] But I pushed it, and sooo. And it was one of those you can see on the iPhone and where it's flying. And I was like Ohhh! and I'm kind of playing with the remote control and it just falls. And I was like, what the hell was that? I charged it! And then you read the instructions saying oh the X button for the middle finger trigger on the [trails off] - sorry Jensen. [laughs]

Jensen: That was a gift that I gave, that I was very disappointed in.

Jared: Again, he gave me something that required more time and responsibility from me - [Jensen shakes head, throws up hands]

Jensen: But I will say, I thought [rests hand on Jared's shoulder] - was that before the helicopters or after the helicopters?

Jared: The helicopters with the missiles?

Jensen: Yes!

Jared: That was, uh, after.

Jensen: Okay, so I thought he could handle it because we also -

Jared: [very excited] Have we ever told this story? Oh my God!

Jensen: We also bought helicopters one time, that - remote control helicopters and we [laughs] we strapped roman candles to 'em. And lit 'em up and tried to shoot each other down.

Jared: We went to -

Jensen: Children. We're just giant children.

Jared: We had a long break on the show we used to do, we had like a two hour break -

Jensen: It's always on set. They're like, where are the boys? Where? And then they just, in the distance, there's like a military battle happening in the air.

Jared: I have video, and we have a bald friend who happened to be there and had to run from roman candle fire [Jensen cracks up] -

Jensen: That's right, we stopped shooting, shooting the actual, the helicopters and shooting 'em at each other.

Jared: It was like Top Gun, it was like these helicopters were going [mimes helicopter and shooting noises] and everything exploding, and we're like oh shit running so we're not steering where the helicopters are going. It was like Platoon. We're both Willem Dafoe. Uh, don't do that.

Jensen: No, do that. It's so fun.

Jared: What are you doing later, by the way? Asking for a friend.

#minncon 2023 #j2 main panel #giant children #long post

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nichenarratives · 8 months

Text

Bittersweet

An Obscure Oneshot

Inspiration art by: Tracy J Butler

The night is stiflingly still, interrupted only occasionally by a poorly concealed drunken hiccup or the murmur of cabbies working late, ferrying the conspicuously intoxicated home before the local police can lock them. The street lamps have long been lit, the oil burning low in the city smog, illuminating narrow pools of cobbled streets in hazy orange light.

Mordecai is used to the dark; his job - both past and present - demands discretion and secrecy, making the cover of night perfect for his needs. There's no better time to assassinate targets, equalize grudges or raze a competitor's warehouse to the ground than while the pillars of society slumber. The night is his armour and often, his advantage.

Tonight isn't just another job, however. Tonight is personal.

Apartments are always harder to break into. Not only does one have to find a way into the building but also the correct unit, all without being heard or seen. Thankfully, having lived within the city for over a decade, Mordecai has a vast pool of experience to draw upon, making this house call just as easy as any other assignment.

Rather than breaking into the lobby, he finds a window on the second storey to squeeze through, likely left open to quell the scent of mold and mildew infecting the walls. It's a revoltingly familiar smell, one that calls forth memories the tom would much rather leave forgotten: his mother crying on the stairs after Hannah passed in her arms, suffocated by the fungus in her lungs…

Uncomfortable emotions swell in his chest, a swift reminder to squash them down. Focus, he chides himself. Now is not the time for sentiments. Wrinkling his nose, he gets back to work. Retrieving the lock pick kit from his coat, he crouches in front of his target's door. Mordecai dare not put his ear directly to the grimy wood, but in the serene silence of the night, he doesn't have to; the click of success is almost deafening in the tiny hallway.

He slips his tools away and with a hand on a gun concealed within his jacket, steps inside.

Mordecai pushes the door barely wide enough to slip through, aware its rusting hinges would creak if opened a crack more, then closes it almost soundlessly behind him. There he pauses, large ears poised for any movement or threat, but greated only by the strained, heavy breaths of an injured man sleeping roughly in his favourite chair, the tom allows himself a second to relax.

As wide eyes adjust to the darkness, they scour the room in its entirety. The apartment is in worse shape than predicted; crusting cups, plates and bowls amounting to days of use and a pile of untreated bandages that smell suspiciously of puss are the worst offenders. Bacteria notwithstanding, a number of magazines are scattered aimlessly around the man's feet and a broken radio sits dejected in the darkness on the windowsill, its cogs on full display for all to marvel at.

With ears folding back and a disgusted curl of his lip, his gaze shifts to his target. The hulking ginger bobcat wheezes in the armchair, legs propped up on an ottoman Mordecai doesn't recall being previously present. His eye patch rests on a side table, and a heavy blanket across his lap has been tucked meticulously under the armpits, turning the once intimidating man into a rattling, cozy burrito.

Viktor grimaces with every breath, occasionally pausing to hiss through grit teeth before exhaling to begin the cycle anew. Seeing his old friend in such a state - and knowing he is the direct cause of his pain - raises unwanted empathy to the surface. This is why he doesn't try to make friends out of accomplices; loyalties shift, people die, plans change. Mordecai sighs and releases the butt of his pistol.

It's easier not to care, or you end up visiting old allies in the dead of night to check on them, forgetting they're an enemy.

All he can deduce tonight is he feels… something. It's not the burning anger of betrayal or frustration with a job gone awry. It's not even akin to the irritation he feels surrounded by unintelligent morons at the Mirabel Hotel. Those feelings all burn in his gut, devouring his patience, simmering below the skin until he extinguishes them. This is a solid weight in his chest, immovable and unforgiving. Guilt…?

In truth, Mordecai doesn't know what he should feel at that moment. He's gotten so good at suppressing natural emotional reactions, those that make it to the surface are often expressed in the same manner; frustration or anger, either at himself or the cause of distress, and an unending need to control it before it gets out of hand.

Mordecai scoffs silently at the idea. Why would he feel guilt, when he expressly told Viktor to retire? When he re enforced his message with a swift shot to the man's good knee? I practically autographed his retirement slip, he thinks as he stares down at his former friend, but his glare doesn't return. He can't seem to form it. If the obstinate bobcat had simply compiled, he wouldn't be in critical condition.

The reasoning is indisputable, yet the leaden feeling in the sharpshooter's gut remains unchanged, suffocating and nauseating all at once. Mordecai removes his pince-nez and rubs his eyes roughly, the beginnings of a migraine starting.

His composure is slipping, the monochromatic tom can feel it. Taking a deep breath, Mordecai straightens his posture and holds it for a few heartbeats, then releases the breath slowly. Focusing on the air leaving his lungs cements the man back in the moment. A sharp mind swiftly rifles through possible next steps, and by the time his glasses are back on his muzzle, Mordecai has a plan.

Not wanting to get his clothes covered in unidentifiable filth, the tom shrugs off his suit jacket and carefully lays it over the back of the cleanest looking dining chair. Detaching his cufflinks, Mordecai stows them away in a breast pocket for safety - the last thing he wants is to leave behind evidence of his visit - before donning his favored black leather gloves and getting down to the real dirty work.

He's got a lot to do before sunrise.

oOoOo

He doesn't remember finishing his task. It had been early in the morning - the sun had already kissed the horizon - when the tuxedo started his last piece of clean-up. He recalls being up to his elbows in soapy water, leather gloves replaced with rubber to keep the residues from touching his skin. One of them springs a leak, but he perseveres until…

A heavy thunk on the head startles Mordecai out of slumber. He first gasps, then retches as he inhales a thick cloud of dust. Another thunk and incoherent yelling in his left ear. More filth and cobwebs clogging his airways. He scrambles to get out of 'bed' but instead falls over the arm of the wingback chair he'd evidentially passed out in.

A hearty smack to his backside and Mordecai yelps, swiftly righting himself, an embarrassing tangle of limbs and fine fabrics crinkled from a night's sleep. He desperately tries to brush the dirt from his head, frantic hands messing up his usually coiffured hair and whiskers. He doesn't even notice the fourth swing until it sweeps within an inch of his side, to which Mordecai jumps another pace away from his assailant and reaches for his holstered firearms.

His shoulder holsters are gone, as is his jacket.

It's enough of a surprise to bring Mordecai securely into the present; neither his holsters or jacket come off unless their owner feels secure. Green eyes squint and attempt to focus without spectacles, which were also abandoned somewhere around the wingback last night, to find his attacker is a fuzzy orange lump flailing some form of bristled stick between them, loudly cursing in Slovakian.

The night prior comes back in an instant. Mordecai snuck in to check on his friend, only to find the place in disarray, and couldn't bring himself to leave without cleaning up first. He'd removed his jacket and holsters for the added flexibility, rolled up his shirt sleeves and got to work tidying the room; moving the disgusting old bandages to the tub to soak in bleach solution, picking up the magazines, then washing the dishes before leaving them to dry in the rack.

Underestimating the severity of slobbery, he didn't complete the last task until almost five in the morning, whereupon he dried his hands before taking a seat in the wingback he used to favour for a short rest. Intending to be gone before the angry Slovak awoke, he'd felt a little calmer about his former friend's unfortunate situation after helping, so much his eyes had begun to droop. He'll assume his Mrs Bapka or Miss Pepper assisted. I need only vacate before he wakes.

Except the familiar environment, coupled with an old friend's presence after months of working with the imbeciles Mr Sweet employed, has killed his exhausted body to slumber.

Now, I'm coated in…. He can't help it; Mordecai shudders just imagining what was on that broom. His tail puffing up in disgust as he turns on Viktor, his usually plain facade is splintered by the angriest expression he can muster while chronically squinting. "You oaf! You've ruined this suit with your… your perennial mote collection!"

His vision is too fuzzy to read the bobcat's expression, but Viktor launching the broom at his head communicates the sentiment effectively. Mordecai raises his hands to defend himself and grunts when the wooden handle rebounds off his bare palms. Damnit! I need my glasses. Why did I take them off?

"You ruin good knee!" Viktor roars back and grabbing the nearest item off of his side table, throws it at the other. The reminder of his past transgressions simmers Mordecai's anger a little even if his expression remains fierce, but gives him enough pause to allow the magazine to slap him square in the face before flopping to the floor. "Vork fine with one knee, vork vell. Now, can't even climb stairs!"

"In my defense, you were supposed to retire," Mordecai retorts swiftly, then flinches back as Viktor attempts to pick up the end table in his rage. Thankfully, with his lungs full of holes, the Slovak can't lift it off the ground and it only rocks precariously before settling again. Mordecao decides to try reasoning with the hulk of a cat again as he fumbles around for his pince-nez. "I told you I was leaving, Viktor. I warned you it would be distasteful. If you'd just listened-"

"I listen, and tell you no," the old Slavok asserts through grit teeth. "Then, you take guns! Give to farmers! I have swiss cheese lung thanks to you! No climb stairs naow, thanks to you! No help in bar, thanks to-"

"Victor?" A familiar young voice asks through the door. Both men freeze, their gazes snapping to the worn wood as the knob jiggles in its housing. When the door doesn't budge, Miss Pepper knocks a couple times, fast and worried. "Are you okay? Is there someone with you?"

Large green eyes snap to Viktor the same moment his gaze returns to the tuxedo tom. They stare a long moment before another attempt at the lock has Mordecai in motion, blindly snatching up what he can locate - his holders in the coffee table, jacket over a chair - while acutely aware of the single eye burning a hole in his back. He still can't find his specs when another familiar voice pipes up. "Miss Bapka has a spare under her flower pot. I'll go grab it."

"Okay. I'll stay here," Ivy responds softly, and there's a short pause while Mordecai is pulling on his boots before another knock and a worried voice. "Rocky's getting the key, Viktor."

With it being light out and Viktor's apartment up on the third floor, jumping from a window isn't an option. He'll be seen or worse, break his leg and get caught. Neither Lackadaisy or Mirabel staff can know he was here; both would question his loyalties, based on the fact he cleaned instead of killing the bobcat after breaking in. I'll have achieved nothing, besides alienating former cohorts. They can't find me. I need to hide.

Still without his pince-nez, Mordecai is forced to navigate the small apartment from memory, passing close enough to Viktor for the old cat to grab his collar. There aren't many places to hide - the bedroom is too close to the front door, the bathroom could potentially be used by a visitor - but the tuxedo cat knows of one. Quiet as a mouse, he slides open one of the pantry doors and slips inside, squeezing his slim frame between said door and the shelves.

Almost as soon as he pulls the door closed, the front door springs open. Through the crack, Mordecai watches Rocky launch himself inside with a yell, shoe raised over his head and eyes darting about the room wildly. A moment passes and he straightens, looking confused as Ivy walks past him. "Does it…" He pauses, scratching his head with the sole of his shoe as he finds the words. "Look cleaner in here?"

"Maybe Mrs Bapka cleaned some," Ivy says as she steps carefully over the discarded broom, raising a brow at it as she balances a small cardboard box in her hand. From his current angle, Mordecai can't see the bobcat's face, but the young flapper feline looks quizzical. "I could've sworn I heard you talking to someone, though."

"Maybe he was talking to himself," Rocky suggests, his smile unwavering as he hops about trying to put his shoe back on. "I do it all the time! I have the best answers to questions I didn't even know I asked!"

Ivy ignores him and presents Viktor with the box, placing it carefully on his chest. "Rocky's taking me to university, but we stopped at the Little Daisy and got you your favourite pastry. Thought it might cheer you up a bit, you know… being stuck in here all day." She smiles a bittersweet smile, but when Viktor simply huffs sadly it fades. "I'm sorry, I wish we could make things better… if there's anything we can-"

"Hey, whose are these?" Rocky asks as he scoops a pair of glasses off the floor, straightening to scrutinize the missing pince-nez closely. Mordecai feels his chest tighten as Ivy leans in close too, frowning at the little circular spectacles. "Oh! I recognise those" she says suddenly. "Aren't they-"

"Old looking glass," Victor interrupts with an obvious lie before either of the two young visitors can say anything more. They both glance up to the orange bobcat, who holds out a meaty hand for the delicate eyeglasses. "Had made for reading. Vas joke with old partner. Ve match for vhile."

Rocky and Ivy share a glance, but the gray tabby hands the glasses over without fuss. "I didn't know you need glasses to read," Rocky states as Viktor neatly places them on the magazines now carefully categorized on the side table. "Oh, I remember!" Rocky explains with a snap of fine fingers. "They're like Ol' Serious Face's glasses! You know, the guy that-" he mimes a finger gun directly at Viktor's knee, and Mordecai can smell the sour expression it garners from Viktor. Rocky doesn't seem to notice it as he 'shoots' the knee with a soft click of his tongue.

Ivy swiftly pulls Rocky out of reach just as a huge hand goes for his neck. "Well, this was nice," she says brightly as she hurries Rocky towards the door, pushing him harder when he aims another finger gun. "But I really should get to school now. I wouldn't want to be late. Enjoy your cake!"

With that, the hurricane of youth exits the apartment and all falls silent again. Mordecai stays in his hiding place a little longer, to be sure they won't be disturbed again, before he finally slips back out of the pantry. From the kitchen, he can see Viktor staring down at his cake blankly, devoid of any discernible emotion, holding the little box with both hands.

It's a stark contrast to his earlier anger, and that heavy mass settles firmly back in Mordecai's chest seeing it. Like his mother's grief, this isn't something he can gloss over or fix, but it is his fault. That somehow makes everything worse.

He picks his way back through the living room, forced to run his fingers along surfaces and furniture as he nears them to avoid falling over, until he's so close to Viktor the cat is once again just colourful blobs. From here, Mordecai fumbles on the side table for his glasses and relieved when his hand closes on them, swiftly brings them to his muzzle.

Close up, Viktor looks like a caricature of depression, with pale lips drawn down so far it deforms his face and broad shoulders slumped towards his lap, apparently uncaring that the monochromatic tom is close enough to punch. The cake ibeads condensation from being recently removed from a cool display cabinet, the powdered sugar on top flavouring the air sickly sweet, as if openly mocking the bobcat's emotions by counteracting them effortlessly.

Mordecai sighs heavily, and not just because there's a large fingerprint smudging the corner of his glasses. "I'm sorry," he says, perhaps as earnestly as he ever has before, hand lingering above Viktor's shoulder but never making contact. It doesn't feel like a good time. There's so many feelings in his head, so many unnamed emotions and sentiments he can't make sense of, things he should say that Mordecai simply doesn't know how to express. "I should… I'll go."

He strides for the door, pausing for one last look at his only - now former - friend before letting himself out. Mordecai is fairly sure he hears the cake hit the door not a moment afterwards.

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sinkingteethinwhitenoise · 6 months

Text

Limoncello - Chapter 7

Pairings: Nick Folio x OFC, Bad Omens x OFC

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of anxiety and panic, violence, one mention of blood, crying, comfort, not proofread bc i hate myself

Series Masterlist

“Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.” ~ Edgar Allan Poe

Nick’s pickup peeled into the dive bar’s parking lot, loose gravel crunching under the tires as he pulled into a parking space. Noah’s car followed close behind and parked right next to him, music blaring and bass thumping. Nick hopped out of the truck and made his way to the bed to start unloading the drum kit, while Maeve followed suit. Noah popped out of the driver’s seat, leaving the door open as he stood next to the car. Doja Cat’s Say So blared through the speakers and into the evening air as he loudly sang along to it. A stone faced Nicholas exited the passenger’s seat and Jolly got out of the back seat to start unloading instruments.

Maeve began to laugh as she watched Noah. “Really?” she giggled, hands on her hips. “Doja Cat?”

“It’s art, you wouldn’t understand,” Noah responded before going right back to singing along.

“He does this every time,” Jolly sighed. “Don’t feed into it.” Maeve just laughed even harder.

Finally Noah turned the car off, music silencing along with it, and started helping Folio unload the kit.

“Do you guys need any help?” Maeve questioned sweetly, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Folio looked over at her. “Nah, we got it, doll,” he shot her a wink. “Thank you.”

Maeve felt her entire body flush in an instant, as if her entire body had engulfed in flames.

Doll.

Was he just teasing? Was it a joke? Joke or not, she loved it.

She nodded. “No problem,” she whispered, fighting the shy smile that threatened to spread across her face, heart pounding out of her chest.

She trailed behind them as they walked to the doors. It suddenly clicked that she should probably hold the door for them. She quickly bolted around and in front of them to open the door. They all muttered their appreciation as they walked inside. She followed behind Nick after he walked in. Her eyes immediately widened. The bar was dimly lit, the brightest light in there being a red neon Budweiser sign perched on a shelf behind the bar. Besides herself, the only other woman in the establishment was one of the bartenders. The rest of the patrons were men.

Suddenly, she was overly aware of herself and what she was wearing, crossing her arms over her stomach, her eyes darting around as she followed her friends. The guys walked over to the area where they were supposed to play and began to set up. Maeve, cowered into herself, stood as close to them as possible without getting in their way. Nick glanced over at her, furrowing his eyebrows before walking over to her. “Maeve? You good?”

She looked up at him with a tense smile. “Um, yeah,” she started. “Just a little anxious.”

“How come?” he questioned, slight frown on his face.

“It’s nothing serious,” she tried to reassure. “Just feel like I stick out like a sore thumb.”

Nick nodded, sucking on his teeth before responding. “Well, no one’s gonna mess with you. Not if I- um, we can help it,” he motioned to the guys.

Maeve nodded in response, slowly uncrossing her arms, “Okay…Thank you.”

“Of course,” Nick said, grabbing one of her hands. “We’ve gotta keep you safe.” He pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles before slowly dropping her hand and walking off to finish setting up, leaving her red in the face and giddy.

They put on a phenomenal show. While their music wasn’t something that Maeve would typically listen to, she found herself nearly hypnotized by the combination of their talents and stage presence. She figured she probably made a fool of herself cheering them on, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. They deserved the hype. When they began to pack up, she walked over to them, a bright smile adorning her face.

Nick noticed her first. “What did you think?”

“You guys did amazing!” she beamed, going in for a hug.

Nick hugged her back, picking her up and swinging her side to side as his arms wrapped tightly around her, “Thank you, doll.”

Maeve squealed as he lifted her off the ground. “Put me down,” she giggled. “You’re all sweaty.”

“Hey, you hugged me,” he laughed, gently setting her down on the ground. “Let me help the guys pack up really quick.”

She nodded at him and walked back over to where she had been sitting before, watching them, but mostly Nick, as they packed up. She was pulled from her giddy, excited state almost as soon as she sat down.

“Look who we have here!” A familiar voice boomed as the bar door opened.

Tanner.

Maeve’s breath caught in her throat as she hesitantly looked towards the source of the voice. She shrunk into herself as Tanner approached her. “I thought this wasn’t your scene, princess,” Tanner smirked, leaning against the bar.

He had tried to get her to go to bars when they were together, but she never wanted to. She didn’t enjoy bars. She would much rather drink within the comfort of her home. Or in the home of someone she trusted. She sucked in a deep breath and just nodded towards the guys.

Tanner glanced in the direction that she nodded and let out a chilling chuckle. “Oh, I see how it is,” he said through gritted teeth as he glanced back at her with cold, angry eyes. She leaned back against the bar to get some distance between them and obviously failed to do so. Tanner got in her face, his body pressing to hers. “So you’re a fucking groupie now? Which one are you fucking? Or are you fucking them all?” His voice got louder and harsher with each question.

Maeve started to tear up and tried to move away from him, to no avail. He grabbed her arm, causing her to yelp, tears springing to her eyes. And just as quickly as he had gotten in her face, he was being pulled away.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Nick spat. Noah, Nicholas, and Jolly stood by him as he gripped the back of the collar of Tanner’s shirt.

“Putting that slut in her place. I’m doing you a favor.” Tanner responded, eerily calm.

Nick was seeing red as his grip tightened on Tanner’s shirt, pushing him against the bar as hard as he could. Nick then removed one hand and drew back a clenched fist before slamming his fist into Tanner’s nose, blood immediately gushing from his nose. Jolly hurried off to find security while Noah pulled Nick off of Tanner. Nicholas took over in keeping Tanner where he was. Noah was trying his best to hold Nick back from Tanner, constantly readjusting his grip.

“Folio,” Nicholas called, not taking any of his focus off of an enraged Tanner who was trying to get to Folio. “Take Maeve to the truck, now.”

At the mere mention of Maeve, Nick stopped fighting to get out of Noah’s grip and looked over to where Maeve was still seated, trembling with her face in her hands. He looked at Noah, face visibly softened. Noah nodded and let go, then Nick rushed to Maeve’s side. “C’mon, let’s go.” He said softly to her, helping her stand and leading her outside and into the truck as quickly as possible. He opened the door for her and helped her climb into the seat before he rushed over to his side and hopped in.

Maeve was trying her hardest to not break down. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her heart was beating erratically, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, and her entire body shook. Nick leaned over to her and grabbed one of her trembling hands and she squeezed it.

“Hey, breathe for me, doll. Can you breathe for me?” he asked softly, trying not to panic her further. “C’mon, breathe with me.” He started to breathe in and out, loudly and slowly. Maeve followed his lead, letting his breaths guide her own. She began to calm down slightly, at least enough to where her heart rate slowed and she stopped shaking. Tears had started to stream down her face, and she tried to hide it.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking slightly as she silently cried, turning her head away from him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Nick cooed, gently placing a hand on her face so she would look at him. He cupped her face with both hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This is not your fault.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned into his touch as tears endlessly flowed from her eyes. Nick managed to awkwardly maneuver her into his lap, his arms wrapped around her as she quietly cried into shirt. He rubbed her back as her body occasionally shook with sobs. They stayed like that until Noah, Nicholas, and Jolly came out with all the instruments and equipment they brought, one of the bartenders helping bring it out. Nick rolled the window down as they approached.

“Is she okay?” Jolly asked. Nick shrugged, while Maeve nodded into Nick’s chest as a response. Jolly furrowed his eyebrows with a sigh.

“That guy got kicked out,” Noah said. “Apparently they have trouble with him all the time. They escorted him out and said that if he came back they’d call the cops.”

“I’m so sorry you guys,” Maeve sniffled, words muffled by Nick’s chest.

“Don’t do that. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Nick repeated what he had told her earlier, holding her tighter.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens x ofc #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #nick folio x ofc #nick folio #bad omens #limoncello series #limoncello #sinkingteethinwhitenoise

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vnynv · 1 year

Text

MEET THE DISPATCHER

The Dispatcher is the RED Team's 10th mercenary who exists outside the boundaries of being an offense/defense/support class. Real name "Naima Les" (lit: Nameless) and uses she/he/they pronouns. His main stock item is a briefcase, giving him a topographic map and her teammate's locations, who she can aid through missile strikes, traps, or air supply drops.

Used to bureaucratic jungles, tax write-offs, and the occasional contract killing for a shady yet powerful firm, Dispatcher has to swallow their arrogance and learn how to fight alongside the team after a sudden transfer.

(more art and weapon ideas below! warning. p long.)

Dispatcher's stock kit (125 HP, 93% speed, weapon and PDA keybinds similar to Spy/Engineer's):

(PDA) Briefcase:

- Includes topographic map/sensors of teammates (coordinate interaction), touch-tone phone to communicate (Scout’s headset now has a reason to exist). Connected to TF Industries satellite, has automated air support, and [SPOILERS].

- Takes medium set-up time and hauling open briefcase slows speed to 85%.

Air strike (Offense)

- Calls upon a drone from the air to strike general location of enemy based on teammate’s vision (think spectating when waiting to respawn). Not suited for high speed fights; missile has timer to land. Functions similarly to Soldier’s/Demo’s explosions. Low ammo count.

Stock Missile: A ballistic missile. The missile knows where it is at all times. Base: 90 / Crit: 270. Sugar Glider: Free-fall bomb. Always Mini-crits, but less precise - easier to damage teammates. Artillery Battery: Smaller missiles rain down in a group. Splash damage, faster reload/higher ammo count. Precision-Guided Munition: Guaranteed to not hit teammates. -50% damage and no crits.

Stun traps (Defense)

- Drops stun traps to slow enemies down in hot spots (think Control Points/Payload). Functions similar to Primary taser. Can be changed for caltrops (bleeding damage) or something else, I dunno.

Air supply (Support)

- Basically interpretation of med kits/ammo on the ground. Canon cool down and wait to replenish teammate’s health/ammo/metal from afar - no biggie.

(Primary) Modified taser gun:

- Stuns enemy on impact, needs numerous shots to kill. Base: 40 damage.

2. (Secondary) Med kit: (veterinarian) (for animals) (dogs. mutts)

- Lore wise, meant for animals. Not as good as air supply health kit, but no drop time. Functions similarly to Heavy’s Sandvich.

(Melee) Swiss Army Knife / Knife of All Trades (KOAT):

- Weak in itself (30 damage) but can cause bleeding damage. If hitting teammate, temporarily buffs their primary weapon.

just some potential weapons for him! i'm more of a visual concept designer so their kit might be pretty op or underpowered, but the general basis is nerfed speed (in everything) and attack for whole-map range tradeoff. potentially a similar playstyle as engie (with a whole chilling in a lawn chair taunt), though in an alternate universe there could be a loadout for a battle!patches. i GUESS in actuality she would be counted as support, but i didn't want to ruin the 3x3 style.

anyways. she's the star of a canon/oc fic i have. tootles now.

#tf2 oc #tf2 10th class #10th class oc #dispatcher #tf2 #tf2 fanart #team fortress 2 #🚐 art #frontiersmen #finally. the accumulation of months long autism. and still going strong #my petit choufleur. my mama mia. my silly billy.#concept art #tf2 concept art #weapon concept

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parisawr · 4 months

Text

Fish Out of Water

John Dory x King Trollex

Word Count: 4.1k

Part 1/?

(don’t have a ship name for them yet so uh…)

King Trollex wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to the amount of holidays that the Pop Trolls have. It’s as if there’s at least one happening every week, and each and every time, every single troll is invited. Now normally, Trollex really didn’t mind. In fact, he loved all the little -togethers he and the other trolls had. He’d attend what events that he could, write a little apology letter to Poppy if he couldn’t, and have a great time just mingling and meeting up with all the new trolls he’d meet. Unfortunately, it was around this time that he’d actually have to get some work done. Many leaders of the trolls were contemplating sending diplomats from their own kingdoms into others, himself included.

So when sparkle-covered letters began to rain down from above, King Trollex frowned. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to attend this one, especially with his growing responsibilities. But, if this little event was short enough, he’s sure that he could attend. And it would provide the added benefit of getting a break from work. As the letters float down, Trollex quickly snatches a lone one and opens it. The letter detailed the introduction of a new holiday, called Meet Someone New Day. The idea was simple enough. Every troll in the Troll Kingdom would meet up in Pop Village, receive a randomly colored piece of confetti, and then meet up with the troll that has a card of the same color.

It was a neat idea really, a little event that helped all the trolls come together and mingle with their newfound neighbors. And honestly, Trollex was all for it! While he definitely met a whole lot of cool new trolls (including a hot pink one who had an amazing DJ setup; he’d have to talk details with her about that), there were many, many more that had yet to meet, and was frankly excited to see.

He continued reading through the letter, noticed that the festival would start mid evening tomorrow, and decided that he could come up with a sort of gift between that time frame. His parents always said that he should make his first impression his best. He was also a prankster. And so after carefully tucking the letter away, he quickly swam off to see just what he could come up with.

As he made his way back to his anemone, he offered various iterations of greetings towards the trolls he passed by. All of them seemed equally as thrilled he was, excitedly chatting amongst one another or zipping around seemingly trying to get stuff done. It was good to see that his people were just as excited as he was. He’d definitely preferred it if he and his people became more familiar with the other trolls.

Once he touched home base, he quickly got to work, sifting through whatever available materials he had whilst simultaneously running potential gift ideas through his head. He didnt wanna go too big with his gift, or with the prank. Too extreme a gift and the person will think you’re weird, and too extreme a prank and they could end up hating you, or worse, injured.

As he continues to sift through his seemingly never ending stash of art supplies, he comes across an old bracelet making kit. He pauses for a moment, taking a moment to feel over the old, faded title. It brings back fond memories, back with his parents and him when they made the very hair-tie that he uses today. The thought makes him let out a content smile, and he closes his eyes as he relives those old memories. Not even a second later, though, his eyes snap open as if a lightbulb had lit up in his head.

He’ll make a set of matching electric shock friendship bracelets! It’s a simple, well thought-out gift that can signify the start of the friendship that comes with a fun prank without getting overly personal or terribly injuring the other troll. It was perfect!

He quickly gets to work, and within minutes he’s got a pair of two, beautiful rainbow colored bracelets that have the extra benefit of glowing in the dark, thanks to the natural bioluminescence of the beads used. He ponders for a moment to determine whether or not the design was too simple, but quickly brushes the thought out of his mind, made content with the idea that simple was just the way to go sometimes.

He slips one of them on, testing the shock, and finds that it’s just enough to make you jump without making you hurt due to the voltage. He carefully places the other in a simple little jewelry box and sets it down on the same table he made it with. It’s not much now, but it’ll probably mean so much more when he and his mystery troll get to know one another. He places the gift on the table, and readies himself for bed.

—

When the next day comes, he’s all but jittery from excitement. The second he wakes up, he gets himself ready, grabs his gift, and practically bursts from his anemone. He says his hello’s and good morning’s to his fellow trolls as he zips around. When it’s time for them to make their way to Pop Village, he rallies his citizens together.

As he looks them over, he sees that a smile is practically splattered in everyone’s face. Some of them even have their own gifts in hand, and that silences the lingering thoughts that had him somewhat convinced that giving a gift to a troll you’ve never met was too much.

—

The journey to Pop Village is a long one, but is by no means boring. The entire journey is filled with an air of excitement as the trolls giddily talk amongst themselves, all of them sharing in their joy and the thought of meeting someone new, and potentially making a new friend.

When they do arrive, the place is already bustling with trolls of all kinds, all of them talking enthusiastically with one another. His trolls have already dispersed amongst the rest, and so he begins making his way through the crowd. There was still some time left to kill, and so he used what little time he had left to find DJ Suki about her setup.

After a few minutes of wandering, saying his greetings to the various troll leaders as he did so, and offering whatever other trolls who looked his way a small greeting, he finally found the DJ, belatedly speaking with who Trollex assumed were a few of her friends. Her gaze meets his for a moment, leaves, then swiftly returns to him as she stops speaking mid sentence. Her gaping mouth shifts into a toothy smile as she does a light jog towards him and gives him a hug.

“King Trollex, hey! Great to see you again, man! These are my friends, Pixie and Vega!” She starts excitedly. She gestures towards each troll as she says their names. Pixie is covered head to toe in bright, golden glitter. They offer him a smile and waves excitedly at him, which he returns with his own smile and wave, which holds an equal amount of enthusiasm. Vega is a dark, purplish blue troll with wavy white hair. She offers him a small nod of her head, and he does the same.

The four of them quickly engage in conversation once introductions are over, enthusiastically talking to each other about whatever they think to talk about. Pixie is way into standup comedy, and even cracks some of her jokes throughout their talk that manage to make the king snicker. Vega is, like Suki, a DJ, and the three of them bond over their shared interest in it.

Everything is going pretty smoothly when his eyes decide to slip past Suki for just a second and land on a group of Trolls huddled up in a group. Now normally, he’d just adjust his vision back to his buddies, but this group in particular caught his eye given that Queen Poppy and her new found sister were amongst them. He hadn’t found the chance to have a proper talk with her since he’d arrived.

Not only that but it seems that there was a whole crowd murmuring excitedly to five other trolls that were with them. He recognized Branch, but not the other four. Suki must’ve caught him looking, and he shook his arm to gain his attention. He blinks, just a bit startled by the sudden touch and quickly brings his attention back to her. “You were zonin’ out there for a second, dude. You good?” She asks him, with just a hint of concern in her voice.

He spares a glance at the group again, and Suki notices. She looks over to see what he’s looking at, and giggles a bit when she notices the group below. “Oh, those guys! Well, you know Poppy and her sis.” She starts, gesturing towards the two girls who were currently gleefully talking to each other about something. She then gestures to Branch and the rest of the trolls surrounding him. Now that he was actually taking a moment to get a good look at them, Trollex notices how similar they all look. “And you also know Branch, but the rest of those guys? That’s Brozone!” She finishes excitedly.

He gives her a ‘really?’ look, and she looks back over at him confused before making an ‘oh’ face. “Right! You probably aren’t really familiar with any of our celebrities given the whole ‘living in the ocean’ thing.” She corrects herself. “Brozone was one of the most popular boy bands back in the day. But then they had, like, a HUGE falling out and we haven’t seen any of them in years. Until now!”

She starts from the left moving to the right listing them all off. Branch, whomst he already knew, Floyd, whose hair was oddly white at the roots before fading into a hot pink, Clay, whose choice of clothing was a bit austere compared to the rest of them, Bruce, who was, for some reason, wearing a tropical jacket despite them being deep in the forest, and finally John Dory who was apparently the former leader.

He’s about to ask how they broke up before trumpets loudly sound off from somewhere. Troll’s conversations stop as they hear the excited voice of Poppy ring out, accompanied by the enthusiastic thrumming of a cow bell. Trollex looks over and sees Poppy standing on a large toadstool, standing alongside her sister and her father. His face becomes puzzled as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation as to how she got up there so quickly, especially since she was standing alongside her boyfriend just a few moments ago.

“Hey, hi, and hello everyone! I’m so glad that you guys could all make it!” She exclaims, and gesturing her arms out towards the crowd. “I hope you guys are excited, because YOU are about to meet someone new in… 3,2, and…. 1!” She practically screams out the word, and the second she does, confetti comes flying down on the crowd in a rainbow colored cloud.

People let out ‘ooos’ and ‘ahhhs’ as they watch the confetti fall, and King Trollex does too. The second one of the pieces of confetti get close enough, he leaps up to catch it. It’s a vibrant purple, and he quickly scans the crowd to see if any troll got the same color as him. Of course, the momentary search ended up fruitless since the confetti was still falling and the trolls in the area were just as vibrant as the confetti itself.

He turns to look back at his group, and notices that they’ve all gotten their own pieces of confetti too. He waves them goodbye, wishes them good luck, and starts to walk off, beginning the search for the troll with the same colored paper as him.

—

Finding the troll that had the same colored confetti piece as him ended up being just as difficult as he thought it’d be. But it doesn’t curb the King’s spirit. In fact, it actually encourages him moreso to find this mystery troll. It’s almost like a little game for him, whether he’ll find them or if they find him. He spends a few minutes walking around, comparing confetti pieces with other trolls whose colors are similar to his, but luck doesn’t seem to be on his side

He’s about to saunter off somewhere else when he hears someone call after him. At first, he’s a bit confused as to whether or not that troll was calling after him specifically, since there were many, many other trolls around him still searching for their own buddy. Still though, he turns around and sees none other than John Dory running towards him whilst enthusiastically waving his hand. Pinched in between his fingers is a piece of confetti that is a nice, vibrant purple. The same color as his. King Trollex smiles, quickly takes a glance at his own piece of confetti just to be sure, and the second that he is, he begins his approach. Albeit, much more slowly.

In a matter of seconds, the trolls are face to face, stopping just a few inches away from one another. John Dory skids to a stop at Trollex’s feet, keeling over in order to catch his breath. “Wooh, boy! Sorry about that just…” he stops his sentence for a moment, taking in a deep breath. “Just give me a second.” And so the king does, muttering an ‘it’s cool’ as he waits for the former leader of Brozone to right himself.

It takes a hot minute, but once John catches his breath, he looks up at the king with bright blue eyes. “What’s good, man? You probably don’t know who I am, but—“ John Dory starts, but is interrupted when the techno troll in front of him laughs. JD gives him a puzzled look, but the king merely offers him a smile. “I know who you are, dude! Friend of mine told me a little bit about you before all this started. You’re John Dory, right? From Brozone?” Trollex inquires, raising one side of his unibrow.

John Dory stares at him, mouth agape for just a few moments, but he quickly collects himself, now seemingly beaming with a sort of pride. “Oh! I-I… I mean yeah! That’s me!” He exclaims, his face now twisted into a large, toothy smile. “John Dory, from Brozone, yes!” King Trollex laughs a bit at the troll’s enthusiasm, watching as John Dory pumps his fist in a kind of celebration. Based on the very limited information that Suki offered him, BroZone broke apart years ago. This John Dory guy probably wasn’t expecting anyone, especially a techno troll, to recognize him. If he even knew what a techno troll was.

“I’m just a bit surprised that you, uh, recognized me.” John Dory continues, nervously scratching the back of his head. “Poppy filled me in on the whole different trolls thing, so…” The end of his sentence trails off, and king Trollex nods his head in understanding. John Dory then quickly shakes his head. “But whatever, y’know? Let’s get to talkin’, yeah?” He claps his hands together. “You a walk n’ talk kind of guy or…?” John Dory asks, having already begun to move by the time he finishes asking the question. King Trollex follows him, nodding his head.

“Yeah, man! I’ll let you lead the way. I’ve really only been in Pop Village and the places surrounding it, so you can be my guide.” Trollex comments, and JD smirks. “Well, looks like you’re in luck. I happen to be a master survivalist. I know this place like I know the back of my hand.” He boasts proudly, gesturing to himself using his thumb. Trollex considers the self appointed title for a moment, taking in JD’s attire, before nodding his head. It would explain the mountain goggles, and the thick fur jacket.

John Dory then stops and sputters for a moment before quickly turning around to look at Trollex, a disappointed expression on his face. “I totally forgot to ask you, dude, but uh, what’s your name?” He inquires, slapping his face as he realizes he didn’t do the one thing you’re supposed to do when you meet somebody new. However, Trollex just laughs. “It’s cool, dude! I’m Trollex, King Trollex of the Techno Trolls.” He admits casually, and he can see John Dory visibly stiffen, glancing up at him with wide eyes as if he was a deer in headlights.

There’s a pregnant pause that lasts for about 5 seconds as John Dory comes to the realization that he was casually chatting up foreign royalty as if he would a friend, and is mentally slapping himself in the face for it. King Trollex has to hold back another giggle as JD’s mouth rapidly opens and closes as if trying to find the right words to say, failing each time. He eventually settles for a quick bow before standing up straight.

“I-I apologize your… uh… excellency. I had no idea that—“ He stutters as he begins to mutter an apology, and is promptly silenced when King Trollex holds his palm up to his face as if to say stop. John Dory looks up, confused, and is surprised to see the king laughing as if he’s heard the funniest joke. In fact, he’s laughing so hard that he has to put a hand on John’s shoulder to keep himself from keeling over.

As his laughter dies down, he pats JD’s shoulder reassuringly and takes in a deep breath. He looks at him sympathetically, trying to contain his lingering snickers as he reassures him. “Dude, it’s cool! No need to get all into the formalities, alright?” He squeezes him reassuringly on his shoulder to emphasize his point. John Dory swiftly glances at the hand before staring back up at the King, a subtle blush on his cheek. Trollex notices, and snickers again. “And there’s no need to be embarrassed either. Today is all about getting to know somebody new, and while I may be a king, today, I’m just any other troll looking to make a new friend.”

He offers JD one last slap on the shoulder before drifting off, which snaps the other troll out of his stunned silence. He hears the little pitter patter of JD’s feet as catches up with him, the other troll letting out a subtle sigh of relief. “Okay, good! Cool. For a second there, I was worried that you’d get all mad at me n’ stuff, but you’re actually pretty chill.” John Dory admits, his usually confident voice laced with just a hint of nervousness. King Trollex looks over at him and shrugs. “It's cool! You didn’t even know who I was, and if it helps any, when it’s just me and you, you can just call me Trollex, alright?” He reassures.

John Dory pauses, and then smiles before clapping his hands together with a laugh. “Okay, yeah! That works! Now, let’s get exploring!” He states excitedly, a pep in his step as he practically hops along the dirt path in front of them. “We can talk all about Brozone while we’re out here too, help you keep up with all the recent drama.”

—

The next couple of hours end up being the most fun that king Trollex has had in a while. He and John Dory basically go explore a sizable portion of the rest of the village. The whole place was practically bustling with life as trolls of all kinds were out hanging on the streets, mingling with one another.

John Dory talked about Bro Zone and nature most of the time. He told the techno troll all about how he and the rest of Brozone were brothers, and about the tours and the interviews and the photoshoots. He even surprised Trollex by popping out an old polaroid, the image showing him pictured with the rest of his siblings in various dynamic poses. When JD points who he was, Trollex lets out a breathy laugh.

“What? No way, let me take a look at this.” He jokes, gently taking the picture out of John’s hands, glancing over it. He looked so… different. Like, completely different from what he looked like now. In fact, Trollex wasn’t even sure he’d believe that the troll in the picture was John Dory if it weren’t for the fact that a), he had the picture on him, and b), the fact that he still had those same goggles in the photo on even now.

Trollex himself tells John all about home, down in the ocean. He talks about all the stories, their music, their home, their traditions and pretty much anything else about his people that he can come up with. Throughout it all, John seems pretty focused on what he’s saying, asking questions when he could and laughing at a few of the stories Trollex had to tell.

By the end of the day, the two were talking with one another as if they’d been besties for life, laughing and joking with one another as they made their way back to the main center of Pop Village, where Poppy currently stood on top of the same giant toadstool from before.

As soon as she’s sure that all the trolls are gathered together, she smiles brightly and begins her announcement. “Now THAT was fun now, wasn’t it you guys?” She asks the crowd, and she’s met with a chorus of cheers and agreement. “Great! Before you guys all go, I just wanted to thank you all for coming out tonight, and I hope that you all made a new best friend!”

If Trollex hadn’t known Poppy for as long as he had, he’d think that the festivities had ended. But fortunately, he does know Poppy, and by extension, knows that most of her little events end up with some kinda party. And as he watches her enthusiastically scream something before near deafening music starts playing, he knows that that’s his que to go.

If he could stay, he would, really! But duty calls, and his people know the way back home, so he turns around, ready to see himself out.

“Woah, where you going bud? Party just started!” He hears JD call out, and he turns around. The other troll is looking at him confused, an eyebrow raised. Trollex just offers him a sympathetic smile in response. “Yeah, I know. But, I’ve got some important things to work on. Y’know, kingly duties and whatever.” He admits. John Dory smacks himself in the face again as he’s reminded of the fact that he was talking to royalty. “Right dude, yeah, pshhh, sorry!” He screams back, which is the only way he can respond over the cacophony of music and voices. “See you later, then!”

King Trollex nods, and turns around again so that he can leave, but stops dead in his tracks as he remembers information lost crucial. The bracelet! He had completely forgotten about the bracelet. He swiftly turms around, and lets out a sigh of relief seeing that John Dory hadn’t moved too far away. Carefully, he maneuvers through the crowd and once he reaches John, taps him in the back.

The troll turns around, and is surprised when he’s met with the face of the techno troll. However, he quickly drops his surprised expression and exchanges it for one of toothy grins. “Well, looks whose back already? Guess you couldn’t stand being without me for too long, eh?” He jokes, and the king lets out a mock laugh. “Yeah, sure.” He responds sarcastically, before pulling out the gift box from behind his back. John Dory eyes with wide eyes, clearly excited.

“I just wanted to give this to you before I left. I meant to give it to you while we were talking earlier today, but I just got distracted.” He exclaims, nervously scratching the back of his head. He hands the gift off to John Dory, and watches proudly as the man opens it and smiles in delight.

“A bracelet! Haha, dude you shouldn’t have!” John Dory exclaims, examining the way the bracelet glowed in the dark before offering up his hand in the shape of a fist. King Trollex happily returns the gesture and fust bumps him. He waves goodbye, and John Dory does the same. The king can barely control his excitement as he watches John Dory slip the thing on, and he quickly disappears into the crowd so that he couldn’t be seen.

It takes everything in the king's powers to not burst out laughing when he hears the John Dory yelp.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52544056

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #john dory #king trollex #djdory #maybe that’s their ship name? I dunno #either way im obsessed with these two teehee #fanfic

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 10 months

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Tagged by: @ishwaris (last week, thank you again) @chazz-anova @eclecticwildflowers and @clicheantagonist thank you all so much!

Tagging: @strangefable @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @roofgeese @confidentandgood @derelictheretic @strafethesesinners @shallow-gravy @blissfulalchemist @henbased @florbelles @trench-rot @inafieldofdaisies @jacobsneed @voidika @v0idbuggy @detectivelokis @madparadoxum @nightbloodbix @nightwingshero @josephslittledeputy @marivenah @josephseedismyfather @cassietrn @neverthesameneveranother @kyber-infinitygems @aceghosts @wrathfulrook @vampireninjabunnies-blog @g0dspeeed @poetikat (and I feel like I’m missing others so anyone else I missed as well - no pressure of course)

Technically it’s still Tuesday for me but what the hell...

A little wip art from an upcoming scene in American Beasts where Kit finally gets to take care of the old man instead of him patching her up

And a snippet from Staci’s confession (this chapter is killing me, why can’t it just write itself)

This wasn’t going to be easy no matter which route he took, but he had to say something. "Um, well from the moment I was taken from the helicopter I've had my mind on a few things."

John smiled, the orange light reflecting off his eyes like the eye shine of a nocturnal beast. "Go on."

Staci licked his lips nervously, though his mouth was so dry he barely coated them in saliva at all. “Some thoughts are stronger than others. There are certain people in my life who affect them in particular.”

“Mmhm,” John hummed, raising his brow. He didn’t probe, he simply let silence settle until Staci felt forced to continue.

“Kit – being one of them.” Brown eyes were narrowed to slivers as Staci winced, waiting for the blow back of this reveal. He was sure she wasn’t one of the Baptist’s favorite people especially after how much trouble she’d caused him.

“Ah, Kathleen…” John started to pace, a half smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he forced his hands behind his back to keep himself from fidgeting. “She is quite something, isn’t she?”

The way John’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of her name made his stomach drop. He had reason to believe Kit and Jacob had some sort of personal relationship, but seeing another Herald reacting this way over her – and being trapped in his basement – put Staci on edge.

“Being at the Vet Center – staying close to Jacob, hearing the radio transmissions, collecting the reports, seeing the footage. The things she did…continues to do. I just – I don’t know how she does it. If our roles were reversed...I don't think I'd have been able to do half the things she’s accomplished, and she’d still do better than I did while under the Herald’s care.” Staci said, his voice cracked and wavered.

His eyes fell to his lap, embarrassed by who he was, by his failure. If it had been her who was taken and he was left to fight, Hope County would have fallen in a week and he’d be somewhere bleeding out – alone.

“I spent time in the cages, I took part in the trials – somehow I survived. Something in me wouldn’t let me die, like it had something to prove. Seeing the desperation of the recruits kept there, seeing how fast we all broke, and how badly they all wanted to be saved – just a glimpse at the badge had them reaching out to me like I was some hero when I was no better than any of them. They treated me like I was a fuckin’ saint. That feeling buries itself inside you, you start to crave it. I guess I understand why she fights so hard, but still –”

“So what are you more envious of then, Staci? What she managed to do or who she is and why she fights?”

“I’m envious of what they both are,” Staci said, choking out his response.

“Both?” John's eyes widened, giving him a look of innocence.

“Kit and Jacob. They’re strong. Stronger than I’ll ever be, but goddamn am I willing to try.”

John turned to roll his eyes at the mention of his eldest brother and strength. He'd heard the same thing said by so many of Jacob's recruits it had become tiresome to him to say the very least. He gave a quiet sigh and turned back to the table where the tattoo needle sat, snatching it up into his hands. He began to pace once more, long strides back and forth in front of the former Deputy like a metronome. “What about your relationship with Kit?”

“What?” Staci’s brow furrowed at the insinuation. He was one of the last people anyone would or could ever think she’d have something to do with.

“Nancy – in the information she gave us – she mentioned you used to flirt with her. Do you two have a history together? Or was this more just a one sided desire on your part?"

“Fuckin’ Nancy,” Staci muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t have a relationship with Kit, I mean sure I’ve thought about it, hell sometimes it was a nice warm thought to keep me alive in the cage when I was covered in my own piss and other people’s blood, but no…her and I — never gonna be a thing.”

“But you’d like it to be?” John tilted his head and cocked his brow, squeezing every last bit of information he could get from his newest toy.

“Not if I don’t want my neck snapped by the Herald.”

“I’m sorry. What was that?” John’s tongue clicked against his teeth as he fought to keep the smile on his face, his brow furrowing deeply.

“I don’t know for sure, they try to keep it quiet, sometimes there's hints…

John’s eye twitched, the whites of his eyes expanding as he stared at Staci like a deer caught in the headlights, his smile becoming ever more manic.

“She’s been kept with him in privacy a few times now and for someone who doesn't talk a lot she gets…” Staci looked around the room, his gaze floating up to the antlers that hung above him, suddenly feeling like the axe hanging above his head on a chopping block. But he’d started and couldn’t leave John hanging now. “Vocal. Kinda starting to think there’s something going on there between them, you know?”

Chuckling quietly, John puffed himself up like the preening peacock he was. “Between Cross and my brother? My brother, Jacob?”

“Yeah?”

John’s jaw tightened, clenching as his molars crunched against each other, squeaking as the teeth scraped against the other. A forced smile crept across his lips, pulling against his tightly clenched teeth, making the corners of his eyes crinkle with how hard he was trying to hide the real emotions.

“I know Jacob isn’t big on the religion, so he doesn’t follow all the rules, but they seem to be –”

John held up his hand to stop the flow of words that seemed to spill from Staci’s mouth like a river now that he was given the chance to speak. “That’s quite enough, Pratt. Thank you for opening up to me.” Stomping around the room, the vein in his forehead throbbed violently and his face turned red as he bit back on his rage. Pushing his hand through his slicked back hair, John exhaled as if he was forcing out the scream that now lay buried inside his ribs as he took his position standing in front of Staci. “For the acts that you’ve confessed to. I’ll be marking you with Envy and Lust. Coveting is a very unhealthy mindset, Staci. Are you sure being at Saint Francis is the right place for how you feel?”

Staci lifted his chin and took a deep breath. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life. “It’s where I want to be. I want to be strong.”

The Baptist’s smile crept back along his lips, no longer the madman fretting over things out of his control, he slipped back into the form he liked to present to the world as the man who had it all together. “Very well”

Still gripping the tattoo needle tight in his hand, John placed it back down on the table and bent over Staci, ripping open the same Deputy uniform he’d been forced to wear for weeks covered in blood, sweat, dirt and the stains of his tears. Staci’s breath hitched in his throat when the cold, recycled air blowing through the vents hit his bandaged chest. The wounds below only freshly starting to heal began to prickle and burn, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Well, Jacob didn’t leave me much to work with.”

Stopping to stare at the bloodstained gauze on Staci’s chest and abdomen, John pulled open the rest of the buttons until Staci’s shirt was hanging off of him. A cruel sneer pulled at John’s lip and he grabbed the sponge and water from the table, slapping the soft, wet material against Staci’s trail of hair that led down to his belt. “Consider this a reminder when you’re starting to feel lonely again.”

Placing the sponge back into the bowl with a splash, John quickly swiped the tattoo needle back up into his hand, turning it on with a loud buzz that made Staci’s teeth ache like being at the dentist. Kneeling down between Staci’s legs, John smiled and his bright blue eyes seemed to flash with something dark. “Take a deep breath.”

Staci sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold when the needle touched his skin and ripped through it with a million little pricks. It lacked the fluidity of the knife Jacob had used against him. Biting down into his lip, his eyes rolled back into his head as John continued to scrawl into the sensitive skin of his pelvis.

Pursing his lips, John blew cold air onto Staci’s new tattoo when he was finished with his handiwork, and grabbed the sponge to dab at the blood that was bubbling to the surface through the broken skin.

Half expecting words of praise, telling him he’d done a good job, that he took it well – something warm coiled in Staci’s belly and he felt nauseous. This wasn’t Jacob, this wasn’t the trials – this was a whole other beast. John merely ignored him and carried on with his work, tugging the sleeve of his shirt down his arm to expose the flesh of his upper bicep. Smooth hands traveled over his skin, finding the best place to drop the needle and Staci’s lip quivered in response to the gentle touch.

Wiping the skin down, droplets of water following the curves of what little muscle Staci was getting back, and John grabbed the needle once more. Tearing through layers of skin to mark it with the word ENVY, he showed little remorse as Staci started to groan with pain.

“There. Marked with your sins for all the world to see.” John leaned in, his nose nearly pressed to the former deputy’s. “Are you ready to atone, brother?”

Hot breath fanned over his face and Staci struggled to swallow. There was no fight left in him, he’d do whatever was asked. “Yes.”

The way John smiled at him, it was like he’d made the man’s dreams come true.

“Then let’s begin.”

#wip wednesday #wip art #skelly writes #american beasts #far cry 5 #jacob seed #oc: kit cross #jacob x kit #ship: the wolf and the wildcat #staci pratt #john seed

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sage-nebula · 1 year

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Tails in IDW #54

Okay, I'm sorry, I can't wait. I've gotta talk about Tails in issue #54 and how far he's come and how I will never NOT be on my "he's a hero, not a sidekick" bullshit after this. I'm going to put it under a cut though, in case you haven't read the issue yet / don't want to be spoiled. You can always come back to check it out later! Until then—

So as we saw in the preview pages, we start with this:

I feel like most people know this, but in case you don't: canonically, Tails has a phobia of lightning. Thunder too, in a way, since thunder accompanies lightning, but this is the big one. I don't think we're ever given a specific reason; my headcanon is that lightning was involved in whatever killed his parents, though he doesn't remember it. But it could also be something as simple as "the higher you are, the more likely you are to be struck, and since Tails flies, he has a fear." That's reasonable.

But either way, when asked about whether Surge and Kit having powers that directly relate to Sonic and Tails' biggest fears, the IDW writers said that it was indeed intentional. (It might have been Ian who said this? It was either him or Evan, can't remember which.) Meaning that the writers and artists absolutely had that in mind during this issue, so Tails cringing here on the very first page as he lifts Sonic out of harm's way as best he can is not just because he does tire pretty quickly when carrying Sonic around, but because he is literally facing his biggest phobia in the worst way as he does so. Because this isn't just a random lightning strike; Surge is controlling the lightning and she is targeting him, trying to knock him out of the sky. And then, what do you know—she succeeds!

Tails gets straight up electrocuted and stunned. And as cute as his little dizzy eyes art is, being electrocuted like that is no joke. Sonic get hit with the brunt force of Surge's attack, but it looks like any shocks that hit him were incidental. Tails' whole body is lit up, and he was shocked badly enough that he let go of Sonic's hands, which then allowed Surge to make the collision. His worst nightmare come true, basically.

But does he let that stop him? Does he cower and beg for someone to save him? Nope.

After Whisper loses Cyan to Surge, Tails holds her back from getting herself electrocuted just moments before. (And side note, but he has to literally full-body hug her to hold her back . . . he's so little.) But as he tells her, he's not giving up! Yes, Surge is scary af. Yes, she's weaponizing his greatest fear. But the city being destroyed aside, Whisper's family was taken from her. Sonic is hurt, and can't defend himself well. Like, legitimately, right before Whisper sent Cyan to Sonic's aid:

His knee is shot. He can still move on it, but not well at all. Certainly not well enough to hold Surge off for long. By contrast, his recent electrocution aside, Tails is doing all right. He can still move. And despite how afraid he must be, he's got a plan. And what a plan it is!!

After getting Sonic to lure Surge to an appliance store, Tails uses all the appliances in the basement to drain her power. Basically, causing a power surge, lol. And side note, but this bit right here—

—not to talk about my own works, but it reminded me of what I literally just wrote, wherein Sonic apologized in advance for having to knock AU!Tails out. :') Brothers.

Tails' plan works, but the thing about power surges is that they aren't gentle. They can explode and cause fires. And when that's about to happen (and I imagine Tails has some experience with this due to his workshop lol), what do we get?

Again, lightning is Tails' greatest fear, he has a phobia of it . . . yet here, when stray shocks of electricity are coming off Surge, it's Tails who pushes Sonic behind him, Tails who tackles Sonic out of the way. Again, Sonic is injured; he can move and he can run, but it's difficult. So Tails airlifting him or knocking him out of the way is not a big surprise in that context. But Tails is literally putting himself between Sonic and his own biggest phobia right here, facing his fear not just for himself, but to protect his big bro!! Look how far this baby has come!! This is a huge moment!!

But whoopsie-daisy, who should appear on the scene but the traumatized little boy who was led to believe that his toxic big sister was dead :') And remember how I mentioned earlier that Surge and Kit were designed with Sonic and Tails' biggest fears in mind? Tails' phobia is lightning. Sonic's is water, and drowning. And so when Kit arrives, and discovers that Sonic (unintentionally) lied to him . . .

Kit doesn't dish the same, cold, sadistic drowning statistic / threat that he gave to Tails back when their first encounter happened (because he's far more furious here), but his intention is still pretty clear. He has as much control over water as Surge does over lightning, and he is directly targeting Sonic, who, again . . . has a fear of water, phobia of drowning. But Tails, seeing what's happening (and having been down this road with Kit before) immediately jumps in the way, and uses his tails to disperse the water. Which is a pretty cool trick tbh!! It makes you wonder if perhaps he's done something like this before—if Eggman ever targeted Sonic with the robotic equivalent of a giant fire hose (lol), and Tails learned to deflect bursts of water as a result, to cover for Sonic in situations like this. But then again, Sonic looks pretty shocked in that art above . . . and here:

Like "bro are you seriously taking hits for me right now??" (side note, but Kit asking Sonic, "why would you bother with me, you already have him" is just :( like I fully expected it, but still. ouch.)

And then we get . . . the best most important panel of them all:

Setting aside for a moment how Sonic is a bit panicked about the danger that Tails has put himself in (although we will talk about that more in a second), how many times have we seen this, but reversed? We've seen it over

and over

and over again

Obviously Sonic trusts Tails to back him up in a fight, obviously he's fine with Tails helping him, but when things get really, really dangerous, Sonic protects him. He has kind of a "do as I say, not as I do" approach when it comes to this, where it's fine for him to be in life-threatening danger, but he really doesn't like it when Tails is. Push comes to shove, when things get really bad he'd prefer if Tails was somewhere safe. And this exact gesture, holding out a hand to shield Tails behind him / tell Tails to stay back, is one we see repeated throughout the series.

But here, it's flipped! Sonic is telling him not to—he quite literally yells, "Tails, no!"—but Tails pays this no mind. Water is Sonic's biggest fear, drowning is his phobia. And Tails has faced Kit before, Tails knows how to handle it. So this time, he's the one holding out a hand to shield Sonic, he's the one gesturing for Sonic to stay back, he's the one saying "I got this." Danger level is currently at a point where he needs Sonic off the front lines, and he's the one taking point. And Sonic does not like it (and I don't think Sonic will ever like it tbh, it's a big brother thing), but that's the way it's just gonna be right now as far as Tails is concerned and I mcfucking love it.

(Back to Sonic's perception of the danger: It might seem weird that Sonic was fine with Tails airlifting him during the Surge fight, when she was firing lightning at them, but panics when Tails goes up against someone who can drown him, but this makes sense to me for two reasons. One, on the most basic level, lightning is not Sonic's biggest fear. Obviously being electrocuted is no fun and he is not a fan, but it doesn't set off the panic alarm in his brain that water does. He can get shocked by lightning and get back on his feet pretty quickly; the same can't be said if he's got water being forced into his lungs at a rapid kip. So even though Surge had wisps and Eggman's tech powering her, I think that on a base, primal level, he's more immediately worried about Kit because Kit is the one weaponizing his greatest fear.

On a more story-centric level though, they really didn't have a choice. Surge's speed was manufactured to rival Sonic's own, and he's got a leg injury. He's not fighting her at full power. They can't just leave, because that would leave the citizens in danger (plus she stole Whisper's wisps and Whisper is their friend), but also Sonic can't really fight her on the ground. I don't think he wanted Tails to be in that situation, I think if he could have had it any other way he would have—but in the moment it was the only plan they had, until Tails came up with another one. So that's why I think he was like "we have to keep it up" versus his clear "get out of here" that we see in the basement when Kit attacks him.)

Of course, Surge wakes up and Kit carries her off and that whole bit is also very sweet and sad and tragic and heartwarming—but really, I am just so, so fucking proud of Tails here. He seriously saved the day in this whole issue. Yeah, Surge did get a good hit on him—she was using lightning and he was in the sky, of course she hit him—but who was the one who came up with the plan to stop her? Tails. Who implemented the plan? Tails. Who squared off against Kit when he showed up and reacted exactly the way everyone knew he was going to? Tails. "Sidekick" my damn ass, he deserves the hero label just like Amy and Cream and everyone else in the comic. A sidekick is someone who assists a hero, who reports to them and ultimately answers to them. The hero is in charge, the sidekick is not. But that's really not the case here! Yes, Sonic looks out for Tails—but Tails looks out for Sonic, too. Sonic counts on him as an equal partner, and so calling him a "sidekick" just doesn't feel right. I love the IDW comics, but "tech-savvy sidekick" is always going to annoy tf out of me, lmao.

Anyway. Super proud of Tails. He shined in this whole issue. He deserves the whole entire world, or at least a bowl of mint choco chip ice cream. I hope when all this is said and done, he gets some.

Can't wait for issue #55!!

#IDW sonic spoilers #miles tails prower #sonic the hedgehog #unbreakable bond #surge the tenrec #kit the fennec #sth

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