#so it's not just losing him it's losing the entire shape of our lives for 15 years

[wttcsms]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x reader word count 1.4k synopsis love for you is holding him; love for him is allowing himself to be held. content contains hurt/comfort, intimacy, atsumu-centric, insecurities, unconditional love, showering together but make it sfw

The stinging spray of scalding hot water from the showerhead should be enough to get him to leave, but he barely registers the pain, can’t seem to bring himself to feel the heat, can’t seem to bring himself to feel anything.

No — that’s not entirely true. He feels one thing.

Devastated. 

Everyone knows Atsumu Miya likes to talk shit on and off the court. It’s his thing, his trademark, his brand. Lots of athletes like to talk big about how they’re going to win; who the hell is going to support a guy who walks onto the court with a well, it’ll be alright if I lose. 

He’s staring down at the tiles of the shower, can somewhat register the persistent barrage of water spraying onto his back as he has one hand splayed on the wall, shoulders slumped, water dripping from his hair and running into his vision, making everything blurry. 

Don’t blink, he tries to demand of himself, but the issue is, we can’t always control our bodies. He has to shut his eyes, just for a brief second, and in that second, it all comes back to him.

The opposing team at set point. His team depending on him to serve. One point left. Only one chance. He can feel the stadium’s crowd holding their breath, can feel the lack of air in the atmosphere, can hear how loudly the blood is rushing to his head. Dizzy. Dazed. He doesn’t give into pressure, not anymore, not ever. Doesn’t feel performance anxiety, knows better than to try to attempt something flashy just for the glory of a good story to tell. 

Give ‘em a serve they don’t have a chance of receiving, he demands of himself. 

The final seconds of the match all come to him like stills from a movie, each frame another devastating blow to his ego, his self-worth, his very being. The ball is in the air, he’s bending his knees to prepare for the jump, his hand making contact with the ball. Something’s off, he can feel it upon first contact, but it’s too late to save, too late for him to change anything.

The ball lands.

On his side of the net.

He’s frozen in place as he stares ahead. He can tell the other team is cheering, slapping each other on their backs, and he can hear the blow of a whistle, the celebration from the crowd. But all he sees is the ball. All he sees is his failure.

Atsumu has spent a good portion of his volleyball career knowing that he plays the game better than most. It’s why he feels so comfortable talking about the lack of skills other players display. It’s why he always has something to say at practice, on the court, during a post-game interview. 

And he knows he makes mistakes. He knows that he’s only human. But a bad serve in the middle of a game isn’t as crushing as knowing that he is the sole reason as to why the Black Jackals’ season is going to be ending early. 

Where did he go wrong? He did everything perfectly, did everything the way he usually does. Why couldn’t he perform? Why did he let his team down? Why—

“Atsumu?” 

He doesn’t look up, and all you can see is the sad shape of his outline from the foggy glass door of the shower. You know that Atsumu probably wants nothing more than to be alone right now, but you can’t help but worry when fifteen minutes have gone by, and you could still hear the shower running. That’s your first sign that something is wrong.

Atsumu is a notoriously quick showerer, to an almost concerning degree. When you first started living together, you debated planning elaborate tricks to see whether or not he was even using soap. (Which, in hindsight, was just flatout silly; he walks out the shower smelling overwhelming of his Axe Men’s 3-in-1 and Old Spice deodorant.) 

No — the first sign that something is wrong would be his uncharacteristic silence on the trip back home. He hadn’t responded to your it’s okay, baby, you’ll get ‘em next season. Instead, he just looked out the window, the devastated expression on his face silencing you as well. Even when he lost to Kageyama, he had been disappointed, upset, but still talking big about how he was going to crush the Adlers next time around. He had then made a comment about Tobio’s stupid haircut, and that’s when you told him if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

Now, you’d give anything to have him say something. Something for you to work with.  

“Atsumu?” You call out for him again, worried when you don’t see his figure moving. 

Pathetic. Atsumu thinks that’s what he is. A loser, a fucking scrub, a failure. Even if his teammates won’t admit it, the media will. And what then? Will you think that about him too? It’d be the truth, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re in the bathroom now? To pity him? 

He’s too busy tearing himself down to react to the distinct sound of you sliding back the glass door of the shower so you can enter it. There’s a brief burst of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his exposed body, but it evaporates the moment you shut the door. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu.” You whisper it, and he wants to tell you that he’s not fucking fragile. That he’s not going to shatter into a million pieces if you just raise your voice, if you tell him how you really feel about him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around to face you. He doesn’t want to. He can’t.

His skin is red from the heat of the water, his back staring at you angrily, hurt. The skin’s going to need some time to heal, and you turn the faucet, lowering the temperature of the water. 

“Turn around, honey. Please?” You’ve never seen Atsumu so upset before, so quiet. You wait several minutes for him to actually do as you request, and you think it’s only because he wants a way to get rid of you sooner. 

You don’t say anything to him as you reach for his shampoo, letting it lather in your hands before you give him a pleading look, one that has him leaning down so you can reach his hair. It feels nice, he thinks, the way you’re shampooing his hair. You’re gentle with your movements, and it almost relaxes him. 

You use your body wash on him. Massage the suds into his skin, but you’re mindful of the amount of pressure you apply. You know which areas of his skin is more sensitive from its exposure to the hot water, and you are careful with the spots of his body that he had chosen to be negligent with. 

“Am I so fuckin’ worthless that you have to do somethin’ as simple as bathing me?” He’s not angry at you. He might spit out the words — words that come out sounding all raw and scratchy, like they had to personally claw themselves from his throat — but the anger is not directed at you. It’s at himself. 

“Look at me.” 

His eyes are glossy, wet, shiny, and you know it’s not because of the shower. You’ve never seen Atsumu cry before, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. So, you do what feels right. You whisper his name softly, tenderly, and it’s this tenderness, your unwavering softness, your unconditional love, that breaks him. That makes him feel safe enough to break. That makes him think of the possibility that you’ll take these jagged pieces of him and piece them back together for him, with him. 

He’s so much bigger than you. You tell him all the time that he’s larger than life, and he thinks about that comment as he lets himself sink into your open arms, as he lets himself be held. He has never felt smaller in his life, and in your embrace, he buries his face into your shoulder, letting his warm tears mix in with the water already on your body.

“I don’t know how you can still look at me.” He mutters, and every word is spoken onto your skin, tiny blades striking you. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what he wants to hear, isn’t even certain that there’s anything that could be said to ease his devastation, but melts into you even more so when you tell him,

“Atsumu, I thought you already knew that nothing can change the way I look at you.”

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #angst #one shot #fluff #drabble #imagine #alright if this doesn't make it to the tags im never posting again

[aibidil]

Oh, friends. I'm sitting here with my dog dying on my lap. Send us some love and strength?

#he's 15 and has truly wrung every second out of life #he was diagnosed with kidney disease 3 years ago #a stroke 2 years ago #one year ago he was so anemic the vet thought he would die within weeks #each time he laughed in the face of death and kept living his good life #so there's really nothing to regret or wish different and I wish we could all have lives as full and charmed as his #but he's been with us since he was 8 weeks old and seen me through so much shit #he's also a complete asshole 💜 #and so many of my daily routines are shaped around him #so it's not just losing him it's losing the entire shape of our lives for 15 years #pet loss #cw pet death #pet death #cw pet loss

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, gods.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, gods.”

Nico scowls, wrenching just eyes away from Will’s poorly-covered grin and shaking shoulders.

It’s not that bad. It isn’t.

Sure, the complete lack of lighting except Greek fire torches makes the cabin look like a little piece of the Underworld, right here on the surface. But that’s comforting. Honestly. Nico knows the Underworld. It’s — familiar.

And, yeah. It would, probably, be pertinent to have some furniture, or something. At least somewhere for him to store his clothes, because he has more than one set of those now, and maybe a shelf, or something. And, admittedly, the obsidian altar could take up a little less space than it currently does.

But it’s not that bad.

“Are those. Coffin shaped beds.”

The tone of Will’s voice is unlike he’s ever heard it. He turns back to face him, slowly, and finds him biting his fist, hard, every muscle of his body tense as live wire.

“I was twelve godsdamn years old,” Nico snaps. “Forgive me if interior design wasn’t my passion.”

Solace loses it.

In his defense, not that Nico is too worried about defending him, he does appear to try very hard to not lose it. When the first giggle slips out of his lips, he clamps his jaw shut tighter. When his whole body begins to shake with the force of repressing his laughter, he curls inward, as if making himself smaller might reduce the chance of a lapse in control.

But then he glances back inside and looks, really looks, at the dreary, stone walls, the lone skeletons standing guard, and the plush, teakwood black coffin bunk beds, and he collapses to the floor.

“I’m going to open a chasm beneath you,” Nico threatens. “You are going to fall and crack your spine into a million pieces on the bank of the Styx, rotting there with every other forgotten hope.”

“You are a Black Parade lyric personified,” Will wheezes.

Nico doesn’t know what that means, so he kicks him. Unfortunately, he only laughs harder.

“I mean it, Solace. It’s a long way down to the Underworld. You will spend the entire fall petrified with the knowledge that nothing can save you.”

For added effect, Nico makes the floor under the medic’s body shake, makes the tip of a skeleton hand peek out from the earth.

Ironically, this stops Will’s laughter, but not for the reason Nico was aiming for.

“Hey!” A bright blue flipflop-clad foot darts out and collides With Nico’s ankle, sending him sprawling. “I said no spooky magic for the next two months! Put that skeleton away!”

“Fuck off, Solace! It’s barely half a bone! You are so annoying!”

“That’s my specialty.” Will pushes himself upright. He waits until Nico sits up, too, so he can catch his eye before his face splits into a dazzling grin. Actual sparkles seem to flicker beside his face. “And you are ever so easy to annoy.”

Nico stares, unimpressed.

“Anyways.” Will coughs. “You can’t stay here, Neeks —”

“Don’t call me that.”

“— it’s straight-up too depressing.” He peers inside. “It’s also cold, and, like…borderline unliveable? So. As your doctor, I can’t allow it.”

“You’re a medic,” Nico says, raising an eyebrow, “first of all, not a doctor. Second of all, you can’t tell me what to do. Third of all — where am I supposed to sleep? The woods?”

“Hm. Good question.”

Will gets to his feet, brushing the dirt off his shorts and offering Nico a hand. After a second of hesitation, he takes it, allowing Will to haul him up.

“C’mon!”

Nico snatches his hand away, face burning. (Gods. Why does Will have to be so…touchy-feely? And why does it always do weird things to Nico’s stomach?) But it hardly takes a look over Will’s shoulder before Nico’s feet are following after him, without his permission.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, my dad’s kind of a hoe,” Will says matter-of-factly. Nico chokes. Will’s grin widens. “And our cabin was built with that in mind. I know we’ve got an extra bunk or two for ya. Hurry up!”

This…cannot be allowed. Nico doesn’t have a ton of Camp Half-Blood experience, or anything, but as far as he knows, Hermes is the only cabin that can really do that. He doesn’t want to incur the wrath of Apollo, or whatever, by staying in his cabin uninvited.

Well. Will’s inviting him, technically. And there’s a confidence to his offer, like maybe this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

“What if I don’t want to live in your stupid sunshine-y cabin,” Nico grumbles, trying to cover up his nerves. “Holding hands and singing about how much I love being alive isn’t really my cup of tea.”

Will snorts. “Oh, di Angelo,” he says dramatically, shaking his head, “you are in for a world of discovery. Welcome to the Cabin Apollo. Take your shoes off at the door and remember that Kayla bites.”

———

Living in the Apollo cabin is strange.

Four days in, and Nico is only just starting to get used to it. He’s not entirely unused to sharing space with people — he’s had two sisters — but the Apollo kids argue like they enjoy doing it. One minute, Will and Kayla will be screaming at each other at the top of their lungs about touching each other’s shit, then they’re teaming up to pull Gracie off Yan’s face for the exact same argument, only now they offer sage advice on respecting boundaries and compromising. It’s bizarre.

(Austin is pretty chill, actually. Nico has noticed him starting quite a few fights — it was he, in fact, who moved Will’s shit and then gracefully framed Kayla — but he has a very powerful eyebrow raise and a very powerful image as Unproblematic. He has quickly become Nico’s favourite.)

He’s only just barely beginning to understand how they work together, and the struggle comes in because everything is so chaotic. When Nico spent time with Hazel in New Rome, she was in the barracks. He never really had to worry about squabbling over counter space in the bathroom with her, because she had her own little toiletry caddie like everyone else, and bathrooms were public. With Bianca — well. There’s no one alive who knows this about her, but she was bossy. She was sweet and wonderful and self-sacrificing and brave and kind and the centre of Nico’s life, but by the gods, did she take her authority as a big sister seriously. She ordered Nico around all the time. He never had to worry much about when he would have the chance to use the bathroom they shared at the Lotus, or who got the T.V. remote, or who go to sit on the bus instead of standing, because he was not the one deciding. He could stick his tongue out and whine all he wanted, but she was boss. He knew that.

The Apollo kids are not like that.

As well as Nico can figure, it’s kind of a free-for-all. You want first shower? Either wake up the earliest — a strategy only Will every manages to employ with any success — or manage to jab an elbow in someone’s rib and sprint. You want whoever’s humming to shut the hell up so you can sleep? Make sure your threats are quick and believable, or just straight up start throwing shit until they finally stop. You want the coveted middle of the bench spot at breakfast? Well, tough shit on that one, actually. Nico has yet to make that one happen for himself.

He won’t admit it, but he has kind of learned to enjoy it. It’s annoying, and the Apollo siblings do indeed sing at all hours of the day (although the content usually skews more towards diss tracks and delighted insults, if not straight-up curses), and it is so godsdamn bright in there, seriously, is it a gimmick or what, but there’s something to be said about the fact that he’s so surrounded by people and chaos that he hasn’t even had the chance to feel lonely. Not even at night, panting to himself after a nasty nightmare, because all it takes is a particularly loud snore from Will one bunk down to remember where he is. To remember that he’s safe — by demigod standards, at least.

But, still.

He kind of misses his privacy.

“Will,” he whispers urgently, on his fifteenth day of rooming with the Apollo weirdos.

The medic hums noncommittally, attention very focused on the test tube in front of him. Nico has been fighting the urge to try and launch a piece of dust inside it for forty minutes, just to make him explode.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sounds good, Nico.”

Nico narrows his eyes. “You’re ignoring me.”

“Uh-huh. Agreed.”

“I can say anything I want right now.”

“Sure. Maybe double check with Austin.”

“…I’m going to put a colony of ants in your pillowcase.”

“Good idea.”

“Then I’m going to douse your hair products in gasoline and set them aflame.”

“Baller.”

“After that I’m gonna read your super secret diary to the entirety of camp at singalong tonight.”

“You betcha.”

“And then I’m going to shadow travel to Russia.”

Will blinks, frowning. “Hey, no shadow-travelling. What’s this I hear about shadow-travelling?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Nothing, stupid. You were just ignoring me.”

Will smiles guiltily. “Aw, I’m sorry, Neeks. Got focused on this. I’m finished in twenty, then I’m all yours?”

“…Don’t call me Neeks,” Nico grumbles, furious with himself for how quick he’s relented under wide blue puppy-dog eyes.

“Sorry, Neeks.”

Huffing at Will’s quiet laughter, Nico slides off the nurse’s station counter and wanders around the empty infirmary. Things have luckily finally cooled down in here, nearly three weeks after the end of the Giant War. Some of the exhaustion has faded from Will’s features now that he’s had time to sleep properly.

Not that Nico has noticed, or anything.

“Okay,” Will says a few minutes later, holding his hands up protectively in front of his geeky little setup. “I just gotta do this last step, so long as I calculated it right, it should be fine…” He squeezes a drop of something into the liquid bubbling over the burner, freezing immediately. One, two, three seconds pass and nothing happens, so Will relaxes, sighing in relief and turning to face Nico fully. “Okay, we’re good. What was it you wanted to —”

The text tube contents explode in his face, dousing him in slimey green goo.

Nico bursts out laughing.

“Great,” Will says darkly, swiping the stuff from his eyes. “The one day I don’t wear goggles. Great.”

Nico gasps, sides aching. “Oh my gods —”

“Feel free to help, di Angelo.”

“— you look like a cartoon! Your face!”

It takes Will twelve cloths and seven whole minutes to clean himself and the nurse’s station off of the goo. Nico cackles at him the whole time, and tastefully does not mention the many globs of goo that remain caked in his hair.

“Whenever you’re done.”

Will is very, very bad at being stern when he doesn’t really mean it. And he doesn’t really mean it now, because every time he tries to glare at Nico, his mouth twitches.

“I’m good,” Nico finally wheezes, forcing his face back to normal. “I’m good, I’m good.”

He very pointedly does not look at Will’s hair.

“Dick,” Will huffs, fondness bleeding into his tone. “What did you want?”

He must notice the change in tone at his asking, because he clears the bench fully, hoisting himself on top of it and patting the spot next to him. Nico hesitates for half a second, then crawls up, sitting criss cross applesauce, knees touching.

“I need to move back to my cabin,” he manages, finally.

Will’s face betrays no judgement or emotion. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He picks at a loose thread in his jeans. “I need — space.”

The thread loosens, allowing Nico to tug on it. A hole begins to unravel along the seam as he pulls and pulls and pulls. He stops himself before it gets too wide, tearing the thread off and winding it around his fingers.

“I can tell everyone to tone it down,” Will offers softly, eyebrows creased. “We’ll be more quiet, we’ll —”

Nico places a hand on his knee, cutting off his sentence. “It’s not about that, I promise. You guys have been great.”

A wounded look still pulls at Will’s strong features, as much as he visibly tries to pull his face back to something more supportive. “It’s not?”

“No, no. It’s just —” He frowns, trying to articulate the tangled mess of his thoughts. “I have my own cabin.”

“So?”

“And I can’t stay in yours forever.”

“I mean, you could.”

“Chiron’s been giving me looks, Will.”

“So what! I’ll — write you a doctor’s note, or something!”

Nico snorts. “A doctor’s note letting me sleep in your cabin?”

Will nods fervently, although he seems to acknowledge the ridiculousness of his suggestion, if the grin on his face is any indication. “Yes! For medical reasons, you know.” He mimes writing. “‘Patient’s cabin is dank and sad. To avoid bouts of misery, patient must sleep in the presence of the coolest and best and prettiest and most uplifting people in camp.’”

“Hm. Not sure Chiron’s gonna buy that last part. Not sure I buy that last part, actually.”

“Hey.”

Nico dodges Will’s shove, chuckling.

“Seriously, though, Will. This was never a long term solution, right?”

“I know. You’re cabin just — sucks so bad, man. No offense.”

“I take great offense to that, actually. My cabin is art.”

“Sure, Eddie Cullen.”

“I don’t know who that is, so that’s a horrible insult.”

“Travesty, honestly.”

Outside the open infirmary windows, Nico can hear distant, triumphant screaming, laughter, and the clang of metal. Today’s a good day. The weather’s balmier than usual, for late August, and some of the gloom that’s hung over everyone’s head for the bast few weeks seems to have lifted.

“You can’t go back to your cabin like it is,” Will says into the silence, startling Nico, “but —” he grins when Nico begins to protest, holding up his hand. “We can definitely change it up.”

He slides off the bench, botching his landing and almost sprawling on the floor. He holds a dramatic hand out to Nico when he rights himself. Nico ignores it, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet by himself.

“C’mon,” Will says, grabbing his hand anyway. Sparks shoot up Nico’s arm. “We need to go ask Chiron for the van keys and approximately five hundred dollars.”

———

Three hours is too fucking long to be in a vehicle. Especially when Will is driving, because all he does is play nonstop country music and let everybody cut in front of him.

“I’m driving us back,” Nico informs him as they (finally) get out of the stupid van, snatching the keys from his hands.

Will shrugs. “Sure.”

Nico had expected more of a fight, honestly. But he supposes neither of them are legally allowed to drive, age-wise, and besides, Nico technically has seventy years of driving experience on Will.

(…The Lotus had a racetrack.

Nico was very, very good at it.)

“What is this place, anyway?”

“This place,” Will says grandly, throwing an arm over his shoulders, “is essentially the mortal version of the Labyrinth, minus, you know, the soul-sucking terror.”

“Okay. All that’s telling me is that you have horrible ideas and we should leave immediately.”

Will rolls his eyes. “It’s a furniture store.”

“Well, then —” he punches Will’s shoulder, huffing when he only laughs. “Say that, then!”

“But then what would I do with all the drama in my heart?”

“Choke on it, hopefully!”

Ikea is weird.

Since Will did not tell him what the plan was, he didn’t draw up any plans. Luckily, Will has the dimensions of his cabin — although where he got them, Nico does not ask — so they spend an hour or so in the cafe drawing out a plan.

“You need more than two beds, Neeks.”

“Uh, no I don’t. Unless my father has something very important to announce to me, I need a bed for me, and a bed for Hazel.”

“What if I want to sleep over?”

“You can sleep on the porch.”

Mostly, they wander around the sets. Nico isn’t really sure what he wants his cabin to look like — he has to remind himself that yes, actually, he cares about the space he’ll be spending at least the next three years of his life in. It’s a startling reality, to have control over his own space. He must’ve had some say in his childhood bedroom, but he has no memory of it. He spent the most time in his and Bianca’s room at the Lotus, but that was already furnished when they got there, and besides, it only felt like they were there for less than a year. It always felt like a hotel room, never his room. Westminster was no different. His room in his father’s palace had already been designed, too. In fact he’d based his cabin on it.

What does Nico want his bedroom to look like, without someone else deciding for him?

“I’m not getting a fucking Lightning McQueen bed, Solace.”

“But it would be so sick! And look — it’s got little cubbies!”

“I’m going to ditch you, and shadow travel back to camp,” Nico threatens. “And I have the van keys, so you’ll be stuck here for real.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Will looks at him sternly, hands on hips. “No shadow travelling for you, Death Breath. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fade into nothing on my watch.”

“I’m joking,” Nico says, exasperated, but cannot deny the warmth that fills him up at Will’s concern.

In the end, he decides on a pretty normal bed. It’s bigger than Will’s bunk (“Or anyone else’s bed,” Will grumbles, “you lucky asshole.”), but not ridiculously designed. He picks a similar size for Hazel, only the frame is white, not black, and the bedspread that comes with it is a soft, coral pink that he knows she will like.

“Wanna see if they’ve got a Mythomagic bedspread for yours?” Will teases.

That would be the coolest thing ever in the entire world, Nico thinks, and is so embarrassed that he shoves Will, shrieking, into a giant basket of pillows for making him think it.

“Obviously I don’t want that.”

“You are such a turd! I’ll get you, di Angelo!”

He does not. Nico is way too sneaky for him, and after the fifth time Nico manages to give him the slip, he gives up, sulking in a display for a bedroom of a nine year old girl.

“Fitting,” Nico teases, gesturing to the princess wallpaper. “You drama queen.”

“Buzz off.”

Next, they look for furniture. It’s pretty easy — Nico doesn’t need much, and he’s not too concern with cut or style or anything. He quickly picks out two dressers, one to match Hazel’s bed frame, and one to match his, and then a couple bookshelves.

Four hours into their trip, Nico is exhausted. They have a three hour drive ahead of them, they’ve been out all day, and he wants to go home.

But Will stops him before they go get all the boxes for their furniture.

“This is still pretty bare bones,” he says quietly, then grins at his own accidental pun. Nico shoots him a venomous look, warning him against making it more obvious, and for once he actually listens. “You know, we’re still under budget. We’ve got around $200 left — we can get a motel, stay the night, then we don’t have to drive back right away. And tomorrow, maybe we can check out some other stores, look for smaller decorations and stuff. And if we don’t have to drive back tonight, we’ve maybe got another hour in here, if you wanted to get a couple more pieces.”

Nico opens his mouth to refuse — that’s way too much effort to spend on one person’s cabin, c’mon — then pauses, thinking about it.

Chiron hadn’t even thought about it before handing them the money. Will had barely gotten the words out before he’d started counting out the bills.

“I want you to make a home here,” the centaur had said, touching his hand. There was a pain in his kind eyes, stopping any protests. “I made a mistake, Nico, the first time you came here. In another life, you felt welcome enough to stay the whole time. Take what you need.”

What does he need? What does home look like, to him?

“There was a beanbag chair, in our room at the Lotus,” he says, pushing the words past the lump in his throat. “Me and Bianca used to fight over it.” His voice shakes. A tear gathers at the corner of his eye, and he blinks it back. “It wasn’t real fighting. When I called mercy she’d — scoop me up and throw me on it and squish in after me, and we’d sit together and play video games. Or read. She liked to read.”

Will squeezes his trembling hands. “We can get a beanbag chair.”

“And I — don’t like the blackout curtains. The dark makes me think of — the pit.”

“Okay. They sell lotsa lamps here, too. Might be nicer than the Greek fire.”

Nico nods. There’s — more, far more ideas, now, flooding his brain; Hazel crowding over him on a rug-covered floor, shrieking as he teases her about Frank; a desk tucked in the corner where Will sits, mouthing along to his textbooks as Nico sharpens his sword; Jason running his fingers along rows of books on a big, cluttered shelf; Reyna with her fist curled around her mouth, studying a chess board across from him, hair shining under the natural light from the window.

He can have that. He can have that.

Thankfully, all their stuff fits in the back of the van. Despite his insistence earlier, Nico hands Will the keys, and he drives around until he finds a shitty motel with a vacancy sign flashing out front. He pulls into the farthest corner of the parking lot, killing the engine, then waits.

“You okay?”

Nico shrugs. “I’m…not sure.”

“That’s okay,” Will assures, pressing a fleeting touch to his shoulder. Nico grabs his wrist before he moves away, tugging down his hand and linking their fingers together.

For once, it doesn’t make him feel all sparky. The warmth of Will’s hands is grounding, and so is the gentle squeeze, the smile he feels pointed in his direction.

“C’mon. Let’s check in and sleep, huh?”

Nico’s exhaustion compounds in the walk from the car to the lobby, so by the time Will is speaking quietly to the host, he’s half asleep, leaning on Will’s shoulder. He vaguely feels it when Will shifts his weight, sliding a hand around his waist to hold him better. He blinks and they’re standing in front of a door.

“Almost there, Death Boy,” he murmurs. “Hold on a sec.”

It takes him six separate tries to make the keycard work. He gets huffy when Nico snickers tiredly at him.

“Finally, yeesh.”

He guides Nico in, dropping the backpack he brought somewhere near the door. As soon as the bed is within Nico’s sights, he makes a beeline, barely remembering to shuck his shoes and jacket.

“Please do not sleep in your jeans.”

“Mmmfuck off,” Nico groans, already sliding under the covers. He’ll regret it in the morning, but whatever.

“Goober.” Callused hands brush through his hair, resting lightly on his forehead. “Goodnight, Nico.”

Nico’s out before he can even think to respond.

———

He wakes up, in the middle of the night, scream caught in his throat and heart pounding in his ears. The air smells like smoke and fear. The rushing of the Phlegethon is so loud it’s overpowering.

A loud snore knocks him back to reality.

Crawling desperately towards the source of the sound, he hangs over the bed, eyes adjusting rapidly to the dark to see a curled lump on the floor, head resting on his own hands. A quick glance behind him confirms the other half of the bed has been left untouched.

“Stupid,” he mumbles, tiny smile chasing away the last of his fear.

He tugs the blankets off the mattress, pulls off the two pillows, and joins his dumbass, selfless friend on the floor.

———

“Question,” Will asks, swallowing the last of their disgustingly delicious greasefest of a breakfast. “Were you alive when Walmart was invented?”

“I was alive before your great grandmother was.”

“No, I mean — were you out and kickin’. Have you strolled the endless aisles of corporate soullessness, basking in the wonder of American overconsumerism?”

“…You’re such a weird, particular person.”

Will looks delighted. “You’re a Walmart newbie!”

He pulls into the dead, cracked parking lot way too happily for this hour in the morning. Nico would even say he takes the nearest exit to get to the store gleefully. He is embarrassed for him.

Walmart is…underwhelming.

As stupid as it is, Will had hyped it up so much that Nico was almost a little excited. It just looked like any other basic superstore. Will, for whatever reason, seemed delighted by that fact.

“I do not like this store,” he explained when Nico asked, expression not matching his words, “it just means so very much to me that you are joining me in the misery of having experienced it.”

They spend more time than they mean to just dicking around. At one point they nearly get thrown out by management, because Will finds a pair of NERF guns that some child dug out of its packaging and no words need to be spoken. They gear up and scamper off, hunting each other through fluorescent-lights hell.

“Please just get your shit and leave,” says the very tired looking manager, and they have the good gall to at least appear embarrassed as they mumble, “Yes, ma’am.”

It doesn’t take long when they have their head on straight. They get some fairy lights, a couple cool posters, dorky little trinkets that Nico probably doesn’t need, per se, but what was he supposed to do, leave the little plastic crow skeleton behind?

Unlikely.

With his own money, Will buys several cans of paint and a CD. He explains neither of these purchases. The look on his face gets steadily more infuriating as they make their way through the line, and Nico really, truly considers leaving him behind.

The purchase of the CD becomes very obvious very quickly. Even though Nico is driving, and therefore Nico should get music control, Will pouts and pleads until Nico gives in and lets him play his stupid country album. He justifies his decision in his own brain by noticing the radiance of Will’s smile as he belts out the words, badly, at the top of his lungs. He then spends the rest of the drive back to camp convincing himself not to be embarrassed for having said thoughts.

They get back to camp about lunch time, and Will destroys any attempt for a subtle reentry by whistling the second they cross the property line.

“Austin! Kayla!” he hollers, making Nico jump. “Come help us unload!”

“We coulda done it ourselves,” Nico grumbles.

Will pats his head condescendingly. “It has been twenty-four long, long hours since I’ve bosses my siblings around, Neeks. I need this.”

It does go by quite a bit quicker with Austin and Kayla’s help. Lou Ellen, Cecil, Yan, and Gracie come to help, too, but Gracie’s too little to carry much more than a small desk lamp. Instead, they lay down the biggest box — Nico’s bed frame — and let her climb on top of it, carrying her like she’s a queen atop a throne back to Nico’s cabin. She has the time of her life, giggling to herself like a madwoman.

By the time everything’s unloaded, a couple hours have passed, and the Hades cabin looks like a clusterfuck.

“Maybe you stay in Apollo a couple more nights,” Will suggests.

“Might have to,” Nico agrees. Will looks inordinately pleased with himself.

All in all, it takes about two days to disassemble the old furniture, get rid of it, and start putting together the new stuff. Will helps for most of it, but he has a few shifts in the infirmary, so Nico ends up trying to do a fair bit on his own.

“May the wrath of Zeus come down upon this fucking piece of shit, no good, poorly designed garbage-looking idiotic mother fuc —”

“Maybe time for a break from furniture assembling?” suggests a voice, accompanied by a quick knock in the open door. Will leans on the doorframe, grinning, box propped up on his hip.

“Will, thank the gods,” Nico sighs, relieved. He angrily shakes a tool in his direction. “Allen wrenches are fucking useless. I’m three seconds away from throwing this through the window.”

“Definitely time for a switch, then.”

Will’s smile is wide and crinkles his eyes. He’s got dimples, too, Nico is now noticing, and then very rapidly un-noticing then because gods above that is a dangerous path.

“Did you and Rachel get into another prank war?” he asks, praying the flush on his cheeks goes away.

Will glances down at his paint-spattered clothes. “Nah, this is just my painting outfit. Why ruin more than one set of clothes, you know?” He sets down the box in the middle of the room, then heads for the half-built furniture sprawled all throughout the cabin, tugging it all towards the middle. Nico inches towards the box, curious, and finds it full of dozens of paint cans and brushes, including the ones he got at Walmart.

“I didn’t know you painted.”

He flashes another grin in Nico’s direction. This one has a little mischief to it, a little teasing. His stomach swoops.

“Gotta have at least one artistic talent or my dad would disown me. Help me tape down this tarp, will you?”

It takes them twenty minutes to prep the room, protecting the floor and the furniture. Once everything is ready, Will jogs over to the CD player he gave Nico a few days ago, flicking through the stack of CDs and choosing one at random. Soft opera music begins to float around the cabin.

“Okay,” he begins, clapping his hands, “first we need a base coat. Get the white paint and the rollers.”

It takes them the rest of the day, painting until dinner, then waiting past sunset for it to dry. Nico follows Will back to his cabin that night — he wouldn’t let him sleep around the paint fumes — and the two of them return the next morning, re-donning their paint-spattered clothes. Will braids his hair, this time, tucking the little pigtails behind a kerchief. It makes Nico smile every time he looks at him.

As much as he’s in painting clothes, Nico doesn’t really do much of the painting. He stays in the centre of the room, half assembling furniture, half watching Will bring his walls to life with more colours than he’s ever seen in one place.

Will doesn’t ask what Nico wants him to paint in his murals. Instead, Nico watches as the streets of Venice begin to unfold on one of the walls, bright and blue and exactly as he remembers, even though he knows for a fact Will has never been. The shining fruit of his stepmother’s garden is next, with a notable absence of the pomegranate tree, and then the hills of New Rome, the sunflower field in rural New York Nico used to visit, the Chinese mountainscape from the first big shadow travelling jump he ever made. Even the poplar forests of the Underworld, looking much kinder and livelier in Will’s rendition than in real life, with Mrs. O’Leary and Cerberus chasing each other through the flickering leaves. Beautiful, colourful, breathtaking scenes; Nico’s favourite places, Nico’s many homes.

“I get a lot of dreams,” Will admits, dragging a smear of rich purple near the ceiling. “You’re in a lot of them. These are the places you’re smiling, the most.”

“They’re beautiful, Will.” Nico’s throat is drier than any desert he’s ever been to. “Gods, they’re more beautiful here than they are in real life.”

“Liar,” Will teases, although his smile is shy.

Nico has never seen him smile like that. He’s seen a lot more of Will in these past few days, actually; his softness, his kindness, his love.

He has only knows Will for a little over a month, he thinks. But Will loves him. That much is obvious.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

His eyes are still trained on his work. He is on his tiptoes on a step stool, one leg extended precariously, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. The curve of his brush is careful, meticulous. Only the best for his friends, for Nico. That’s Will.

“Hey,” Nico says again, more urgently. He steps forward, wrapping his fingers around his wrist.

“Just a sec, Neeks, as soon as I’m done we can —”

Nico pulls until he loses his balance, falling into Nico’s arms. He stares into wide, blue blue eyes, for one second, two, then presses their lips together. Will’s squeak of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, hands sliding up his arms to cup his face, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh,” he sighs, eyelashes ticking Nico’s cheeks as they flutter close. “Oh.”

He melts into Nico’s hold. There’s a thunk and a crinkle as his paintbrush falls from his loose fingers, splattering onto the tarp, and paint-wet hands tangle into his hair. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“You love me,” he murmurs in between breaths, lips brushing Will’s with every word.

“Yes,” Will breathes. He kisses Nico again, and again. “A lot.”

“Good.” He’s not sure if it’s the paint fumes making him lightheaded, or the odd, slightly uncomfortable position, or the intoxicating, delirious feel of Will’s warm skin. He’s not sure if he cares. “Good.”

It’s not quite an I-love-you-too. The words won’t form on his tongue, so instead he tightens his hold, sending them that way, and presses closer, closer, closer.

Will smiles into the kiss.

He understands just fine.

#i could write an essay about how i think they’re dynamic would be immediately post three days in the infirmary #also i fit SO MANY of my personal headcanons in here hell yeah #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #gently falling in love #love #i’m tagging it bc. will loves so clearly in this one it kills me a little #fic #my writing #longpost

[anothermansjeans]

Kaleidoscope

aaron hotchner x f!reader

a/n: thank you to those who voted on the poll! i'll probably put up another one either tomorrow or the following day <3 inspiration from kaleidoscope by chappell roan !!

summary: to y/n, love is a kaleidoscope. as beautiful as it is, it's confusing and complicating, and it hurts so much.

warnings: not proof read </3 she's angsty (w/ a happy ending) mentions of guns, mentions of death (very little don't worry), mentions of throwing up, violence, hotch is a bit of a dick but he has redemption...?

word count: 3k

++

Love is a beautiful thing. It can bring light into your life. It's the brightest of colors, the most elegant of shapes. To put it simply, love is like a kaleidoscope.

Love is also a complicated thing. How it works– you'll never truly know. There’s change, but it also stays the same. It’s never confined to a shape alone. Again, in simple terms, love is like a kaleidoscope.

For Y/N, that was the easiest way to put it. When in love, it seemed as though her entire world shifted. It was a confusing and beautiful mess. The problem with this tilted and symmetrical mirror view though, was integrated in the blind spots. In Y/N’s case, that meant her judgment– one of the most integral aspects of her job as an FBI profiler.

She wasn't sure when she switched to her kaleidoscope view on life, but she knew it had to be around the time Hotch offered himself up as bait to the current unsub they were trying to catch. She was worried– she had a right to be. Her and Aaron had been together for a little over a year now– you could say they were in it for the long haul– and she didn't want to lose her love, her life, her future. She was on edge for the rest of the case, but the worst was the moment it was confirmed the unsub had Hotch.

The team was ordered to sit in the car. Stay in the car until they heard either the code word from Hotch or a confession from the unsub. Y/N knew to take orders seriously– she was almost as stern as Aaron at times when it came to protocol during undercover ops. The problem came when they could clearly hear things start to get rough and not only were they still missing a confession, but Hotch had yet to say anything. She was terrified. He didn't have his gun– the entire team knew he would've been searched the moment he walked in the high-end club the victims frequented– and the thought of him not being able to defend himself sent chills down Y/N’s body.

Again, she can't remember the exact moment it happened, but one minute she was in the passenger seat staring intently at the door to the club while listening in, and the next she sent a bullet through the unsub’s head.

She fucked up.

She knew she fucked up the moment Aaron made eye contact with her and behind the lividness, she barely found the love that resided. She wanted to explain herself. She wanted to tell him that the reason why she went in guns blazing was because he was going to get himself killed. She couldn't live without him. She didn't want to.

Unfortunately, that time never came. The moment they found themselves alone in the aftermath happened to be when the paramedic left Hotch after a quick check-up.

“You're lucky.”

His rough voice caused Y/N’s body that had been previously leaned against the ambulance to shift towards Hotch. “Excuse me?”

“You're lucky. If he wasn't the unsub and if he hadn't been assaulting me, you'd end up fired. Possibly arrested.”

“Aaron, you have to know–”

“You crossed a line.” His voice was raised, “when we got into this relationship we had a conversation. Keep it out of the field and away from the team until it is necessary for them to know.”

She scoffed at his words, “you're worried about the team finding out? We just had our one year anniversary two months ago. I live with you and Jack for God’s sake, Aaron. Your life is one of the most important to me– I would do it again if I had to.”

“You crossed a line,” he repeated, exasperation on his face. He was acting as if she wasn't understanding a word he said. “How the Hell am I supposed to trust you?”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised, “oh my fucking God.” She shook her head and turned her back to him, placing her hands on her head as she heard the low mumble she definitely wasn't supposed to hear.

“We were better when we were barely friends.”

What the actual fuck.

Tears began to burn in her eyes as she spun around and saw the look on Aaron’s face. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. She opened and closed her mouth twice before words spew out with a sob. “Well if that's what you want, agent Hotchner.”

She could barely look at him again, so she quickly walked away. She didn't speak to anyone. She sat alone on the jet ride back to Quantico and as soon as they hit the tarmac, she booked a hotel.

++

When the two mandatory days the team gets off ends, Y/N immediately calls out sick. The anxiety of having to see, hear, or even being in the same building as Hotch made her physically sick, and she was in no shape to be driving down to the office. She feels like a coward– she has this idea that a “strong woman” wouldn't just run away to a hotel when shit hits the fan. She thinks they'd stay and fight, or at least grab their stuff before leaving, but when she was in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet as the feelings from the last few days trek through her body, she realizes that she is a strong woman. She walked away from him. Albeit, she let him decide where their relationship stood after his snide comment, she was still the one to take herself away from the situation.

What he said hurt her. She knows she would follow his lead with whatever is decided in regards to their relationship. Even though it felt as if he made that decision right then and there. Even after the hurt that he caused her heart, body, and soul with his words, she always seemed to go back to her kaleidoscope view. Things seem to be changing… but they always stay the same.

++

She took another two days to herself. The second day in her hotel room was spent trying to gain the energy back she initially lost while her body found a temporary home on the bathroom floor, and the third was spent using her key to grab a few of her clothes from the home she shared with the Hotchner boys while Aaron was at the BAU and Jack was at school.

Jack. God, she didn't even want to think about how he may have been feeling. That boy felt like her own in every way that counted. She hopes Aaron broke it to him gently… whatever “it” is.

When she did come back to work, she was bombarded by multiple questions from the team regarding her whereabouts. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I must've gotten something during the last case.”

She spoke that lie with her full chest. She had to, especially in a room full of profilers.

When the interrogation was over, she was barely able to sit down before hearing the voice she had been dreading for almost a week. “Y/L/N.”

Hesitantly, she turned her head up to see Hotch at his office door. The nod of his head requested her to go in there and talk to him, and she immediately felt a turning in her stomach.

She counted as she walked up. Normally, she would be up there in less than thirty seconds. This time, she took a minute and forty two seconds.

“Yes?”

The look on his face looked pained with a mix of anger. “Why weren't you here? What if we had a case?”

“I was sick.” Her voice was soft. She really wasn't in the mood to fight.

“This is why we shouldn't have started any–” he cut himself off, a look of regret immediately flooding his face. “I meant that our relationship shouldn't be getting in the way of work. The team–”

“Aaron, I was really sick.” She was tired of his whole “the team” bullshit. Oh fucking well if they knew. “You know,” she continued as she stared at him, “throwing up in a hotel bathroom and all.” On instinct, his eyes not-so subtly panned down to her stomach, and a ball of fury must have risen up from the depths of Hell and found itself in her because maybe she was ready to fight. “Do not flatter yourself, Aaron.”

Her eyes were wild, and his paled expression knew he was about to have his ass handed to him. “I have no idea who you think you are. Yes, you are my boss, but you are– or were– my partner. Equals. You're allowed to get pissed with me, you're allowed to reprimand me as your subordinate, but you are not allowed to talk to me as if I foiled your little plan on keeping our relationship a dirty little secret to the team.” Taking a breath, she felt the tears she thought she had left back at the hotel make an appearance. “I understand wanting to keep things professional, but you lost that when you brought up our personal relationship in order to make me feel like shit in the field.

“I was terrified for you. Terrified! I never want to imagine losing you– Jack losing another parent, but that's all that went through my mind, and the fact that you're more worried about my professionalism, and me making the team realize we're together is extremely telling.” Feeling a sob making its way through her body, she spoke her next words with as much grace and dignity as she could muster. “I tormented myself these past few days thinking I was a coward running away from this fight, but I’m not. I’m letting you decide. Go ahead, be the coward, and I’ll find a way to understand. Maybe one day we’ll go back to barely being friends.”

She could barely make it out of his office before she completely broke down, and ran to the bathroom out of sight from everyone. However hard she tried though, the entire bullpen was able to see and hear her, and eyes immediately went to Hotch.

“What the Hell happened?” Morgan looked frazzled. No one has ever seen Y/N like this.

“Hotch, what’s going on?”

“Is Y/N okay?”

“Should one of us go to her?”

“Aaron.”

The last voice he heard was the one to pull him away from staring at where Y/N walked away to. Looking over, Rossi had a solemn expression and gestured to Hotch to follow him in his office.

“What's happening with you two?”

The question was a simple one really. Before the last case, Aaron would say that he and Y/N are happily in love. They found solace in one another, Jack loves her, he wants to marry her. He still does, that hasn't changed, but the moment he saw Y/N rush into the club putting everything at risk for him… it scared him. He knew he would have done the same thing, but seeing the way Y/N could so easily risk her job, her life, just to save him? He never wanted that to have to happen. So maybe the question was simple, but his true answer would be loaded.

“We’re together,” he opted out of explanation. He knew Rossi would understand.

“Yes, and?”

With furrowed eyebrows, Hotch tilted his head. Rossi had this look on his face as if it wasn't a shock that they were together. “and I screwed up.”

“How,” the older man was getting impatient.

Sighing, Aaron closed his eyes. “I said things. I made her feel bad and prioritized keeping us a secret and being professional.”

“You must not think we’re good profilers."

Aaron knew what he meant by that. The smirk on Rossi’s face said that he didn't even believe what he was saying. Deep down, he did entertain the idea that the team already knew about them, and the more he thought about that, the less and less his anger towards Y/N was originally rooted in spilling that secret.

When he hadn't said anything for a few moments, Rossi spoke again. “So what was the real issue?”

Shaking his head, Hotch scoffs. “She is so selfless at times it scares me.” Rossi’s silence prompted him to continue. “She risked so much going in that club and killing that unsub, but all she cared about was me. She told me she couldn't imagine Jack losing another parent and I just– it reminds me of Haley.”

A look of understanding washes over Rossi’s face as Hotch continues.

“This job kills, Dave. The only way I know how to compartmentalize when it comes to it is to stay professional and try not to think about the love of my life also there doing what I do and potentially getting herself killed. I don't think me or Jack could go through losing someone else.”

“Tell her that.” Rossi’s voice is stern. “Don't push away everything you two have built– which I’m assuming took about a year to build?”

“A couple months over.”

“And I’m assuming you love together seeing that none of us are ever invited over to your places,” the smirk on his face caused a light blush to appear on Aaron’s face. They really never were that subtle. “But Aaron, I think you're too old for me to say this but love is a crazy thing. It’s the nicest but also the most confusing thing. She will understand how you're feeling. It seems to me she already knows that feeling.”

Feeling a thousand times better but a million times worse after thinking about Y/N currently breaking down, Aaron makes a move towards the door to go find her, but is stopped when JJ gives both him and Rossi a weak smile.

“We got a case.”

++

It’s five days later and the case is still ongoing. Y/N’s been distant– rightfully so– and Hotch has been trying to find every moment possible to talk to her, but it’s dejectedly decided that won't be happening until afterwards. A break in the case had finally happened when they had come to the realization that the unsub had to be an officer on the case, and unfortunately that officer happened to be the one Y/N was currently riding with to a crime scene.

The team was at the precinct when Hotch’s phone rang, an incoming call from Y/N, and the dreadful sense of deja vu set in when he heard the voices on the other end.

“Where are you taking me?” Y/N asked. A slight panic could be detected in her voice.

“I told you… the next crime scene.”

“You'll never get away with it.”

The click of a gun could be heard and hot tears began to stream down Aaron’s face. “Try me, Sweetheart.”

“Garcia, we need that location,” Morgan could be heard behind him, but he was hyper focused on his phone. Mumbles and grunts were the only things heard on the speaker of Hotch’s phone followed by the sound of car doors closing. “Highland Bakery! Garcia says it's been abandoned for thirty years.”

Hotch was the first one out the door. It wasn't happening. Y/N would be safe. He refused anything otherwise.

When they reached the building Hotch had to remind himself over and over again to stay rational. He had to stay level headed and keep you safe, which is what he did. The moment the tact team went in there, Y/N was found half asleep, arms chained above her head, duct tape over her mouth, and cut marks along her legs. She was hurt, but she was safe. Hotch didn't even care about the unsub at that point, knowing the rest of the team was more than qualified to apprehend him. His main priority was getting Y/N to the paramedics as soon as possible.

Hours later sitting in a tiny hospital chair, Aaron held onto her hand for dear life. Her hand squeezed his, causing him to become vigilant, and when she opened her eyes, he immediately started to cry and brush her hair back. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Her voice was rough, and she sat up the tiniest bit before slightly moving her hand out of his.

His heart dropped once she did that, and the words began to flow out of his mouth. “I love you so much, please tell me you know that.” He waited a beat as she gently nodded, which he took as permission to continue. “I’m an ass. I said things that make me hate myself because you deserve so much more than that. I was scared. I'm always scared when it comes to you and this job, but something just snapped at that moment and I realized how much we risk for each other. You say you don't want to imagine losing me, well I can't imagine losing you. I am so in love with you and so please, I promise to not be an ass about it but I also need you to promise to be safe.”

They were both crying at that point. “I’m still upset about what you said.”

He nodded his head quickly, “which is expected and valid.”

“And you need to get over the team knowing.”

“Already done.”

She lifted an eyebrow and gave a slow nod. “And I need you to know that I love you too.” He laughed and pressed their lips together, only breaking away to catch their breaths. “Next time you offer yourself up as bait to an unsub,” she began, her voice just barely above a whisper, “please use the code word so that I don't have to hear you getting hurt.”

With their foreheads touching, he brushed their noses against each other. “How about one just for us? So we both know when to walk away.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Any word you want.”

Y/N took a moment before a small smile made its way on her face. “How about… kaleidoscope?”

“Kaleidoscope?”

“Yeah. It reminds me of you. Of love.”

Aaron smiles with her and slightly leans back in to fit their lips together. Love is a beauteous mess with every emotion reflecting off of those you love. Love is a kaleidoscope.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY!!!

[holysainz]

heating up - carlos sainz jr

pairing: carlos sainz jr x girlfriend!reader

warnings: none

summary: you convince your boyfriend to take on the hot pepper challenge … chili vs chili

You glance across the room at Carlos. Your boyfriend is sprawled across the couch, engrossed in a Spanish reality show. He’s so absorbed that he doesn’t notice the devilish smirk playing on your lips.

“Hey, Chili” you call, borrowing his nickname. It’s ironic given his pitiful tolerance for spicy food, a fact you’re planning to exploit.

“Yeah?” He replies, still glued to the screen.

You flash a grin, holding up your iPhone, “How about a hot pepper challenge?”

He turns, a horrified expression on his face. “You mean … on camera?”

You nod, savoring his almost cartoonish horror.

“Oh no. No, no, no,” he protests, shaking his head.

“But your fans will love it!” You argue. “Picture this: ‘Chili tamed by chili.’”

“Terrible pun,” Carlos grimaces but you know that he can’t deny you anything and see the resignation slowly start to spread across his face.

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!” You promise, flashing your most persuasive smile.

After a moment of consideration, he sighs. “Fine but if I end up in hospital, I’m blaming you.”

And that’s how you both find yourselves in your kitchen, surrounded by an array of intimidatingly red peppers of all shapes and sizes. You flip your phone camera on and your fans are immediately alerted to a new live stream.

“Hello everyone! As you can see,” you gesture to Carlos, who is eyeing the chili assortment with a mix of fear and determination, “I’ve managed to convince our very own Chili to join us in a hot pepper challenge.”

Carlos waves to the camera, forcing a smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s trying to kill me.”

Your fans are thrilled, flooding the comment section with laughing emojis and anticipatory messages. You decide to up the stakes.

“The loser has to do the dishes for the rest of the year,” you declare, raising an eyebrow at Carlos.

“Deal,” he agrees, much to your surprise.

You start off easy with some mildly spiced jalapeño poppers. Carlos manages it with just a few beads of sweat dotting his forehead. Then, you turn up the heat. Literally.

A red-hot habanero pepper is next. You both bite in. Carlos’ face goes from confident to confused to horrified in the span of seconds. Tears prick his eyes as he reaches for the milk … but you’re quick.

“Nope. No milk until the end,” you tease.

He glares at you but it’s short-lived as he doubles over coughing. You’re laughing so hard you can barely keep the camera steady.

The challenge continues, each round spicier than the last. Your fans are going wild, making their bets, offering their condolences to Carlos. Some suggest calling an ambulance preemptively.

Carlos, despite being a tormented, sweaty mess, hasn’t backed down. You’ve got to give him credit — his determination is astounding.

Finally, you reach the grand finale: the infamous Carolina Reaper. By now, Carlos looks like he might pass out but he stubbornly insists on going ahead.

“I’m not losing to a vegetable,” he states defiantly, glaring at the wrinkly red pepper as if his stare alone could send it up in flames.

The Reaper hits hard. You feel your own eyes watering but the sight of Carlos — eyes wide, face red, fanning his mouth frantically — is enough to keep you going.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, laughing between teary coughs and reaching for the milk. “I think that’s enough torture for today.”

Carlos doesn’t say a word, just snatches the glass and downs it.

Finally, he manages to croak, “I hate you.”

You’re still laughing. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m literally breathing fire,” he complains. “I think I might have been turned into a dragon.”

Your fans are cracking up, their comments buzzing with laughter and commiserations for Carlos.

Wrapping up the live stream, you turn to Carlos, whose mouth is now firmly wrapped around the spout of an entire carton of milk

“You okay there, dragon?” You ask, still giggling.

Carlos just glares, face half hidden by the carton, his expression only fueling your laughter. “You know, you’re lucky I love you,” he chokes out.

And despite your grinning and teasing, you know you’re even luckier to have him.

Your spicy challenge video goes viral, featuring in countless meme compilations. Your fans, ever the comedians, edit fire-breathing animations onto Carlos and photoshop his face into every relevant House of the Dragon scene they can get their hands on.

Carlos grumbles each time he sees the video but you notice the smile he tries to hide. He’s a good sport, and though he’ll never admit it, he enjoyed the chaos. Plus, he’s free from dishwashing duties until the end of the year so who’s the real winner here?

You smile, plotting your next challenge. After all, what’s the good of having an extremely memeable boyfriend if you can’t immortalize his best moments on video?

—

taglist: @musingsbyshreya

#f1 imagine #carlos sainz imagine #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader #f1 x you #carlos sainz x you #f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #f1 fic #carlos sainz fic #f1 fluff #carlos sainz fluff #f1 fanfic #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 blurb #carlos sainz blurb #f1 fanfiction #f1 one shot #f1 drabble #scuderia ferrari #f1 fandom #formula 1 #f1blr

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Some Fluff, Talk of Death/Afterlife, Suggested Depression, Suggested Self-Harm, Suggested Breakdown, Suggested Anxiety, Light Smut

Word Count: 3.7K

“I recognized you instantly. All of our lives flashed through my mind in a split second. I felt a pull so strongly towards you that I almost couldn't stop it.” ― J. Sterling

It was a hot and humid day. The type of days Miguel hates the most in September because the heat made him uncomfortable and the humidity made his hair frizzy and lose its shape. It was even worse while sitting in a stuffy classroom with ACs that never worked. The rooms were always filled with the strong smell of teenage bodies and dust from janitorial neglection over the summer months. In addition, the beginning weeks of school were a bore with nothing to actually do but sit there and listen to underpaid teachers repeat the same school rules they hear in the beginning of every school semester. 

He was sure he was about to fall asleep at that moment. The heat made him drowsy and the monotone voice of his teacher morphed into white noise. It was nearing the end of the day anyways, and too early into the school year for any teachers to give enough of a shit to write anyone up. He couldn’t take another second of school expectations and the disgusting mix of AXE body spray and floral perfume. But, now when he thinks back on that boring class, he can’t take it on himself to fully hate it. Because, in the same second that he looked toward the clock above the door to check the time, his life changed forever. 

It was instant. Maybe not instant instant, but it was just quick enough to call it instant. She had come in late. Very late with a chest that heaved and tried to keep her rapidly beating heart in her body. Sweat made the front pieces of her hair stick to her face, flushed from the way she had run down the hall to make it to class. Of course, in that moment Miguel found her less than ideal, but he knows now that even in that stuffy school uniform the academy mandated every student to wear, she was the most beautiful goddamn thing that walked the entire earth. And when she spoke to give her name for attendance, a voice and name that will haunt Miguel until he takes his last breath, he knew their lives would be forever intertwined. 

That thought was concrete the second you had walked down the same row of desks as him, stopping at the desk directly in front of him. The smell of sweetness and a bit of sweat, a smell that only comes to him in the early mornings when he isn’t really awake or asleep, instantly overpowered any other smell in the room. If he skips ahead, he can remember nearly every instance in which he leaned his stomach against the hard edge of the desk to get a stronger smell, everytime he held up a piece of your hair to his face, everytime he snuck out of your bedroom window smelling like you after spending the night making love. But, Miguel is a man who follows a strict timeline, who revels in the chronological order of things. 

Instead, he focuses on the first time he had the chance to talk to you. Despite you being only a desk away, it took a few months to hold an actual conversation that was more than, “Do you have an extra pencil?” or “Did you write down the last bullet of that slide?” Despite the lack of communication, the younger Miguel had developed a slight crush on you. He had seen you in the halls between classes and he focused more on you than on the board in class. In all honesty, the delay in conversation was purely your fault. You were an energetic girl, not popular but well known. Someone was always talking to you at your desk in the beginning and end of class. Always laughing with you about something stupid that happened early that day, always asking for help for an upcoming test or assignment, always taking up your time. He could never be mad about it, though. Even if it meant he had lost an extra few months with you. It was okay because even if those months weren’t with you, they were of you. Months filled with the sound of your voice, the addicting sound of your laugh, the glimpses of your smile and shiny eyes. Moments that fill his head when he sleeps at night and when he gets lost in a daydream. 

You had turned to him, asking him about some party one of his friends at the time was planning because he had turned 18. They’re simple, small questions: “What was the address again?”, “Anyone is invited, right?”, “What’s the dress code? Is there a theme?”, “Are you going?”. He had to bite his tongue to stop from scaring you off with manic answers. Yes, anyone is invited but don’t bring some random guy with you. Bring me with you instead. The dress code doesn’t matter because you’ll look stunning in anything you wear. I only want to go if you go. 

“You… only want to go if I go?” You had asked. Your voice was decorated with a confused giggle and your ears had glowed pink. 

Miguel blinked up at you with his own confusion. He had yet to realize his last words had bubbled out of his chest until you were giggling and eyeing him shyly. He was quick to cover his face as it grew warm, and he let out a groan while cursing himself. You had laughed harder then, eyes shining with a build-up of tears as you clutched your stomach. Miguel had spread his fingers slightly so he could peak through them. You were a sight to behold with that enchanting laughter and infatuating smile. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling against his palms. When you had finally reduced your amusement to a toothy smile, you had gently pried Miguel’s hands off his face just enough to see him. 

He was sure he looked stupid, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide over the fact you were touching him. Your hands were warm and small against his and he swore his heart was trying to rip open his chest so it could run to you. He almost went dizzy when your thumb stroked his hands in a comforting manner in hopes of easing his embarrassment. He had never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. Would you have minded? God he really hoped you wouldn’t.

“Miguel?” You sang, a teasing smile on your face as you looked at him, “Are you there?”

Say it again. Say my name again, please. You’re the only person ever allowed to say it ever again. God, he was losing his mind. He still is losing it over you. Every goddamn day. Miguel doesn’t think he’ll ever get it back. You took it from him. His mind, his body, his soul. You took everything from him. It’s yours. It’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

Please, give it back to me.

When he had finally responded to you, your smile had shone brighter and you asked him a question that still leaves his mind dumbstruck when he thinks back on it: What time do you want to pick me up? He remembers the way his breath flew out of his lungs, how his heart had paused and then started running again. Remembers the way your throat bobbed slightly, probably because you had regretted asking the question or maybe, he hopes this is why because he never thought to ask you, maybe because you were nervous too. Just maybe you had wanted to talk to him before this life altering moment. Maybe, somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were tied to this fool of a boy too. 

He had stuttered out a pathetic ‘what?’ and you had rolled your eyes playfully in response. You ditched repeating the question and had instead given him a time and your address before getting up as the bell rang. While you walked out the door with a small wave and big smile, Miguel sat there in an astonished daze blinking at the board. Time seemed to stop as everyone else around him started walking past him to their next classes. It wasn’t until his friend walked past, jolting him with a slap on the back and a whispered, ‘good work, dude’ before walking out the door that he came back to his senses. It was only then that the conversation finally registered in Miguel’s dazzled brain. He leaned forward and hid his face in his hands again as he closed his eyes and his mouth formed a large smile. 

He had a date. He had a date with you.

His shoulders shook with a silent, delirious laugh.

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Miguel knew he was in love. Or, he knew he was going to be in love. It’s complicated to describe, that nagging feeling that wasn’t exactly scary but wasn’t completely comforting either. It’s even weirder feeling it. Having your mind constantly crying out go home, go home, go home but your body pulls you away from every building and straight towards another body like you’re tethered together. Like he’s tethered to you. Sometimes, when Miguel closes his eyes and really concentrates, he can still feel that sharp tug at the center of his chest that tries to bring him somewhere that he tries to get further and further away from. 

He can’t lie and say it wasn’t the big things that made him think, know, he was in love. Because it was. But it was also the small things. Like when you found out what his favorite color was, yellow despite popular belief, and how you had come into school the next week with your nails done in the exact shade you had made him show you on his phone. Or that time he had seen your phone light up in class and your display had revealed that you were listening to the same song he was mumbling under his breath the day before on repeat. It was the collection of those small details that made his heart beat a bit faster and for his smile to tick up behind his hand.

And it was that first kiss. That damned first kiss that Miguel can still feel ghosting against his lips. That he feels on his bad days like some sort of silent encouragement that he will get through it. Swears those phantom lips are what pulls him out of his night terrors as if to protect him as he pants and cries in those late hours. The same kiss that he wishes he could feel forever and ever and simultaneously burn from memory. Sometimes, he thinks about pulling some poor, unsuspecting stranger off the street and kissing them to see if it would feel the same. When he thinks like that, he instantly goes to the bathroom and dry heaves until his throat hurts. Of course it would never feel the same, what a silly idea. What a betrayal and discourtesy towards you to even entertain the idea. 

The kiss had happened weeks after the party. In between those two moments had been brushed hands, glances in the hallways, and not so subtle flirting whispered during lessons. Each moment had Miguel’s face flushing and heart racing. It left him with a craving for you. So, when you had invited him to study with you in the library, he had eagerly nodded despite knowing he would ace the test without looking over any of his notes. He would be too busy looking at you either way to focus on his chicken scratch. 

You hadn’t gotten much studying done that day either. Instead, Miguel had distracted you with whispered words in your ears that caused you to quietly giggle and smile up at him. He can remember every detail. From the way your cheeks grew to match the pink of your lips, how you had fiddled with the mechanical pencil in your hand, how your eyes had twinkled as you leaned towards him. He remembers how you had grabbed his hand, a soft and gentle touch, asking him to come with you to find a book you needed. Remembers how you had pulled him towards the back shelves filled with encyclopedias with bug-bitten pages. Can still remember the slight dizzy feeling he had when you pulled him around one of the old bookshelves and pressed him into it. Can still feel the hands pressed against his chest to hold him in place as you peaked around the corner in case anyone was coming over. He remembers the notes he chuckled as he asked you what you were doing. Can see the smile you gave him before you pulled him down for the only kiss that will ever matter in his entire life. 

Your lips were soft and tasted like the cherry lip gloss you wore. He had furrowed his brows as his hands came to squeeze your waist while he moved his mouth over yours. He memorized the trail your hands took as they traveled up his chest and tangled in his hair. He can replicate the way his vocal cords shifted as he let out that satisfied groan when you allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth. If he were to look down at his hand right now, he could swear the creases of his palms still have your sticky gloss stuck in them from when he had turned you around to press you against the shelves, but his desperation caused books to fall and his hand went to cover your mouth as you pulled away and started laughing. He had smiled down at you and buried his head in the crook of your neck to muffle his own laughter. He never regretted getting detention for the next few days when the librarian had found the both of you. It just gave him more chances to kiss you when the detention instructor fell asleep. 

It was during one of those detention kisses that he had whispered against your lips to be his girlfriend. You had answered with another kiss and a delighted yes.

☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆

It had been a month or two after the one year anniversary that he finally made love to you. It was sometime in the later months of senior year. Another hot and humid day. But instead of being in a classroom, he had been in your room. Miguel remembers that your sheets had been white with a small flower print, throw pillows and blankets making up for the lack of color. They were soft under the material of his jeans as he held you while you cried. 

On that day, your usually clean room was in shatters. Things ripped from your walls, notebooks and papers shoved off your desk, clothes taken off hangers and thrown on the floor. The only things that had survived had been pictures of the two of you and your bed. He had gotten a call from your frantic mother, begging him to come calm you down. That he was the only one that can get through the fog in your mind. He had rushed over, your mother opening the door for him so he could run up the stairs to your room. When he had thrown open the door, his chest broke in a way that made it almost impossible to breathe. He rubs his chest whenever he thinks back to it, like the heartbreak is still there.  

You had thrown yourself in a corner, sobbing and rocking yourself back and forth in a way to seek comfort. The mess of your room had surrounded you, barricading you from everything else. When the door knocked into the wall, your face had left your arms and tear-beaded lashes blinked up at him. You had cried harder when you had seen him. He had strived towards you, picking you up easily off the ground and away from the chaos on your floor. He cradled you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his hips as you cried tears into his T-shirt. He had whispered soft, caring words into your ear, an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand in your hair. 

You had cried for another hour, hiccuping watery words about a scary future. A life of uncertainties and insecurities. A life where you ended up alone and scared and desperate to get by. A world where dreams don’t exist and your greatest fears consume you. Days where you don’t know how to get out of bed and shut up the nasty voices in your head. Minutes where you’re tempted to listen to them and then the hours that follow where you hate yourself for contemplating it. If Miguel were to go into his closet right now, he can find the same shirt he wore. A single shoulder lingering with black splotches of mascara that never fully washed away. Each splotch represents a worry you had trusted him with. 

He had pressed you closer to him, whispering ‘it’s not your fault’, over and over and over again until his throat ached and your cries had died down to soft trembling. Another hour was spent in silence as he had just held you. His hands playing mindlessly with your hair and your breath tickling his neck. The sun had begun to set and a golden glow had lit up your bed in a yellow color.

“It’s your favorite shade,” You had whispered in a broken voice. It was scratchy and rough. Miguel thought it sounded just as lovely as it always has. It reminds him of a pipe organ, beautiful but sad. 

He had to turn around to see what you were talking about. He turned his head slightly to see your hand outstretched, fingers playing as the light spilled from them. He can’t remember a time where you looked so peaceful. He had watched your hand, before nodding his head in agreement. “Yes, it is.”

He reached his hand out, taking a hold of yours gently and connecting his fingers with yours like a puzzle. He brought his hands back towards the both of you, bringing it up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. He watched your eyes, red and puffy from crying. He held your hand to his mouth for a while, his thumb stroking the skin. When he had finally dropped your hand, you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his, just staring into his eyes. Your scent instantly filled his nose. It is the same smell that he has stored in his bedside drawer in a glass bottle. He never sprays it in his room, just holds it to his nose with closed eyes and pretends you’re right next to him again.

“I love you.” The words were sweet and poured warmth onto his skin. He closed his eyes and sat there, letting your words echo in his head until he memorized how each letter and syllable sounded when it left your lips. 

Miguel remembers the strength he used to grab your waist as he connected your lips to his. Remembers that the kiss was different from any other kiss the two of you had shared before this. He still can’t describe why it was different, but he can still feel it in his bones. He remembers pushing his body into yours and you pushing back. Even though his eyes were closed in the moment, he can see everything clearly in his mind, as if he were a phantom watching it. Can see the exact placement of your hands on his shoulders, can see the way your lips parted and the soft noise you made when he had flipped the two of you over and laid you on your back. 

Those soft, soft noises that split his chest open so his heart can absorb them and keep them safe. He remembers every soft pant and plead you had whispered into the air of your room as he stripped you of your clothes, kissing trails down your body. The giggle you had let out when he almost tripped taking off his pants is still trapped between those plaster walls. The soft feeling of your skin under his was like a cloud, your body warmth the sun. He remembers the halo your hair made as the dying sunlight bathed your face and caused your eyes to shine and for your skin to glow. He remembers the light dimming from your face as he slid slowly into you. He had immediately apologized as you whimpered in temporary pain. 

He had slowly moved inside you, taking his time as you held him close to your body. The soft moans of his name traveled through shivers that rode down his spine, the sounds quiet to not alert your parents. His response was the repeated saying of I love you, over and over again. He repeated it, looking down at your face, into your eyes, so you could see the realness and vulnerability of the words. He made sure you felt it as he grabbed onto your skin and buried his head into your neck as he thrusted. He felt the love you had for him in every scratch down his back and tightening of your walls around him. 

He remembers trying to hold on to his pleasure before it exploded right after yours. He had panted as he looked down at you, your breaths mixing together. He had kissed you softly as he pulled his softening member out of you and you smiled against his lips. He had laid with you for a while before getting up, grabbing his discarded shirt and wiping you down before taking you into his arms again and falling asleep. He held you close to his chest, both of you naked under your blankets as the moonlight glowed against the two of you. 

The next morning, he drove you to the closest drug store. The both of you walked to the counter smelling like each other as he paid for a Plan B pill and snacks. It was a story you and him laughed about on the rooftop of your house the night you both graduated from Pym Academy.

CHAPTER 2- THEN: THE CANON

#miguel o'hara #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #across the spiderverse smut #atsv miguel #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara x reader smut #miguel ohara #miguel o hara angst #spiderman 2099 angst #time and clocks series⏳ #original story #miguel ohara angst #angst #love story

[furiarossa]

"Danny looked down, thinking. Only then did he notice an inscription on the pedestal holding the three statues. “Madeline Walker | Vlad Masters | Jack Fenton The ghost friends honor them, April the 3rd, 1983: For the heroic saving of our lives" «They… they never told me anything» Danny looked at the statue, then at Skulker, then back at the statue «Why?»."

Okay, this lineart is so good that inspired a scene in me (I wrote it, even though I practically never write in English) and TWO different color versions.

7th submission for the @green-with-envy-phandom-event! This is a collab: the lineart was created by the awesome @ecto-stone, while we did the color. 

Alternative (golden) version + ficlet under the cut!

Danny approached the sculptural group, vaguely in disbelief. At first he didn't really understand what he was seeing... he just had the feeling that it was something familiar, that the shapes of those greenish bodies reminded him of something. There were three people, dressed like ghostbusters, with tools and protective goggles. There were also other details, rays and small figures.

Danny squinted. One of the three was too similar to his father... but younger, with more hair, with a cheeky smile. So the other two, they were... yes, he had only seen them like this one other time, in a photograph from their college days, but... they must have been his mother Maddie and Vlad Masters.

It was quite impressive, to see a statue of three people he knew so well as adults, but immortalized forever, frozen in time, as the version of them that had been real only years before.

«Why is there a statue of them in this place?» He asked Skulker «They are ghostbusters, why did you immortalize them here, in the Ghost Zone?».

Skulker looked up at the sculptural group, his gaze unreadable, machine-like. But his silence, which lasted a few moments too long, spoke for him.

«It's a celebration» He said «From the times of the ectoquake. We all risked dying... or losing all the information in our cores, due to altered magnetism» he touched his chest with his large gloved hand «We would have forgotten who we are, we would have become a bunch of babbling ectoplasms devouring each other to survive, unable to recognize ourselves. A fate worse than death».

Danny looked down, thinking. Only then did he notice an inscription on the pedestal holding the three statues.

“Madeline Walker | Vlad Masters | Jack Fenton

The ghost friends honor them, April the 3rd, 1983:

For the heroic saving of our lives"

«They… they never told me anything» Danny looked at the statue, then at Skulker, then back at the statue «Why?».

Skulker pulled his gun from the holster, a handkerchief from his back pocket, and began cleaning it. That gesture worried Danny, but the other ghost didn't seem to want to attack him.

«They never told you anything because they don't know anything» Skulker revealed, speaking in a low voice «They themselves asked for their memories to be erased»

«Why?» Danny shook his head «Vlad certainly wouldn't have thrown away the opportunity to be adored as someone's savior»

«You know nothing about Vlad» Skulker's voice was thick, sticky, full of menace. Danny realized that they had never talked about Vlad before: how had he and Skulker met? What did they think of each other?

«Vlad wouldn't let anyone, not even himself, see him as a hero» The ghost hunter continued, moving the cloth more rapidly on the butt of the gun, as if he was trying to remove a stain «That's not what he does. But on that distant day… he and your parents saved the lives of all of us. They saved the entire Ghost Zone ecosystem»

«My parents probably did all the work and he joined the group only to take the glory» Danny snorted

«You don't know anything» Skulker said slowly

«I know Vlad quite a bit»

«No. You are a fourteen years old boy who thinks he knows how things go, but he doesn't. I've known him for twenty years, and you for... how long? Less than a year? And most of the time you just argue like two children»

«The fact that he fights with a fourteen year old» Danny pointed to his chest «I think already says a lot about him»

«He's training you, brat. For my part, if I could I would have taken your head off a long time ago... but he saved you, remember?».

Danny blinked. Yes, the first time they had seen each other… he had been trapped in the cube, powerless, with only his head sticking out, like a trophy. And Skulker would have gladly used his new blade on him, if it hadn't been for Vlad, who had stopped him.

«He's only doing it because he wants to have me as his son» Danny muttered

«Doesn't sound like a bad reason to me» Skulker growled.

For a few moments, there was silence. Only the movement of the ectoplasm could be heard, like the riptide of the sea in a bay, there wasn’t even the sound of breathing.

«So...» Danny, who had no intention of arguing with Skulker, continued «What's this about the ectoquake?»

«It's something that... happens» explained the ghost hunter «Every now and then. It's not exactly cyclical, but almost. And anyway, you can predict it, but you can't stop it. An ectoquake is the most terrible circumstance the community can experience: it not only destroys the lairs, but also the physical forms of the ghosts and their memories. It is a magnetic storm of such magnitude that it destroys everything it touches, rearranges it and turns it into something different. Every time an ectoquake occurs, thousands of species disappear forever and those who survive become mindless cannibals. It takes years for species to re-evolve and for ghosts to regain a minimum of reasoning»

«Wow. It really sucks...»

«Indeed. Usually very few ghosts survive: those who have access to a portal and can escape into the material world, for example. You get out of here» Skulker pointed up, as if there was a ceiling (which wasn't there) «The ectoquake can't get you. But the problem is that ectoquakes can also be predicted by humans»

«And so?»

«And so the ghost slayers remain stationed outside any natural portal, trying to kill every ghost that is escaping. It's a sealed fate»

«The ghost slayers?» Danny wrinkled his nose «I've never heard of them...»

«You're used to seeing those ridiculous ghostbusters... the Guys in White, those bad copies of Mystery Incorporated, your parents... but there are real monster hunters out there, with real weapons capable of blowing your head off. They don't go hunting for flying kids, they want to collect large quantities of ectoplasm at once, and to do so they predict ectoquakes and capture and kill those who escape»

«Terrifying».

Even though he was in his ghost form at the moment, Danny still felt goosebumps. Perhaps his ectoplasmic body simply remembered the reactions of his flesh body, or perhaps the idea disgusted him enough to change the surface composition of his ghost.

«At that time I was… little. Small. In the physical sense of the term» Skulker seemed a little embarrassed at this revelation, but he didn't stop recounting «I didn't have the armor yet, I was a small and defenseless body, and I managed to get out early, without the ghost slayers noticing. The ectoquake was a month away. But I was captured by them» he pointed to the three statues «They were in college and still studying, they weren't dangerous. Maddie and Jack wanted to dissect me, study me and then kill me» Skulker's voice softened «Vlad begged them not to do it. He saved my life»

«I can't imagine it»

«Too bad for you, kid. Too bad that you can't imagine that your parents, exactly as they do today, try to destroy the ghosts, while Vlad, exactly as he does today, helps me»

«Touché»

«I told them about the ectoquake. And they did something incredible: they built a portal for the first time. Not that little thing that would later destroy Vlad's life: a real portal, bigger than all the others. Huge, inside an abandoned building. Six meters in diameter, so that ghosts of any size could fit through. No ghost slayer expected us to escape from there, because they didn't know that portal existed. And then they invented something else, the Fenton thermos, a device capable of capturing ghosts, with which I was able to collect and transport the slowest or weakest ghosts, or those who were too afraid, into the material world» Skulker frowned «When the ectoquake came, the damage to the Ghost Zone was incalculable, but… but we didn't have to start from scratch. There had been many casualties, but many of the plants and animals were safe, my friends and I were still sane, we were fine. We had spent all the necessary time inside the abandoned building. Some inside the thermos, others free… we were all alive. Thanks to them: Madeline, Jack, Vlad»

«I… I didn't know. Why didn't I know?»

«I’m telling you, they don't remember anything»

«Why?»

«They knew ghost slayers were dangerous, boy. They knew they might have let some information slip: how to build the portals, where the escape route they'd created for us was. They decided together that they would forget it. There is one of us who can make wishes come true...»

«Desiree»

«Yes, exactly, Desiree. To protect us all, they wanted to forget what happened»

«Couldn't you just wish the ghost slayers would stop hunting you? Or that ectoquakes didn't exist?»

«You have a skull as thick as a bison's» Skulker placed his index finger on Danny's forehead «Do you really think ghost slayers are stupid? They are protected by amulets, ghost powers do not work on them. As for ectoquakes, they cannot be avoided in any way, they are an integral part of the Ghost Zone!»

«Well, yeah, I didn't know» Danny's cheeks turned a light shade of green.

Skulker withdrew his hand and approached the sculptural group, placing his hands on the pedestal. «Their heroism, their intelligence, their sacrifice… we will never forget them. They have already forgotten them» He sighed «It's a real shame that Madeline and Jack betrayed him and abandoned him like this. He didn't deserve it. Together they could have conquered the world, obtained everthing, but instead...»

«They didn't betray and abandon him!» Danny exclaimed

«You weren't there, ghost boy. How would you know?» Skulker looked at him over his shoulder, a single green eye visible, luminescent like a light bulb «You should listen to the story as told by others too. And maybe even your stupid parents would be ready to admit what they did to him. You weren't there, but I was. And I don't wish for anyone to see what I saw».

Danny looked up at the statue, feeling a myriad of emotions boiling inside him. An invisible hand squeezed his stomach. He didn't know about this, about how they had become heroes of the Ghost Zone… what was there that he still didn't know about them?

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

(I will definitely expand this thing later... for now, you got the idea XD).

Aaand here there is the golden version (of course there are gold statues of the saviors, somewhere!):

[Oh, and a lot more of our Danny Phantom fanarts: Here’s our tag!]

★ Instagram|Facebook|FurAffinity|Deviantart|Commission prices|★

#greenwithenvy2024 #danny phantom #maddie fenton #jack fenton #vlad masters #skulker #collab #collaboration #digital art #digital drawing #colored lineart #art #my art #fanart #my fanart #ecto-stone #my danny phantom #there's some writing in it! #sorry English is not my first language #still I tried my best #2024

[animentality]

you know what hurts worse than gortash admiring durge so much only for durge to forget him? the fact that it was mutual. durge admits in the prayer for forgiveness note that they admire gortash but in that note they were trying to reassure bhaal they would stick to the plan and kill him and then themselves, but what if.. they were lying? what if their devotion to total slaughter was shaken, and they had started thinking about a life with gortash?

the chosen of bhaal is supposed to devote their entire being to bhaal’s will and then die happily upon his altar, but durge found gortash, and found an equal. someone to lie for. someone to live for.

but of course that change in their behavior, that life changing admiration that neither of them could hide or deny, would be durge’s fall from grace. orin noticed. how could she not? they were hardly subtle. and finally she had an opening, a nick in the armor she could use to usurp her sibling. they had a weakness in the shape of enver gortash.

Listen anon, the idea that the Dark Urge might've had misgivings about their role as the Chosen of Bhaal and the Scion of Bhaal HAUNTS me.

This is why durgetash appeals to me so much.

It humanizes the Dark Urge SO MUCH. It makes them a real fucking person and not just some edgelord murder hobo. It gives them fucking depth.

The idea that Orin was only able to kill them because she used their affection for Gortash against them? Fucking brilliant. It was their loyalty to Gortash that made her resentful, and it was that same loyalty that would be their downfall.

The notion that perhaps they actually LET her kill them because they knew Gortash could handle her, in the way he could never handle killing them? Also fucking brilliant. They died to save him...only to come back, and deliver the killing blow themselves.

It's fucking Shakespearan, anon!!!

The dramatic irony is so fucking brilliant that I could froth about it for days!!!

URGH.

They'll never confirm these things though. And that's fine.

I'm smarter than everyone. I know what's good.

And THAT's good.

DURGETASH. But OUR durgetash, not theirs. The durgetash we hold in our bleeding palms.

And yes.

The dramatic irony of...we didn't know two vicious creatures could find something so soft within us. We weren't made for it. We didn't know what to do with it, so we tore it apart with our teeth. And then we didn't even get to mourn the loss together.

Only one remembers. The other isn't aware that they've lost something.

And that is more heart breaking than simply losing a beautiful thing.

#enver gortash #dark urge #durgetash

[autisticlancemcclain]

When Keith nonchalantly announces he’d found an apartment twenty minutes away and is moving out, Shiro’s heart drops to his feet. He’s so shocked that he nearly drops the spoon he’s using to feed Hana, barely managing to catch it and smearing mashed carrots on her cheeks instead.

Oops. Sorry, kiddo.

His first thought, of course, is oh, shit. Keith thinks he’s being replaced with the baby. He’s moving away because he feels unloved. I am a horrible brother slash father. What have I done.

Luckily, he manages to not say that embarrassing shit out loud, choking out instead a forced “sounds awesome, buddy!” and trying not to cry.

Yeah, that doesn’t go well. Keith is taking his time moving out, taking a few boxes at a time over several days so he doesn’t have to pay for a mover, enlisting Adam’s help to find some decent Craigslist furniture. Shiro has to lock himself in the bathroom no less than nineteen times to cry about it.

It was no big shocker that Adam gets real tired of that real quickly. Shiro was not the only one all mopey, apparently, as evidenced when Adam stomps down the stairs after putting Hana down for a nap, dragging Keith by the ear, and shoving both of them into the kitchen with a set jaw and his patented Glare of Judgement.

“Both of you are so, so stupid,” he says, which is not an uncommon occurrence but does make both of them protest at the exact same time. Adam holds up a hand, silencing them.

“Shut up. Listen to me. Both of you have been moping around my house —”

“Our house,” Shiro mutters petulantly, which does him approximately zero favours.

“— my house for days, crying to me about oh, Adam, he’s disappointed in me, he’s mad at me, what if I made a huge mistake, blah blah blah.” His arms migrate from crossed over his chest to resting sharply at his hips, and his glasses have slid down his nose.

Keith and Shiro share a fleeting, panicked glance. Adam looks ready to cook them both in a stew and feed them to the hungry, as he often says when he’s on his last nerve.

“I am tired of this miscommunication nonsense. I am going to cook you both into stew and feed you to the hungry if you don’t use your words like grownups,” he snaps.

Case in point.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Adam,” they both say hastily.

Adam huffs. “Good. I am going to go nap with Hana. When I wake up, I better see smiles and excitement, or else. Goodbye.”

With that he stalks off, not glancing back even for a second, completely confident that they would be staying exactly where they were and doing exactly what he asked.

That confidence is not misplaced. Shiro got very, very lucky, in that he married a man who could hype him up just as fast as he could whoop his ass into shape with one look.

It is, if Shiro is being entirely honest, a little bit hot.

“Ew,” Keith complains, even though Shiro is sure he hadn’t spoken aloud.

“You don’t need to say it out loud. I’ve been living with you for twenty fuckin’ years, man. You think I don’t know what it looks like when you’re being a simp?”

“Oh, shut up, you little snot,” Shiro says, snapping forward quick as a whip and securing his brother in a headlock.

“Twenty year old big shot, huh?” he teases. “Big man, now?”

Keith thrashes in his hold, raking his nails down Shiro’s arm, but the little dumbass has seemingly forgotten that Shiro has also spent twenty years with him, and knows damn well to accost Keith with his prosthetic limb only lest he want to lose his other arm to Keith’s freakishly sharp teeth.

“Let go of me, you goober!” Keith shouts.

Shiro hums. “No. Also, shut up. You’re going to wake the baby.”

Keith growls, and then before Shiro can prepare himself he’a airborne, flipped right over Keith’s head, narrowly missing the counter as he slams down on the hard kitchen tiles.

The air whooshes out of him with a groan. He suddenly very much feels every single one of his thirty-eight years.

“Take that, old man,” Keith taunts, grinning brightly. “I win.”

Shiro pushes himself into a sitting position with a wheeze, glaring playfully across the kitchen at his dumbass little brother, who mirrors him, leaning against the dishwasher.

“You got lucky, you brat. Try me again in the living room and I’ll knock you flat.”

Keith scoffs, but says nothing further, rolling his eyes playfully as he catches his breath. Shiro takes the time to carefully observe him, not giving a shit how weird that is. He’s been raising this kid for twenty years, dammit. And yet somehow it shocks him, every time he looks, to see stubble shadowing the edges of the kid’s jaw, the broad set of his shoulders and the confident slouch of his back, his calloused hands and easy way he holds himself. A proper man, now. Not the scrawny kid who stumbled into Shiro’s life angry and confused after the death of their father, barely four years old and already convinced the world was garbage. Sometimes Shiro wakes up to Hana’s crying at night and walks right to Keith’s room before stopping abruptly in the hallway, remembering that his kid isn’t so much of a kid anymore.

“You’re lookin’ at me weird,” Keith says.

“You’re weird-lookin’,” Shiro shoots back immediately. It startles a laugh out of Keith, wheezy and kind of ugly.

Shiro swallows the sudden lump in his throat.

“What’s going on, old man?” Keith tries again. His voice is much softer this time. “You’ve been avoiding me. I thought I goofed something; I’ve been nagging Adam about it. What’d I do?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Shiro rushes to assure. It does nothing to smooth the crease between Keith’s eyebrows.

“Sure feels like it.”

Shiro sighs, slumping forward a little. He takes the time to look carefully at Keith again, trying to commit his face further to his memory, separate it from that scared kid’s.

“You will always be my little kid,” he says finally. He smiles as Keith protests immediately. “I know you’re grown, believe me. You think you could’ve slammed me like that ten years ago?”

Keith huffs. “I could’ve gotten close.”

“Not on your life, boogerbrain. You were a shrimp up until two years ago.”

“Whatever,” Keith mutters, scowling.

“Hey.” Shiro nudges him with his foot. “Look at me.”

Keith does.

“I know that’s the last thing any grown kid wants to hear. You’re still my baby boy. I know you’re not, not really. But to me —” his breath hitches, and he can feel his eyes start to well up. “Kiddo, every time you ask me for something it’s the same voice that came panicked into my room after a nightmare. Every time you smile at me I remember the year you lost six teeth in a month and grinned as often as you could so everyone knew it. I know you’re a big boy, an adult. But you will never not be my kid, Keith. You may not be my son, but you’re my boy. You always will be. And I just worry that you don’t know —”

He’s interrupted by Keith’s face crumpling, and then as fast as he flipped Shiro earlier he’s rushing forward and collapsing in his arms, all two hundred some pounds of him gathered in Shiro’s lap like he’s ten instead of twenty.

“I love you, Dad,” he wails. He shoves his face in Shiro’s neck and grips hard onto his shirt; loud, heaving sobs wracking his frame. Shiro immediately starts to cry as well, gripping his kid’s back and squeezing tightly, rocking them back and forth. Keith rarely calls him Dad; he’s always been Shiro, except when he’s emotional and hurting and he needs Shiro to be a dad right then, as much as he needs him to be a big brother.

“I love you too, kiddo,” he chokes out. He presses a kiss to Keith’s messy hair. “So much. To the moon and back, okay? I just don’t want you to move out because you think I’m replacing you with Hana. She’s my kid, absolutely, but you are too, okay? You always will be.”

Keith sniffles. “I know. I never doubted.”

The words are like a balm to Shiro’s heart, soothing the ache and the worry that’s been plaguing him for weeks.

“Oh, thank God.”

Keith pulls away, wiping his tears and snot with his sleeve.

God, he’s so gross. Shiro loves him to pieces.

“Is that why you’ve been so weird?” he asks. “You think I’m moving out because of Hana? I love Hana. I would sell both your kidneys on the black market for that kid.”

“Really feeling the love,” Shiro says drily, but in truth the joke really does make Shiro feel the love. That’s excellent. That’s a million times better than what all the parenting books told him to expect.

Keith has no trouble hearing the glee peeking through Shiro’s sarcasm. It makes him smirk.

“Why are you moving out then, kiddo?” Shiro asks, flicking him on the forehead to send the smirk away. “You’ve still got two years left of school.”

“I know. But I’ve been saving for years, Shiro. I can afford it so long as I keep working on the weekends and work longer hours in the summer. Plus —” he goes curiously red. “I, uh, need my own space. My car isn’t going to cut it. You remember last time you and Adam went out on a date, and you came home early?”

Shiro feels a slow grin spread across his face. He knows exactly where this is going.

“I do.”

“Uh, I also took that opportunity to go on a…date, that had to be relocated to my car before you two came home, and I ended up braining myself on the roof halfway through. Kind of killed the mood.”

Shiro manages, quite graciously in his opinion, to keep silent for thirty whole seconds, before bursting into laughter so strong he goes silent, lungs shaking with the effort.

“You — your head —”

“Oh, fuck off,” Keith says hotly. “I’m never telling you anything again.”

“C’mere, you dork,” Shiro says, pulling a reluctant Keith under his arm and pressing another kiss to the side of his head. “Keep telling me things. Even when you move out. I want to hear about your life, even when it’s embarrassing.”

“Especially when it’s embarrassing, you mean.”

“Mhm. ‘Course. That’s the best part.”

———

It’s a learning curve, that’s for certain. A melancholy one, too, learning to adjust to an absence of someone you’ve been living with for two decades. Shiro is still surprised to do the laundry and not find balled up, nasty gym socks in the hamper that he has to make Keith un-crumple so they can wash properly.

He cries for twenty minutes one day, concerned that Keith is doing his laundry incorrectly. Adam laughs himself hoarse, videoing Shiro’s breakdown with shaky hands and sending it to Keith immediately.

Traitor.

But it’s not like Keith’s suddenly a stranger. He regularly comes over when he doesn’t feel like cooking, and as much as Adam grumbles, he misses Keith as much as Shiro does and makes him a giant meal every time. Keith also comes over purely to ignore Shiro and Adam to hang out with Hana, and he thinks he’s being all annoying and bothersome to spite them, but truly every time is a wonderful opportunity for Adam and Shiro to nap.

…Among other things.

But the highlight of Keith learning to live on his own, by far, are the occasional, how-do-you-adult texts he sends Shiro at random times.

from: brat child

takashi, my most beloved brother slash father big hero six style.

Shiro snorts, switching Hana to one arm so he can use the other to type.

to: brat child

Bringing up that movie will not make me more inclined to help you.

from: brat child

false actually every time i mention that movie you become twelve percent easier to manipulate

to: brat child

I am getting less and less inclined to humour you every minute.

from: brat child

yeesh okay

The typing dots go on for several minutes, appearing and disappearing as Keith puzzles out what he wants to say.

from: brat child

okay so usually i would call adam about this because he’s a better adult than u no offense. but i’m not really in the mood to talk for an hour so ur my next best bet

to: brat child

How did you just make your case worse? I’m honestly impressed.

from: brat child

ANYWAY.

from: brat child

how often do u clean the oven?? i don’t remember u doing it very often but obviously it has to be done frequently.

Hana makes a funny noise, clapping her hands together.

“You’re right,” he tells her sagely. “Your brother is strange.”

to: brat child

Keith, I almost never clean my oven.

from: brat child

seriously?? i’m cleaning this bitch every time i use it

to: brat child

…Why?

from: brat child

well i don’t want the bottom to just be all disgusting

from: brat child

wouldn’t all the blood and grease and shit rot?? or burn?? how is that not a food safety hazard??

Shiro furrows his brow. What in the shit is this kid talking about?

to: brat child

Are you talking about your oven or the baking sheet?

from: brat child

baking sheet??

Oh. Oh yes.

from: brat child

my oven has metal grills on the inside

from: brat child

it sears the food nicely but it’s such a pain in the ass to clean

Shiro laughs out loud, unable to control himself, and Hana quickly joins him, happy to share in the laughter.

“That’s right,” he coos. “Your brother is a dumbass! Luckily for you, you don’t have the same genes, hm? No, you’re a smart girl.”

to: brat child

Let me get this right. You’re putting the meat directly on the grills to cook, right?

Keith’s response comes immediately.

from: brat child

yeah to cook

Shiro snickers again to himself. What a dumbass.

to: brat child

Hold on, I’m tweeting this.

Shiro doesn’t fully get why his twitter account is so big. He certainly didn’t intend for it. He was just dicking around online one day, decided to make a funny post of something he saw Adam doing with Hana. He will never understand how he got so viral so quickly, but Keith hates it, which makes it inherently hilarious.

from: brat child

?

from: brat child

what about that was tweet worthy

Shiro has barely hit ‘post’ on the screenshot before the notifications come pouring in. He figured this one would get a good laugh.

to: brat child

Dumbass. You’re supposed to get a thin metal pan to cook the food on, so you can clean the pan and keep your oven clean.

from: brat child

WHAT

from: brat child

WHY DOES NO ONE TELL ME ANYTHING

Shiro shakes his head, snorting. God, he can’t wait for more of this. Being a parent is great.

“Isn’t it, Hana?”

She gurgles happily in response.

———

Shiro doesn’t hear a lot about Keith’s love life. He hears about his friends, sure — dear Lord does he ever worry about the kind of shit his dumbass kid and Matt’s dumbass sister get into — and lots of complaining about school.

But dating life?

Nope. Nada. Zilch.

(He suspects Adam gets this information, if only because he looks infuriatingly smug whenever Shiro sulks about it. Ugh, he is so lucky that Shiro is attracted to him even when he’s being a prick.)

(Arguably, possibly, a little more attracted.)

(Shiro does not have a thing for bossy, arrogant men who tell him what to do. He does not.)

One day, though, Shiro gets a text that changes everything.

from: oven boy

so i’ve found the love of my life, which is kind of cool.

Shiro calls that brat child immediately, obviously.

“Tell me everything,” Shiro demands, not bothering with pleasantries. That’s what caller I.D. is for.

“He’s so beautiful,” Keith sighs. “The prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen in my life, holy shit. And he’s so fucking smart. Apparently he’s a friend of a friend of Pidge’s. She didn’t set it up or anything, but she recognised him when we went to the bar last night —”

“Both of you are underage,” Shiro says, as if he and Matt did not have fake I.D.’s by age sixteen.

(To get a fishing license for a prank of theirs, but still.)

Keith ignores him. “—and we started talking and holy shit, Shiro. Never in my life have I wanted to participate in a conversation so badly. We talked for five fucking hours.”

Shiro whistles. That’s a long-ass time for anyone, but Keith especially.

“Damn. This boy must be something special, huh?”

Keith sighs dreamily again, which is quite possibly the best sound Shiro has ever heard. He can’t wait to tell Adam.

“He really is. I can’t wait until I finally figure out his number.”

Aaannnnd there we go. Shiro knew this sounded to normal to be true.

“…Pardon?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Context.”

“That would be useful, yes.”

“It’s easier if I show you. Hang up, I’ll send you a picture.”

“Alright,” Shiro says hesitatingly. He has barley pressed the red ‘end call’ button before his phone buzzes with an incoming text.

from: oven boy

okay so i got most of it

to: oven boy

How the hell do you get ‘most’ of a number?

A picture pops up, of what’s very obviously a bar napkin, scrawled on with blue glitter pen. It reads: ‘Call me! 512 - 3*1 - 2*04. —Lance. P.S. — trust me, I’m worth it ;)”

Shiro is, frankly, at a loss for words.

to: oven boy

I can confidently say I’ve never seen anything like that before. What’s your plan?

Instead of an explanation, another picture buzzes in. This one is Keith’s familiar messy scrawl, and dozens of numbers written out on lined paper, each one with a different digit for the ones the mysterious Lance had omitted. Several of the numbers are crossed out.

His phone rings again, and he picks up hastily.

“Are you seriously trying every possible number you can?”

He can picture Keith’s shrug through the phone. “Like I said. He’s my soulmate.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully. “You sure he actually wants you to call him? Wouldn’t he just give you his number?”

“I’m sure,” Keith says confidently. Then he chuckles sheepishly. “The chase might be on me, though. We were talking about mysteries and stuff, and I said that I could solve every mystery before the end of the documentary, easy.”

Shiro snorts. “Arrogant boy. Spending a lot of time with Adam, hm?”

“I mean, I really can solve the mysteries. Usually.”

“Mhm. And how far are you through your numbers list?”

A pause.

“Halfway,” Keith says, lying.

“Right,” Shiro says, shaking his head fondly. “I’m tweeting about this, too.”

———

Shiro’s not a big believer in fate. That’s more of Keith’s thing, really.

But when he gets a specific DM, a couple days after his tweet goes viral, he starts to think that maybe Keith’s fuckin’ right.

For once.

The DM is from someone named LoverboyLance, which piques Shiro’s interest immediately.

from: LoverboyLance

howdy!!!! ur probably not gonna see this BUT i’m lance from the tweet!!!

from: LoverboyLance

the one about ur brother lol

It, honestly, takes Shiro a few minutes to respond. He’s genuinely gobsmacked.

to: LoverboyLance

HOLY SHIT!!!!

He calls Keith immediately.

“I have some news for you.”

“Feel free to get to it,” Keith says drily. “I’m kind of busy.

Shiro sniffs. “Well, if you’re busy I guess I won’t bother you, then. I’ll tell twitter user LoverboyLance that you’re not interested in the DM i just got from him. I see how it is.”

“No no no no no, wait!” Keith yells, panicked. “I’m sorry! Come back! Please tell me everything!”

Shiro considers letting him stew for a while, but he’s honestly too excited.

“There’s not much to tell, but I got a DM confirming that Lance knows you’re looking for him.”

“Please beg him to give me his number! I lied about being halfway done!” Keith pleads.

“On it,” Shiro promises. He hangs up and gets right back to twitter.

to: LoverboyLance

I just talked to him!!! He said a couple days ago that he was halfway done which means he’s barely put a dent in it, the dork. What’s your number?

The response comes almost immediately.

from: LoverboyLance

someone isn’t as clever as he thinks lol

Shiro laughs out loud. “No, he is not.”

from: LoverboyLance

give me his number. i’m taking over this operation

Happily, Shiro does. He doesn’t hear anymore from Lance, but twenty minutes later, he gets one text from Keith:

from: oven boy

shiro i love u

from: oven boy

ur the best

Shiro smiles softly to himself, shaking his head.

to: oven boy

I love you too, kiddo.

Perhaps fate really does have some bearing.

———

based on this post

#HENPECKED HAL MY BELOVED THANK YOU FOR BROGANES CONTENT IDEAS #vld #voltron #shiro #takashi shirogane #keith #keith kogane #broganes #keith & shiro #big brother shiro #space dad shiro #modern au #adam voltron #adam w #adashi #klance #brown-eyed lance #oh u thought i wouldn’t include that??? wrong #adhd keith #himbo keith #a little bit truly #fluff and humour #fluff and angst #my writing #tall keith #fic #longpost

[raidenenthusiast]

the astral express family as a unit is SO important to me.

starting with the trailblazer. confused, used, and hardly remembers anything about who they were before. the stellaron in their body is essentially a ticking time bomb. the personal fear that comes with that is already immense, and that's not even taking into account other people's perceptions. but they were accepted, immediately, stellaron and all. they aren't feared, they're loved. instead of others being protected from them, they're protected from others.

dan heng. scared, lost, and without a home to return to. his past tainted every step he took on the xianzhou, and despite the events of the main story, he's still working through how other people see him, as well as how he sees himself. he's never truly been SEEN before, not as dan heng over dan feng. but he's finally been given a place of acceptance. people who love him as he is, with no attachment to his past self. he's found not only a home that he can always go back to, but a home he WANTS to go back to.

march 7th. the girl who doesn't even remember her own name. we as people are shaped by our memories and out pasts. how can someone so young cope with the great unknown constantly looming over her head? companionship. compassion. the promise that no matter what that unknown brings, she is no longer alone. a hand to hold in the darkness, to guide her through the worst that the universe can bring.

welt yang. loss and grief have shaped the person he is today. the threat of the honkai means the constant fear and application of losing the people most important to you. to have a family in the world of the honkai is just about the most dangerous thing you can do, and he knows this firsthand. his memory is not tampered with, but rather incredibly clear. he was a child when his life was overridden by duty, and that duty is something he refuses to let go of, even now. but these people don't see his duty when they look at him. they don't see the herrscher of reason. they see mr. yang, the ever-reliable, slightly ancient, kind member of the crew.

himeko. everyone on the express will come and go, and the life of a nameless is an inherently lonely one. attachments cannot be too severe, lest severing them ends up destroying her. but here she is, with all her knowledge, loving these people anyway.

memory and acceptance are both key themes with the entire express crew. not just past memory, but the creation of new memories. better memories. the express is a place where who you are is inconsequential, and all that matters is that you're safe now. you're loved now. and you will be loved, no matter what happens. no matter what you do, say, or choose.

and something so constant is the glue that holds this group together. not only that, but something they all desperately need.

the trailblazer, young, confused, and scared, needs something to remind them that they aren't alone. something to latch onto, something to cling to that grounds them through the turmoil of hosting a stellaron. dan heng, the greatest criminal of the vidyadhara, needs something to remind him that there is hope. that his life will not always be weighed down by the mistakes of his predecessor, and that there are people out there who love HIM, just as he is, with no fine print or strings attached. march 7th, with nothing behind her, needs something ahead of her. something real, something concrete, something or someone that she can tangibly see, feel, and hold. the uncertainty and unknown hang over her head like a cloud, but that darkness feels much less scary when someone can hold her hand and tell her she's not alone anymore. welt yang, who's lived so long, been through so much, and lost so many, needs a new beginning. not that he's leaving behind the ties he has left, but forging new ones, with absolutely no strings attached to the identity of the herrscher of reason. think about why he never mentions his past in full; obviously for a multitude of reasons, one of which the subconscious desire for a life untainted by the honkai. and himeko, who left everything behind for her dreams, needs people different than her. something new. like-minded people follow the same principles; fulfill their life's purpose, and exit the express. however, in the midst of all that, she's gained more than colleagues, more than nameless, more than fleeting images of friends long gone. she's gained the unconditional love of a family.

and that's not even getting into the dynamic between just welt and himeko. the fact that himeko always feels alone, and then there's welt, who travelled the very cosmos just to protect the life of a former student he feels like he failed. the fact that she likely has no idea of this fact, and assumes he'll leave the express and return to his "real" family someday, when in reality, the only reason he stepped foot on the express in the first place was FOR her. BECAUSE of her. to protect HER.

i'm gonna be honest, even though void archives hasn't made an official appearance yet, and their motivations are obviously skewed due to the fact that they're not technically human, i would fit them into this too. they were never intended to live their own life. their origins and their programming prevents that. destroy the honkai, above all else, no matter the cost. after millennia of being trapped by otto, their own identity, what little of it existed, slipped through their fingers. why do you think they hate being compared to him so much, despite adopting so many of his patterns and mannerisms? what they need is a life of their own. which connects so deeply with what welt needs, too.

and i'm just spitballing here, but i have a theory that part of the reason they left the express in the first place was because they were afraid of the comeraderie they found there interfering with the reason for their existence.

addendum; if the stellaron is in fact a manifestation of the honkai, i NEED to see how that changes the trailblazer's relationship with everyone. especially given the fact that void archives was created to eradicate every form of the honkai, no matter the cost....

anyway. all this to say. i love the express family so much.

#mika.txt #honkai impact 3rd #honkai star rail #hi3 #hsr #astral express #astral express crew #astral express family

[the-hellhounds]

Walking around in the cemetery, Ravi grumbled to himself as he carried a dead supernatural being in his arms. "Stupid windigos," he muttered under his breath as he found one of the nemetons in which was placed beyond the cemetery. "Always making a mess when they eat humans."

Dropping the supernatural to the tree, he wipes his jacket off from the blood that leaked off of the wendigos' mouth. Having had to fight off the being from potentially running off again to feast on more unsuspecting humans, Ravi had arrived on time to witness it bite a deputies arm.

"Now burn in hell, you shit face." He growls lowly as he sets on fire the body of the wendigo. Leaving it to burn into the nemeton, he walks back to the rows of graves and headstones until he stops dead in his tracks. Raising his head as his nose picked up the familiar scent, Ravi makes a turn towards a burial that had two stone creatures in the shape of kitsunes.

Upon further approach, his senses go on high alert as he hears the heartbeat of someone buried alive.

"They're coming..." Jake says by the window of Jaemin's house as he peeked out to see their lost friends stalking towards them in beserker outfits.

Johnny breathed out as he rolled his shoulders and looked to Jaehyun. "Let's not die today, okay?" He says to his friend as they all got ready to fight the biggest fight of their entire lives.

As Chenle and Renjun got everyone's mates and loved ones hidden in the bunker, the rest stood their ground. Igniting themselves to be engulfed in flames, they let out deep roars to indicate that they wouldn't back down.

Pulling out an unconscious Taeyong from the grave that had oxygen tanks buried with him. Ravi couldn't believe he had found the leader to the pack that had gone missing for months.

"Come on... come on, wake up." He shook Taeyong's body, hoping he'd gain consciousness, but nothing helped.

"He won't wake up unless they get the sword through the nogistunes' heart." A deep voice says from behind Ravi. Turning his head, he spots Chanyeol standing before him. "It's how they got Donghyuck back. But they must piece back the sword quickly before it notices that you found Taeyong." Chanyeol says.

Without wasting another minute, Ravi quickly pulls out his phone and calls the first person on his contacts. "Get the sword fixed." He barks out into his phone as he hears the growls and roars of his pack from the background on the other end of the call. "I found him."

Getting thrown halfway across three houses in the territory, Haechan groans in pain as he gets Sunwoo thrown onto him. "How much do you weigh?" He groans as he pushes the younger off of him.

"Not as much as you do," Sunwoo answered with snarl as he looked down to see a gash in his thigh from one of the beserkers. "Fucking great. Now mom's going to lose her shit."

"How old is your mom?" Haechan asks, getting an unbelievable stare from Sunwoo as if he didn't just ask something ridiculous at the time.

"You're not fucking my sons mother!" Hanbin growled as he stood in front of them to protect Sunwoo from getting hurt further.

Whining from behind him, Haechan pouts. "Why not? You got to her first!" He says just as Hanbin moved when a berserker threw another punch that landed on Haechan's cheek. "Fuck!"

"Karma's a bitch, isn't it?" Sunwoo snickered as he ran off to help his father with an Oni that was attacking him.

Making a face towards the new kid, Haechan snarls his lip as he fought back the berserker.

"Haven't you learned your lesson?" Jaemin says as he appears and helps him with Jeno. "You just can't be throwing yourself at other men's women like that, or you'll get punched by a beserker, which happens to be one of our friends." He says sarcastically.

Grumbling, Haechan held the arm that had a sharp bone as a weapon so they could take down Kai, which was the beserker they were fighting among the others.

Running to hide from the nogistune while Johnny distracted it, Jaehyun held the sword that would be used to vanquish the spirit.

"Then why cause so much chaos?" Johnny yelled as he got beat down by the Oni that held him. "What for? It only causes pain to others."

The nogistune smirked in such a way that looked frightening on Taeyong's face. "Because how else would I feed? I can't feed off of others' happiness, and I know Taeyong isn't happy." It says as it walked dangerously slow towards Johnny that heaved in pain from the wounds he had. "Haechan wasn't happy either, but somehow, his loved ones always found a way to get him back."

"Loved ones," Johnny spits out, "something you'll never have."

Throwing a punch to his jaw, Taeyong growls into his face. "And it'll also be something you'll never experience-" he goes to say, but stops when he senses something. Turning his head up to the sky, the nogistune feels that the real Taeyong had been found. "No. This can't be..." He whispers as he doesn't notice Jaehyun approach him.

"But it can." Jaehyun plunges the sword deep in the nogistunes back as it pierces it right through his heart.

As the nogistune lets out piercing cries, the Oni begin to disappear into thin air. The beserkers stop attacking, their eyes fading into their normal colors as if snapping out of it.

The hounds all let out relieved breathes as their friends begin to take off the bear skulls they had on.

"Guys, I feel funny," YangYang says as he drops his skull helmet to the ground.

"That's because you have a gash on your side," Ten tells the younger as he walks over to him in his own beserker outfit.

Looking down to where he now felt the pain, YangYang felt dizzy. "Oh," he says before collapsing into Kun's arms from seeing so much blood.

"Everyone hurt, get to my medical hut," Kun announces as he takes an unconscious YangYang with him.

Baekhyun stared at Changkyun, his sharpened bone weapon having missed Kyun's head by an inch into the dirt ground. "Kyun?" He asks as the younger stared with widen eyes up at him.

"YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!!" Jake suddenly yelled feet away from them as both Baekhyun and Kyun looked over to see Chris having stabbed the ground between Jake's legs.

"Mate, why were your legs even opened!? You dodge if a sharp weapon comes at you!" Chris yells back at him as he too had snapped back to normal.

"You were about to stab me in the dick!! I had to open them after you swiped my legs!" Dropping his head back, he breathes heavily in pure tiredness from fighting for his life.

As everyone was getting treated, San sat down next to Taeyong, who had been silently drinking beer.

"You okay?" San asks as he opened up a can of beer to drink with him.

Taeyong sighed as he dropped his head back, his neck popping as he lifted it back up. "Not really..." He answered. "I'm the leader to my pack. I should've protected my friends, my family... but I failed. I put them all at risk."

"You didn't fail them," San tells him with a pat to his shoulder. "Having a nogistune inside you is something no one can avoid, but having friends to help get you back means that you've proved yourself as a great leader."

.

"Papa?" Minjun asks as he comes waddling over to Haechan and Jeno with power ranger bandages.

"Thanks, buddy," Haechan smiles softly to his one year old that looked up at him worriedly.

"I don't think a power ranger bandage will cover much..." Jeno whispers while holding his thigh that was covered in blood. Lifting up the baby hound in his arms, he cradles him while Haechan cleaned up his wound. "But thank you for helping, Minjunnie," he smiles as he presses a kiss to his cheek.

Ravi appears to help out! 🤧: @badbf-cb ( lisa ♥︎ ) - @fantasyaespa ( ningning ♥︎ ) - @fallenangel-oc ( staci & alya ♥︎ × ♥︎ ) - @lovesick-hyuck ( ♥︎ ) - @witch-renjunnie ( ♥︎ ) - @raiden-oc ( 🌺 ♥︎ ) @monsterhigh-cb ( jaemin ♥︎ ) - @livealittleoc-cb ( jay & ace ★ × ♠︎ ) - @multi-esme

#almost done with this 😮‍💨 #the longest update so far #ravi's first appearance! woo!

[dangeroussheepcherryblossom]

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 — 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐒. 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲

❝Leon was completely in love with you. He already knew he loved you even before the incident in China.❞

ɴᴏᴛᴇs: Hey, folks! English is not my native language, so I'd like to apologize for any mistakes you may find! Feel free and enjoy this short story about our favorite police officer!

Leon Kennedy is a man of simple tastes. He accumulates sketches and Polaroid photos in a box in the attic. He likes small apartments and his cup of coffee - sugar-free - every morning before checking emails.

However, Leon Kennedy is a very different man from the 21-year-old police officer who arrived late on the first day of work. Leon acknowledges that the worst part of living a life as an agent of the American government is this: he has an excellent memory for everything, good and bad. A monotonous grayscale, with growls of creatures whose shapes once belonged to ordinary people, covers most of them. He is a hero. Leon Kennedy is a veteran in the war against bioterrorism. He rescued the daughter of the President of the United States and became the best agent in the entire DSO. He found a glory he didn't seek. Something many desire in life, and that was a standard too high for that Raccoon City cop to imagine - and his standards were pretty high back then.

But this was not the life he desired. He desires and enjoys a simple life.

Leon is not a hypocrite: he prefers a peaceful death, lying in his bed, rather than being consumed by the undead. He is aging and needs something to lean on, a place to rest, to enjoy the pleasures of a simple life.

Fix what was broken. Leon knew he would have taken a checkmate just for desiring you.

Find a thread of hope. Undo the ashes that covered your life and give way to a palette of colors as beautiful as the dawn in spring.

All thanks to you.

Leon met you in one of the darkest moments of his life. How, he thought, can the world become a better place when so many horrible things have happened?

But you destroyed every barrier he built over the years, causing delirium with the thought of hurting himself or even losing the lovely sound he made when the characters in his favorite book got together. Leon knew he had taken a checkmate just for desiring you.

He was younger, and so were you. He remembers your eyes, large and doe-like, full of endless curiosity. He also remembers your smile, the shy way your palm covered your lips when you laughed. Leon never imagined himself a nostalgic man, but your presence adorned most of his favorite memories.

Leon remembers as perfectly how you two became friends easily, long before entangling into his apartment with your tacky coffee cups. Every night spent in a training gym, your company preventing him from walking out the door and surrendering to bottles of whiskey and cheap beer. Your jokes and sarcastic comments that he would have found irritating, but the desire to suppress a smile often found its way one way or another.

"Stop frowning before you break your face.''

"It would be so sad, and you'd cry for depriving yourself of this beautiful face.''

"Oh, screw off," he says.

And then the subtle compliments began - compliments about your hair that could be mistaken for insults, anonymous wildflowers left on your bedside table, the gentle touch on your forearm when you started to fidget with your fingers, a habit he soon understood as a sign of anxiety.

Gradually, you also turned to his touches - and began to seek them out. You held his hand under the table during meetings, always bought two cups of coffee on the way to the DSO, and sat together in the morning to review paperwork, your distraction with toe-tapping boots hidden beneath the table.

Leon was completely in love with you. He already knew he loved you even before the incident in China.

A frustrated sigh left his lips as Leon inspected your face more closely, trying to hide his concern with the head wound and the now-dried blood that marked a trail from the hairline to the chin.

"I'll kill him. I'll hurt whoever hurts you," he promised, his fingers brushing against her chin.

Two weeks after that mission, Leon invited you to wander the streets away from the center of New York. As they walked in slow steps, the city buzzed with activity.

The sky had a perfect shade of blue-green, filled with thin and shiny clouds, and Leon couldn't help but tilt his chin back, admiring its fluffy composition as they hovered in the sky. Some children passed by them, running after each other with short, quick steps, and their laughter spread through the crowd, blending with the low hum of conversation among friends and the cheerful chant of store owners.

Vendors were shouting, advertising their products, trying to lure people into buying from them, and it took a lot of Leon to contain a woman who wanted to devour everything at any moment. You turned your head from side to side, up and down, trying to process every tiny detail of the area. Your heart raced in your chest, and your heart-shaped lips were smiling. Oh, did this store owner just move to that area? Great! You promise to be his most loyal customer.

To your left, an elderly woman with brown hair was selling second-hand cauldrons. Then, in front of her, was a cart overflowing with hundreds of thick books with new and colorful hardcovers. You leaned forward, gray eyes examining the dozens of covers, looking for something that stands out in the crowd. Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your forehead furrowed in concentration. His eye twitches. Leon bites his lip to suppress a smile and reaches for the stack, pulling out a book and passing it to you.

Leon bought four books for you that day.

The hours passed quickly, unlike what they usually do when waiting. You drank too much and danced all night.

Leon thanked all the lucky stars for that night.

Because when you smiled over your shoulder, Leon felt completely sober. Your lips touch in a chaste kiss of just a second. And he holds your hands close to his heart. His tongue traces your lower lips, brushing the edge of your teeth before merging with yours. It was gentle, as he could say all the things he kept hidden in his heart.

Well, and now here he is: Leon Kennedy, the war hero, at 67 in his small and simple apartment.

His hair was gray, shoulders slouched, but he never seemed happier. He woke up early that morning, poured his coffee into his cup with tacky letters "for the best dad in the world," while checking the messages left on the answering machine.

"Hey, Dad, how are you? I'm leaving campus now and should be home by late afternoon. Can't wait to get there, I miss you. Love you."

Leon smiled.

He also couldn't wait to see his boy again. The blue eyes - his blue eyes - and infectious smile that had long filled that apartment.

Leon Kennedy loved his son in a way he never imagined possible. It was as if this love was enough to kill him.

Oh, he had a beautiful life.

And he was looking forward to savoring every last minute of it with you.

#resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil imagine

[ludinusdaleth]

a travesty ive barely posted meta for artagan here when anyone who knows me knows ive written universes about him. so, a bit to ponder on:

something interesting about artagan - and by extension many fae in cr in general - is how thoroughly he's defined by selfishness as the core value of a fae, when we are shown time & again even before artagan gets his redemption arc that that isnt true.

now, arti is selfish. hes the definition of lust, & sloth, & sheer debauchery. he'd rather sit back than help even his favorite little tiefling (at first - more on that later). he would rather abandon his followers to an island that would destroy their memory than attempt to lead them.

but.

he planned for his followers to land on rumblecusp because to him, a fae, losing memories was completely Insignificant - and he literally did some of their paperwork to help them along, and did the work to ensure travelercon left them with each other. he was benevolent enough to vm their first meeting, showing incredible patience despite their disregard for him. he saved vex from drowning. he chose to befriend jester after seeing her be hurt by lord sharpe's son. he comforted jester when he could, when he never needed to. this is all before The Travelercon Kick, before he agreed to help the m9 into the feywild & shift time for them for no price, before he helped jester battle trent/omentis and made sure his spells did not hurt innocent bystanders.

this isnt some garuntee that he, pre-jester, was any saint. but what sticks out to me is how much the trait of selfishness is vastly applied to him. not only does sehanine's angel refer to him as a selfish creature twice, but he refers to himself that way the episode before. it is as if he has endless history with being called that, as if he is the most vile creature by virtue of being an archfey, and he made peace with that, leaned into that until jester walked into his life.

which always leads, in my head, to thinking about the fae of this show in general. they are so vastly blanketed as dangerous. and some are. but the more you analyze it the more you see how it's less integral to their being, and more what they accept they are. if youre seen as a monster, and whimsy is inherent to you, you will play the role to see what happens (i see this in characters like ira immensely). we see the younger generation of fae raised away from these generalizations - fearne & morrighan - break the stereotype near entirely. sure, fearne picks pockets and loves her friends lowkey possessively - but weve seen time & again how thats playful, and gives way to so much selflessness she's falling apart at the seams, only just now telling the party her fears. and morrighan shows no possessiveness at all, being shy & near subservient as a waitress. they are living proof that a fae's worst traits are a matter of nurture.

watching artagan is watching some of his peak fae-court upbringing begin to break down by exposure to a different world. i always recall how both he & ira hiss at the feywild for its contradictions, its rules when it's a land built for free wills - which implies the fae are not let to be themselves, but have their culture shaped by courts so strict they wont even let fae leave to exandria. the worst ideas about them begin to shatter the more cr tells us how fae society has fallen into something like an oil slick into an ocean - literal imagery used by athion & yu. the fae's free existence has been polluted.

artagan was our first example of all of that. and how it's possible to become better.

#artagan #critical role #critical role meta #long post #fae #fearne calloway #morrighan ferus #yu suffiad #ira wendagoth #athion zathuda #campaign 2 #campaign 1 #campaign 3 #exandria unlimited #exandria unlimited: kymal #van speaks

[shantechni]

One thing I greatly appreciate about the 2012 series is that Raph's temper is rarely ever shown to be entirely on him, which might be hard to believe, but it's true.

Pivotal episodes that focus on Raph's temper are Turtle Temper, Slash and Destroy, The Good, the Bad and Casey Jones, Newtralized!, and Mutant Gangland.

Turtle Temper

We get our first front row seat to how Raph tends to let his anger carry him away to the point that the mission and his brothers became an afterthought, and everyone is right to be upset with him. A random, smacktalking slob isn't the end of the world, but after 15 years of hardly interacting with anyone other than your family, it only makes sense for him to be angry that this total stranger is managing to tick him off. But no one downplays the situation or tells him to just, "stop getting mad," they more or less told him to stop letting his anger do the work. Splinter said it best: "It was I who made his [Shredder's] words into weapons. That's the choice I made. What choice will you make?" Translation, you're allowed to be angry, but it's what you do with that anger that determines the outcome of things.

Slash and Destroy

This will always be in my top 10 favorite episodes solely for being such a good scenario of Raph's anger being a poison to someone he cares for, not just his family, but Spike. Firstly with his family, he's right to get mad when his comics are ruined, or when Leo constantly sticks up for Mikey, or when Donnie's experiment gets out of control and nearly hurts Spike. It's the accumulation of those things that makes him lash out and eventually take the mutagen to his room, greatly to the dismay of an already apologetic Donnie. Anyone who lives in a full house knows: he feels disrespected and stifled, going so far to wish he were out on his own.

Now for Spike, we obviously know the mutagen messed with him in more than a physical sense, but it's clear that Raph's angry venting didn't help either. Not only did Raph push his brothers away when they weren't intentionally agitating him, namely Donnie, but he's largely responsible for Slash's desire to get rid of his brothers. Slash thinks his and Raph's tempers are what make them stronger and better than the others, that they could be doing so much more without them. Raph doesn't agree with him, not even a little, because for as much as his family gets on his nerves, he'd miss them way too much to ever leave them.

When Splinter told him to meditate on it, he wasn't dismissing the fact that Raph was rightfully upset, but that he was letting his anger run on again. He needed to stop and think about why he was angry, and understand that Donnie didn't mean to nearly hurt Spike. That even though he treasures those comics, they're just comics at the end of the day. Whether or not he would've reached that conclusion without the loss of Spike is up to interpretation, but Splinter reminds Raph that he still has his brothers.

The Good, the Bad and the Casey Jones

It's a tried and true concept, but it never fails to be a good concept when Raph and Casey's tempers clash. Before that though, we once again see Raph lose control of himself due to his family and he's clearly bent out of shape over his lack of control, the guy attacked Leo without warning and has his brothers flinching away when he yells at them. His statement is an interesting one: "This always happens. I'm fine until those guys push my buttons. It's not like I was trying to hurt Leo. They just don't get it." Now couple it with this one from Leo: "What are you saying, Raph? It's not that you are angry, but we make you angry?" Raph goes on to refute that question before somewhat proving himself wrong when he snaps at their teasing.

The situation is never truly resolved because Casey leads some Foot Bots to the lair, but it's clear that Raph is half accepting and half in denial of having anger issues, and his brothers don't quite understand it themselves (explained by why they teased him and unknowingly made him feel like they weren't taking him seriously). But Leo seemed to get an idea from the earlier teasing when he tells Raph they were just "busting his shell." He doesn't say it with malice or like he was wronged, he's fairly apologetic despite the humor written all over him. And, in a way, Donnie and Mikey alleviate the situation in their own way by not reacting too much to Raph's outburst, or even when he returns. Donnie slips out a short quip and leaves it at that, because they know Raph just needed some time to himself without them messing around.

Newtralized!

The bigger focus of this episode is obviously the Newtralizer's plot for the Kraang and Slash's redemption, but Raph's temper is still front and center from the first minute of the episode. Though it's a fact that we've seen on display before, Raph getting angry because someone he cares for isn't being careful enough is still an important point, especially now since Raph is close enough to Casey to be angrily worried about his wellbeing. Though it's never directly addressed (Raph's argument is that Casey is holding them back and getting in the way), Raph learns over the course of the episode to not exclude Casey just because he's not as skilled as them.

Mutant Gangland

Lesgooo another favorite--starts rubbing my hands together. It might even be slightly higher than Slash and Destroy because Raph is less angry and more frustrated that he's stuck in the training phase with his brothers, feeling like they aren't doing any better when they can't go all out on each other. It's understandable, they just barely saved Earth from the Triceratons but most of that can only be attributed to Fugitoid's "sacrifice", then the Triceratons were the ones who finally put an end to the Kraang, not the turtles, and Shredder is still out there somewhere with his henchmen roaming the streets. Outside of feeling outclassed during their conflicts in outer space, Raph feels like they aren't doing enough.

But, since Raph pinned the blame on Splinter taking Leo's side, saying he's forcing them to hold back and that they clearly don't understand how he feels, Donnie saw an opportunity and shot back at Raph with the usual insult of him complaining about Leo all the time. That obviously makes him feel worse, and he storms out in typical Raph fashion. Splinter sets the boys straight though; aside from telling them that he won't always be there to play mediator, he tells Donnie straight up that he should grow up and could've responded in a more mature manner. They all need to learn to stop feuling the fire that is Raph and understand where he's coming from, and Donnie sees this in person when him and Mondo go after Raph and Raph doesn't immediately accept his apology.

(Excuse me as I geek out over season 4 being the season where we see them grow out of their bad habits, like Leo rushing Donnie to do something, the guys unnecessarily angering Raph, them underestimating Leo, and not taking Mikey seriously. Like, they still happen, but the boys quickly recognize when they've messed up and I just-)

Don Vizioso and his gang blows a hole in everyone's day of course, but by the end of the episode, Leo and Donnie apologize to Raph (who wasn't used to getting so many apologies at once), and Splinter reminds the turtles to not let their conflict separate them from each other.

-----

...So yeah I just really like that Raph's temper is handled nicely when it's threaded with the conflict of the episode, idk lol-

#sweats profusely as i hope no one notices this post was inspired by the Splinter comp posted to the tmnt channel #analysis #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt michaelangelo #tmnt splinter #tmnt raph #tmnt leo #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #2012 raph #2012 leo #2012 donnie #2012 mikey #2012 splinter #hamato yoshi

[sagau-my-beloved]

I hope I'm not too late for some more Avian Venti brainrot!

If you'll humor me, here's a brief discussion of bird anatomy: when bird feathers are still developing, they're called pin feathers! They're covered with a protective keratin sheath, which needs to be removed when the feather is fully developed. Birds usually remove the sheath when they "preen", but they need help (either from humans, or from other birds) to remove the sheaths from hard-to-reach places.

Now that we've established some base knowledge, consider: Venti needing help after molting and growing new feathers. He can reach some of them, thanks to having, y'know, hands, but the feathers near the very base of his wings are a problem. It's also a little more difficult to remove them, since birds' beaks are shaped better for the task than our hands.

So if you help him with the process of removing those pin feathers, once they've grown in and are starting to feel uncomfortable-- he'd be over the MOON with gratitude. It's super relaxing, too-- you can have him in your lap, with his back toward you, gently caressing his wings and slowly easing out the itchy little sheaths of keratin. As if he didn't already enjoy having you touch his wings, Venti would be totally blissed out as you take care of him, the tension relieving him with each new feather you help him unfurl.

Never too late, you could come to me 50 years down the line, long after this blog's inevitable end, and I'll rise from the depths like some unholy lovecraftian creature true story

So, really thinking about it, the entire backside of his wings would count as a hard to reach place since they're so big and hands only reach so far, kinda cute to imagine him trying to do it himself though, just reaching as far as humanly possible with a concentrated expression only to lose his balance and have to pull himself back up with a huff

I did look into it a bit more and it seems to be either a yearly or bi-yearly experience depending on the bird, so I imagine he just intensely looks forward to the collection of days you'll indulge him, I wouldn't even put it past him to mark it on a personal calendar (that he mainly dedicates to events relating to you) just to be able to cross off the days till

Just imagining him completely blissed out, only half conscious enough to protest if you even think about moving your hands away, 👌

It'd probably take multiple hours, knowing how big his wings are, so by the end of it he'd be completely and wholly out of it

And I'm 100% sure that you'd be the only one he'd let do it, maybe in the past when he only had some closer friends to help out he'd be more open with who he asked to partake, it's not entirely an 'intimate' act by nature, and attempting to do it all himself would just lead to frustration and possible injury, so he couldn't really afford to be picky

But now that you're here, his incredibly benevolent savior, you're the only living being he'd ever want for any act involving his wings, especially if you've taken any interest in them at all

And of course he's so incredibly grateful, unbelievably greatful that you indulge him so, but all it really does is make him that much more possessive of you

He can't help it that he needs you, both mentally and physically, you provide so much for everyone whose lives you touch so it's difficult to get you all to himself, but he needs you so much more than anyone else, he couldn't imagine living day to day without you and this is just another reminder of that

But now, imagine that exact same scenario with the addictive touch au, I think it might actually kill him, but that's probably the way he'd want to die anyway so—

#genshin impact #genshin venti #venti x reader #sagau #genshin x reader #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin x reader #brainrot #winged characters man #i have a weakness for them and more specifically him

[estro-gem]

Zooble x Gangle: Anywhere the wind blows

The Amazing Digital Circus AU: Oasis

Author's note: Welcome to this long-boi fic!

It's long and probably tedious to read, but overall, I'm actually pretty okay with how this turned out. Eh, kinda... I almost decided to scrap this entire thing and write something else, but I already got too far by that point and pushed through - trying to make the best of it.

It has a little bit of everything; some body dysphoria, action, violence, mutilation, stalking, maybe some bad-written tension and a nice section lil' of not-smut.

Good ol' not-smut!

Sorry to all the bunnydoll lovers, this is a zoogang story - and it's a pretty long one.

Bunnydoll is only briefly mentioned, but you also get some messed-up 'bromance' between Gangle and Jax, as well as Zooble losing their marbles while Jax is being Jax, doing Jax stuff...

Warnings:

Suggestive/vulgar language (Mostly censored, but worth mentioning)

Body dysphoria

Fighting

Dissociation

Panic attacks

Mutilation

Questionable dancing (?)

SUMMARY:

Zooble was making their way to the lake to go dancing with Gangle. Upon arrival, the sight of Gangle caused Zooble to reminisce about their arrival in The Amazing Digital Circus and the chaos that followed.

ANYWHERE THE WIND BLOWS

“You off to harass your crybaby with your terrible dance-moves again?”

Zooble rolled their mismatched eyes to the sound of Jax’s annoying voice. They were in a good mood; and begged whatever higher power there was for the bunny to just leave them be tonight.

“Sure am!” they spoke with an obviously false, chipper tone, deciding to give the menace a taste of his own medicine, “Are you off to make out with your plushie again?”

Zooble peeked over their shoulder to see if he had the reaction they were hoping for. Unfortunately, Jax still wore his stupid, smug grin, causing them to pause, attempting to find the words that would force a crack into the rabbit’s shield.

It wasn’t long before they spoke again, “Or would you rather be our little peeping tom – again?”

Finally, the Cheshire grin fell and Zooble had the honor of basking in Jax’s unimpressed scowl.

“That was one time!” the rabbit cried, then relaxed his stance to recollect his composure, “Ya know why I was there – and it definitely wasn’t to get an eyeful. You two are disgusting, in case ya didn’t notice. Who could get off to that?”

“You, apparently.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT HAPPENED AND YOU KNOW IT!”

“Whatever… freak.” Zooble turned around and continued to make their way to the tent entrance, smiling to themself. They would never let him live that down – context be damned.

“Yeh, go drown yourself, will ya?” They vaguely heard Jax’s voice call after them.

They definately prefered the rabbit as carefree as he carried himself these days, compared to how intense he used to be when they first arrived...

They were on their way to the lake, where they knew Gangle would be.

The ribbinoid had many hidden talents; dancing happened to be one of them. She could move as if she was gliding, and she could leap like she was flying. Zooble already felt the girl entice them from a distance as they approached the bank of the lake.

Gangle was always a beauty unlike any other when she was dancing on her own. Clearly, in her own world, she practically floated with grace as her ribbons – usually coiled and shortened to form a make-shift body – stretched out and twirled, elongated, and reflecting the moonlight with every scarlet shape they drew in the air. The stars that were mirrored on the water surface made it look like the masked ribbon was dancing in the sky.

The sight gently guided Zooble’s mind back to the first time they lost their heart to their masked princess. Back then, they were so different to how they acted now. They were traumatized by the realization that they were trapped in an unknown Digital hellscape, only accompanied by a handful of other prisoners.

Stuck in an abomination of body that they never wanted.

Zooble didn’t always look the way they did before. Then again, Zooble never even looked the way they did the day before! They liked to swap, match and mix their parts, storing them safely in a box that they kept in their room.

Sometimes they could feel them clawing at the confines of said box to get to her, but it was best not to think about that.

When they first fell prey to the Digital Circus, they were what many would describe as a monster. A mess of arms, heads, eyes, and limbs; all with a mind of their own. They couldn’t find their feet – there were too many of them!

Upon arrival, Zooble stumbled around like someone who was possessed, moving more like a spider than a human. They were disoriented and desperate as they helplessly tugged and pulled on the strings of this puppet that was apparently their new body. They had no mouth and yet they heard someone screaming hysterically. It would only be in the far future, when Zooble thought back to their arrival, when they would realize that it was them who was screaming.

They just had no mouth to realize it at the time.

They screamed as they witnessed the excessive limbs and eyes that sprouted from differently-shaped structures that only vaguely felt like their torso – only that it also felt like nothing of the sort, because it wasn’t normal to have 3 torsos.

Or eyes on your knees and arms that gave you 5 different perspectives of the room all at once…

They moved like a sandstorm, forcing the circus inhabitants into a blind panic. Their monstrous form resembled an abstraction; so much so, that they heard one of them cry out in question to Caine.

“Can humans abstract upon arrival?!”

They didn’t know what it meant. They didn’t care.

All they cared about was ripping off the excessive limbs that they never knew they had. To the creature’s horror, the limbs popped off with unnatural ease and scrambled on the floor to maneuver its way back to them. It was something that would keep even the bravest of souls awake at night.

When the ragdoll of the bunch slowly approached Zooble, (as they were in the process of tearing their own limbs off) something else possessed them.

Dolls should move or talk like humans!

It didn’t help how much the doll tried to talk them down – one moment, they just stared at the doll in disbelief, and the next, they charged her like a steam train. They were so inhumanly fast, but that didn’t phase Zooble at the time. They were only focused on one thing.

The raggedy-monster in front of them.

In a flash, the doll was within reach for Zooble to tear her apart. They were beside themself as they threw themselves onto Ragatha, only to feel the wind being knocked out of them when something abruptly crashed into them from the side, causing them to stray off course and stumble to the floor.

Claws.

Claws were digging into their brightly-coloured shell and flesh. Claws swiped burning trenches of pain in their wake. They caught the blurry image of yellow eyes and a feral grin that was pulled into a snarl before they felt one of their eyes pop between its jaws.

It was a pain worthy of unlocking the gateway of the fourth horseman.

Zooble fought and scrambled for grip on the gaint, rabid hare. They were terrified and acting in blind desperation as their many limbs with multiple claws, digits and shapes grabbed and thrashed at anything that could get the purple creature off them. They were going to fight until at least one of them was lying motionlessly on the floor.

Zooble wasn’t going to die to a bunny.

Neither were prepared to be yanked from each other and held apart. Two other creatures grabbed the purple rabbit by both arms in attempt to restrain him, but even with 2 against one, the rabbit put up one hell of a fight. While the bunny only had eyes for Zooble, desperate and mindless in his pursuit to rip into them, they took the moment to spot the scarlet ribbons that were rapped around their being. They followed the trail of ribbons that kept them immobilized, only to see it led to a mask with a painted face, scrunched up in effort, yet strangely smiling while keeping them restrained.

They tugged and twisted, but the ribbons seemed to have metal in them as they were unable to tear them up. It was but a few moments that Zooble struggled before they were overcome with a wave of dread that crashed over them, leaving the poor creature to sink down into a lowered stance.

They couldn’t escape.

They were a monster.

They were going to be eaten by other monstrous creatures and there was nothing else they could do about it.

When did they start trembling so violently?

Although they awaited the onslaught of the other inhabitants to tear into them, they were only met with the tight grip of the ribbons that held them down. The events that followed, all happened in a blur. They saw the rabbit slowly grow still and lose interest in them, only to fix his gaze on the ragdoll Zooble attempted to charge before. He seemed to be talked down by what looked like an oversized chess piece with a purple robe.

In the next moment, the rabbit was free. He rushed to the doll. He looked her over with a rough hand, only to grasp her forearm and drag her off to somewhere that was out of their line of sight. He didn’t react to anything or anyone else – clearly on a mission to get away.

There was a commotion…

And suddenly, Zooble was alone, while still being restrained by the ribbon-creature with a mask. They numbly wondered why the others would leave this one alone with them.

The thoughts didn’t last too long, as they were suddenly weightless and free.

They stumbled back and curled into themself as they fixed their eyes on the mess of ribbons that shrunk and coiled into something that resembled a body while the owlish gaze of the painted mask danced over their unusual, messy form. She averted their eyes and tilted her chin down, almost in shame.

There was a beat of silence until she spoke in a pleasantly soft voice.

“Are you still hurt?”

Zooble refused to answer but enjoyed hearing the ribbonoid creature speak to them in the now quiet, empty space. Taking a moment to consider her question, they came to the sudden realization that they were mauled and bitten before. Unintentionally startling the ribbinoid, they grabbed at their body, feeling, and grasping at their form and eyes with their many limbs, only to find that the damage was suddenly gone.

As if it never happened.

The Zolo-being looked back to the masked ribbon, who was studying them closely.

“Yeah, that’s something we all were rattled by at first” She said carefully, trying to decide on what eyes she should be looking to, “We can get hurt here - and it wouldn't matter. We… we can’t die here... It’s hard to explain." the girl shook her head, then assumed a more confident tone, "But this Digital Circus is your home now, whether you like it or not. You need to understand this to survive.”

Even though the woman’s voice was working to a swell in intensity, Zooble didn’t understand anything that was said. Even though they didn’t have a face, it was evident. The girl, of course, noticed this and sighed.

“Look, if you are going to hurt my friends every time you become overwhelmed, you should just stay away.” she spoke firmly, “If you don’t, it’ll be me you’ll need to answer to.”

With that, she turned on her heels and walked without looking back.

For days - weeks, that was the last time Zooble interacted with anyone. They took Gangle’s advice, having learnt her name while creeping around the tent. They stayed away, hiding among the debris and structures that was scattered around the tent. The inhabitants were somehow assured by Gangle, who just shared that ‘the newcomer will remain out of their business.’

Zooble actually got to know bits of all of the inhabitants of the Circus, like, for example, that the doll who they launched themself at. She was called Ragatha and she was unfortunately a saint. They wanted the earth to swallow them whole with how ashamed they felt for ever thinking to harm her of all people. They also came to know that Jax was the animal that attacked them – and that he was the most unpleasant of the bunch, bullying everyone for his own personal enjoyment.

He especially mistreated Gangle… and for some reason, that just didn’t sit well with Zooble, but they were too busy staying out of sight to think about it too much or do anything about it. They couldn’t even move around properly, let alone stand up for someone they barely knew. To their surprise, it seemed like all of the inhabitants just swallowed Jax's bullying - no questions asked.

There was something seriously wrong with this place.

Other than unholy screeching when they first arrived, Zooble was stunned to silence. It felt too alien to speak with no mouth, let alone allow anyone to see what a horrifying monstrosity they’ve become. They settled on watching the cast interact and live their lives. It was slowly becoming Zooble’s new reality – living in the shadows and remaining unnoticed.

Well, almost unnoticed.

The abomination never comprehended it fully, but Gangle always knew exactly where they were. She could walk into the area and in a matter of seconds, their eyes would meet. It came to a point where Zooble didn’t care about Gangle exposing their place of hiding anymore, as there were countless times that she would spot Zooble and just nod in quiet acknowledgement. She even saved Zooble from being spotted or disturbed a handful of times.

It was like a special, unspoken agreement that only they shared.

An exchange.

Gangle intrigued Zooble to no end. She was so quiet, but always watching - always aware. Always thinking. Zooble would give anything to know what was going on in her head. She was also unique in the sense on having 2 faces! One bright and smiling, and the other muddled and tearful.

Zooble liked to see her smile, but that damn rabbit always had the nerve to break her mask...

They should've killed him when they had the chance.

It wasn’t until one fateful night when Zooble managed to evade Gangle’s eyes while exploring the grounds, only to mistakenly stumble onto the lake. Not only that, but they also unintentionally found Gangle on the bank of the lake.

Words couldn't describe the beauty that they saw.

She was dancing under the stars, while Zooble could only watch in awe. It was the most beautiful event they have ever witnessed, suffering at the rush of heat the overtook their form as the quietly looked on... trying to move closer for a better visual…

SNAP

With the snap of a twig, Gangle’s dance was over.

She quickly retracted her ribbons to form her body once again, calling out to whomever crept up on her private moment. She called Jax's name first, much to Zooble's annoyance. Gangle was flustered; eyes darting around to find the intruder, only to miss Zooble’s form that was cramped and crushed behind a bush.

They were annoyed with themself for ruining such a beautiful scene. Zooble silently hoped for the girl to brush it off and continue, longing to see the blissful look on her face as she danced once again, but to their dismay, Gangle turned to walk towards the direction of the tent, not quite smiling as brightly as before.

That couldn’t be the end of it!

“Wait!” Zooble’s voice cried out before they could think to keep quiet.

Was that what they sounded like?

Gangle visibly jumped at the new voice, before darting their eyes to the source – the bush Zooble was hiding behind. Zooble would’ve commended the girl's auditory skills in any other situation, but there was only one thought that came to mind at the time. They huffed out a breath, before speaking again, trying to look past the dissociation they felt to their voice.

“Stay.” They pleaded, while awkwardly maneuvering into the moonlight, casting a long, spider-like shadow to trail behind them, “Dance.”

Gangle’s eyes were initially wide, but eventually fell into an unreadable expression once the shock of seeing Zooble – of hearing Zooble for the first time, faded. The ribbonoid was overcome with an unexplainable joy upon hearing them speak - but they could not make a fuss! She wouldn't want the poor creature to be scared away again. She already regretted to only official conversation the had...

The silence stretched for so long, that the multi-legged creature nearly jumped when Gangle lifted her arm to hold it out to Zooble, “Dance with me.”

That was not what they expected.

Dumbfounded, Zooble looked down at their mess of a body, using the highest arm to gesture to the excessive number of limbs they had, before hesitantly speaking up. “I can’t.”

“You can if I can.” Gangle stretched and twirled her body into a little sequence, before resuming her form and looking at Zooble in a challenge, “You and I are the same, aren’t we?”

How was it possible for a woman to be so timid, and yet so steady?

“What?” Zooble frowned in confusion, blurting out before they could think, “How? You’re a bunch of ribbons with a face!”

“You’re a bunch of parts.” Gangle countered, seemingly brimming with confidence, “We are not one body, we are more, aren’t we?”

“I’m a load of junk.” Zooble tore their gaze away to attempt at hiding the blush that crept up their form, ashamed of what they resembled, “Spare parts that don’t even fit together. I don’t even have a mouth.” There was a brief pause, before they quietly added, “You make it look so beautiful…”

They never thought that they would admit it, but they were at the mercy of the truth. Gangle officially became their muse and they didn’t have a say in the matter.

Gangle surprised Zooble with her giggle, only to sigh in retort, “You’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

The statement made the misshaped being scoff, “Geez, thank you for your oh so sweet compliment. Look at me, I’m practically swooning at your praise.”

Zooble was insulted, but the genuine laugh that Gangle let out was so lovely that it almost didn’t feel like they were being gutted by a ribbon.

“Well, I don’t see what could be beautiful about a freakshow like me.” Gangle chuckled gesturing to herself to emphasize her point. Zooble couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

“You kidding?” they huffed in expiration, “Did you not see yourself just then? It’s alien, sure, but you were great! You were-”

“-unlike anything you’ve ever seen before?” The girl cut them off with a cheeky grin.

“Fine, touché.” Zooble mumbled reluctantly.

The atmosphere was lighter than before, and Gangle took it as an invitation to take a tentative step closer to her new aquantance. She was itching to know more about them; desperate to close the gap in the odd relationship they managed to build over time. Despite not directly interacting with each other, Gangle had to admit to herself that she did feel a level of attachment to the creature that she once told off.

It was a shame that things turned out the way they did.

If Gangle had known that a conversation, like this one, could’ve had her laughing in enjoyment, she would’ve tried harder a long time ago. For now, she just focused on keeping the conversation going. Her mind was racing - deducing that this creature could become a part of their group if they managed to hold out on their own for this long.

It definitely wasn't because her stomach flipped every time she felt their eyes fixate on her from their hiding-spots.

“When you, um, walk…?” Gangles spoke, hoping to keep the conversation going, “Move around-?”

“Keep going, I get it-”

Gangle huffed a laugh, before hesitantly gushing what she intended as praise, “You look like… a force. You look powerful and strong – like you’ll pummel anything in your way.”

Zooble cringed slightly, not knowing how to feel, “Thanks?”

“I wish I could be that.” Gangle breathed, before sinking into herself slightly, “One mistake – one tug, one knock – and I’m broken.”

“What are you talking about?” Zooble spoke in disbelief, “You held me down while almost being torn apart by a savage animal! You ARE a force.  You are probably even stronger than I am!”

“You don’t understand.” Gangle’s smile was bitter, causing Zooble heart sink, “I wasn’t talking about my ribbons.”

Suddenly, it clicked.

“Oh yeah… You have two faces.”

Gangle placed a ribbon on her cheek, dragging it down along the side, “This one is fragile. It needs replacement almost every other day. Even then, I can’t wear it too much. I lose myself to insanity and sadism. I become – dependent on it… Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No.” It didn’t benefit Zooble to lie.

“That’s ok.” Gangle laughed in thought, though it seemed darker than her previous giggles, “The others do.”

Zooble took a step closer to the ribbonoid, deciding that her previous statement was something akin to a personal confession. Other than that, they wanted to see Gangle really smile again.

“Should I be worried?” they asked with genuine concern. She only shook her head, before explaining things that Zooble didn’t really understand, but indulged the girl any way they could.

“If something happens to me, it’s best that you get Jax.”

If something happens?

“Jax, the bunny guy? Isn’t he an $&%#@$?” Zooble jolted at the harsh, sudden sound of a horn drowning their voice. “Wha-?”

“Live censors – You’ll get used to it.” Gangle dismissed too easily for Zooble’s liking, “Jax - he knows his place. He’s my best friend.”

Upon Gangle’s fond smile, Zooble felt their gut – where-ever it my be – twist. A thought ghosted over their mind that Gangle may have been delusional after all.

“I don’t think you understand how badly he’s been treating you.” They spoke curtly.

“You just don't understand what it takes to stay sane here. Don't worry, you’ll come to learn how we all work together.” Gangle dismissed once again, only frustrating Zooble more, “Jax has his place. I have mine – everyone here has theirs.” She smiled up to the amalgamation, “One day, you’ll find yours.”

“Ok. Whatever.” Zooble simply said, frustrated, “We don’t have to talk about this now."

Gangle just chuckled as if she knew something that they didn’t.

They decided that it was best just to give up trying to understand the Circus and everyone’s dynamics. Zooble was cut short by Gangle holding out her ribbon for Zooble to take. They almost did it out of sheer compulsion.

“Will you have this dance with me?” the ribbonoid invited once again.

Her smile was like a drug, inhibiting Zooble from opposing her. The Zolo-being rolled their eyes to themself and took a breath to muster the will to remind the Gangle that they couldn’t dance.

For all they knew, they could be dancing themself into selling their soul or something.

...

Damn it all...

What did any of this matter anyway?

“Shut up and come here.”

With Gangle’s melodic laugh echoing in their mind, they dragged the girl to the open clearing on the bank of the lake.

It started out as a messy, clumsy jumble of limbs and ribbons, but as they relaxed and laughed into the night, their movements gained purpose and sequence. Together, they found their rhythm in the presence of no music, and their forms moved in sync.

Before long, their bodies were no longer separated.

They were one.

One in touch, mind, soul, and breath. They’re hands became their news eyes. Their bodies bloomed into voices that spoke words of unfathomable desire and yearning. They melting to each other’s caress and motions.

Two people dancing under the moonlight, living in the moment, and lost in the little world of heated passion that they have created for themselves.

They were somewhere else.

Laughing.

Yearning.

Breathless.

Both hoped for the magic to last forever...

It ended all too soon.

Zooble opened their eyes again. They were met with the harsh reality of a milky, porcelain mask smiling at them. They already longed for the woman from before; the one who they allowed to soar with the stars. That woman was everything they ever wanted in this life; maybe even in the previous life. How they would crumble for that woman to smile at them… but seeing such a petite little being smile at her as she was currently doing…

Zooble decided that it would suffice to see this smile too.

What they would give to have lips…

As if reading their mind, Zooble suddenly became aware of the intimate embrace of ribbons wrapped around them. Gangle felt so sure and steady, while they felt like they would crumble into a pile of useless parts. They couldn’t tear their gaze away from the soft, owlish stare given by the ribbinoid, suffering under the sudden burst of butterflies when they felt her new dance partner squeeze.

Butterflies.

Nothing could stop the sound that left them.

Nothing could stop Gangle's forehead from colliding with what she assumed to be Zooble's head with a soft ‘clink,’ sharing breaths they didn’t need. If they had a say in the matter, they wouldn't let her go, but that just wasn't how Zooble's mind worked. Unlike Gangle, they couldn't cling to a dream for long - they always found their feet planted on the ground of reality - this new reality.

Zooble knew this moment couldn’t last.

Based on what Gangle said before, they realized that staying sane was the key to survival in the digital world.

It was only a matter of time before another day started at the Circus. Zooble didn’t know much, but they did know that Gangle and the others had grown used to sleep. As much as they just wanted to die in her arms that night, they didn’t want to break her routine – anyone’s routine for that matter. From what Zooble could tell, it was one of the things that the members had to do to stay sane. Now, grown fond of Gangle, they wanted to see her make it through this torment of a life they were trapped in.

So, they had to let the girl go for now.

“We need to go.” Zooble’s voice was so low and hushed, they almost didn’t recognize themself.

“No, wait! We can stay a bit longer.” Gangle sounded so pretty when she was desperate. Zooble clung to the pride of causing the girl to beg for them.

So soft. So delicate.

“I’ll still be here when you wake up. We can have this again, can’t we?”

“You don’t know that!”

“Gangle.” Zooble was stern, but still gentle, “We need to stay sane. We need routine. It’s so wonderful that I found you…” they trailed one of their many hands over the ribbons wrapped around their torse, reveling in their trembling as her touch glides by, “I want to keep you. I need you sane. We need to survive this together.”

Silence.

It was a strenuous reality check, but it was necessary. They couldn’t dwell in their dreams forever.

“Ok, but we’ll meet each other here again! At least once a week! This was…” Gangle looked off to the side, seemingly bashful, “This was magical.”

“Call me a magician, then!” Zooble jested, earning a giggle from the girl as they did their best to nuzzle into Gangle's mask, “Go on to your room. I need to make sure I didn’t lose any arms while we were throwing our sick moves for the world to see.”

After a cackle, Gangle loosened her grip around Zooble to form the shape of her body once again, “I can help you look?”

“Don’t make it weird, Smiley. Go!”

Smiley.

Gangle seemed to like that one.

“I’m sorry! I’m going, I’m going!” Gangle almost sprinted off, only looking back to call back to Zooble, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

"You always do!"

Zooble was smiling to themself, but got cut short when they heard Gangle let out an ‘oof,’ followed by the sound of a thud. Spinning around to see just how the ribbonoid embarrassed herself, Zooble’s body was jolted with the shock of seeing two sadistic, yellow eyes gleam down at Gangle, who had tripped over a deliberately extended foot. Due to the padding of the grass, Gangle’s mask didn’t break – thank goodness – but the abomination’s relief was short-lived as those golden orbs slowly focused on them.

Jax.

The bunny was casually leaning against the trunk of the tree with his gaze fixed on them. This time, his ever-grinning expression was unreadable, forcing a shiver to crawl up their back.

That creep.

Gangle’s eyes shifted from Jax to Zooble, again and again, until she seemed to hiss something to Jax, soft enough for the Zolo-creature not to hear from the great distance. Jax didn’t pay her any mind, as his predatory gaze set straight onto them and them alone. Gangle gave Zooble one more worried glance, to which they just reluctantly nodded; the girl should leave them be.

It was high time for Jax to face the music, Zooble decided.

Gangle also seemed reluctant, but slowly stood up. It was then when Jax closely traced her movements with his eyes. All the while, Zooble was left with a lump in their throat as they waited for Jax to try his luck again. They were so far away, Zooble would only be able to watch him do whatever he wished before they could come to Gangle’s aid. He looked ready to rip her apart and there was nothing they could do but watch.

They watched – holding their breath, as Gangle stood up…

They watched – as Gangle turned and noticed Jax's eyes on her.

They expected the ribbonoid to fearfully back away, but Zooble's world was flipped onto it's head when they saw her stand her ground by giving Jax the most sinister smile they had ever witnessed.

Bone-chilling. Wicked.

Jax’s smile couldn’t ever match what was painted on that theatre mask. They were almost certain that Jax would retaliate any second…

But his assault never came.

 There was only a slight shift in his stance – enough to let their breathe hitch. The silence was a cacophony of chaos pounding into Zooble’s head.

For a moment there was nothing, until Gangle finally moved.

She slowly turned on her heels and walked off to the tent, as if nothing happened. It was so bizarre, they almost thought that she managed to cast a spell over Jax, who was frozen in place at the time. By the Lord, she already cast a spell over them with her charms.

Scary smile or not, that woman was irresistable!

It was only when Gangle disappeared into the tent, that Jax’s eyes were fixed onto them again.

“So, it can speak.” At least Jax’s voice rung as annoying as ever, “Nice moves you got there... What do you call the one where you two practically #@% each other in public? And by that, I mean ALL of it?”

“What do you want?” Zooble spat.

They didn’t want anything to do with him.

“I want us to come to an understanding.” Jax pushed off the tree trunk and strolled his way closer to the amalgamation, “I know you gave Raggs quite a scare before… now you’re throwing yourself at Ribbons, huh? Quite the womaniser, aren'cha?”

Zooble took note of the glimmering flash that came from Jax’s hand, letting their eyes drift to see what it could be. Dread had Zooble’s soul sink to their many feet.

He was holding a cleaver knife this entire time.

He was standing over Gangle – knife in hand - and one swipe away from tearing their muse apart.

All for a sick little laugh?!

At that moment, they were human again, forgetting about their digital immortality that they all were cursed with.

“Now you listen to me very carefully,” Zooble growled as Jax’s icy grin stalked closer, “I’ve been watching you for a long time now, and I still don’t know what your deal is. You are lower than dirt and you think you just own the tent, don’t you? Thinking no one would care about you making everyone’s lives difficult? I wasn’t even here for that long, but even I can see that Ragatha is an ANGEL, and you didn’t think twice about throwing an axe into her face the other day! It’s disgusting! You are scum! Filth! And I don’t care what your deal is with me, but if you ever hurt Gangle o-or Ragatha... or ANYONE else for that matter, I will make it my life mission to make you beg me to kill you instead of what I have planned.”

That brought Jax to a complete stop.

Not only did he stop, but his face fell to one of confusion, then dread, then confusion again. It was so uncanny, it was almost funny. Zooble found themself so dumbstruck by that reaction, that they forgot what their train of thought was leading to.

They never saw this side of the bunny before.

Moments crawled by in complete silence, with nothing but confused expressions meeting each other. It wasn’t until Zooble awkwardly cleared their throat before Jax seemed to snap out of whatever state he was in.

“Well, wouldn’t you know…” Jax mused almost to himself, casually shoving the knife into his front pocket, “You actually managed to fib me, huh? And here I thought that you’d be something I needed to take care of.”

He laughed. If Zooble didn’t know any better, she’d think that he was relieved.

“What’s happening?” Zooble asked dumbly.

“What’s happening is that you, my friend, are one of us now! Jax-approved! You killed me with your flattery - I knew I was good, but I didn't know I was that good.” Jax flashed them the smug, know-it-all smile that they still hated so much. He was probably planning to make a fool out of them, but still, they didn’t understand the sudden, genuine shift in Jax’s aura – it was suddenly almost… bearably benign.

It was whiplash!

“Again, what's happening…?”

“Sheesh, what does she see in you? You’re so slow!” Jax sighed, but continued to boredly explain, before they had the chance to retort, “I couldn’t get a read on ya before! Ya seemed mighty interested in Ribbons though – sneaking around, staring at her, and stalking her to the lake and all-”

“I wasn’t stalking her!”

“Yeh, yeh, whatever – so I just happened to swing by and… step in… if you ended up trying somethin’ with the crybaby. That’s all there is to it.”

Zooble blinked before glancing down to the cleaver knife in his pocket, slowly piecing it all together.

Did he have a heart after all?

“You were going to shank me if I messed with Gangle?” Zooble narrowed her eyes.

“Shank ya? Nah, not my style, toots.” Jax abruptly plucked the cleaver knife from his front pocket and threw it into a nearby tree without looking. If it wasn’t for the squawk, followed by the sounds of glitching, Zooble would’ve missed that Jax successfully hit a bird with a lethal blow – now pinned to the tree trunk with a knife through its chest. It disappeared soon after it started glitching, only leaving the blade in the trunk. It seemed to Zooble, now clear as ever.

Jax didn’t miss.

Feelings of intimidation aside, Zooble recalled Gangle’s words from before. She called Jax her best friend, not even hesitant to say it, despite how badly he was treating her – how badly he was treating everyone! And yet, he came out here, thinking that they were stalking Gangle… armed with a knife...

They leaned unto one hip to relax their stance, “You were looking out for her…”

Huh.

“Bah! I’m just makin’ sure you don’t steal my schtick.” Jax rolled his eyes, “I do what I need to do.”

His words made Zooble’s thoughts flip back to what Gangle said before.

'You’ll come to learn how we all work together. He has his place. I have mine – everyone here has theirs. One day, you’ll find yours.'

“What exactly is it that you do?” They asked, hoping to get some answers for once. “Gangle said something about you all ‘playing your part’ or whatever…”

“Yeah, no, not having this discussion with ya, sorry bub.” Jax started walking off in the direction of the tent, seemingly done with the conversation. Zooble’s eye twitched.

“What do you mean?!”

“Not what I do, ugly. I just play my part.” Jax smile creeps up to a taunting grin, “Go talk to Raggs. Explainin’ these things to new suckers is her part.”

“But what’s your part?” Zooble raised their voice not only in frustration, but also because Jax was making greater distance between them as he continued walking.

“This is my part!”

“What do you mean ‘this is?’ What’s ‘this?’”

“Ask Raggs~!”

“And what do I do? What's my part!?”

“Bye~!”

“Mother@$@#%!!”

Some fanart of this fic: (CLICK HERE TO SEE)

Oasis: TADC AU list

Masterlist

Additional Author's note: If you read the whole thing with all of the mistakes I didn't notice to fix, you are a legend!

#fanfiction #the amazing digital circus #tadc oasis au #tadc zooble #tadc gangle #oasis #zooble x gangle #tadc jax #bad analogies #jax x ragatha #body dysphoria #body horror #mutilation #fighting #zooble needs help #panic attack #jax is out for blood #gangle is a silent girlboss #backstory #spicy dancing #not smut #platonic jax x gangle #suggestive language #animal instincts #zooble doesn't understand anything but gangle's cute #zooble fell first #gangle fell harder #everyone is traumatized #I almost scrapped this #I hope that's everything