#so now i have to go and fucking call 50 odd places like a week after i submit an application and hope i don’t get rejected then and there

[poyopaan]

i did some applications today and gotta say? kill me

#miskipz draws #my sona #job hunting #trans #vent art #job hunting gives me such existential dread man #i have no experience which means companies don’t want to hire me but to get experience i need to work at these companies #so now i have to go and fucking call 50 odd places like a week after i submit an application and hope i don’t get rejected then and there #any connections from a professional world that my parents have graciously offered me all fucking turn me down or never respond #and my parents are baffled because they’ve seen the emails i’ve written they see the applications i put in #them slowly realizing how hard it is to get a job in this damn economy that isn’t just retail hell for minimum wage #anyway rant over i’m going to bed

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for getting my childhood friends killed?

I (30M) recently lost my father. It’s been absolutely heartbreaking, and I’ve been going through a rough time— especially because my mother married my uncle (50s-60s, M) immediately after.

However, I received a… postmortem message from my father (shoutout to my best friend, H, you’re a real one for helping me receive that message), saying that my uncle was the one who killed him, and asking me to avenge him. Of course, I accepted. Part of my plan to avenge him was to pretend I was clinically insane, and watch everyone’s reactions to it.

This had worked well so far. I had not gained much information, but my acting was excellent. Of course it was— I’m a theater kid.

Unfortunately, it worked well enough that my mother (50’s-60’s, F) summoned my two childhood friends to… “help.”

Now, for some context on these two friends. I’ll refer to them as R and G (20’s-30’s, both M). Ever since I went to college, I found myself drifting away from them— and for good reason. They’re immature, and a bit idiotic— not to mention, I’m pretty sure they’re hooking up, and I don’t like third wheeling. I met H (20’s-30’s, M) in college as well, who I quickly became good friends with. Essentially, R&G were obsolete by this point in my life.

That being said, by the time they arrive to see me, I’m already suspicious. I’ve hardly spoken to them for a few years now, so their arrival is a bit odd. I gently prod them for more information on why they’re here, and they admit to have been called for by my mother and uncle. This clues me in— they don’t care about me, they’re probably spying on me for my mother and uncle. I’m disgusted, and distance myself from them.

A few weeks later, the three of us go to England, as per the suggestion of others. Since I’m already suspicious of them, I head to their quarters while they’re busy (probably fucking, tbh) and rummage through their stuff. I find a letter with my family’s seal on it, and proceed to read it. It’s to the king of England, calling for my death.

I’m furious. There’s no way these bastards were carrying my death sentence and had no idea. So, I rewrite the letter— keeping everything the same, except putting R&G’s names in place of mine.

Not long after, I’m kidnapped by pirates, and make my way back home. There’s no confirmation, but R&G are probably dead. I’m pretty proud of myself. However, I told H what I did, and he was horrified. Makes me worry a bit. AITA?

TL;DR childhood friends spied on me and tried to bring my death sentence to another country. I flipped things around so they were put to death instead. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

[charkyzombicorn]

Here’s a thought I had. An au where Shanks goes around giving Buggy’s snail number out to people. The reasons? 1. To be an asshole because it’s funny. 2. Maybe it will help Buggy with his issues somehow?

Luffy gets the number and while he does somehow memorize instantly, it never occurs to him to use it, although he did teach his brothers about the super cool number Shanks left.

Yassop leaves Brachina the number, but it’s Usopp who actually uses it years later, trying to find his dad so Yassop will come home and help Brachina.

Instead he gets a very confused clown pirate, wondering how this little boy got his number.

Buggy is so fucking annoyed. His snail phone is exhausted from being called so much. He wants to rest but children keep calling him in the phone and then saying the most gut-wrenching stories with the same tone they would use to comment on the sky being blue.

First it was Luffy, who said his name, that he was going to be king of the pirates (Brat) and that he had two new brothers and he wanted to tell everyone because he finally wasn't alone (and No it didn't remind Buggy of himself before Shanks and the Oro Jackson, Fuck Off).

Then it was Usopp who declared himself the bravest warrior of the sea because he didn't shed a single tear when his mother died, and hasn't since and now he's super strong because he has to do odd jobs to feed himself now. So Buggy, clown that he is, decided to visit - only for that douche Kuro to stop him by starting shit and almost sinking his ship. Buggy wanted to punch his glasses into his face but he was fighting for his right to visit some random snotnosed brat that got his number. So he left.

Then some brat named Ace called him, and asked what he would think if the pirate king had a son. So Buggy was completely honest, because that was a very strange and very specific question and he was still tired from helping patch the ship. "Roger did have kids - two of em', got one in a treasure chest and the other from a dumpster. But of course he gave the first kid his life's treasure and the second kid a mop. If he had a third kid I'd just hope they were born on neutral ground so they could see to their own future and not the one that asshat forced on them. Now Where Do You Kids Keep Getting My Number". But the line was silent, and a few seconds later went dead.

Then he got Another call from Another child, this one called Sabo. He said he knew Buggy was a pirate, said he could be a choreboy, a navigator and a fighter on Buggy's crew for the small price of Getting Him Out Of Goa. Buggy said he didn't want a toddler on his ship, "Sabo" insisted that he was 15 (not even a chance), and he could pay Buggy - 50 thousand for a spot on his ship. Buggy was definitely one for bribery, but he accepted such a low offer because the kid seemed desperate and people have good reasons to need to leave a place like Goa. So he shipped off, made it to port the next day and then promptly shattered himself into bits when he saw the celestial dragon ship in the distance. Then a blonde brat with neat clothes, a rucksack and a purposefully mean-looking glare said he was Sabo and that he wouldn't give the money until he was on the ship.

Buggy told him to go fuck himself, they were hiding the ship and praying the celestial dragon left without calling a buster call. Then his snail rang. Again. He ordered his crew hide the ship nearer the mountain before picking up the phone. It was Luffy again. "Listen, Luffy, calling me twice a week to tell me about your--" Luffy was crying.

"There was a fire. Sabo's gone. Ace hasn't woken up since the fire. What do I do? I can't lose my brother's they're all I have--" Buggy got the snail phone smacked out of his hand by a metal pipe and he yelped while Sabo was already curled around it with both hands on the receiver like it could break.

"Luffy?" And the mean face was gone, and he was definitely 10-ish. "Luffy, what happened to Ace--"

"SABO!!!!" The snail yelled so loud Buggy could tell its throat hurt. "You're with Shanks' mystery friend! You're okay! You need to come back, I went into the fire and so did Ace and Ace got hurt protecting me and we need you back I'm sorry if I'm why you left--"

The blonde kid was crying. Buggy wasn't known for his skill with children, so he just stood there. "Okay - I'm coming home, okay? I'm not leaving, I promise. Just - just watch over Ace until I get there, okay?"

"Yeah!"

Sabo hung up the the phone and looked back up at Buggy. "Change of plans." He said, after trying and failing to wipe his tears.

"Oh no shit." Buggy mocked. "Go home, kid."

Sabo nodded, but then hesitated. "You know Shanks, right?"

Buggy couldn't help the sneer - not that he wanted to.

"Shanks gave his arm to save my little brother's life. I owe him a debt, but. Thank you for helping a stranger." He put his little hand out as if Buggy wanted to shake sticky toddler hands.

Buggy flicked him. "You're just lucky Luffy's my biggest fan, or you'd be scrubbing the floors, brat."

#one piece #Sorry this took so long to answer! My drafts are. Something

[doomednarrative]

Leon, I have been seeing your posts for the past, like, week, and I just cannot piece together what donbros actually is. The plot, the setting, the characters, the story. Please, enlighten me. And feel free to include as much detail and personal opinion as you want

See thats the thing!!! The plot is ALL OVER THE PLACE!!!

Avataro Sentai Donbrothers breaks a Lot of regular sentai rules. Usually sentai shows have a pretty clear plotline and enemies and goals to achieve and are more kinda Drama focused. Donbrothers is instead a slice of life/sitcom style sentai, so while it Has a plot, it's a lot more lose and it plays fast with it. It has the pacing of like either one really slow episode or 5 episodes in one and you never know what it's going to be like episode to episode. It's literally been described as the "It's Always Sunny" of Sentai and that really is the best way to describe it.

But if you would like to know the actual plot is up to what I know of it (I'm on episode 33 of 50 atm) then I'd be more than happy to explain

I'm putting this under a read more it got Very long, buckle up :)

The basics is that you're following the story of Taro Momoi, one of the last surviving members of the Don Clan. He and the rest of the Donbrothers (who I'll get to) are at odds with the Noto, the members of a realm called Ideon. The Noto are...well! Tbh I'm not entirely sure right now, this show deals out its lore in bits and pieces, but they're a race of higher beings basically who live separate from humans and without the imperfections of humanity, mainly the imperfection of Desire. It's something that they actively shun.

The reason that they shun it is that the Noto need humanity's brainwaves to survive, it's what sustains Ideon basically, and when humans become too full of their desires, they can turn into Hitotsuki. The Hitotsuki are monsters of pure desire, and their very existance disrupts the peace of Ideon and those human brainwaves that they need, so they go out of their way to destroy them.

The problem is that the way the Noto destroy Hitotsuki also destroys the human that they originally were, essentially killing them by locking their soul away in an alternate dimension.

This is where the Donbrothers come in. Their whole purpose is to fight the Hitotsuki with their method that eventually turns them Back into humans and lets them retain their life, and usually solves whatever problem corrupted them in the first place. So they're fundamentally at odds with the Noto and their way of doing things because they don't want to kill people in the process of getting rid of Hitotsuki.

And SPEAKING OF THE DONBROTHERS

This team. This team that fights monsters. Is made up of the weirdest lineup ever and I love all of them so much, they're such a weird family and they actively all think that they're the most normal person in the room at any given time while not realizing they're just as weird as the others.

From left to right here in this pic, we have:

Shinichi Saruhara - Guy who is 21 and lives the wabi sabi lifestyle. He's never had a job, presumably doesn't pay taxes, and is actively allergic to money and can't touch it or it'll burn him. He speaks in haikus half the time and has earned the nickname of Professor without having any schooling. He's the blue sentai ranger, Sarubrother.

Tsuyoshi Kijino - 33 year old office worker who is a complete wife guy, like obsessed with his wife to an insane degree. He's pathetic, this site would babygirl him so much if this show was bigger on here. He's also canonically let a guy be murdered by the Noto for fucking with his wife and has turned into a Hitotsuki TWICE because of his desire to see his wife being so huge. He's the pink ranger, Kijibrother.

Taro Momoi - Leader of the Donbrothers as the red ranger Don Momotaro. Taro is 21, he's a deliveryman who delivers good fortune/good deeds as well as packages, and he's literally so perfect at everything that he does that he had an entire village protest against him when he was a child and leave him and his dad to live there alone. Being perfect at things makes him a bit rude at times. He literally cannot lie or it will kill him and I mean that 100% seriously it's happened multiple times in canon.

Haruka Kito - Haruka is a manga artist who after her first big break into the manga world had her entire life fall apart after being falsely accused of plagiarizing her work. She views everything in life as a chance to get manga inspiration and this has led to her letting herself be held hostage for a chance at getting life experience. She's incredibly angry and violent at times and is usually the viewpoint character for most of the series. She's the yellow ranger, Oni Sister.

Tsubasa Inuzuka - Tsubasa, similar to Haruka, has been falsely accused of committing some sort of crime and is actively a fugitive of the law because of it. Everything he does is with the motivation to hopefully see his fiance Natsumi again who he lost a year ago. Incidentally, Natsumi looks Exactly like Tsuyoshi's wife Miho, and so there's a lot of fuckshit going on there. Tsubasa is also canonically a dogboy and cannot get rid of this image for himself. He's the black ranger, Inubrother.

There's also another member who comes in later down the line named Jirou Momotani who is meant to be Taro's successor, but he's his own can of worms while also being my fuckin son. Jirou is both the gold and silver rangers Don Doragoku and Don Torabolt respectively.

And I can't introduce the Donbrothers without introducing their Noto trio counterparts now can I?

From left to right we have:

Sonoza - Sonoza is obsessed with wanting to understand human emotions and why things make them feel the ways they do. This leads to him going up to people and asking them if he's laughing or crying correctly, and then eventually after picking up a copy of Haruka's manga and feeling the full range of emotions from reading it himself, becoming her editor to oversee her making a sequel that makes him feel just as excited as her first manga did.

Sonoi - He's not really the leader of the trio seeing as they're all equals in combat, but the other two do seem to kinda follow his lead a lot of the time. Sonoi is fascinated with human art, thinking that it's existance is the way that humans express their inperfections, and it frusterates him that he hasn't figured out how to make his own art due to this separation from humans. Sonoi becomes fascinated with Taro when they first cross paths before finding out each others true identity, thinking that Taro is someone the world needs more of due to his honest nature and the way he leads his life trying to help others. This fascination still continues even after finding out that they're fated to be rivals, and I mean this 100% seriously when I say that the affections they both share for each other isn't even subtext, it's just plain text (they literally have the first red ranger and villain duet song in the history of the entire franchise), and it ends up changing the course of the entire narrative for both Sonoi and Taro and the rest of their teams. It's insane how much those two matter to each other and what impact that has on the story.

Sononi - Sononi finds herself interested in love itself, the concept of it and how it makes people feel and why it motivates them to do what they do in the name of it. She gets particularly interested in Tsubasa's whole affair and likes to watch both from afar and not so far what's happening with that soap opera level drama. She has the coolest weapon of the entire show, that being a bow that can turn into duel wielded daggers or a bigger blade by itself.

The Noto trio are very interesting because despite seemingly shunning humanity and it's desires, they each find themselves utterly fascinated with a member of the Donbrothers and an aspect of humanity that ultimately sets them apart from the rest of their people and it leads to some very interesting story moments. I love them all so so so much.

But yeah! That's the Basics of Donbrothers as I know it right now. There's other plotlines going on as well but seeing as I only have pieces for them yet I can't really explain them here. Hopefully you can understand my crazed posting a little bit more after all of this though :)

#ask #answered #avataro sentai donbrothers #donbros #kief rambles about donbros #this series has become so dear to me its just such a fun watch and i love it so so so much #also i cannot state this enough but all of the music from it fucks So Much its amazing

[theviewfromthebooth]

The Mighty Mojo tracks of 2023: The Bubble List

Being ahead of schedule is a rare treat in any aspect of my life, and for that reason I am embracing my decision to release the Bubble List so soon into December, and so far ahead of the Top 50 that will still be released on New Year’s Eve. Some traditions die hard.

In past years I’ve taken my obsession with capturing the year in its entirety to unnecessary lengths. The speed of other actual publications to crown the year’s best everything was always looked on with disdain, as I scoured my regular channels for new music like a desperate man scanning his phone for dealers at 4am. The thought of missing a banger by going too early disturbed me, in large part to ‘The El Camino incident’, in which my favourite album of 2011 dropped in the first week of December. When RTJ3 appeared on Christmas Eve 5 years later with no warning, it seemed to confirm that I was right and everyone else was wrong. Well, this year, the darndest thing happened. 

I realised that NO ONE ELSE CARES. I have yet to have someone call me up for a song appearing on my list in the wrong year, in the 13 years I’ve been putting this thing together. I need to chill the fuck out. And so I have.

The other handy element to releasing the Bubble list now, is that it comes hot on the heels of Spotify Wrapped, and the annual debate around streaming royalties. I say annual because that’s when everyone gets involved, but there’s been a steady undercurrent throughout the year of artists rebelling against the system to speak out. I have always been supportive of their stance - it’s disgusting to see the disparity in profits between the people who own the platform (and due to many undiscussed deals, this includes most of the major labels) and those who literally power it with their artistic endeavours.

And yet, I’ve always remained within this crooked system, simply because I believed it to be the only place to find the depth of music I was looking for. Last I heard, Tidal was still quite specific, and a lot of the others were only marginally better. And then there was the library of playlists that I’ve built up over the years, an encyclopaedia that I lean on heavily on a day-to-day basis. There’s a playlist for nearly every scenario my mind could possibly imagine, and that has a worth beyond currency.

I can’t ignore the fact that Spotify’s algorithms have also been responsible for exposing me to many of the people on this list. The sheer amount of Aussies that feature is testament to that, and again that’s only possible due to the buy-in of the music community. There are ways that Spotify is helping young artists. But it’s just not enough.

It’s still a bit of an eye-roller to announce your departure from something, but in this instance I’m going to indulge myself. I’m looking at other options, and I suggest you all do too. If you want more detailed info on the reasons why and the best action to take, follow United Musicians and Allied Workers on socials https://linktr.ee/umaw 

*Steps down from soapbox* So, the music then. I really went deep into it this year, racking up over 120 songs in the long list by September. The best part of that is that it meant that I had a long time to live with these songs, sort them in my heart and allow the cream to rise naturally to the top.  Aside from the Aussie invasion there’s no real trends - except more of a push to the extremes of comfort in sound. There’s some mad bits in here, and some initially jarring sounds that eventually connect, and when they do it’s all the more thrilling having taken you to the edge. With so much to choose from it was easy to stay within the hardest boundary of the bubble list - outside the odd superstar feature, these are underground/new artists that aren’t widely known or available. In the wake of the streaming debate it feels more important than ever to shine this little light in their direction.

The full Twitter (Some traditions die hard) thread with links to socials and places to buy music/merch will come next week, and you’ll have the benefit of the whole of December to absorb it all before the next hit. 

See you in a few weeks.

#best of 2023 #playlist #music #spotify wrapped #spotify wrap 2023 #tvftb #Spotify

[gertritude-art]

Progress Update...?

I mentioned this a while back, but here is the aforementioned progress update on the visual novel I’ve been working on!!  I wanted to get more done before I wrote this up, but college unfortunately keeps getting in the way (I have a month and a half left until I graduate, and I’ve been very busy because of it).  

Anyway, I still don't have an exact measure on how fully complete the ENTIRE thing is, but here is what I have done so far.  I've split the game up into the five broad sections I've been imagining it in my head (they are not equal in length):

OPENING 

This section covers the entire set-up of the game’s premise.  All of it takes place out in the woods.

writing: 50% complete, but fully planned - this percentage used to be larger until I had to scrap most of what I had written and start again :’) Honestly, it probably is more than 50% complete, but I’m giving the low estimate since I have a tendency to scrap large sections of writing in the editing process.

backgrounds: 100% complete!

CGS: cannot say until I’m fully finished writing it, unfortunately :(

MIDDLE

This section features Mordred running around his school’s Homecoming dance and meeting lots of odd characters.  Most of it takes place in the school, but you can visit the woods if you want to.

writing: 70% complete - this was the section I was trying to fully finish before this update, but school got in the way :’) Should be done by the end of next week, though!

backgrounds: Only one left to complete, which I have been putting off for months.  Please lend me your strength.

CGS: There are none in this section!  So I will call it 100% complete :^)

CLIMAX

A relatively short but very important section where lots of little pieces come together.  Can’t say anything other than that.

^ non-spoiler image that technically spoils this section but not in the way you would think 

writing: 50%-ish done; it’s quite short, though, and will probably only take about two days for me to write, once I sit down and focus on it.

backgrounds: This section re-uses backgrounds, but makes heavy use of the one I haven’t drawn yet.  We’ll call it... 40% done for this reason.

CGS: There are quite a few in this section, but I only have three done.  We will see how many more I need...

ENDGAME

Cannot describe this section without massive spoilers, but i can basically say it’s like:

mordred sowing: ha ha, yeah, this is so epic

mordred reaping: hey what the fuck is this

Including this story section of the game has granted me a massive amount of extra work, but I will force myself to do it if it means that the story will be stronger.  Anyway

^ spoiler-free image that describes this section

writing: ???% done - I made a massive change to its structure recently and now I need to see how much extra I need to write and how much I can keep

CGS: 0% done... this is a CG heavy section too, I imagine, so I can feel the pain already

backgrounds: either 0% or 50% done, depending on whether I go with one specific plot choice...

Most of the uncertainly in this section has come from me knowing exactly what plot elements I need, but struggling to find the best way to have these elements come together.  This will probably be the section I put off the longest.  I have to include it though because it has one scene I started writing back in october and god damn it i WILL have this scene finished

EPILOGUE

writing: 40%-ish done - this is a pretty short section, though, so it won’t take me long to finish it once I fully dedicate my time to it! backgrounds: 50%-ish done; this re-uses backgrounds from the middle section, but with characters drawn in different places - so, it won’t take that long to do, once I finally do it! CGS: 0% done.  The good news, though, is that I only need one CG!  I just haven’t drawn it yet :)

------

OTHER STUFF

SPRITES

- There are some edits to be made, but all the base sprites for the characters + many of the expressions are basically done.  At the moment, all that’s left is to draw some expressions for the characters, and then fully implement them into the game once everything is written.

ITEMS

- all drawn B) I still need to implement most of the point-and-click sections, though!

SOUND DESIGN

- leaving this until the end :(  I'll probably spend, like, two weeks straight on it lol ;w;

MENUS

- I will be honest.  I’ve been putting these off until the very end.  Literally the lowest on my list of priorities.

-----

IN CONCLUSION

This story has gone through quite a few changes since I had the first idea for it back in July.  At the moment, it’s only about 22,000 words long - although, I imagine I’ve written at least double+ that, if you count everything I’ve written and then rewritten/cut out from the final product.  I honestly don’t mind all the revisions I’ve made - I think they were necessary to figure out the best way to tell this story, and what words I’ve kept, I’m incredibly happy with.  

I had this lofty idea of finishing the game by the time I graduated (which, as of now, is in exactly six weeks), but it seems that this, unfortunately, will not be the case.  (This is an unfortunate habit I’ve always had, called “I have literally no idea how long things take and what I assume will take an hour will actually take, like, five days or something.”)  

I am still going to try to get as much as I can done by that time, though.  Hopefully, things will be a lot more complete by then :’)

Anyway, thank you to anyone who has stuck around to read this.  I appreciate your support of my creative adventures, even when it has taken me so long.

See you later,

- Gert

#my ocs #demonvn #notart #wip #sorry for how long this has been taking. i swear ive been working on it as often as i can #honestly this is probably over-the-top and way too long but i feel guilty every time i take too long to do stuff :( #trapped in a hell of my own making

[aeliagioia]

Work in Progress Wednesday: I read both of the @HornyGayThug fics yesterday and I started working on my own addition to the "Ian finds out that Mickey is secretly Tumblr-famous" universe.

Here's a tease:

He can’t believe his eyes.

It’s been ten minutes and he still can’t believe his fucking eyes.

Ten minutes ago, Ian Gallagher was a dude sharing a small two-bedroom apartment with a near-complete stranger. Now, he was a dude sharing a small two-bedroom apartment with a confirmed cock-hungry Tumblr thot.

His elusive new roommate, Mickey, was the only person to reply to his quickly thrown together desperate effort to replace his previous roommate. Jason and Ian met way back in JROTC and stayed friendly after high school. Both coming from unnecessarily large Irish Catholic families, they were each desperate to get out on their own and have some goddamned peace and quiet.

Jason had a good-paying but under the table mixology job at a local hipster bar. Without a W-2, he couldn’t put his name on an apartment. So, Ian, an EMT, signed the lease on a borderline-affordable second floor place by himself with his friend’s promise to split all expenses right down the middle. For the first couple of months, everything went pretty great.

Until Jason’s behavior got erratic. There were some mornings Ian would get up early to get a workout in before his shift. When he passed by Jason’s room, his bed had obviously not been slept in. It gave him an odd feeling the first few times but more often than not, when Ian returned from the his run to shower, Jason’s door would be shut and he’d hear the dull drone of infomercials playing on YouTube - his preferred background noise for sleep.

Then around the fourth month, it seemed like he'd stopped coming home altogether.

By month five, the biweekly envelope of cash Jason left on Ian’s bed like clockwork was less and less full until it disappeared altogether by month eight. He left him several voicemails trying like hell to stay calm and reasonable when in reality, he was scared shitless of being evicted.

“Jase - it’s Ian. Listen, um, rent is due in a week. I covered you in October and November but I’m fuckin’ strapped, dude - really need the money as soon as you have it…”

An hour or so later, Jason’s sister Kylie called him to break the news that Jason was not only not going to be able to pay the rent that month, he was in rehab for an Oxy habit and was not likely to be sending Ian money any time in the foreseeable future.

That’s what led Ian to post an ad for a new roommate on NextDoor, and Craigslist. He even revived his old profile on Facebook to try finding someone who could move in right away to mitigate his losses.

Single professional seeking roommate. Unfurnished bedroom in modestly furnished apartment. Rent & utilities split 50/50. Close to the L, on bus line. Contact Ian Gallagher for details.

He checked the ads obsessively but no one in hundreds of views over the three platforms ever called him. There were three days left before rent was due and he was getting ready to tuck his tail between his legs to admit failure and return to the family home on South Wallace when his phone rang. Even when he tried engaging the caller in conversation, the person on the other side of the call didn’t have much to say other than stating his interest in the room Ian had for rent.

“When can I move in?” He asked with his voice sounding gruff, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

Ian blinked. “Don’t you want to see the place first? What’s even your name?” Ian didn’t mean to sound suspicious but - who just moves into an apartment with a complete and total stranger, sight-unseen?

“Nah. All good. I just need a place to go,” the man said. “Name’s Mickey. I got two month’s rent in advance. I can move my shit in in the next couple days, that work?”

Ian pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose. He’d been burned once, by a long-time friend. He didn’t have many options but he wasn’t sure about Mickey, it all seemed so shady.

“Hey, listen - if it ain’t gonna work out…”

“No - sorry, I was distracted. Yeah it’s cool. I gotta get the super to change the locks. I’ll get you a key.”

Ian gave him the address and tried to ask him some reasonable questions about himself, nothing he thought was intrusive; just some basic getting-to-know-you stuff. Mickey avoided answering any of them and hung up abruptly.

When they met up two days later, Mickey was waiting outside the building next to a stack of cardboard boxes closed with duct tape. He was smoking a cigarette all huddled up in a winter coat, a beanie pulled down low and black leather gloves. He paid Ian three months’ rent in advance instead of two. Ian raised his eyebrows at the thick envelope but Mickey gave off enough of a distinct “no personal questions” vibe that he didn’t ask what Mickey did for work. Ian was in a bind and decided living with one standoffish, unfriendly person with money was preferable to the alternative: moving back into a bedroom he'd be sharing with his three brothers.

Mickey started to carry his boxes into the lobby of the building and Ian frowned.

“I’d help you get your stuff upstairs but I gotta work,” he said. Mickey shrugged a shoulder.

“I don’t got much. But thanks.” He added the last part after a pause, avoiding eye contact. He slung an oddly shaped canvas bag over his shoulder. Ian thought it was safe enough to ask what it was - he couldn’t help himself.

Mickey huffed an exhale. “Tripod.”

Ian tilted his head. “Oh, cool. You a photographer or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’,�� Mickey replied and turned away, carrying his stuff up the front stairs.

@callielee227 @mickeyspuffylips @notherenewjersey @can-i-go-with-him @bellafarella @energievie

#work in progress #fanfic #tumblr famous #hornygaythug #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #gallavich

[cordria]

Twin Cores - DP

Saw this headcanon on Tumblr… awhile ago? It stuck with me, and I ended up writing this, and now I can’t find it to give the person proper credit. Lemme know if anyone recognizes this idea and knows who came up with it. (heart) 

Was gonna do this idea for the Big Bang thing, but I forgot all about signing up. ;) Wonders. So I’ll just post it and come up with new ideas.

~2,700 words. 

--

Danny floated high above the clouds, up where the air was thin and cold and the stars sparkled brightly overhead. It was terribly late, and Danny knew he’d be paying for this at school tomorrow, but this was always the best part of his week. He couldn’t come up here all the time, but when he cound, he always found himself relaxing. Hands behind his head, he floated on his back, studying the stars.

He let out a breath through his lips and brought a hand forwards to massage his chest, closing his eyes. Yesterday had not been good day. An accident with some of his parents’ technology had completely ruined his day. For reasons Danny didn’t understand, his chest had felt overly full since. Almost like he needed to cough up something - which couldn’t be, because his ghost form didn’t have any real lungs to cough with. 

With a groan, Danny stretched and rolled his body through a bunch of sharp loop-the-loops and twists, hoping maybe he could work out the kink. Nothing. Hopefully it wouldn’t prevent him from getting a good night’s rest. He was exhausted.

He floated for a few minutes longer, watching the sky and hoping for a meteor or two, slowly turning the overfull feeling over in his mind. He pushed and prodded at the odd sensation, trying to come up with what in the world it could be. 

It had to relate to his parents’ invention. Unfortunately, the day was a fuzzy blur in Danny’s memory and if something in particular had happened to him, he wouldn’t be able to remember it on his own. All he could do on his own was a vague understanding of what had happened.

Getting zapped with one of the newer devices yesterday had resulted in Danny getting split - again. His ghost half had fallen captive to the hero-like obsession of his core, and had gone on a hero-spree. A memory of rescuing a cat from a tree in a very overblown, comic-like way surfaced and Danny buried his face in his hands, embarrassed for himself. “Ugh, I hope nobody videoed that. Or anything else,” he muttered.

His human half had wandered aimlessly through the day, not knowing what to do with no driving force behind everything he did. Vague memories of eating pizza and not noticing the ghost haunting the place next door until Sam pointed it out filtered through the shadows. 

From what he remembered, it hadn’t been a horrible sort of day for either half of him. His ghost half had been allowed to play with his obsession all day and his human half had gotten to just be… human. But he’d been split for much longer than ever before; Tucker and Sam were unable to work through how the strange invention worked. 

Danny didn’t remember being much help with the endeavour. In fact, he sort of remembered his human half stealing the device, passing it to his ghost half, and the thing getting placed on top of the school for the afternoon. Jazz finally got it using some of the newer modifications to the Fenton’s vehicle that allowed it to fly. 

By the time the three of them figured out how to reverse the effects, it was late in the evening on the second day - more than 36 hours since being split. Phantom had started to turn more and more ghost, losing more of his humanity each hour, delving deeper and deeper into this hero obsession. His eyes had turned more ghostly, teeth sharpening, fingers turning into claws. Even a cape had started to mist into view.

Danny slowly ran his tongue over his teeth - they were still a bit too sharp - and pulled his hands far enough away from his face to glance at his fingers. They weren’t claws, not like many ghosts had, but… his fingers no longer really looked human. The changes that had happened to his ghost form the last two days appeared to be permanent, even now that they were rejoined back together.

Danny… didn’t want to think about that. Not yet.

And his human half had started to go through changes as well. Danny vaguely remembered - towards the end of the escapade, when he’d convinced himself that he didn’t want to be rejoined with Phantom - trying to avoid everyone and ending up in a tree, floating in a very inhuman way. His totally human form regaining some of its ghost powers.

Danny mentally poked at the odd, full sensation in his chest again. Perhaps it was that his ghost powers had grown while he was separated. Phantom hadn’t been exactly a half-a-ghost when they’d been slammed back together. And Danny had been just a bit of ghost too. Perhaps now he was somehow 60% ghost and 50% human… and his body was trying to adjust to being too much ghost. 

His mind poked at the sensation in his chest just a bit too hard. Danny slammed his eyes shut tight as he felt the sensation of transformation travel through him - lightning sharp and aching into his phantom bones. Panic set in a second later. He couldn’t transform up here - there wasn’t enough oxygen for his human form to breathe. He’d pass out and fall to his death. 

He gasped and threw his arms out, instinctively trying to grab something even though he was on the edge of the atmosphere, as the transformation arced through his arms and legs. He kept his eyes closed as he fumbled for his ghost side. He needed to transform back fast. His human side would already be aching to breathe, desperate for oxygen after the last hour of being in ghost form.

But his ghost side… was… 

Danny opened his eyes as he realized he wasn’t falling. As he realized his ghost form wasn’t something to grab for, because he was still a ghost.

“But…” he whispered, startled and confused. He’d felt himself transform. There was no mistaking the sensation that had swept through him. He looked around, almost as if the answer would be written in the air next to him.

Then the stars caught his gaze. He froze, mouth falling open, as he stared up at the sky. There were more stars than before, the whole sky alight with points of light. And he knew them - with each star he focused his eyes on, he knew what that star was. How far away it was, what it’s name was, what kind of star it was… 

Delight sparkled inside him as he let his gaze drift across the heavens. Stars he didn’t even know existed seemed to soak into his skin, whispering all their secrets in his ears. “How…?” he breathed, twisting around and around and looking everywhere he could. “Why?”

His gaze snagged on the moon, crescent-shaped and gleaming. He almost felt like he was drowning in it’s glow, feeling everything about it. The ice hiding in its craters. The human-built machinery peppering its surface. The soft warmth still coiling in its dying core. He could just… go there. He could be there in about three seconds. He could just…

He threw up a hand, blocking the moon’s glow, blinking hard and pushing the thoughts out of his mind. “Holy shit,” he whispered, breathing hard, focusing on Earth, on human thoughts, on normalcy. “What is this?”

Then he saw his hand, thin fingers topped with sharp claws, glove missing. His forehead furrowed as he realized both his gloves were gone, as was the logo on his chest, and the white belt around his waist. A black shirt and black pants. His boots looked like his normal shoes, just moon-lit white. Actually, minus the claws and some color changes, he looked… like he had yesterday. “Uh… What is going on with me?” 

He could feel the pull of the stars overhead. He knew he could just lean back, put his arms behind his head, and float there, watching the sky forever. Just revel in space for all time. Instead, he kept his gaze down towards the tops of the clouds. 

At least the first step of what he should do now was clear. Whenever he was dealing with anything out of the ordinary, Sam and Tucker knew what to say. They’d help. He’d go home, grab his phone, and call them. 

Danny flew towards Amity Park-

-and suddenly drew to a stop. He twisted around, eyes wide, realizing that he’d somehow overshot his home by a dozen miles or more. “What the fuck?” he said. He’d only been flying for a moment - how was he all the way over here? “I…”

He licked his lips and tried again. He set his gaze on Amity Park and flew-

-right past Amity Park again. It was an eyeblink of time between one side of the city and the other. Danny hung in the air, confused and slightly annoyed. “What is going on?” he said. A new power, obviously - but one that had unfortunate timing. His fingers curled, the claws digging uncomfortably into his palms. “This is what I get for leaving my phone behind,” he groused. The phone wouldn’t have done well in the thin, cold atmosphere. Even if he’d have brought it with, there was no guarantee it would have still been working. 

“Are all my powers wonky?” Danny asked, raising his hand and pushing energy into his hand. Instead of a steady, gas-like glow, the energy sparkled and hissed, like he was holding onto an exploding firework. “Odd.”

His powers were working differently, so it was time to try using them differently. Time to change tactics. Instead of focusing on a direction, Danny focused his mind on a destination. He closed his eyes, picturing where exactly he wanted to end up. Opening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he tried to fly as slowly as possible.

The world seemed to blur and twist, glowing uncomfortably bright for the fraction of a second Danny allowed himself to be in motion. When the world settled back into place, Danny found himself hovering about ten feet off the ground, within the city of Amiry Park, only about a half-mile from his house. “That worked a lot better,” he said, rather pleased with himself.

Instead of chancing another attempt at flying, Danny figured he’d turn himself human. A ten foot drop wouldn’t be too bad, and he could walk home. It would be the least-tricky way to get home. He took a moment to worry that this new power would prevent him from turning human as easily as normal, but then slammed that idea shut and closed his eyes. 

Danny pushed his ghost form away, pulling at that warm and heavy feeling in his mind. There was a sparkling sensation in his mind, then the sharp pain that came with turning himself human again. He dropped, landing lightly on his toes, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that at least this was still normal. He bounced a few times, testing out a few basic powers - invisibility seemed to work like normal, as did phasing through things. He didn’t try floating, for fear of accidentally ending up two towns over and two hundred feet above the ground in human form.

He walked home, rubbing his chest at that strange, too-full sensation, and snuck in the back door. Despite the fact that all the lights were out, he kept himself invisible to avoid his parents. It was so far past curfew that Danny didn’t even want to think about the trouble he’d be in if they realized he was still out. 

His bedroom door was still locked. Danny phased through it, flipped on the lights, and dumped himself into his bed. “Ugh,” he groaned, feeling the drain of the last two days on his body. He glanced over at the clock. Just before two in the morning. Part of him wanted to just curl up in his bed and fall asleep, try to get a few hours of sleep before tackling school tomorrow. But too much of him had a tight ball of anxious curiosity.

He groaned as he rolled out of bed and stepped in front of his mirror. He looked awful. Dark rings under his eyes and a horrible, pale tone to his skin. He looked half dead. “On the positive side, nobody will question it if I want to stay home sick tomorrow,” he muttered. He shuddered and shifted his weight, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then triggered the transformation.

His ghost form spread like lightning across his skin, slammed through his head, and settled into his chest like a cold ball of fire. He squeaked one eye open just a touch, not sure of what he was going to see. 

Phantom was peering back at him. Danny relaxed, letting his eyes open, and studied himself. From more than a few feet away, he looked absolutely normal. But up close, there were minor changes from the last few days. Teeth that were too pointy. Fingers that were a little more claw-like than normal. Hair that was more… smokey. Just a little. His mouth twisted, unsure of how he felt about the changes. “At least there’s no cape,” he murmured. “I’d look too much like Vlad with a cape.”

He squared his shoulders, set his teeth, and tried flying. He floated up and moved around his bedroom like normal. “So normal.” He caught sight of his claws and shivered. “Mostly.”

“Now…” He took a deep breath and jabbed hard at the over-full feeling in his chest. He was half-hoping nothing would happen. But light sparkled along his body, that tingling almost-painful sensation changing him in very subtle ways. His clothes changed from a jumpsuit to shirt and pants, his shoes looked like they would squeak on the floor as he walked. He was still glowing and transparent. “I’m… a different ghost?” He spread out his arms, feet firmly on the floor afraid to hover. “And I have like… superspeed.”

He took a very careful step forwards, peering closely at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked the same, with the normal green glow. His teeth were sharper, canines almost like little fangs. And… he leaned in, studying his freckles. They glowed, star-like, forming constellations across his skin. 

His mind veered off tangent, remembering the stars overhead, the glittering facts that swirled through his mind, the odd bubbling joy that came with even thinking about space. The freckles on his cheeks rearranged themselves into the constellation Draco, and sparks and speckles swirled into life across his clothes. A supernova that resolved itself into the stars overhead. Danny could trace the stars in his clothes, knew everything about each star. He was caught by the strongest urge to fly there. To zip through space to Alrakis, a binary star system eighty-eight light years away. It would only take him 221 years, 5 months, and 3 days…

Danny jerked himself out of his thoughts. He couldn’t fly for over two hundred years. He shuddered and blinked, settling back on his heels. The glowing freckles on his face settled down, his clothes faded back to black. The familiar sort of pitch-black of space. The sort of black Danny imagined the universe looked like before stars existed. “I have space powers now,” Danny realized, his voice slow and excited. “I have space powers! I’m a space ghost!”

Curious, Danny poked at that over-full feeling in his chest again. The world tingled and flashed, and he was back to his old self. Phantom, with the logo and the better posture and the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. “I’m two ghosts, somehow? Two ghosts… and a human...” Danny stared at himself in the mirror. “Or...” he rested his hand on his chest, feeling that strange overly-full feeling. “Or something…?”

Danny shook his head, not sure where to even begin processing that one. Then he turned himself human again, watching the world get dark as the ghost energy faded away. He scratched at his scalp, trundled over to his bed, and dropped into its softness. 

There wasn’t much he knew right then. The first was that space powers were the coolest power he could have gotten. And the second was that all this would be easier to process after a few hours of sleep and a large cup of caffeine. 

#danny phantom #twin cores #space core AU #this was fun to write #thanks for the idea :)

[promenadewithme]

Heyy, congratulations on 50 followers! Could you write something for Finnick Odair (fluff with a little bit of angst?) based on the lyrics "How would you feel, if I told you I loved you? It's just something that I want to do, I'll be taking my time, spending my life, Falling deeper in love with you, So tell me that you love me too" from 'How would you feel' with a female reader. Please make whatever changes you want, absolutely adore all your writing :))

Ok so I loved this request because I love Finnick so much!! I really hope you like this! I'm sorry I took a bit longer to write this, I had a lot of uni work and studying to do this week.

requested by @boxofsilentwords

This is my first Finnick fic, so I'm nervous... Any and all feedback is more than welcome!

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Female! Reader

Song: How Would You Feel - Ed Sheeran

Warnings: Mentions of killing (nothing graphic), swearing, the hunger games, pining, fluff. Just before the 75th Hunger Games (Catching fire book/movie), but I changed the plot a bit so it would fit the story, Mags doesn’t go with Finnick, the reader does. 

Word Count: 1,2k

Divider made by me on @promenadewithme-graphics​

How Would You Feel

There were soldiers surrounding all the victors as you got up on the platform. Your whole body was shaking. ‘Why is this happening? I already won! I’m not supposed to be here’. You looked to your right and saw your best friend, Finnick Odair, and 3 other male tributes. To your left was Annie Cresta and Mags, who was squeezing your hand.

“As always, ladies first!” said the district 4 escort with a wild grin. You don’t understand how they slept at night, sending people off to fight to their deaths every year, watching like it’s fiction. These were real people, who had families, lives, dreams. You had dreams. 

The escort grabbed one of the envelopes and walked back to the microphone.

“Let’s see...” he opened it and with glee he exclaimed “(y/n) (y/l/n)! Come on over, dear!” 

You looked at Finnick with desperation in your eyes before giving Mags’ hand one last squeeze and walking away. You felt like the world around you was shrinking, like there was no air to breathe. The escort’s voice was but a whisper until your heard what you dreaded more than your own death.

“Finnick Odair!” you looked at your best friend with fear in your eyes. Most would be happy to go into the arena with an ally, but this was Finn. This was your Finn. Well, you couldn’t exactly call him yours, you two were just friends. But you have always loved him. Despite his many lovers, you always stood by him, hoping he would see you. He never did.

“May the odds be ever in your favour.” 

‘And let the hunger games begin’ you thought, looking over at Finnick. He was looking back at you with a plain face, but you could see the pure terror in his eyes. ‘The arena messes with all of us, no matter how tough or brave you are. What happens when you go in twice?’

“And those two are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark from District 12, they won last year’s game.” depicted your escort. You and Finnick were staying at the tributes building. Fourth floor for district 4, as per usual. Over the past days you had come to terms with the fact that you were going back into the arena. That didn’t mean you weren’t scared shitless.

“What else do you know about them?” asked the man. You had watched the games last year. For the first time, you actually liked the victors. So you exposed what you knew.

“Katniss is a hunter, excellent with a bow and arrow, great survival instincts. Peeta is very strong and good at camouflage. The two of them are getting married. Well... at least they were before all this.” you frowned and Finnick scoffed.

“Do you seriously believe that they are in love? They must be jumping with joy that they get to call it off.” he shook his head.

“What do you mean? You saw the games last year, they are obviously in love. They were going to die together.” you refuted, turning to face him.

“Please! The two tributes that are chosen are actually secretly love each other to the point that they would die for one another, they both win the game and live happily ever after? This is the real world, (y/n). These things don’t happen.”

Your heart tightened, but he was right. The couple had given you hope that maybe Finnick would love you too, that even the worst situations could bring some sort of happiness. You now realised it wouldn’t happen. Your love was unrequited, the two of you were going to the arena, but only one of you would come out. If both of you weren’t killed, that is.

“You’re right, they don’t.” you frowned. Your escort continued to talk about the games and how to look good in the eyes of the public, but you didn’t care. It’s not like you’d make it out alive a second time. You barely did the first, in the 66th hunger games.

You went in a year after Finnick, you were so young and so was he. Maybe that's why the two of you bonded in the first place, having to be strong so early in life isn't something easy. Having to carry the weight of killing that young isn't either.

"Excuse me." you muttered before going to your room, Finnick following suit.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"What's wrong? Are you seriously asking me that? What's wrong?!" you exclaimed. "What's wrong is that we already went through this. What's wrong is that this happens every fucking year and no one does anything to stop it. What's wrong is that I am terrified that I'll die, or even worse, that you'll die. Because I don't think I can live without you." tears were streaming down your face as you continued, voice getting lower with each sentence "What's wrong is that I am head over heels in love with you, have been for years now by the way, and you never even noticed me."

You gasped and covered your mouth. What have I done? you thought as Finnick looked at you in shock.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Nothing, just please forget I ever said anything." you begged, going into the bathroom. Yet again, Finnick followed you.

"You love me?" he gawked.

"No?" you tried answering, but it came out sounding like a question. You wanted to dig a hole where you could hide, you were mortified. But when you looked at Finn, he was grinning.

"You love me!"

"Oh God." you hid your face in your hands "Please don't tease me about this."

You felt a pair of hands on yours, removing them from your face.

"Look at me." he whispered. You hesitated for a second, but did what he said. He was smiling softly at you.

"How would you feel if I told you I loved you?" he asked and it was your turn to be shocked.

"What?"

"It's just something that I want to do. Well, I've been wanting to do it for a while now. I just didn't know you felt the same." he confided and you grinned, but it quickly turned into a frown.

"What do we do? The games- We..." tears were forming in your eyes again. He put his arms around you in a tight hug.

"I'll get us both out, I swear I will." he vowed.

"You can't promise me that, Finn. There can only be one victor."

"There was an exception last year, why can't we do it again? But that's no what I'm planning. There's- " he stopped for a second "I can't tell you right now what I know, but I promise we will get out. And after that," he smiled at you, caressing your face "I'll be taking my time, spending my life, falling deeper in love with you. So tell me that you love me too."

You wanted to argue with him, make him tell you, but you didn't want to ruin the moment. So, you put your head on his chest and let him hold you.

“I love you, Finnick.” you mumbled into his chest, wishing it could last forever. Wishing you didn't have to go back to the arena or at least that the odds would truly be in your favour.

General tag list: @for-bebbanburg @power-of-words23 @elenapatricia99

The Hunger Games tag list:

Finnick Odair tag list:

tell me if you want to be added to my tag list!

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #catching fire #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x fem!reader #fem!reader #female!reader #anastasia's 100 followers celebration #anastasia's 50 followers celebration

[lazywitchling]

Alright friends, buckle up, pretty sure this is going to be a long one.

Let me start off by saying that I am about to bring up a problem to which I have no solution. I will say what I think we shouldn't do, but I don't know what we should do instead. Someone smarter than me will have to cover that one.

Anyway, all this is regarding this post I made this morning after seeing yet another one of those asks floating around Tumblr. "What do you think of [website]?"

(Actually I'm going to toss this under a cut because it's WAY longer than I meant it to be, but I still think it's important to say)

It seems like a harmless ask. It usually comes with an explanation as to why there's something interesting there at that URL. Maybe not correct or good, but certainly interesting. Just enough to make you curious to go check the website. It's even in the phrasing of the question! They're not telling you they're good or bad, they're just asking what you think. That's harmless... right?

Yeah, no, it's definitely nazis. Not "nazis" as in "uhhh everything I don't like on the internet is nazi", it's nazis as in full-blown anti-Semitism, reptillian-people-control-the-banks... it's gross. I looked up what they're about just so I could tell you, and it's gross. 0/10, do not recommend.

Anyway, here on Tumblr, they send these asks out to various blogs. And over the past couple weeks, I've seen an increasing number of these asks published on my dashboard.

Now, every time I have seen them, the person publishing it has absolutely called it out for being what it is. They'll go into detail about why it's filth, or they'll go for the short-and-not-sweet "Fuck off, you nazi piece of shit". Every time I've seen the ask, it's been refuted.

But I've seen the ask. A lot.

Now... why is that a problem? Why is it a problem to publish the ask and call it out for what it is? Isn't it better for your followers to know what it is so they don't get taken in by it?

Let me tell you two stories.

1. The Cheeseburger

So yesterday for dinner I had a cheeseburger from... the Large Burger Chain (you know the one). Earlier in the day, I had read a post here on Tumblr about a lawsuit involving this Large Burger Chain, in which they had done a shitty thing. It was a funny story, where we got to laugh at the Large Burger Chain for being greedy and awful. "Look how awful those people at Large Burger Chain are. Aren't they the worst?"

So why did I go get a cheeseburger from them? Well, 'cause for the rest of the day, I kept thinking "Damn, a cheeseburger sounds delicious right now." It managed to weasel its way into my brain, and I couldn't stop thinking about cheeseburgers. And of course, that one cheeseburger place stands out in my mind. Until eventually, when out for a drive with Dad, he asked if I wanted anything in particular for dinner, and I said I had a craving for a cheeseburger from Large Burger Chain (It was Burger King).

Now why did I go there after having read about the shitty lawsuit?

Here's the thing about advertising. They know they can't sell you a cheeseburger from one advertisement. One commercial on TV does not make you go "I will now go get a cheeseburger from Large Burger Chain!" It doesn't work that way. But they want to be sure that when you DO want a cheeseburger eventually... they are the one you think of. They want to be the first place you think of.

Let me ask you something. How did you react when I said the name of Large Burger Chain? Because I said it up there in the strikeout. You might not have had a fully thought-out reaction, but I bet you had an instinctive moment where you either thought "I KNEW it was Burger King", or "Oh, I thought it was McDonalds."

Why did you think of the place you thought of? Is it because you like that one better? Is it because there's one down the road from your house that you pass all the time? Did you recently see a commercial for that one? This is a rhetorical question that probably doesn't have a specific answer. But somehow, for some reason or for many reasons, one of those burger places has made it's way into your head and is now the first place you think of when you hear "Large Burger Chain". One place stands out in your mind as The Fast Food Place With The Burgers. Even if you don't like either place, you've heard them advertised enough that they've got into your head.

You seeing where I'm going with this?

The more these asks show up on my dashboard, the more it gets into my head. I, knowing full well what that site is about, have wondered more than once "Hey, I've never actually looked at that website. What does it look like?" or "What is actually on there?" or "I want to go look at how bad it really is."

I can't name off the people who have received and published the ask. I didn't pay that much attention. Each time I saw it was insignificant at the time. But I've seen the website often enough that I can name its exact URL without ever having intentionally memorized it.

BUT JES, you say, WHY IS THAT A PROBLEM? If you KNOW the site is garbage, and you CALL it garbage, then no one is going to get taken in by it, right??

2. The Price Tags

So, I'm a cheesemonger. My job is to sell things to people. I've been in this business for nearly a decade, I've got certifications you probably don't even know exist. I am trained and paid to know how to get you to buy shit.

It's gross and I hate it and I don't use those skills if I can help it, but I have them.

But there's one very very easy tactic that I do use in my cheese department. It's very easy, takes no effort on my part, and it's really effective.

Every price tag is on the back of the piece of cheese.

These are cheeses that are cut to variable weights, with a certain price per pound. Because these cheeses are cut individually, they are priced individually. Smaller ones, bigger ones, whatever you need. Now, the thing is... if you are browsing my cheese wall looking for something interesting, you are going to see cheese, you are going to see names, you are going to see types. You are not going to see prices. If you want to see the price, which is on the back, you know what you have to do?

You have to pick it up.

I have now got the piece of cheese into your hands. And that's one step closer to it being in your cart.

It's not 100%. It's not even 50%. The majority of people who pick up a piece of cheese on a whim to check the price will then put it back down. But not all of them. A lot of people will pick it up, just to check, just to satisfy their curiosity. That one sounds odd, I wonder how much it is? And then it's in their hands, and they shrug, and they toss it into the cart. Because why not?

So WTF does this have to do with anything?

Look, it's a lot of fun to digitally punch a nazi. They come into our ask boxes, and it's so tempting to take a verbal (textual?) swing at them. But the goal is to get their name out there into the ether. It's to put that name in front of all your blog's followers, as many times as possible. Maybe you refute the ask and someone who has never heard of them before now knows who they are. OR maybe this is the fifth time they've seen it on their dash this week, and now they're curious. This group wants to make sure that you know their name off the top of your head, the way you know the name of that Large Burger Chain. And if they can get you to their site, even if it's just to satisfy your morbid curiosity, even if it's just to see how bad it really is, then they've got the piece of cheese in your hands. And yeah, maybe most people put it back. But sometimes it winds up in the cart.

So... what do I do?

Don't feed the trolls. Starve them. Block the anon. Delete the ask. Move on with your day.

As for how to teach people about these assholes? -shrug- That's where you have to ask someone smarter than me. I don't know how to educate people on this stuff without exposing them to it, but my instinct is to not let them control the conversation. Beyond that, you're probably best off listening to the people these groups hate. Find Jewish voices explaining what's so harmful about these people, and boost their voices instead.

Anyway.

That was a tome. Thanks for reading. Don't feel bad if you've ever published an ask they sent you. Individually posted, they don't have a whole lot of power. It's when it becomes a trend that it becomes a problem.

[nevervalentines]

(went looking for) a creation myth [read on ao3 here]

With the Vytal Festival just weeks away, Yang is left looking for answers to questions she is too scared to ask. 

***

Yang and Blake, before. 

[7k words of a speed run enemies-to-lovers, roughhousing with bladed weapons, and sexually charged hair washing]

Blood is seeping through the fabric of her top, and her tan jacket is gritty with dust. It’s enough to staunch the tacky, rust-colored stain, but only just, and the cut stings with sweat and friction as Yang raises her forearm to run it across her brow.

She slicks her bangs out of her eyes, and reloads her gauntlets with a tight punch at her side, bracing her arms for the recoil as the shells drop into their chambers. Ember Celica is overloud in the sudden quiet of the clearing. Moss-dampened and studded with new spring growth, Emerald Forest is surprisingly silent, as if Yang hadn’t been booking it for her fucking life thirty seconds before.

Then, just there, through the trees – she sees it. Yang’s heart drops, and she risks a step forward, eyes scanning the mulchy cover of dead leaves and underbrush for a trip wire. There’s the potential for anything, from a steel-jawed bear trap to a cartoon-esque snare and net. She really wouldn’t put it past them.

She sees nothing and raises her eyes to scan the trees, finds only the pale underside of the arcing canopy and the gnarl of tangled vines. Grinning, she feels an early flush of victory, a rush of satisfaction that pounds like a second heartbeat. She might actually win this thing; the others be damned.

Bleeding side forgotten, fists held loosely at the ready, she is about to take the final steps toward her target when the metallic click of a safety releasing freezes her in place. Yang winces her eyes closed, breathes out shakily. She feels the mouth of a pistol nuzzle in between her shoulder blades.

Yang knows who it is without turning around. Which is to say: the worst-case scenario. She swallows, hard.

“You don’t want to do this,” she says. At a firmer nudge of the gun against her back, she raises her hands, obedient.  “You can just pretend like I was never here.”

“And why would I do that?”

She turns slowly in place, arms still raised above her head, and finds herself face to face with her captor, finds narrowed, golden eyes, Gambol Shroud pointed squarely at her chest. Blake is wrinkling her nose in the way that means she’s biting back a laugh.

“Because you love me?”

Blake bites at her lip, considers. Shrugs. “Maybe. But not enough to let you take our flag.”

“I was so close,” Yang whines. She pivots her head over her shoulder, pouts in the direction of the blue fabric hanging from a flagpole just a few yards away.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Blake says, stepping closer, until the heat of her thigh presses against Yang’s, “you really weren’t. Pyrrha’s had you in her sights since you crossed the creek.”

“Have you considered,” Yang says, flattening her hands against the back of her head in a way that she knows pushes her chest out, in a way that, without fail, means Blake’s eyes will flick down to her cleavage, “that I was just a distraction?”

Blake hesitates for just a second, but it’s a beat too long, and Yang lashes out her leg, timing the strike perfectly with Weiss’s rush from the trees on the far side of the clearing, darting from glyph to glyph, a lightning-crackling Nora close on her heels.

Yang and Blake go down in an undignified heap, and Pyrrha’s shot spears the space she was in just moments before.

The scramble at the base of the flagpole dissolves into an all-out brawl. A petal-blurred Ruby drops from a tree and gamely tackles Weiss, and her subsequent shrill scream makes an entire flock of birds flee their roost from the above canopy.

More players from both teams race into the clearing, skidding through dead leaves and debris, pant legs flecked with creek water and mud, more roughed up than a 50-minute long, single class period game of capture the flag has any right to make them.

From her spot on the ground, the sky wheeling overhead, Yang distantly hopes some people stayed behind to guard their own flag, but the odds aren’t looking good.

At the edge of the tree line, Juane trips one of the exact traps Yang had been wary of, something rigged so quickly and neatly it has to be Ruby’s handiwork, and it hoists him overhead by his ankle. He dangles, looking resigned, sword sliding out of its scabbard and thunking Cardin squarely on the top of his head.

Cardin goes down like a brick.

Juane cheers.

They’re on the same team, but no one seems to remember the red/blue delineations at this point. The flag all but forgotten, Weiss and Nora are facing off against an odd match-up of Ruby and Ren, and Yang tries to clamber off the ground, ready to provide back-up.

But in the split seconds it had taken the feverish mob to descend, Blake has twisted on top of her, and is driving the hilt of Gambol Shroud down towards Yang’s face. Breathing hard, knees hugged tightly at Yang’s waist, she’s all lithe and muscle – completely unlike close quarter sparring with Ruby.

Yang catches her wrists and squeezes, and Blake drops the blade and scabbard, until the two of them are grappling like teenagers, pressed too tight for Yang to feasibly use her gauntlets, just adrenaline-flushed and tangled limbs, Blake’s eyes flashing, mouth open in an unexpected grin.

“If you wanted to wrestle,” Yang says, twisting on her back in the dirt. “We’ve got beds back at the dorm.”

Blake cuts her off with a forearm to her windpipe, presses down. “I want to do it here.”

Yang knows Blake can be playful – has seen her gloat after a long-fought evening of board games, or loopy with lack of sleep after a few too many all-nighters, pulling dry jokes that make Weiss cringe.

But this – the full weight of her levered onto Yang’s chest, bursting into a laugh as Yang’s hips jump, hands and legs meeting in a mishap of strikes and punches that would make Glynda weep – feels so young. It’s like the tether that tugs at Blake, forces her eyes over her shoulder, knots her brow with worry, has been cut free. Like just for a moment, just for now, it’s only the two of them tangled in the sun-dappled clearing.

They manage to roll to their feet, and Yang shakes her hair out of her face, cocks her fists loosely in front of her chin. Gestures Blake forward.

“Let’s see how nicely you play without your toys, Belladonna.”

Blake’s mouth pulls tight, and she drops into a crouch, leaving Gambol Shroud half-buried in the leaves.

Despite the weight of it, Yang barely remembers Ember Celica exists. It’s been an extension of her own body since her first years at Signal, but suddenly she’s much more preoccupied with how to best get both of Blake’s hands back on her.

“Yang,” Blake says. She flashes teeth. “Stop stalling.”

Behind them, Ruby and Ren are gamely losing, and Pyrrha melts out of the trees, cutting Juane down from the branch with a smile and a well-placed spear throw, catching him before he can hit the ground. All the partners had been split onto opposing teams, but Pyrrha leverages him gently to his feet anyway, backing up a few steps before gesturing for him to challenge.

Cheek smushed into the forest floor, Cardin has begun to drool.

With the full weight of Blake’s attention on her, Yang feels that same second-heartbeat-flush, better than any almost-victory. It’s a feeling she has been careful not to examine too closely for fear of what she will find.

They’ve been partners now for almost two full semesters, and she’s spent too much of it avoiding stating the obvious – avoiding the thing building in between them as if averted eyes will stop the pot from boiling over.

The few slip ups she chalks up to chance, to hormones, to a laundry list of excuses that Blake’s own silence seems to affirm.

It’s working, she tells herself. It’s working, it’s working.

Hair a tousled ripple down her back, Blake’s black cravat had dislodged at some point during the game, leaving her neck bare, skin shining with sweat, glistening in the hollow of her throat. She flicks her bangs out of her eyes and tenses under Yang’s gaze, firming her jaw until the muscle pops, half-smiles.

If Yang didn’t know any better, she would think Blake is enjoying this.

Blake moves on the offensive first, and it catches Yang off-guard, forcing her to step back to dodge a flurry of quick jabs before taking a fist squarely to the jaw. Blake flinches harder than Yang when she lands the hit, immediately backing off.

“It’s okay,” Yang murmurs. Her aura absorbs the punch, and she can feel her semblance simmer, heat lighting under her skin like the kiss of a match against a gas burner. “You can even go harder next time.”

Blake rolls her eyes, but acquiesces.

Even sparring, Blake is careful not to touch her hair – and part of Yang wants to tell her to stop taking it easy, to grab it, pull it. She wants to know what it feels like when Blake plays dirty.

Inevitably, always, Yang comes out on top, breathing hard, the both of them breathless with laughter – unsure what to do with her victory. She knows both of their aura levels are sinking, and Ruby – all but fleeing from Weiss across the clearing – has dropped dangerously low.

When a shrill whistle interrupts the scramble – the flag still dangling untouched, she and Blake immediately deflate, the fight going out of them as easy as it came. Yang heaves a noise of exasperation, drops her forehead onto Blake’s chest. When she lifts her head, Blake’s arms have wrapped loosely around her back.

“Call it a draw?” Yang says, digs her chin hard into Blake’s sternum. “I pretty much had you.”

“Nice try,” Blake says. Her words reverberate in her chest, and Yang feels every moment of their conception, the slight intake of breath into her lungs, the buzz of them as they carry through her throat.

Professor Port’s voice is like a bucket of cold water. He’s standing at the edge of the wood, brandishing a silver whistle, looking at them with ill-disguised exasperation.

“Class,” he says, “I believe the directive was to steal the other team’s flag, not to scrap like children on a playground.”

“Who won?” Weiss pipes up. She’s scraping her hair back into a neat ponytail, standing over a prone Ruby who must have fallen, and has wisely chosen to stay down.

“Everyone lost,” Port says, cheerily. “Back to the school. After that display, I don’t trust you all out here after dark.”

Despite the game’s failure, he seems in good spirits, clapping Juane on the back, and chiding Pyrrha about helping the opposing team mid competition. As punishment, Juane is saddled with Cardin, likely concussed, and directed to help him back to the infirmary.

Hauling herself off the ground, brushing clinging soil off of elbows, picking leaves out of her hair, Yang reaches for Gambol Shroud without thinking. It’s half-submerged in the close-knit groundcover, and she untangles it from curling tendrils of green, robotically sheathing the blade back into the blunt scabbard.

Only after, does she freeze, halfway to her feet. It’s an unspoken taboo to handle other huntresses’ weapons, certainly not without express permission, and here she had done it so casually, tactless.  

But Blake, one arm stretched over her head, shoulder muscles rippling, doesn’t bat an eye. She accepts it from Yang gratefully, fingers brushing as it passes between them. She slings it over her back, and reaches toward Yang, pulls a twig free of her hair.

Wordless, they head toward the group, Yang trying to gauge if she’s going to have to piggy-back Ruby to the dorm room. Still lying prone, Weiss is poking at her with the toe of a boot.

It’s only then, so brief she almost misses it, that Blake reaches between them, brushes her fingers over the cuff of Ember Celica. It feels like the answer to a question Yang hadn’t known how to ask, and the last of the fight, the tension she didn’t know she was carrying, coiling at the top of her spine, ebbs entirely.

They fall into step easily, automatically, and together reach down to help Ruby off the ground. Like a top-heavy punching bag, Ruby lists once she’s on her feet, limbs weighted with exhaustion.

Though Yang reaches out, it’s Blake who steadies her, one hand brushing Ruby’s bangs out of her eyes.

“Reunited at last,” Yang says, laughs at Weiss’s pinched expression. “Can’t believe that game had the audacity to tear us in two.”

“Shut up,” Weiss grumbles, but she’s smiling, and half-heartedly accepts Yang’s high-five. Yang bullies them into a bear hug before they join the others, an eight-legged jumble of girl-sweat and protesting laughter, leaning so hard on one another that when they begin to fall, they topple in turn, like dominoes.  

***

After Port’s dismissal, they troop back to the Beacon dorms leisurely. They have an hour of free period before dinner, and no one in seems to be in any rush to get to the dining hall, content to nurse bruises and grievances, ribbing each other good naturedly, flags forgotten.

Ren is quietly chastising Nora about what looks suspiciously like a human bite mark wetting the sleeve of his tunic, and Juane brings up the rear of the group, quietly sulking, a blessedly out-of-it Cardin’s arm slung over his shoulder.

The wooded forest bleeds into a scrubby grassland, and they wade through waist-high wheatgrass as the spires of Beacon come into view, dodging prickly burs and seedpods that cling stubbornly to their socks and hemlines.

Yang presses her palm to her side. It comes away tacky with old blood, and she grimaces. Her aura had strained to heal it, skin stitching together to staunch the flow, but the last of the fight had drained her reserves, and it reopened easily in the struggle. Catching the movement out of the corner of her eye, Blake grabs for Yang’s hand, frowns down at her skin like a disgruntled palm reader.

“How did that happen?”

What she doesn’t say, plainly written on the landscape of her face in a language Yang is just learning to read is: is that from me?

“My own fault, actually,” Yang says. “We really don’t need to get into it.”

She ignores the stinging pain in favor of Blake’s fingers, stroking carefully over the dips of her knuckles.

“She fell out of a tree early in the strategizing process,” Weiss says. She’s snuck up on them, appearing at Yang’s elbow, face drawn with disdain. Her voice lilts, obviously mocking. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Weiss. I’m just getting the lay of the land, Weiss. Those branches aren’t too thin, Weiss.” She sniffs. “You could have broken your neck.”

“See,” Yang says, slinging an arm around Weiss’s shoulder, pulling her against her side, “she does care.”

“I didn’t say it would be a bad thing,” she says. But Yang doesn’t miss the way she turns her face into her casual embrace, her hand coming up to tug at the back of Yang’s jacket affectionately, clumsy, like it’s an action she’s unfamiliar with.

Blake smiles, ducks her chin. “Don’t say that. I like having her around.”

Yang quiets her internal rejoicing to a silent cheer. She feels, helplessly, like a child picking petals from a wilting stem. She loves me. She loves me not.

She beams, bumping her shoulder against Blake’s. “From Blake, that’s practically a marriage proposal.”

Cheeks flushing, Blake tucks a strand of hair behind one ear, looks away. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Who’s getting married?” This from Ruby, fending off an assault from Weiss who is trying to pat down a stubborn cowlick in the tangled mess of her hair.  

“No one,” says Weiss. “You need a haircut.”

“Me and Blake,” Yang says, cheerfully. “She was the one to propose and everything, it was super embarrassing.”

“Congrats,” Ruby says, batting at Weiss’s hands.

“Long time coming, really,” Yang says. She smiles at Blake. “I’m picturing a summer wedding.”

Blake rolls her eyes, but smiles. A rare one, with teeth. Yang almost stops walking, just to take it in.

Clearly over their antics, Weiss lengthens her stride to catch up with Pyrrha, Ruby trailing behind.

It leaves Blake and Yang alone, shoulder to shoulder, picking their away along the muddy, tire-rutted path that meanders toward the eastern portion of the Beacon grounds. In the distance, the colorful, striped tents of the Vytal Festival fairgrounds are just visible, the encampment half-pitched in preparation for the festival, mere weeks away.

The skeleton of a mostly-assembled Ferris Wheel crests over the treetops, like the pale, bleached bones of a Goliath, its mechanical frame at odds with the verdant landscape.

“Excited?” Yang asks. She bumps her shoulder against Blake’s, jerks her chin toward the pennants lethargically drooping in the stagnant spring heat.

“Hardly,” Blake says. She peeks at Yang out of the corner of her eye. “The tournament might be interesting, at least.”

“All the people, the spectacle, the fried festival food,” Yang reels off, ticking up her fingers, “it sounds like your –”

“—worst nightmare,” Blake says.

Yang laughs. “Maybe so, but,” she shrugs, “meeting new people, smashing their faces in, it’s the huntress way.”

“Now that,” Blake says, “I can get behind.”

Ahead of them, Weiss seems to be trying to engage Pyrrha in an in-depth analysis of the capture of flag bout, looking seconds away from pulling out a notebook and taking notes on every one of Pyrrha’s absentminded observations.

“This is painful to watch,” Yang says, gleefully. “If Pyrrha touches her, she’s going to –”

Pyrrha sets a hand at the small of Weiss’s back, guides her around a rock pitting the dirt path.

“Oh, there it is,” Blake says. She’s actually biting her lower lip to hold in laughter, eyes squinting with mirth. “Someone check the girl’s pulse.”

Like this, sun-lit and flushed, wearing her in-on-the-joke smile, Blake is radiant. She’s a little roughed up from the fight, ribbon a dark, striped wreath around her forearms, her top mud-streaked, the single button of her vest undone.

Yang is enamored. She offers her an arm to use as a crutch, and Blake leans into, buries a laugh in her shoulder.

Ahead of them, Weiss seems to be staggering her way through a conversation about semblances, ponytail swishing. She only comes up to Pyrrha’s shoulder, and when Pyrrha pauses, blithely rubbing at a scrape of dirt on Weiss’s cheeks. Yang can see Weiss’s face blush and burn, even from ten feet away.

Ruby, lagging a few steps behind, looks chuffed to be the most intelligible person in the vicinity.

“Why don’t you look at me like that?” Yang murmurs. They’re winding their way through a spindly grove of peach trees, the last surviving vestiges of the orchards that used to grow on Beacon’s loamy, river-rich soil.

Unkept, the trunks fork and spur, rough bark splitting like over-risen bread, papering off in grey-brown patches. This early in the season, the fruit is small and green, but Blake pauses under the heavy boughs anyway, tilts her face upward.

“What?” she says, studying the waxy, canoe-shaped leaves, veins bleeding from the midrib in furrows. “Like I’m going into cardiac arrest?”

“No,” Yang says, teeth parting around a laugh, “like you adore me.”

Blake gestures Yang forward, touches a palm to her cheek, guides Yang to look up to the branches above where, inexplicably, Blake has spotted a single ripe peach.  

Without needing to be asked, Yang knits her fingers at her belt buckle like a basket, offers it to Blake who leverages herself up to grasp a branch, just high enough to pluck the peach from the stem. She lands lightly on her feet, offers it first to Yang, who cups the fuzzed, sunrise-bodied fruit in her palms.

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” Blake says.

Reaching out, she lifts Yang’s hands, brings the peach to her own mouth, and takes a bite. Juice dribbles from her lips, wets Yang’s knuckles, the vessel of her palm. Blake does not meet her eyes.

A world away, the dinner bell clangs on campus, and the sound reaches them across the grounds. From just ahead, Ruby yells for them to catch up.

**

Yang’s sweating again by the time they enter the Beacon courtyard, the sun creeping west across the sky. Already, the moon, in fragments, hangs low over the horizon like a coin toss, illusory and half-spun. Heat shimmers off the gray cobblestones, a sun-stoked haze that blurs the geometry of fountains to a mirage, and she wriggles out of her jacket, stripping down to her orange tank, hissing when the rotation of her shoulder pulls at her side.

Blake looks at her, and immediately cuts her eyes away. Looks back, lingers. She has an affinity for Yang’s freckled shoulders, has said as much, and Yang exposes them around her as much as possible.

Between them, Blake’s fingers brush the back of Yang’s hand. She thinks, for a moment, that Blake might take her hand in her own, and the idea alone leaves her with a wanting so keen it embarrasses her.  

It’s compulsive, chemical, that Blake’s presence pulls her attention like gravity.

A touch curls at the inside of her elbow, and Blake tugs Yang gently toward her, sidestepping a water feature that looms, overlarge and obvious.  

“You were about to walk into a fountain,” Blake murmurs. One of the loops of her bow flicks, a smile ghosts the corner of her lips.

Yang jerks her chin up, begins to apologize, and Blake shakes her head. “As fun as that might have been, I don’t want to miss dinner because I’m drying you off.”

“I think I could have handled it on my own,” Yang says, leans into Blake’s touch.

“What kind of betrothed would I be,” Blake says, releasing her elbow and moving toward the mouth of the dining hall, “if I left you wet and alone in your time of need?” She only spares Yang a glance before stepping out of the final slash of the sunlight, into the shadow of the doorway.

Frozen, Yang roots herself into the flagstone – tries to parse apart if Blake could have possibly intended that as – if she would have ever said something so – and no, right? No.

“Blake – ” she says, helpless. But Blake is already disappearing inside with a light laugh, leaving Yang to flounder in her wake.

In the early evening sun, buffered by classmates on either side, Yang stares after her, desperately trying to do the math, imagines petals shedding like snowfall.

**

It’s Blake who offers, which surprises each of them, but most of all Yang.

They’re scattered around the dorm room after dinner and a short stint in the library, Weiss pulling her pajama top over her head, Ruby dangling upside down from the top bunk, while Blake smooths a bandage over Yang’s ribs.

In just a sports bra, sitting on the edge of her desk, Blake’s hands trailing over her side, Yang feels like she’s lost control of the situation. Blake mistakes her shuddering breath for pain, and winces in sympathy.

“I’m sorry.” She presses down the adhesive of the bandage with her finger gingerly, nails skirting the rungs of Yang’s ribs, prodding the skin as she checks for inflammation. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

“All good,” Yang says, strained. She’s trying to decide if flexing her arms, like, only a little bit, is going to be a dead giveaway. “Take your time, really.”

Across the room, Weiss scoffs. Yang tries to pin her with a glare, but Weiss evades, busies herself tidying her discarded clothes from the day. Weiss must be the only person in the world who folds her shirts before she puts them in the dirty clothes hamper. It causes Ruby endless amusement, and she swivels her head to watch.

Blake’s hands are cool, and Yang can smell the citrus-perfume of her soap, the soft cotton of her t-shirt rubbing against Yang’s bare shoulder as she leans closer to survey her handiwork.

“I think you’re going to live,” she says. She meets Yang’s eyes glancingly before her gaze drops down, hovers somewhere around Yang’s mouth.

Ruby clambers from the top bunk and comes up on her feet, shaking her hair out of her eyes. Weightless with static from the thick, wool blankets, it frizzes and wisps, too short for a ponytail, and too long to do anything but make her look like a disgruntled miniature pony.

Pulling away from Yang’s side, Blake turns to Ruby thoughtfully. Yang, immediately missing the warmth of her, falls back onto the desk, her muscles popping gratefully with the pull of the stretch.  She examines the pulpy, drop-tile ceiling studiously, trying to calm her heartrate, embarrassed at the rush of longing Blake always seems to leave in her wake.

“You know, I could cut it for you, if you wanted,” Blake says. This to Ruby, whose eyes go wide, a little shy, a little pleased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Yang turns her head, grinning again, shrugging the melancholy off like shedding a second skin. “Now this, I’ve got to see.”

***

Blake drags a desk chair from the bedroom, positions it in front of the sink. She’s spinning a small pair of silver scissors on her pointer finger when she ushers Ruby into the bathroom, and Yang and Weiss troop in as well, like it’s a given.

With the four of them crammed in the tiny bathroom, it’s a tight fit, and Yang leans with her back against the door, Weiss perched on the edge of the tub.

“I didn’t realize I would actually have an audience,” Blake says, quietly, but she isn’t successful in hiding her smile, mouth turning up at the corners.

The sink is running, and she dips two fingers under the flow, waits for it to warm, flicks water in Ruby’s face just to tease.

Shoulders relaxing, Ruby barely grumbles as Blake pushes her gently down into the chair, tilting her head back until her hair wets under the faucet’s flow.

“Too hot?” Blake asks. She cups water in her palms, diverting it until it wets Ruby’s hair to its roots, slicking her bangs out of her face with careful fingers.

Ruby shakes her head, bare feet swinging over the tiles. “S’nice,” she slurs, lashes fluttering against her cheek. “Mom used to do this, remember?” This to Yang, one eye cracking to look at her before closing again.

Arms crossed, Yang nods. “I do.”

Her voice sounds strange, swollen, even to her. She clears her throat, looks to Blake who is looking back at her, gaze soft and steady. The mirror over the sink is fogging with heat, and Yang is stupidly glad not to see her own expression reflected in the glass.

The memory is blurry with overuse, and she feels selfish for hoarding it, something she and Ruby talk about so rarely – the short window of domesticity, the four of them, together.

Blake must sense her discomfort and leans over Ruby, carding through her hair gently, warm water swirling down the drain.

“We’ll just do a trim, okay?” She tilts her head, considering. “Just enough to get your bangs out of your eyes.”

From her spot on the lip of the tub, Weiss is watching the them with open interest, dressed in her slouchiest pajamas, hair loose around her shoulders.

Blake looks back at her. “What do you think?”

Weiss looks surprised to have been asked to weigh in, and shifts unsteadily, pinning her hands under the backs of her thighs, lips tucked into her mouth.

“It will look nice,” Weiss ventures. Then, unsteadily, like she’s unsure if that’s the right answer: “Fine, I mean. It will look fine.”

“Weiss thinks I look nice,” Ruby says, dreamily, eyes still closed.

Yang laughs. “Anything to stop you from going into fights blind should do the trick.”

Blake is methodical and careful, her movements practiced, and Yang watches her hands closely, fascinated by the routine of her gestures. Her long fingers are sure as she brushes out Ruby’s hair, fixing the lengths of hair between two fingers, snipping, tendrils of dyed red spiraling to the bathroom tile.

“You’re good at that,” Yang says, careful not to pose it as a question, even if her curiosity is clear.

“After I left home,” Blake says, tilting her head to frown at Ruby’s hair, thoughtful, “there weren’t places where – well, there weren’t many places that would be willing to serve Faunus, let alone cut our hair.”

Focused on her task, Blake fits two fingers under Ruby’s chin, lifts until she’s staring straight ahead. She hums, approving. When she began to talk, Yang, Blake and Weiss each stilled, incremental, like curious children unwilling to startle a flighty bird.

It’s rare for Blake to offer much from before, even after all these months, and Yang squirrels away every piece of information she manages to glean, coveted closely in a well-hidden corridor in her chest.

“It was a necessity at first, we were moving around a lot, but I like it now,” Blake says. “It’s soothing.” She scrubs her hand under the fall of Ruby’s hair, appraising her work. “I wish we had some clippers, you would look really good with a, like, undercut.”

Tilting her head to look back at Blake, Ruby grins. “Yeah?’

“Oh, yeah,” Blake says. “Very edgy.”

Ruby’s eyes flutter closed again and she leans back into Blake’s hands, accepting the easy touch, pleased.

Watching her like this, the baby round of Ruby’s cheeks, her deep-set eyes, so like Summer, Yang’s heart pangs and pulls. She looks so young, and it’s been so long since she’s seen Ruby find comfort and closeness in groups like this. At Signal, she was always worlds apart.

Too young to hang out with Yang and her friends, and too buried in her comics and starry-eyed dreams of far-flung heroism to mesh easily with the other kids her age. Weiss is watching, too, almost hungry. She is starved, Yang has come to realize, in similar ways – for family, for acceptance, for the way Blake look back to ask her opinion, listening intently when Weiss ventures an answer.

“Okay,” Blake says, steps back. “All set, I think.”

Ruby pops up out of her seat, swipes a hand through the mirror’s condensation to look at her reflection, tilting her head this way and that, before grinning, bright.

“It’s perfect.” Then, shyly, “thank you, Blake.”

“Anytime,” Blake says. “We can pick up dye next time we’re in Vale, recolor the ends.”

Yang groans. “Don’t get her started, she’s been threatening more drastic dye jobs since grade school. I’ve had to talk her out of lime green more times than I can count.”

“The red suits you,” Weiss says, pushing off of her perch to more closely examine Ruby’s bangs. Ruby obediently stops fidgeting, submits to Weiss’s hands, but not before shaking her wet head like a dog, sending water droplets flying.

Aghast, Weiss hisses a chastisement, but cards her hands through her hair, all the same.

“I could cut yours,” Blake says to Weiss. Appraises her, head tilted. “It’s getting long.”

Weiss looks shocked at the sudden kindness, turning a gradient of shades, from a light pink to a dark red the longer Blake looks at her.

“Oh, no,” she says, haltingly. “I have a standing appointment at an Atlas salon but,” she trails off.

Blake nods, that tiny smile still evident on the puzzle-box mystery of her mouth.

Ruby looks on with interest, pokes at Weiss’s cheek, but knows better than to comment.

With a final thanks, the two of them troop out of the bathroom in a snippy caravan, Weiss already haranguing Ruby about an assignment due in the morning, Ruby loudly asking Weiss if she’ll brush her hair before homework, anyhow.

Their departure leaves a vacuum, a pocket of silence, just Yang and Blake, who both seem to realize how close they are standing at the same time, all excuses having fled the room on the heels the others.

“Thank you for doing that,” Yang says, quietly, she reaches out hesitantly and takes Blake’s hand, rubs her thumb across her knuckles. “It’s nice not to do all the mothering, for once.” She shakes her head. “I tried to cut her hair once, must have been about 13. Dad almost had to shave her whole head.”

“She would have loved it though,” Blake says. She doesn’t pull her hand away.

Yang laughs. “Yeah, probably.” She steps closer, emboldened by their hands clasped between them, by the way Blake tilts her whole body toward her, magnetic.

“It was really nothing,” Blake says. “Ruby restitched, like, four pairs of my leggings last week, anyway.”

“It was sweet of you to offer a trim to Weiss, too.” Yang lowers her voice, though the other two are well out of earshot, having closed the bathroom door behind them. “I don’t think she was ready for you to send her into a full-fledged sexual identity crisis.”

Blake throws her head back in a laugh, exposing the long line of her throat, cheeks dimpling. “Oh, no. That’s what Pyrrha is for.” A beat. “I don’t think I’m her type anyway.”

“How?” Yang blurts, clumsy and unthinking, tries to amend it with – “I think you’re everyone’s type,” which really just digs the hole deeper.

Blake looks at her steadily, in that awful way she does, and shoves a little bit at Yang’s shoulder, bullies her toward the chair.

“You should let me do you next,” she says. She must misinterpret Yang’s expression – which flatlines at an alarming speed, elevator music starting to play behind her eyes – and hurries to correct herself. “I mean, not a cut. I know how you feel about your hair, but I could wash it?”

“Wash it?” Yang looks at the sink, back to Blake. The air in the bathroom seems to be getting thinner, and she can’t stop looking at Blake’s forearms, the flex of them as she toys with the scissors, running her thumb lightly over the tapered point.

“You’ve still got leaves in it from earlier,” Blake says, words taut with amusement, “and if you lift your arms over your head, you’re going to undo all my hard work anyway.”

The cut is mostly healed, barely a pale scar at this point, and they both know it. Yang wonders how long they will continue to run round these excuses.

It’s working, it’s working, it’s – “Let me touch you,” Blake says. She presses down on Yang shoulder, guides her toward the chair. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

The chair creaks under Yang’s weight, and her outstretched legs butt up against the opposite bathroom wall. To maneuver around her, Blake has to step between her legs, her hips pressed tight against the inside of Yang’s bare thighs.

Unsure, Yang leans her head back, feels the porcelain cold against the back of her neck. “Like this?”

“Just like that.”

Blake turns on the faucet, and the lull of running water, the warmth of it, is enough to make Yang drowsy and pliant, hands clasped obediently on her lap.

“I love your hair,” Blake says, quiet, confessional. She runs her hands through it, pulls gently, the sensation sending tingles to Yang’s scalp. Yang’s eyes close, and she breathes out through her nose, shifting unsteadily in the chair.

She hears the plastic click of a shampoo bottle, and lavender perfumes the air. Yang thinks of gardens, of soft-petaled flowers, of sunlight and checkered blankets.

“We should have a picnic,” she murmurs. Her muscles feel putty-soft, and Blake’s hands, slick with water and suds, are drawing tiny circles under the fall of her hair, thumbs pressing ecstatically into the corded muscle at the base of her neck.

There’s laughter, barely hidden, in Blake’s voice. “Come again?”

“A picnic.” Yang doesn’t open her eyes. “Just you and me.”

“Did I knock you too hard in the head today?” Blake asks. “Give you a concussion?” Her fingers slip up to prod at Yang’s temples before her fingers firm, massaging there. Yang groans. For her sake, Blake pretends not to hear it.

“I’m not concussed,” Yang says. Against the back of her eyelids, there’s a constellation of color. Blake sluices warm water through her hair, washing out the last of the shampoo. Yang’s hand ventures from her lap, hooks her fingers in the soft cotton pocket of Blake’s shorts. “I just like you.”

She still doesn’t open her eyes, worried that if she does, reality will solidify, transport her away from the dreamy-liminal of this unspoken space, Blake’s hands in her hair, Blake’s body warm against her thighs.

“I like you, too.”

“Actually, I think you said you loved me earlier.”

Blake laughs. “I didn’t. You said I loved you.”

Yang does open her eyes now, finds Blake startlingly close, her gold-flecked eyes, the laugh lines that crease the corners of her mouth like the seams of a love letter, folded over, then folded over again. She steps out of the bracket of Yang’s legs to fetch a towel. Yang reaches to take it, but Blake pushes her hands away, preferring to towel at Yang’s wet hair herself, leaning across her body, her chest pressing against Yang’s shoulder.

Embarrassed now, Yang squirms, but submits to the attention, lets Blake dab away beaded water at her hairline, droplets dripping into her ears, wetting the shoulders of her t-shirt.

“But you were right,” Blake says, so matter a fact, Yang almost doesn’t understand her meaning. Comprehension pales in comparison to the sheen of water on Blake’s hands, her wrists, as she wipes them dry, her hair spilling long and dark around her shoulders, the ends wet where she had leaned over the sink. Blake tosses the towel underhand toward the hamper behind the door, reinserts herself between Yang’s legs. “I do love you. I really do. And yes.”

“Yes?” Yang asks, dazed, still stuck halfway inside the feeling of Blake’s body, pressed up firmly against her own.

“Yes to the picnic,” Blake says. “Just the two of us.”

She loves me.

Yang shifts to prop herself upright against the body of the sink and frames Blake’s hips in her hands, guiding her firmly into the V of her legs. Blake concedes, arms wrapping around Yang’s neck, petting through damp hair. The hem of her shirt scrunches under Yang’s fingertips, slipping up to reveal the unblemished hollow of her hip, the skin of her sides, goosepimpling under the duress of Yang’s touch.

“We should do that thing again,” Yang says, a wish, a confession. Said aloud, she’s worried, like memory, she’ll bleed away the magic of unspoken things, but it only seems to strengthen the energy between them, the accumulated weight of all that they never talk about.

Blake plays dumb, but she’s smiling, ducking close even as she asks, “what thing?”

Her breath is warm against Yang’s ear, and she presses her mouth just there, against the round of Yang’s cheek.

“Close,” Yang says. She exhales, grip tightening.

Blake drags her lips to Yang’s jaw. Then to the dimple of her chin.

“Closer.”

Blake kisses her, proper, all it takes is a tilt of her head, nose nudging into the plush-round of Yang’s cheek. They both breath twin sighs of relief, like the pressure of playing coy has been alleviated in a single moment. Blake’s hands knot in Yang’s hair, fingers threading.

Yang smiles, murmurs: “just like that.”

It isn’t their first kiss, but it’s close. New enough that Yang still isn’t used to the shape of Blake’s mouth, the rhythm of her kisses, or the taste of her breath. New enough that this alone is enough to alight a heady, perfect rush, the thrill of two whole, perfect things slotting into place.

Her hands slide to the small of Blake’s back, splaying wide across the ridge of her spine, and Blake whines low in her throat, tilting her head until their mouths catch in full, her teeth scraping against Yang’s bottom lip.

Blake swings her leg over Yang’s hip, then the other, settles on her lap. The warmth of her body like a weighted blanket, her chest pushed flush to Yang’s. Pulling back, breaths ragged, they survey each other, eyes bright.

Blake drops a kiss on the bridge of Yang’s nose. Again, on her mouth. Yang tilts her chin up, submits. Nods lazily into another kiss, rolls her tongue into Blake’s mouth.

They don’t talk about it, but they never do.

In the crowded, humid heat of the bathroom, the silence is enough, both smelling like the same shampoo, like lavender, trading kisses until their mouths are slick and pink, until Blake has a strawberry bite under the collar of her t-shirt, and there is no excuse they can make to Ruby and Weiss to explain the lost time.

Exiting the bathroom feels like stepping through a portal – the air of the bedroom is stale and cold, and tastes like the bitter-metallic spit of the cranky window unit that churns, futile and constant.

They shouldn’t have worried. Ruby and Weiss are passed out on Weiss’s bottom bunk, tilted into each other, Weiss’s head leaned up into Ruby’s chest, a textbook open on her lap.

Blake smiles at them, soft, and Yang presses a finger to her lips. Sound asleep, neither stirs when Yang removes the book or when she shifts both of Weiss’s legs to the bed, pulls the lip of the comforter up over their bodies.

Weiss does move then, but only to turn her face into Ruby’s throat, fingers curling into the sleeve of her shirt.

Across the room, Yang watches Blake walk through the final stages of her night time routine. Removing her rings, one-by-one, setting them into a china bowl at her bedside. Toeing off her socks – because anyone who sleeps in socks is a serial killer, yang – and turning back the cool underside of her covers.

Yang, suddenly shy, mythical, waits for an invitation.

“It’s only fair,” Blake whispers. She shifts over to make space against the hollow of her body. “Turn off the light.”

Yang does, the room plunged to darkness, and she feels that little-kid thrill in the few steps it takes her to cross to the bed. By the time she reaches it, she fears Blake will already be gone, leaving her only with under-the-bed monsters and grasping hands.

She shivers into the sheets, and it’s Blake’s warmth that accepts her, slinging a long, bare leg over her hip, claiming her cheek with a warm palm, stroking her bangs out of her eyes.

“We need to talk about it,” Yang whispers.

She can see Blake’s eyes gleam in the darkness, a flat sheen. Yang swallows, wriggles closer until she can insinuate her thigh between Blake’s legs, suddenly desperate to be close. She would swallow her whole if she could, sink themselves inside of one another, like nesting dolls, like palms cupped in prayer.

Yang’s eyes adjust in the half-dark in the time it takes Blake to answer, moonlight shredding through the parted curtains. When Blake opens her mouth, the wet of her mouth refracts light, the uncurling of her tongue.

“I know,” Blake says, voice small.

Their hips-stomach-breasts bully into one another, until every breath is a part of a cycle.

“If we don’t, we’re just going to keep colliding until something breaks.”

“I know,” Blake says, again. “There’s just so much I haven’t told you yet.”

Yang runs her hands up and down Blake’s side, slips her palm under the hem of her shirt to feel the blanket-heat of her bare skin.

“We have time,” she hushes. She tilts in, her lips find the corner of Blake’s mouth, press there. Retreat. “After the Vytal festival, then. We can have our picnic. We’ll talk about all of it.”

Blake nods, nose pressing into Yang’s. She giggles, readjusts, turns her mouth into Yang’s cheek. “Okay. After the festival.”

Pinkies twined under the covers, they seal it with a kiss. Blake nods more kisses against her mouth, slips a tongue behind her teeth, until the taste of her lingers well into Yang’s dreams.

Yang won’t remember falling asleep.

#janurwby #bumbleby #my beacon days prompt fill got a little out of hand #my writing #rwby #here's to overtly intimate hair washing

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Yan!Stain/F!Hero!Reader: Captive (Ch.1)

Commissioned by: @adosprincess98

Word count: 2100+

Warnings: Death and mentions of blood, kidnapping

7 days and 10 hours. ____ blinked and peered at the small clock hanging on the cracked wall across from her. No, 7 days and 11 hours. She'd been Stain's prisoner for 7 days and 11 hours. Her wrists ached from the metal cuffs around them, keeping her trapped to the bed--his bed. Thankfully he hadn't tried to initiate anything when she was so helpless, but every second she spent here gave her a deeper and sicker feeling of dread. She was a Hero, and he was the Hero Killer. Why should she believe him when he says that he isn't going to hurt her? No matter how many times he tried to reassure her, to lure her into that false sense of security, she refused to be tricked. She was getting out of here, no matter what.

She twisted the chain connecting her handcuffs and continued what she’d been trying to do for the past five days as she strained against her bindings. The cuffs he’d put around her certainly weren’t new, and she’d noticed that the metal pins binding the bracelets to the chains were very worn. It had taken a few hours to determine just how out of place they were, but she’d managed to loosen them more and more with every hour she spent twisting the chain taut against the cuffs. Leaving her arms positioned like that for so long left her wrists and arms aching even more, but it was worth it if it meant she’d have a chance to break free. In an escape plan like this, tenacity was key.

After twenty minutes of straining against the cuff, ____ felt the metal pins begin to strain against the chain. She pulled her arms down with all her might until she felt the chain snap and the bed frame behind her crack loudly as a few chips of splintered wood fell behind her. She stared down at her hands in near disbelief, watching the chain dangle from only one of the metal bracelets it was attached to. She only allowed herself a second or two to appreciate her small victory; right now, she had to focus on getting out of this apartment.

____ scrambled off the bed and into the next room. Her eyes darted from the front door to the window leading to a fire exit on the other side of the apartment. "Okay," she muttered, trying to stay calm as she thought out loud. "Okay. If he's coming back it'll be through the door, just like always. Can't guarantee he won't see me just as I'm getting out." She headed to the window and tried to remove the bolts on it to slide the pane open, cursing when the rusted metal refused to budge. "Fuck, okay," she replied. She took a few steps back and tried to psych herself up for what she was about to do. "Guess I'm kicking this fucker open. Okay, 1...2...3!"

She sprinted and kicked the window as hard as she could, shattering the glass into hundreds of pieces. Thankfully her Hero costume was designed with durability in mind, so there wasn't any risk of tearing it or cutting her foot. She did her best to clear the remaining fragments of glass attached to the windowsill and crawled out to the fire escape platform a few feet below. Her feet and arms clambered down flights of wrought-iron stairs that seemed endless to her despite the building only being a few stories high. Once she hit the pavement of the alleyway below, she broke into a sprint and frantically called for help.

"I need a Hero," she yelled, her eyes darting around for any sign of a figure in a costume as the sun began to set and the lights of the city began to flicker on. A few civilians gave her odd looks as she ran past them, and she gave out a small relieved gasp when she recognized a Hero she'd worked with at a previous agency. "Rust Belt!"

Rust Belt turned around, carrying a bag of takeout from the restaurant he had just left. When he recognized ____, his eyes widened in shock. "(Hero Name)? You...you've been missing for weeks! What happened?" He ran up to her and felt her cling to his arm.

"Hero Killer," she replied in between pants. The adrenaline of escaping was finally starting to wear off, and she was feeling more and more drained by the second. "Stain, he kidnapped me. I thought he was gonna kill me, I dunno why the hell he didn't do it right away." She held his arm a bit tighter and looked around warily. "Please, you have to help me get to the nearest police station."

"Of course," Rust Belt replied, walking with ____ towards a station a few blocks away. "God, I just...I can't believe you're here, everyone back at the agency was so worried. I'm glad you're alright." He cleared his throat. "Well. Uh, not totally 'alright', since you got...you know, kidnapped by the Hero Killer. I...I'll shut up now, sorry." He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder, and the next five minutes passed without any more words exchanged between them. Rust Belt noticed their slight limp as they tried to keep up with him while they headed towards the hospital. "Hey, you need to lean on me? You're running a little funny."

____ shook her head. "Probably just sprained my ankle when I kicked out that window," she replied dismissively. "Or maybe when I ran down the fire escape. I'll be fine."

They turned a corner when a woman's scream suddenly rang out in the alley nearby. Rust Belt and ____ heard the clatter of a trash can being knocked over and the sound of running footsteps as a woman in a tattered hoodie ran out into the street. When she saw the two Heroes, she pointed frantically at the alley. "The Hero Killer," she stammered, "I just saw him back there with someone in a costume and holding a knife over him! Please, you have to help him!"

Rust Belt nodded and immediately started to go into the alley until they glanced at ____ following behind him. "Stay here with the civilian," he said. "I'll be fine on my own. Besides, you're in no condition to fight with your leg."

"Are you crazy? I'm not going to leave you to take Stain alone--"

"Yes, you are," Rust Belt snapped.

"You're not keeping me out of this," ____ retorted. "Besides, I can distract Stain while you save the other Hero. Once they're rescued, feel free to destroy his knives, rescue me and be as much of a white knight as you want." She balled her fists and walked ahead of him before turning a corner in the alleyway. There was barely any light aside from the dim bulbs outside of the back doors to the buildings along the backstreet, but it was clear to see that the alley was empty.

Rust Belt peered into the darkness ahead of him. "No sign of Stain or another Hero," he said quietly. "Do you see the trash can the girl knocked over when she saw them?"

____ squinted as she tried to see further despite the dim lighting. "No...oh, there," she replied, careful not to speak too loudly as she pointed. "About 50 yards ahead, on the right side of the street."

Rust Belt noticed the overturned metal can and nodded. "Alright, we'll go with your plan," he said, still sounding a bit uneasy about using ____ as bait. He noticed the set of old fire escape stairways along the buildings around them and quietly started to make his way up one of the ladders leading upwards. "I'll keep an eye on you from up here. You call out to him, and I'll initiate a surprise attack. I'll use my Quirk to make his blade useless and we'll take him down together. Got it?"

____ nodded. "Got it." Rust Belt continued to stealthily climb the fire escape while ____ cautiously walked ahead. Something about this seemed...off. "Stain? I'm right here!" Her voice wavered a bit as she called out to her captor. "And unless you want me to leave forever and tell the cops and my coworkers everything I've learned about you and your hideout, you'll leave that Hero you've taken and come out!"

Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for him to strike. She strained her eyes to look for where he might be hiding, until a pair of hands clasped around her mouth and waist. Immediately she fought back, shoving her elbows into her attacker's chest and using all of her body weight to lean against him so they'd both fall to the ground. He let out a small grunt of pain and his hand fell from her mouth, but he kept a firm arm around her waist. ____ pummeled and scratched at his arm around her, and tried to kick at his feet as he tried to wrap his legs around her to keep her in place. "Rust Belt, what're you waiting for!? Where--"

A sudden sting from the side of her shoulder made her hiss in pain, followed by a quick wetness against the wound...and a freezing sensation that immediately made all of her muscles relax and slack. Her arms and legs fell limply of their own accord, and all she could do was watch helplessly as Stain moved from underneath her to face her from above.

He didn't look as angry as ____ thought he would be. If anything, he seemed more hurt and disappointed as he looked down at her. "Why did you leave?" He glanced at the broken handcuffs around her wrists and sighed softly through his nasal cavity. "If you wanted some more freedom around the house, all you had to do was ask me. I could have found something more comfortable that would still keep you secure."

____ struggled to speak, barely opening her mouth as she fought against his paralysis. "I'm...not...your prisoner," she grunted.

Stain brushed her cheek and leaned closer to give her a kiss. "No," he replied gently. "You're not. You're my Beloved." He scooped her body into his arms and hoisted her over one of his shoulders. "And I'm going to keep you safe from the world until I remove the filth corrupting it." He caressed one of her thighs as he walked with her. "Until the world is worthy of having you in it, you have to stay hidden."

____ struggled to move her neck up to look around the alley as he talked. "Wh….Where's Rust Belt?"

Stain turned around and walked towards one building in particular with a back exit in the alley. "Was he a friend of yours? You two seemed...familiar."

____ clenched her fists and bit her inner cheek, tasting blood in her mouth as she felt a lump forming in her throat. Was. Was. Did he… "You killed him?"

Without hesitation, he responded. "Yes."

____'s chest tightened. She desperately fought the paralyzed nerves in her body, fighting to reach up and choke the life out of her captor. "He was trying...to help me," she said, her voice cracking. "He was trying to help... that girl who saw you. And save the Hero she saw you take." She glared at Stain's lower back, the only part of him she could see as he carried her. "You kill them too? Were they not pure enough for you?"

"There was no other Hero," he replied calmly, climbing up a fire escape with one arm keeping ____ secure. "I told the girl to lie to lure you here."

As he made his way to the roof of the building, he stopped and glanced somewhere nearby that ____ couldn't see. "I'm sorry," Stain said softly. "He was already a target of mine. I didn't know he was your friend."

As he jumped to the adjacent rooftop leading back to the apartment, ____ managed to catch a glimpse of a pool of blood by where they'd just been. The body nearby was mostly obscured by a stack of crates, but she instantly recognized the costume as her former friend and savior. He died trying to save someone who didn't even exist, she thought bitterly. He died trying to help me escape. Stain crossed the final rooftop and entered his hideout via an access door to the abandoned apartment, and a weight began to fall over ____'s body as he led her back "home". He died for nothing.

#.bnha #yandere bnha #.stain #yandere stain #.myshit #.commission

[ladykissingfish]

Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Eight // Kakuzu

What is with this group and wasting their free time doing such inane and pointless things? The old guy can think of at least 50 other activities (the majority of which involve making money) that everyone could be doing, rather than lining up to kiss each under a little green plant. When it’s his turn in the spotlight, he tries as hard as he can to back out of his “obligation” ... but Pein (and Kakuzu’s own persistent partner, Hidan) insist that Kakuzu participate. Kakuzu sighs and nods; he’s smart enough to know when he’s been defeated. However, Pein should know that Kakuzu will be adding a little extra money to his paycheck that week, for “hazard pay”.

Pein

Nagato was more interested in Kakuzu joining his group than any of the others. Immortality, money-sense, expertise and wisdom ... this is the man who survived the wars of the past. This is the man who survived the mighty Hashirama, God of all shinobi. Still, Nagato is no fool; he realizes that Kakuzu’s number one priority in life isn’t the Akatsuki, but money. Kakuzu would probably (and had likely thought about) betray them all in exchange for a tidy sum. So Nagato (as Pein) works to keep Kakuzu content enough to remain loyal, including making him the group’s treasurer and giving him complete control over everyone’s finances. And Kakuzu remains highly useful; strategizing, completing missions twice as fast (and ten times as efficient) as his younger teammates. Pein approaches Kakuzu and gives him a light kiss on the forehead, before returning to his room. He reminds himself to speak to Kakuzu later; he has some ideas about weapons he’d like to procure for the group, and needs to see if it would be financially feasible to do so.

Konan

Kakuzu genuinely likes Konan, and appreciates her company. Many men of Kakuzu’s generation were raised on the belief system that women were solely meant to be wives, child-bearers, and home-makers; to call a female a ninja was deemed unthinkable. But Kakuzu was a rarity in that he never saw this as being the case; man or woman, one’s inner strength was all that mattered in regards to being a shinobi. He’s spoken with Konan at length about her childhood, and the trauma she endured, and he knows that this little blue-haired lady is a sight tougher than a LOT of people (and Kakuzu’s met quite a few in his long life). Konan walks up to him and he smiles; it’s rare for Kakuzu to smile, but Konan brings it out of him. “Good evening, Kakuzu-san. I think it’s my turn.” He nods, and slips off his mask so that his lips are exposed. He leans down and very, very gently kisses her cheek. Her blushing skin is soft and her smile is beautiful as she thanks him and steps away, to let the next person go.

Kisame

Nobody knows this about Kakuzu (and he fears he would be mocked if they did), but the old guy puts a lot of emphasis on the idea of exercise. Five hearts is a lot of responsibility, and staying healthy is how Kakuzu intends to keep living forever. So every night, when the others are asleep and after he’s done with his reading, he’ll spend some time in his room exercising. One night Kisame passed by his open door and saw him using a pair of heavy books as make-shift weights. The next evening Kisame came to Kakuzu’s room with a set of real barbells , which he casually gave to Kakuzu with the admonition not to overdo it. Kakuzu greatly appreciated the gesture (and the unspoken support), and the two have been good friends ever since. But ... a kiss between them would just be too strange, so Kisame comes up with a better option: an arm-wrestling match, Kisame grabs the kitchen table and two chairs and sets them up under the mistletoe. Of course the rest of the Akatsuki gathers to watch, hooting and hollering and placing bets on who will win. Kisame and Kakuzu are both fairly evenly matched, so that challenge goes on for a while. Finally, with a final grunt of exertion, Kakuzu is able to slam Kisame’s hand into the table. Everyone claps, and Kisame laughs and tells Kakuzu that he’s “one tough son of a bitch”; high compliment coming from a man who was half-shark.

Itachi

Out of all the members of the Akatsuki, Itachi was by far the least problematic of the younger ones. Quiet, thoughtful, quick and efficient in completing missions. And polite; always forthcoming with “please” and “thank you”, and never failing to use honorifics with the others, even though some of them (ie Deidara and Hidan) don’t show him that same respect back. One time Kakuzu had caught a cold that stubbornly hung on for several days. Itachi came to his room every day with a cup of congestion-easing tea, something that Kakuzu didn’t ask for, but greatly appreciated nonetheless. Itachi comes up to him and nods. “Kakuzu-san.” “Itachi-san.” Itachi leans up and gives him a light kiss to the cheek, and Kakuzu is struck by a particular urge — to hug this kid. Something about him, perhaps everything about him, seems like a cry for parental love and affection. Kakuzu resists this odd impulse, but Itachi seems to sense that it’s something he wanted, because he leans over again and very briefly puts his arms around the older man. “Thank you,” he murmurs, before walking away. Kakuzu watches him go, slightly shaking his head.

Tobi

Tobi gives Kakuzu an uneasy feeling deep within his heart(s). Running around, speaking loudly, eating nothing but candy and sweets, acting like a complete fool — it’s an act. Kakuzu has never been more convinced of anything in his life. The only question is, why is Tobi putting on this act? To deceive them all into a false sense of security, before striking? Kakuzu has hunted bounties a good deal of his life, and a lot of the more difficult ones to catch have acted EXACTLY the way Tobi does, in order to throw off potential bounty hunters. Kakuzu learned to see through them, the same way he sees through Tobi. But to tip one’s hand and give away what you know is unthinkable in the chase and capture game, so Kakuzu never lets on what he actually believes. “Oh boy Kakuzu-san; does Tobi get a kissy now?!” Kakuzu nods, and Tobi slides his mask halfway off (Kakuzu notes the lines on the side of his face; accident, most likely. Possibly a disfiguring one) and the strange glint of his eye. Before Tobi can act, Kakuzu puts a hand on his face and kisses his forehead. “There. Now go.” Tobi slides the mask back on and hurries away with his usual chatter and giggling, and Kakuzu reminds himself to loom through the bingo book later for bounties with visible scarring on the left side of the face.

Zetsu

Five hearts means more blood needed to sustain said hearts. More blood means a stronger scent. A stronger scent means ... Kakuzu smells delicious to someone like Zetsu. Zetsu approaches him and looks around quickly; the two are alone. His brain runs through every possible scenario in which he could successfully kill and eat Kakuzu. He’s victorious in a few ... but most end with him mutilated by the man’s tentacles, and having to face the wrath of Pein on top of everything else. So he simply sighs, flicks out his tongue to taste the saltiness of Kakuzu’s cheek, and walks away again. Just that one taste was almost enough to make zetsu throw restraint to the wind and eat his fill, so he leaves before he can do anything he’ll regret. Kakuzu wipes off his cheek in mild disgust ... in a group full of freaks, Zetsu certainly seemed to take the cake.

Deidara

Kakuzu still remembers the day they brought this kid into the group. And that’s exactly what he was; a kid. Barely 15 years old, with a powerful “gift”, and full of anger at a village he felt betrayed him in not trying to understand his unique sense of ‘art’. Fast forward several years later and Deidara had changed, and most of that change was the better. Kakuzu could only surmise that the kid matured due to the constant council and guidance of his older and wiser partner Sasori; Kakuzu feels mildly jealous that Sasori was able to reign some measure of improvement over HIS young partner, but Kakuzu couldn’t do a thing with Hidan. Still, though, even Sasori hadn’t been able to completely tame the kid, as evidenced by Deidara managing to get BOTH arms blown off in a tussle with some Konoha nin. Kakuzu had been tasked with sewing his new arms back on, but to the kids credit, despite his painful the procedure had been, he didn’t utter a sound. Had even thanked Kakuzu, twice, afterwards. Deidara walks up to him and looks almost shy; 19 years old now and still with the face of a child. Kakuzu leans down and kisses the kid’s forehead, again noting his soft and smooth — and LONG — his hair was. It sways as Deidara walks away, and Kakuzu wonders how much he could get for those luscious locks, from the right buyer.

Sasori

Respect. Out of all the words that Kakuzu could use to describe how he felt about Sasori, Respect was at the top of the list. And the funny thing was, Kakuzu hadn’t even met the REAL Sasori until almost a year of being in the Akatsuki. The two had been sent on a mission, and at night, near the campfire, a soft metal sound made Kakuzu turn his head. It was a small, slender redhead, emerging from the being that Kakuzu had THOUGHT was a real person. The two had looked at each other for a while, and then started a game of cards as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As time went on, the two became closer. They both shared an interest in/knowledge of medical jutsu and procedures, and would often come to one another with questions or with articles on different medicines. Kakuzu nods at him as he walks up, and Sasori does the same. He thinks about it, bends down and kisses Sasori’s left cheek, and Sasori smiles at him, bidding him a quiet Good Evening before going back to his room.

Hidan

“Hey old fuck; you’ve been dying to get your hands on my sexy body all day, haven’t ya, pervert?” Kakuzu would roll his eyes at Hidan’s comment, but at this point, he’s ridiculously used to the things his partner says and does. As he looks at Hidan’s face, he wonders, and not for the first time, whether this is a punishment of sorts. Gaining five hearts and creating a kind of immortality only came for Kakuzu at the end of a long and bloody road, one paved with the unwilling sacrifices of other people. Was it Fate, that the Gods had put THIS man, this loud, overbearing, foul-mouthed heathen, into his path? And as the one person who just might be immortal, too? Hidan often joked about “When all these other assholes bite the big one, me and you might as well get married, bastard.” But what in the world was he saying? Surely he was joking; why would someone as young and attractive as Hidan want to be with Kakuzu? Kakuzu who was heaven knows how many times Hidan’s age, and — “So we gonna slobber each other or what?” “You’ve got a big mouth, brat. Learn to shut up once in a while.” “MAKE me shut up, fuck-face.” So Kakuzu grabs Hidan around the waist, tilts him back, and sinks into his lips. Kakuzu’s mouth is rough and scarred but Hidan’s is smooth and soft, and the contrast creates a dizzying effect for both men. Hidan grasps Kakuzu’s shoulders tighter, leaving slight nail-prints in Kakuzu’s flesh. Their lips are touching but in this moment it feels like everything is touching, even their very souls (if either of them still had one, that is). When Kakuzu finally breaks the kiss and pulls Hidan back up, the white-haired immortal seems fairly disorientated ... but that doesn’t stop his mouth. “You’re an even bigger pervert than I thought, old fuck. Who the hell said you could stick your tongue in my mouth?? And why —” Kakuzu suddenly reaches out and grabs Hidan’s face with both hands, this time pulling him forward into a very soft, closed-mouth kiss. “Better?” Instead of a smartass answer, Hidan simply nods; and now he’s smiling as he walks away. If he were to turn around at any point, he’d surely gasp; because Kakuzu’s smile was even bigger than Hidan’s own. “Stupid kid,” Kakuzu mutters to himself, still smiling as he makes his way back to his room.

#the akatsuki #under the mistletoe #kissing #kakuzu #hidan #konan #pein #tobi #deidara #sasori #kisame #itachi uchiha #zetsu

[theonekid123]

Why Don’t You Wanna Fuck Me?

Summar: Y/N sleeps around with a lot of people but seems to steer clear of Levi, He's unsure why so he tries to figure the mystery out.

Chapter 4

I haven't seen Levi for a few days, or at least I haven't interacted with him. "I could be analyzing it wrong but I think he's avoiding me," I told Hange poking my breakfast with my fork "Maybe he's nervous, he probably doesn't know how to approach you after all that" she replied taking a drink of her water "I don't think he's had his morning tea yet, maybe you should go make it for him" Moblit offered some advice, which was good advice. I got up giving them a quiet goodbye as I went to search the kitchen for tea. . . . *knock, knock* Why was I so nervous, I was just bringing him tea. I've never been nervous around him. "Come in," Levi said after a moment, it was slightly muffled. I opened the door and saw his back turned to me, where he sat at his desk. I walked up and gently placed the tea next to his hand, where he was filling out paperwork, and leaned on the wall next to the desk. He looked up with a slightly surprised look on his face, after a moment of awkward silence I spoke "It's tea, lemon ginger, I'm not sure if you like that type but that's what was in the kitchen so…" I didn't know what else to say he puck the cup up and took a sip before placing it back down "Um thank you, it..yeah it tastes fine." Was Captain Levi...flustered!? Stuttering?! "Well I'm glad it's ok, we should probably buy some more because I think we're running low" this seemed like such a one-sided awkward conversation "Oh y-yeah, I haven't gotten some in a while" he rushed the last part "Ok well I have the day off today if you want I can go pick some up, just tell me what you want" was this him trying…. "I uh I can come with you if you want but if not I c-can just-" "Yeah that's sounds great I leave in 20 minutes if that ok," I said walking out of the room before he could answer. That was a painful conversation. I've never heard Levi have so much trouble with a simple talk. "That was terrible," I said taking a seat in front of Hange and now Petra, who had replaced where Moblit was seated "Was it the Levi thing?" Petra asked "Yeah….he was so awkward, stuttering it was so one-sided," I said dropping my head onto the table dramatically "Well he's probably not used to that kind of attention" Hange replied "Well he agreed to go buy more tea with me today" "Maybe you can try to bond over that, and you HAVE to tell us how it went," Petra said excitedly. I and Petra were pretty good friends she had a thing for Levi for while, not that it would ever be a problem between us, but when I told her about what happened between us she was so excited. "Are you ready to leave" I heard a deep voice behind me, I picked my head up and looked to see Levi looking down at me, the only time he could look down on me, "Yeah let's go," I said and looked and saw Hange and Petra looking very suspicious. We walked out of the canteen and got some looks from other soldiers. Not shocking but damn, they don't mind their business. I can practically make a sandwich with this tension, I looked at the short man for a moment, I saw his cheeks turn light pink. “Stop it brat” he snapped turning his head to look directly in my eyes, I just know he got whiplash… “What im not allowed to look at you anymore”?  I asked walking ahead of him to the small tea shop. I waited for him to catch up before accidentally looking at him again, he had an unnecessary glare “I wasn't looking at you captain I was looking for….” I never was the best at lying “Tch, I thought I sai-t-told you not call me that,” he said as he walked into the shop. I walk in short after finding him looking through the herbal teas “What’s your favorite kind?”  why was it so difficult to have a conversation with this sleep-deprived gnome “Why are you speaking to me,” he asked still avoiding eye contact “Um maybe because that's what people do...talk to each other” I didn't think he was so dense, but I guess since I've never had a good relationship with him it would make sense. 5 minutes passed and we haven't spoken since “I enjoy black teas” I barely heard him say as he walked past me with a few small bags of tea leaves. He bought and left and I was just stuck. He spoke to me with me initiating it, well I guess I kinda did but still. I walked to the exit fully expecting to see him but he was waiting by the outside of the door when he same he started walking “I also like black teas, my favorite is probably earl gray, but my favorite teas, in general, is Lemon ginger,” said jogging to catch up, for someone who is the size of a child he sure is fast. We made some more small talk about tea on the way back, the original awkwardness and tension was cut in half, we walked to his office “Ah well, you have more tea now so mission accomplished right?” I said it was cut in half meaning there was still 50% of it… “I...I enjoyed y-our company” he said before quickly going in his office and slamming the door before I could even say anything . . . “STOP LAUGHING!! IT WASN'T FUNNY!...it was embarrassing” I mumbled the last part as Hange, Petra and Moblit laughed at my suffering “Ok ok, but at least he’s trying...I think” Petra said, it seemed like she was trying to convince herself of it “Yeah because slamming the door on my face trying” yeah I was kinda pouting but come on he didn't have to do all that I haven't seen Levi all day, I wasn't sure if he's avoiding me or "Y/N!" I turned to where I heard my name being called. It was Nanaba. I've spent so much time trying to figure Levi out that I haven't interacted with anyone outside of Hange and Petra. "Hey Nan, how are you," I asked the girl with a fond smile. Nanaba was a great friend, optimistic, sometimes cocky, but overall such a nice understanding woman, and she wasn't bad in bed either. "We have seen each other since a few weeks ago, I hope nothing changed or.." she trailed off chuckling awkwardly. I hadn't even realized it's been so long. That means I have slept with anyone in weeks, am I seriously changing myself for a simple man? "Oh no I'm sorry, I just been busy with the upcoming expedition, I was appointed temporary squad leader, it been a lot of stress" I tried to explain "Oh no I get it I was just worried, anyway, Erwin was asking for you, he's in his office," she said flashing me a smile before I walked away. Things have been slightly awkward since that ruined night. . . . "Commander Erwin" I greeted as I entered the room to see Levi also in the room. Odd "Y/N please have a seat" Erwin offered. I took the only open seat, next to Levi "Captain Levi has requested you be moved from your current position and join his squad, as you may well know Captain Levi handpick his squad based on skill and competence. However, the decision is your choice" he explained sliding over a piece of paper. I had to sign it for it to be official. "May I speak with Captain Levi for a moment?" I asked putting the paper down on the table. Levi looked shocked, Erwin got up and left, shutting the door. I looked at Levi and sighed, he looked confused "Why?" I asked rubbing my temples "you know why you're doing this Levi, why?" he wasn't answering my question "I said I would try, this is me trying" he scoffed crossing his legs "you never requested me before, it's not fair to other competent soldiers" "Y/N do you seriously think others WANT to join my squad. We take on the most dangerous missions" he was trying to explain the best he could, I can tell "and you want me o be apart of that, so you trying is asking me to join a suicide squad" I didn't understand what he was trying to prove. "I-*sigh* look Y/N you'll be safe in my team, I want you on it because..." he trailed off "You what Levi, give me a good reason I should join, and ill design the dumb paper" if he wanted me on the team she would tell me, right? Silence. that's what I got silence. "ok fine," I said getting up and walking towards the door, I heard a chair scrape the floor "I care about you ok!" he snapped, I was still confused "If you're with me I can pro-protect you," he said softer this time. it made sense now "Levi" I turned and looked at the man, he had a devastating look in his eyes . . .

#levi aot #levi x y/n #levi squad #hange zöe #snk moblit #nanaba aot #Erwin Smith #attack on titan #AoT #snk #petra aot #reiner braun #eren jäger #armin aot #annie leonhardt #bertolt hoover #mikasa ackerman #ymir #historia reiss

[xpao-bearx]

Part 1 HERE

NOTE: OMG I really wasn't expecting for the previous first part of Heavenly Sins to blow up as it did, but I just wanted to give a huuuge THANK YOU to all of you amazing folks!! 🥰🥰🥰 Your support truly means so fooken much to trashy ol' meh and y'all are the reason I am writing this story series in the first place :')

I do have my ideas, but I still don't know much yet of what to do or even how long (or short) this story will get. So, if you would continue to give me your mindblowing support, it would seriously mean the W O R L D.

I do, however, very much enjoy writing Negan in particular so far. He's one of my absolute fave characters ever and JEFFREY DEAN FUCKIN' MORGAN NEED I SAY MOAR?!? 🥵💕💕

But this second part will be focusing a bit more on our beloved sheriff Ricky boi! Of course, Daryl will also get some much deserved love and attention tho I think he will appear in the story a lil later on.

Also, if you ever feel compelled, you are more than welcome to take some inspo from this story and make your own imagines and such! I'd love to see 'em, so please tag me 😁

P.S. There won't always be long ass notes like this, only if I wanna say something or bring up whatever is important. Also, if you wanna be tagged on any new/future story parts, then just tell moi and I will dedicate the latest one to the people who wanted to be tagged!

DEDICATED TO: The wonderful @buttercandy16 💖

"Heavenly Sins"

Part 2

After your little spiel, you haven't spoken to Negan since then. But on the way home after church, you passed by his house and found him tinkering away on his motorcycle (which you previously learned he interestingly named Lucille) in the garage. Not being able to help yourself, you paused in your tracks and just curiously watched him for a while.

His leather jacket was off, revealing a plain white t-shirt. The shirt was quite tight, and you noted how it perfectly hugged the taut muscles of his chest. Your eyes then slowly trailed to his toned arms, adorned by tattoos you wished you had a better look at. He stopped briefly, placing his tools down before grabbing the hem of his shirt and wiping the sweat on his forehead.

You didn't even think twice as your eyes dropped, hyperfocused on his abs. He wasn't the buffest guy out there, but he was lean and fit and--to put it bluntly--hot. A part of you screamed bloody murder to get a grip on yourself, to just turn your stiff body around and proceed on home. But another part completely squashed down those protests without even a fight; as if your pathetic excuse of a resolve wasn't even meant in the first place.

"Take a goddamn picture, darlin'. It'll last longer."

Your head snapped up, meeting the tantalizing hazel stare of Negan. His lips were curled in a smug smirk, and nevermore in your entire life have you wanted to both slap and kiss someone so badly.

But you only clicked your tongue, shooting him a sharp glare before (at last!) turning and walking away as you hid your blush. In the distance, his amused chuckle begrudgingly sounded like the sweetest fucking music to your ears.

♡♡♡

You woke up at 7:05 a.m. like you typically did the next morning, Monday. It was the dawn of a new week, and while most people dreaded it you actually didn't mind it so much. You had your job to thank for that.

Sure, it wasn't always easy, but it was worth it in the end. You loved teaching and spending time with the children, and you were even more ecstatic since you knew Judith was going to be at the daycare.

As you finished eating breakfast and preparing for the day, you grabbed your bag then went out the door. You opted to walk again today, the weather far too beautiful to miss plus the daycare really wasn't that far away.

Eventually arriving at your destination, you approached the daycare building's doors with a little spring in your step. Once inside, a young woman with her blonde hair high in a ponytail smiled and waved.

"Hi, Y/N! Goodmorning!" Beth Greene greeted energetically.

"Morning, Beth." You chuckled, the girl's radiant smile infectious. You've known Beth for some time now, especially since the Greenes were one of the oldest families in Alexandria and they were well respected. But you got along best with Beth, you thought she was the friendliest and she was also the latest hire of the daycare.

Stashing your bag away in your personal locker, you fixed yourself up a bit before getting your nametag and sticking it on your top. Looking up at the wall clock, you read that it was 7:50 a.m. Perfect, just in time for the kids' drop-offs.

You waited outside with Beth and the rest of the daycare workers, until finally the parents started rolling in. It was the usual; some of the children were wailing, snot snivelling down their nose as their embarrassed parents tried to tug them away from clinging onto their legs. You could only offer a sympathetic smile as you tried to help, while other children were much more relaxed and didn't even spare a second glance at their parents as they were dropped off.

"Well, that's about all of them." Beth piped up.

"Wait, we're still waiting for Judith." You said, searching for the toddler. "Rick said she'd be here."

Beth checked her watch, her brows creasing a little in worry. "That's odd. Sheriff Grimes is never late when he's dropping Judith off."

Just as she said that, there was a honk that disrupted the peace. You and Beth both spotted a crying Judith being held by Lori, the woman appearing utterly exhausted before her eyes locked with yours and didn't waste another second dashing towards you.

"Please don't run when you're holding Judith. Also, no honking is allowed on the premises." It was hard for you to keep the malice out of your voice, but you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back since you miraculously managed to not make it sound the worst it could get.

Lori raised a brow at you, but only handed Judith over to you. Judith immediately quieted down when she saw it was you, you cooing gently at her as she giggled and snuggled up comfortably against your chest.

"Rick will be picking her up later." Was all Lori said, pressing a quick peck on Judith's curly little head before parting ways. As Lori rushed back to the car, you saw Shane in the driver's seat shamelessly attack her neck with fervent kisses and you couldn't restrain an eyeroll.

"Fucking bitch..." You grumbled.

"Uh-oh. Bad!" Judith giggled again, clapping her hands gleefully.

"Right, right. Bad. Don't copy me, okay?" You laughed, completely forgetting about your aggravation as you rubbed your nose with Judith's and went inside.

♡♡♡

The rest of the day rolled along splendidly. No one threw a tantrum and for the most part, all the kids properly shared the wide assortment of toys and even did their activities orderly and on time. So, you decided to indulge them with a small yet much sought after reward.

Painting.

When it comes down to children, painting can be utter chaos. But you figured since they were being so good, you'd allow it. At the daycare you worked in, painting was quite a rare occurrence and that only solidified how much the kids adored it.

Once the materials were set out, it was a dizzying flurry of excited hands grabbing anything it could latch on to. As the kids went about doing their creative business, you found Judith all alone sitting in the corner playing around with some blocks.

"Whatcha doin' there, Judi?" You asked, sweetly calling out her nickname. "You don't wanna paint?"

"I wanna, but not with papers." She replied, shaking her head.

"Oh? Then where do you wanna paint?"

"I wanna paint on faces, but no one wants me to!"

"If that's the case, then I'd be more than happy to let you paint my face." You smiled.

"Really?!" Judith's whole face lit up, jumping up and wrapping her tiny arms around you as tightly as she could. "Thank youuu!"

You chuckled, ruffling her hair and watching as she happily gathered some paint and brushes.

♡♡♡

It was finally the end of a long day, and your face felt a bit itchy from the paint Judith put on you. But it didn't matter; as long as the little girl was happy, it was the best damn day ever.

You were holding Judith's hand as you waited outside for Rick to pick her up, and once he came up with his car Judith beamed.

"Daddy!"

"Hello, sweetheart. Did you have a nice day?" His face looked tired, his greying beard making him appear slightly older than he really was, but his smile was genuine as he carried Judith in his strong arms.

"The bestest! Y/N lemme paint her face!"

"She did, huh? What did you pai--oh my god."

You bursted into laughter at his reaction, flashing him a toothy grin. "In the words of Judi: You're a pretty tiger! Grr!"

"Now that you mention it, I can see it." Rick joined in your laughter, nodding his head. "Looks like we've got a talented lil artist in our hands!"

"Daddy, I wanna paint your face next! You can be daddy tiger and Y/N can be mommy!" Judith proclaimed.

You and Rick flushed pink at the same exact time, but Rick was quick to clear his throat and change the topic. "A-Anyways, Y/N, how 'bout me and the kids give you a ride? Thank you for today, by the way."

"No problem, and sure! Thanks so much."

As you settled in the passenger's seat, two hands covered your eyes from behind. "Guess who~?"

"Hmm..." You hummed, making a show of thinking. "Are you an elf?"

"No!" The hands were removed, Carl popping his head out from the backseat to look at you as he laughed. "It's me!"

"Oh, sorry! You're just so short, I thought you were an elf." You teased good naturedly.

Carl huffed, sticking his tongue out at you. "Y'know, in a few years, I'll be way taller than you!"

Once Rick was done buckling Judith into her carseat, he took his place in the driver's seat and drove out of the premises. You just talked about anything that came to mind: work, the weather, Alexandria's local shops, etc. To anyone else, maybe it seemed like regular boring conversation. But speaking with Rick was truly one of the highlights of any of your days. He was extremely easy to talk to, and he never failed to cheer you up. And it was obvious Rick was the same. He was allowed to simply be himself around you; to loosen up, momentarily forget about the stress and sometimes even the woes that came along with being the town's upstanding sheriff.

As you were nearing your home, Carl decided to cut in.

"Y/N, can we stay at your house? It's been a while since we had a sleepover." Carl asked, his baby blue eyes identical to Rick's alight with hope.

It wouldn't be the first time Rick and the kids would be staying over. You were very close to the Grimes family, sometimes even almost considering them as your own. You didn't mind it. Since you lived alone, it can get pretty lonely. And having people around surely brightened up the house and made you keep your sanity.

"I don't mind, but you gotta ask your dad." You chuckled.

Carl turned to Rick, pouting and giving his best puppy dog eyes. Rick rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress an inkling of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. But let me drop you and Judith off with Y/N first. I'll be back, I just need to get some extra clothes and essentials."

"YAY!" Carl cheered, Judith following suit as they both raised their arms and hollered.

"You're so whipped for them." You laughed, shaking your head as you looked at Rick.

"I ain't denying that." He sighed dramatically, grinning.

#The Walking Dead #TWD #The Walking Dead AU #TWD AU #Alternate Universe #AU #Romance #Smut #Mature #Story Series #Reader #Female Reader #x Reader #Negan #Rick Grimes #Daryl Dixon #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #JDM #Andrew Lincoln #Norman Reedus #Incubus!Negan #Guardian Angel!Rick Grimes #Monster/Demon Hunter!Daryl Dixon #Negan x Reader #Rick Grimes x Reader #Daryl Dixon x Reader #Reader x Negan #Reader x Rick Grimes #Reader x Daryl Dixon

[morepeachyogurt]

we are good people (and we've suffered enough)

word count- 2.5k      Pairing- Temily

Summary- After Scratch, Tara and Emily run away to Italy to start a new life, ft. cats, cafes, and gardening. Based on this post, and this prompt. 

Part 2 of my, maybe we’re from the same star, series, work is a standalone, part 1

read here on ao3

tw’s- very minor mentions of substances and ptsd

Things were never the same after Mr. Scratch. The two of them were filled with more trauma than they had room for in their hearts to still hold each other in. Nights were no longer filled with a movie and cuddling, or talking about philosophy but tense sentences, paranoia, and nightmares. Tara knew that something needed to change, anything to stop the monotony of desolation. But still, they went to work every day and drowned their sorrows in killers like that would bring back the part of her that died when Scratch took Emily. There are only so many times one can be held captive and wait for death before something inside them breaks.

One night they get wine drunk, Emily laying sidewise on their black couch, and Tara sitting on the table staring at the ceiling.

“I miss being young, god, that’s such a weird thing to say. I mean, I spent my youth hating it. Hated my mother, and all of our traveling, never could make friends. I hated that I never belonged, hated not being in control of my own life, and here I am 50 years old working for the government that I used to despise trying not to cry myself to sleep every night,” her voice takes on a bitter tone.

“We love in our old age the things we hated as children. Does that make us matured or foolish?”

“Both, I think.”

“What was your favorite place to live? I mean it sounds like hell to keep moving between places but there must have been someplace you loved, right,” Tara’s voice fills with a tang of desperation as she searches for a way to help her lover.

“Rome. The weather and the scenery,” her voice takes on a dreamy tone, “and the food! Man, the food is good, don’t tell Rossi but his carbonara tastes like Olive Garden compared to the real thing,” they both chuckled at that, knowing it would have sent Rossi in a fit if he were to hear that.

“That sounds really nice honey.”

“I miss it sometimes you know? I think about how gorgeous everything was. It feels like home in my distant memories.”

“Then let’s do it. Lets, go move to Rome. You aren’t happy here Emily, I know you say you are, but you do this job for our team, not the position now. I miss when you laughed,” both of them sobered up by now, knowing that it has taken a turn for the more serious.

“No, no we can’t. I, I can’t keep leaving this team and our friends. And, people need us. You love this job Tara I can’t take that away from you, not for me.”

“They’d understand Emily, they all love you so much. Yeah, I love this job, I won’t lie. But, I love you more, and I’m not happy if you aren’t. So let’s do it. Let’s fucking run away to Rome together and be happy .” The two sit in silence for a minute, the unanswered question still hanging in the air.

“Okay. Let’s do it. Maybe I’ll fulfill my long-lost dream to have a nice, big garden.”

The team took it surprisingly well, they’d all noticed a change in Emily in the months following Scratch and knew that Tara had Emily’s best interest at heart. Of course, they were sad to lose two of the best members of their team, but Emily was family, and family looks out for each other.

“I’m going to miss you my favorite dynamic duo and your guys’ jokes. Ugh, it’s going to be so quiet without you two lovely ladies,” her eyes are welling with unshed tears as she says goodbye to more of her family, “Send me things from Rome or I will install a virus in your phones,” they both laughed at Penelope’s antics and promised her that they’d send as much stuff as they could. The last two weeks of their stay in the United States were filled with mixed emotions. They were excited to start the next chapter of their lives together. Away from all the serial killers and monstrous people out there. They could finally live with a fraction of the naivety that most people carry. On the other hand, Tara only speaks minimal Italian, and now they’re going to be living in a brand-new country, surrounded by strangers. A fresh start, but one filled with anxiety.

“Okay 4:30 is way too early for a flight,” Emily grumbled as they made their way to the airport. The pair had woken up at three, knowing that Tara can’t sleep on planes they tried to go to bed early and were now making their way to the airport in the dead of morning.

“Wait, babe, look! It’s a full moon,” they pulled over just for a moment and got out of the car to sit on the hood. The silence between the two is peaceful, the wind was the only whisper in the air. Moonlight shone on Tara’s face and Emily knew that there was no sight in the world as beautiful as this. With the moon reflected in her eyes and a small simple ghosting on her lips. She’s home.

Security was a breeze, they are former FBI agents after all, and they made their way to their gate. Airports always have a certain air to them, a place where time seizes to exist yet completely runs the place. Their gate was quiet, filled with the tired murmuring of people excited to travel.

“Tara, honey, wake up we’re boarding.”

It was odd for the two of them to be flying commercial after all those years on private jets. It was nice to feel normal though, to fade in the background instead of being other . Human desire is both to be noticed and forgotten all at once.

Italy’s airport is very similar to the DC airport, it would seem like they never left. Outside was a whole different story, bustling crowds and hot air hits them as soon as they step outside the building. They had picked out a quaint apartment building a week prior. Yellow walls with a terrace looking out to an alley. The couple's belongings had been shipped and were waiting to be unpacked. Not right then though. Now, it was time to explore.

Hand in hand they walked leisurely down the narrow alley way of the small Italian town they are now calling their home. Vines and every other type of plant that could grow did. Hanging off banisters, and climbing up orange brick walls. The sunlight was close to blinding, and it hit Emily just right. The golden rays hitting her face and illuminating the ghost of the smile now appearing on Emily’s face. That smile told Tara all she needed to know about their decision. Emily catches her staring, “What are you looking at,” humor evident in her voice.

“You, I’m looking at you miss Emily Prentiss. You’re smiling again,” her words come out softer than she intended, but they convey her point.

Happy couples seem to fill the streets, old and new, young and old. The town may be old, but it was filled with a life that they had been lacking. They pass a quaint little bakery. Bread, cupcakes, and assorted pastries fill the windows. There're bookshelves on all the walls filled to the brim with different books. The walls are light blue and there are flowers everywhere. It looks like something from the movies.

“Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” Emily reads the name of the building in front of them, they’ve since stopped to admire the view in front of them. It reminds the two of them how Emily asked Tara out. With a cupcake and book who had ‘I know there’s plenty of sugar in that cupcake but it’d be even sweeter if you went out with me. Let me take you to dinner Tara? ’ written on the inside.

“As much as I love hearing you speak Italian, what does that mean? Something heaven?”

“Little Slice of Heaven.” It’s truly a perfect name for the place.

“Okay, now we have to go in,” they’re both smiling now. They push open the glass doors, greeted by the high-pitched ringing of a bell and the smell of freshly baked bread.

The woman at the counter finishes the greeting, “Benvenuti nel piccolo angolo di paradiso, cosa posso offrirvi, adorabili signore?” they blush at the compliment and Emily orders them both cupcakes and coffee. Tara busies herself with admiring the books. Some of them have the most beautiful covers she’s seen. She knows not to judge a book by its cover but sometimes the most beautiful things are just as gorgeous on the inside as out. Just like Emily. She buys a book, and they take their drink and desserts to go. They make their way to a waterfront and sit down on the stairs, side by side.

“Rome is just as beautiful as I remembered. I missed it. It really does feel like home, although, anywhere I’m with you is home,” at the end of her sentence, she turns to face Tara, a look of pure love shown clearly on her face. And for that, Tara just has to kiss her.

The next day they unpack their boxes of belongings into their apartment to help rid the homesickness. Paintings go up on the walls and furniture is placed with the best view in mind. After a couple of hours they’re done, their apartment a bit more homey than before. They crack open a bottle of wine, put on an album, and sit out on the terrace. They watch the sun set over the water, the sounds of big band music filter in as the soundtrack for their night. The sky painted yellow, orange, and pink in the way only nature can create. If nature were an artist they’d be in every museum and sold to the wealthy. Instead, they are for the masses, the beauty of nature is for all to enjoy, free of cost, for those who wish to escape and fly into the night sky.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Tara leans forward on the balcony, not taking her eyes off the view in front of her, even as the colors begin to fade the sky darkens.

“No, tell me, what?”

“I always wanted to open my own bakery. I know it’s stupid, me a baker. But, I don’t know making things, it feels so uncomplicated. Just me and the dough.”

“In this alternate universe, I’d be a gardener. You and your dough and me and my flowers against the world Tara. Wait a second. I think you and I are onto something my dear,” Emily’s joined Tara at the balcony, the two of them leaning against the railing.

“Actually? You’re serious? You want to do this.?”

“Yeah! Why not? We’ve got enough money in the bank for us to last a bit, you can work at Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” the Italian rolls of her tongue in a way that drives Tara nuts, “I’ll find a gardening place to work at. We’re in fucking Italy let’s make our dreams come true.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Alessia, the owner of the bakery, is pleased to have another employee. Especially one that is actually interested and isn’t in high school. Tara learns the basics of bread and pastry making. She has some skill, she used to bake with her mother before she died, it had been awhile since she had been able to bake without bumming herself out. Now it’s a nice memory of her. Gone but not forgotten, as is the saying. Emily comes in every lunch break for whatever Tara’s whipped up and to get her caffeine fix. One of the things that she still keeps from her law enforcement days.

They aren’t perfect. A move across the country isn’t going to cure PTSD, she has good days, bad days, and worse days, but now they have the time to deal with it. There was never anytime to process things at the FBI. It was always, distract yourself and throw yourself into solving cases. Now they can slow dance in the kitchen and stay up until three am telling stories from college. They fill their days with the happiness that was once stolen from them and bathe in it like perfume.

True to their word, they send Penelope all sorts of things, books from the café, pressed flowers, trinkets from the small shops to adorn her desk. In return, she sends them pictures of Sergio.

“I miss Sergio, his little paws, and his ability to climb on top of anything.”

Emily finds a job at a nearby garden that sells flower arrangements and herbs to local restaurants. It’s convenient, more than they would have thought. Emily now gets to stop into the bakery on occasion to deliver herbs and has plenty of flowers to give her lover. She also sends a few bouquets back to DC. Hoping that the flowers can brighten up the office in a way that fluorescent lights never can.

On one of their late afternoon walks, they hear a rustling by a trash can.

“What’s that noise?”

“I don’t know, let’s go look, it almost sounds like an animal. Could be a mouse,” Emily suggests, absently reaching to where her gun used to rest on her hip. They open the bag to find three small kittens. Seemly abandoned in a corner.

“Oh god, they’re so cute. We have to keep them.” It’s not a question, Tara knows that Emily is thinking the same thing, their minds connected in the way people who love each other’s minds always are. They look up the nearest veterinarian to make sure that their new pets are okay to take home and healthy.

The vet is sterile and a stark reminder of all the hospitals they’ve spent time in. Tara squeezes her girlfriend’s hand to remind her that they are both safe .

“They look fairly health, a bit malnourished but that is to be expected in these circumstances,” the vet is an elderly man with a mustache as thick as his accent,

“I’ve give them the shots they need, for now, come back in few months and let me take another look. Ciao.”

The kittens are fast asleep by the time they make it home. They gently scoop the kittens out of the bag and into their arms and the couch.

“Okay, what are we naming these angels?” Emily’s voice is pitched up as she talks to the kitten in her arms.

“Well, I’ve always been a classics enthusiast, what if we name them Artemis and Apollo?”

“That’s adorable. Little tiny archery kitties, yes, isn’t that right!” she coos, “And I think I’ll name this one Carter.”

“I love it, and you. Come on, sit with me, you look tired,” Tara grabs Emily’s hand and pulls her onto the couch. They fall over a bit and Emily yelps in surprise. They put the old music back on, a sense of peaceful needs for their new lives. The two sit on the couch, Emily’s head in her girlfriend’s lap, a hand playing with her hair. Apollo climbs on Emily’s feet and lays down to rest.

“I love you, Tara,” she doesn’t respond, just lays a gentle kiss to the back of her head.

The world is big and scary but the two of them feel safe in each other's arms.

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