#which is especially funny because I know you sent me one like last week I haven't responded to yet because every time I sit down to

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

this will probably be long but I don’t care

It never ceases to amaze me how decent the people in Queen all are. Like yeah they are a major rock band and there was no shortage of Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll™️ going on. We know this. I’m not trying to portray them as perfect people.

But like, if you look at literally anything anyone who’s spent time with them has said or just their actions in general it’s almost hard to believe how like…generous and kind they all are. I mean especially comparing to stuff you hear about the other people/groups at the time.

Freddie bought Christmas dinners for all AIDS patients in hospitals every year. He was a great tipper. He invited anyone who had nowhere else to go to Garden Lodge for holiday dinners. He bought his friends Christmas presents for a Christmas he knew he wouldn’t see. He bought Jim a car. He took in a stranded musician in Japan and sent his driver up to McDonalds when he discovered the person (I’m sorry I don’t remember who it was) didn’t like sushi and then paid the owner to let the guy just sit there. He was the peacemaker of Queen. Everyone around him has always said how funny, kind, generous, and respectful he was.

Roger got a taste of a solo career and immediately went “I’m going to raise awareness for a whole bunch of issues because I am in the position to do so.” He wrote songs about war, racism, socioeconomic inequality, AIDS, neo-Nazism/holocaust denial, domestic violence. He called out religious extremism, politicians, and the extremely wealthy sometimes by name. He’s a patron of Cornwall Pride. He had a signed congratulations note delivered to a couple who got engaged during Somebody To Love. And of course, he co-founded the Mercury Phoenix Trust and then nearly single-handedly organized what remains the largest tribute concert ever the proceeds of which went to the MPT

Brian is Brian. I mean anyone who follows him on Instagram will know he just has a philosophy of treating people with kindness. He’s a queer ally, he calls out crazy right-wing people on a variety of issues, he calls for a ceasefire in Gaza and he champions animal rights. And he practices what he preaches as you will know if you kept up with their last Japan tour and his quest to find vegan food. Not to mention as well as also being a co-founder of the MPT, he and Roger went on national television ONE WEEK after Freddie died to dispel homophobia, AIDS fearmongering, and to raise awareness (not to mention trying to clear up everything the press had been saying about Freddie).

As John is the quiet, private person not much is known about him regarding this but he obviously had deep love and respect for Freddie and I mean there is something to say about the company you keep.

I don’t really have a point I just marvel at it

#Again not saying mistakes were never made #But if you think about it #They’ve done so much to benefit others #They’re charitable #and they use their platforms for good #I love it #very very lucky #Queen #queen band #freddie mercury #Roger Taylor #roger meddows taylor #brian may #sir brian may #john deacon

[bi-bats]

18, 43, and 78 for the Fanfiction Writer Asks?

Oh my god Jpeg!!! Hi!!!! Thank you for the ask 💖💖💖 Sorry in advance for turning this into an essay but hopefully you enjoy it and thank you!!!!

18 - Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, honestly. It tends to feel like homework sometimes, but I'm a huge reader and I love reading comics. It's just hard for me to find time between working full time and the D&D campaign I'm writing/DMing and the academic article I'm writing and being in a relationship and figuring out grad school/future stuff. Basically, I'm a really busy person but I just want to read and write fic all day 😭

As for which required the most research that I've already started posting, I'd have to say Know Yourself. I had to read Battle for the Cowl, and I still have to read Final Crisis (is that a spoiler? 👀). I basically did no research for Rooftops & Bookshops (I feel like it shows) but I did read quite a few summaries.

But the fic with the most research I will have to do is definitely the fic I'm going to talk about in the next question, for which I'll have to read Red Robin, Under the Red Hood and some of Tim's Robin run. Probably more, but it'll be worth it.

43 - Is there a trope or idea that you'd really like to write but haven't yet?

YES. So many. I want to write one bed and also time travel and also identity reveal (thank you jaytimweek for forcing me to do it providing me with the opportunity). I actually have two ideas for identity reveal, one of which will hopefully be up for jaytimweek. The other identity reveal is definitely going to be my next long fic. I already know it'll be near 100k words and I PROMISED myself I wouldn't start working on it until Know Yourself is fully posted except for the epilogue (so a few months 😭). The identity reveal longfic is also going to be a soulmates fic 😈 and I think it might technically not be a love square but also it sort of will be? OKAY IF I SAY ANYTHING ELSE ABOUT IT IM GONNA SPOIL SOMETHING NEXT QUESTION

78 - What motivates you during the writing process?

Honestly, I feel sort of shitty being like "people's reactions," because I shouldn't base my worth as a writer on how many kudos/comments I get, etc., etc., and no one reading this should feel any pressure to comment if they don't want to, but when I get to see how someone reacted to my work??? OH that's the stuff.

I tend to be my own worst critic with everything, but especially my own writing, so every time I see a new comment, I have the urge to run to my computer and write. I basically get high off comments, especially when it's from authors I love to read!!! (@ you jpeg. Detective Timothy Drake and the Mysterious Case of the Unclaimed Dildo lives in my head rent free. That fic is a masterpiece.) There's just something about knowing that a writer I love enjoys my work. It really makes me feel confident in my writing, which makes me want to write more.

Also serial commenters!! I'm looking forward to what you think of every new chapter. Also people who just comment ahsjslakhdslkab or second kudos or a heart emoji. And people who post those really long comments theorizing or asking questions or copy/pasting quotes with their reactions??? My favorite. Satisfies the desire I have to watch everyone read my work so I can see them react to it.

Basically, knowing that people are enjoying what I write and want to read more is honestly the biggest motivator for me, which is why I tend to post chaptered stuff. I need the push to keep going, or else my piece would rot in my drafts (like some of my unposted works that I'll resuscitate one day)

Also if anyone reading this has ever commented on one of my fics, just know I think we're besties now. Come say hi. Even if you haven't commented and just want to motivate me to write more! Come say hi!

#batsasks #I was so totally normal about you sending me this ask I swear #<- lying #i still get super excited when you comment on my fics 😂 #which is especially funny because I know you sent me one like last week I haven't responded to yet because every time I sit down to #answer comments I get distracted actually writing #so yeah thank you thank you thank you!!!!! #we're friends now I don't make the rules 😊 #okay I'm going to go finish writing chapter 5 of Know Yourself now #it's almost ready for betaing!!!! #i want to have it up by next week!!!!

[deathmetalunicorn1]

How bout teen!reader and the other women in the ROR family humiliating the men for teasing the reader after practically passing out from period cramps? Idk which men you'd think of when I say that it'd be like, them thinking that reader was just being overly dramatic and that the pain wasn’t so bad, and then Brunhilde and Shiva’s wives make them go through this things that you plug in your abdomen to simulate period cramps? Well, yeah, that and then they kund of understand why reader nearly died. I'm just venting because my colleagues are so annoying about this when they don’t even know what it feels like, lol <3

-You were curled up in Parvati’s arms, a pout on your face as you held the hot water bottle to your stomach while Brunnhilde was yelling at the male gods and warrior, the ones who laughed at you.

-Your unwanted monthly visitor was never the same, and this month, she decided to mess you up with such bad cramps that you nearly fainted, which was worrying for your family, but as soon as they knew you were all right, they found out why and many of the men in your family were quickly laughing.

-This wasn’t funny to you- this was torture, and it was only when you started crying, overwhelmed with emotions, that Aphrodite, Shiva’s wives, and the Valkyries stepped in to discipline the men.

-Kali gave the men all a lesson on what happens during a woman’s shark week, on how the uterus is basically trying to kill itself since it didn’t get what it wanted, and how no two women’s shark weeks were the same and some, like you, sometimes had severe symptoms.

-Some did sympathize with you and other women, but it was Aphrodite who suggested a more hands on approach to this lesson and produced a cramp simulator for every single person who laughed at you.

-Once they were all hooked up, a few, like Loki and QSH, complained, asking if they really had to do this.

-You were given a bowl of ice cream as you curled up on the couch as Brunnhilde took control of the remote, “Laugh by the end of this and you will be forgiven.”

-Twenty minutes later, you were the only laughing, along with the other women, as many of the men were unable to even move, after going from level one to level fifteen in cramps.

-You were pretty sure a few had passed out themselves, while others were shaking, sweating heavily, and gasping for air- this was not fun! This was torture!!

-Once the devices were removed, Aphrodite smirked down at all of them, once they were all awake, “Now then- would anyone like to laugh this time?”

-There was nothing but silence as her answer before Apollo spoke, “You have to deal with that every month?!”

-Durga gave a small nod, “Almost every woman does, but it’s never the same, one month it might be mild and only last three days, others you might be crippled and suffer for a whole week!”

-Eyes went wide- this wasn’t natural before Loki spoke, not being rude, “How do you guys handle this!” a few glances between the women were sent around before Parvati spoke up, “It’s expected of us to continue going about our lives as if nothing is wrong.”

-Eyes went wide, like they didn’t believe before the ladies all started taking turns telling the comments that you and they have been forced to endure, “It can’t be that bad!”, “You’re just faking it to get out of doing stuff.” “Still gotta go to work!”, “Need to take care of the kids!”, “Gotta clean the house!”, “Need to go to school.”, “Don’t talk about that- it’s gross and unnatural.”, “Oh you must be on your period!”, “Not to mention we have to deal with things like breakouts, headaches, and bloating- just to name a few.”

-You were the one who then finished the argument, “Even if we’re in pain, or like me when I almost passed out earlier- we’re expected to pretend that we’re okay as society expects that from us.”

-You’re pretty sure that you all got the point across, especially after Buddha cuddled you, hugging you while you were wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Shiva was showering his wives with affection, apologizing to them for every incident that he was insensitive towards them.

-Now if you could just get every other male on earth to understand what it feels like to have a period- then maybe more things would change.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror loki #ror buddha #ror shiva

[swaps55]

I lost my friend to cancer yesterday.

I’d really like to tell you about her.

We meet people throughout our lives who change it, in big ways and small ways, and ways we will never forget. Sara/ @dearophelia was one of those people for me.

I met her here, on tumblr, about 10 years ago. I wish I could remember what piece of writing I stumbled onto first, but she was such a gifted writer that I immediately wanted to see more. I somehow wound up following her live blog of a road trip, which was full of uproariously snarky jokes about Ohio. I had the courage to reach out and tell her how funny I thought she was, and how great her username was to this fellow Mass Effect fan who lived right down the road in Kentucky and got all the Ohio jokes.

We talked. We chatted. I introduced her to a group of people I played Mass Effect 3’s multiplayer with. She grew from a level one first-timer to a total badass who could carry a team and taught other people how to do the same thing.

And then my life fell apart.

Everything fell apart for me. Turning to my family wound up being a catastrophe, and I didn’t have local “real world” friends I could turn to.

So I texted Sara. Told her I needed somewhere to go, and asked if I could stay with her that weekend.

She texted back, “Yes.” Sent me her address, and said to ping me when I got there. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t ask why. She just gave me shelter. So I showed up on her doorstep, and she listened while I told her everything. She didn’t judge me. She didn’t think I was insane. She had every right to think both things. Instead, she gave me safe harbor at a time when I had no control over my life and didn’t know what was going to happen to me.

For the next several months, I made frequent trips up I-75 to Ohio. She kept an air mattress out for me. We played multiplayer. We talked about Mass Effect. We talked about life. We bitched about all the people who hated on one of our favorite characters. She introduced me to Babylon 5. I have so many memories of sitting on the couch in her apartment, with her cat Odo crawling around behind my head. When I eventually pieced myself together enough to leave Kentucky and start the work of starting over, it meant leaving behind that sanctuary with her in her apartment, and it was something I had to grieve along with everything else.

And now I am grieving it again, and so much more. I am so lucky I was able to fly back to Ohio a few weeks ago while I had the chance. Hugging someone goodbye, knowing it’s the last hug you’re going to get….well, it sucks.

But I got that hug.

Sara was so many things. She was a gifted storyteller with entire worlds in her head. One of the weekends I stayed with her, she had recreated the Mass Effect galaxy map on her wall with notecards and string to help her tell a story. She could create a character and make you fall in love with them in a matter of sentences. Because of her stories, I binge watched all ten seasons of Stargate SG-1.

She was also not afraid to unapologetically be herself. I had a lot of things to learn and unlearn about the world, feminism, gender, and sexuality, especially in those days. Listening to her fight for her space in the world and refuse to be told she was anything less than who she wanted to be helped me learn some of the things I needed to learn, and embrace the things I discovered about myself.   

She loved music. She made the best fucking playlists. She taped inspirational notes around her condo. She sent me a set of coasters that say, “Fuck It,” and “Nah,” and I use them every single day. Her smile was gorgeous. She lit up a room.  

And now she’s gone. I won’t see her in my tumblr notes anymore. I won’t see her on my dash. I won’t get pinged with new Odo photos. She won’t get to hear the new music I listen to that shows up in our Spotify blend. I won’t get to talk about the next Mass Effect game with her. I won’t get any more Ao3 updates in my inbox.

I wanted you to know about her – this pocket friend of mine who impacted my life in ways that I won’t ever forget.

I hope you will read her stories. Listen to her playlists. She was a brilliant human being. She should still be here. She isn’t.

And I miss her.  

#dearophelia #write your way out #cancer tw #death tw

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie was…struggling to say the least. And by the end of the first week of sticking around this city, he was completely out of ways to rationalize what the fuck he was still doing here. 

Indianapolis was just supposed to be a pitstop after visiting Wayne. Then, he was supposed to see Chrissy in a few days, spend some time in San Francisco before jet setting around the world for his year-long vacation. But instead here he was, avoiding Chrissy’s calls, opting instead to take the coward’s route of sending cryptic texts and reassurances that he was fine. Despite the fact that he’d canceled his flight a few days ago. 

And for what? Some hot guy he had only seen twice? That he couldn’t even get past first base with?

And while technically it was the best date of his life, that didn’t exactly warrant whatever the fuck he was doing here. And that wasn’t even mentioning all of the fucking lies. 

It was safe to say that he was floundering over here. Which was so fucking stupid. He was Eddie fucking Munson for God’s sake, not some lovesick highschooler. And he was sure that there were many easier flings to be had in his immediate future if he just left. This was when it was time to abort the mission right? He hadn’t gotten what he wanted, and that was that. 

So why was that so hard to accept? Why was he so fucking obsessed with this dude? Eddie had no fucking clue. Well…maybe he had some clue. Because Steve was funny. And he was smart, adventurous, and interesting enough for Eddie to want to know everything about him. Not to mention painfully attractive. And then add in being a complete sweetheart on top of everything else. 

All Eddie knew was that he wanted to see him again. And leaving now felt…wrong. Because Steve liked him. He obviously liked him, or at least Eddie really hoped he liked him. He at least liked him enough to give him his number. And answer his calls.

They had been talking a lot in the past few days. Historically, Eddie had always hated phone calls, especially when a single text could usually save you a half an hour of awkward small talk. But with Steve…it was different. Everything with Steve was different. They didn’t even have to be talking about anything important. They spent an hour and a half the other night debating over plot holes in the Lord of the Rings franchise. 

He had been calling him from the hotel’s room phone, adding in yet another lie about forgetting his cell in his non-existent fumigated apartment. But he didn’t feel too guilty about that one. Especially since he went through the extra effort to buy a new real (fake?) cellphone. One that he had purchased specifically for talking to Steve with. Because no matter how much he liked the guy, he wasn’t breaking the cardinal rule of keeping his real number a secret. Not after the insane shit fans sent him the last time it accidently went public.

No, he did the much saner thing of dropping eight hundred dollars on a smartphone and an extra phone plan that he’d only use to talk to the dude he’d been dating for less than a week. 

He really was killing it with the circular logic these days. And it was getting harder and harder to ignore. This whole…thing had gotten away from him. And it was becoming a touch too insane for Eddie to keep rationalizing the lies. And it wasn’t even his usual brand of insanity, this felt almost clinical. 

But that didn’t stop him from dialing Steve’s number the second his new account was officially activated. 

It rang twice before Steve answered, “Hello?”

God, even the sound of his voice was enough to make Eddie shiver. 

“Hey it’s me,” Eddie said like a moron. Like Steve would recognize his voice after one date and a handful of calls-

“Oh Eddie, hi!” Steve said, and Eddie could hear the smile in his voice, “That’s so weird. I was literally just thinking about you. I’m guessing you got your phone back?”

It was the smallest bit disconcerting, that just the sound of his voice was enough to make Eddie’s heart beat like crazy. He was kind of used to being the guy who made people nervous, not the other way around. Though he had to admit, it was a little exhilarating to be on the other side of it.

“I did. And you were huh? What were you thinking about?” Eddie purred, more than a bit proud that his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt.  But if he was ever going to fuck this guy he needed to amp up the charm.

But unfortunately for him, Steve was very good at throwing him for a loop, “You know those Afghan Hounds with the really long hair? Well I just saw a black one that I swear looked exactly like you.”

Eddie barked out a laugh, loud and unbidden, “God, you really know the way into a man’s heart don’t you? Who doesn’t like being compared to a dog?”

“It was a very pretty dog,” Steve tried, “Extremely cute.”

Eddie laid back on his bed, smiling at the ceiling like an idiot, "You think I'm pretty?"

He couldn’t see him, but Eddie could swear that Steve was rolling his eyes before saying, "I think you know you're pretty. You’ve seen a mirror before right? Y’know, the shiny things that show your reflection?”

God, he could be such a little bitch. Eddie freaking loved it.  

“Well now you’re just making me blush,” Eddie laughed, hoping that it came off as a little sarcastic instead of painfully honest. 

“And I bet that’s pretty too. So what's up?"

Oh y’know, just obsessively thinking about you near constantly, “I was just wondering when I would get to see you again.” 

"Well, my sister's going to be at her girlfriend's place tonight. How do you feel about coming over? I know it’s late but-”

“I’d love to,” Eddie interrupted, already excited. If that wasn’t a green light for them going further Eddie didn’t know what was. In a few hours it would be nearly midnight. And Eddie was more than down for a booty call, “When?”

“Maybe a few hours? I can text you the address. I’m sorry that my schedule is so fucked, but y’know. Night shift.”

“No worries. Guess I’ll see you soon?”

“Looking forward to it.”

From the latest chapter of this fic, inspired by this post

#steddie #rockstar eddie munson #bartender steve harrington #steddie fic #stranger things #a very dumb famous man falls for an oblivious sweetheart #thats the fic

[autisticlancemcclain]

For the last six months, Lance has been acting strange. It sounds like a long time, and maybe something Hunk should have brought up earlier, but he wasn’t sure enough to bring it up for a while — he’s sure now, though. Lance used to send Hunk fifty memes a night for Hunk to scroll through in the mornings, now it’s a rare day he gets even one. He used to get regular calls and facetimes from Lance about every little inconvenience Lance experienced, but now he’s lucky to hear Lance’s voice once a week. And he’s almost never available to hang out anymore.

“What I’m hearing is that you are getting a break, and what I’m not understanding is why you’re complaining about it,” Pidge says.

Hunk glances away from the dirt road he’s squinting at (country driving is hard, especially as the sun starts to set, why couldn’t Lance stay in the city like the rest of them), to roll his eyes at her.

“Oh, don’t give me that. You miss him too. It’s like he’s been replaced by a pod person!”

Hunk doesn’t know if it’s the conspiracy theory tease or if it’s because Pidge misses Lance more than he thought, but she deflates rather quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. It’s a little strange that we haven’t heard much from him. But,” she bites her lip, looking away from her phone for once, “are we sure he’s not just grieving? I mean, he’s become a bit of a hermit ever since his Abuela left him her cabin in the woods. His tree-hugging ass never wants to leave. And I imagine he misses her, too. Is he maybe just trying to grieve in peace?”

“That’s a valid point,” Hunk concedes, “but I don’t think that’s it. Abuela died a year ago. He still misses her, shit, but if anything he’s even more clingy when he’s upset. And he just started pulling away a few months ago, so I don’t think it’s the death. It’s weird. He’s never been like this.”

“I mean, Lance is just kind of a weirdo,” Pidge says, because she and Lance have this weird relationship where they refuse to admit they love each other even though Hunk has seen both of them mope for days after a fight or argument. (But whatever works for them Hunk supposes.) “You’re right though, I guess. He hasn’t sent me a picture of an angry possum with the caption ‘this is u’ in a while, which is kind of concerning.”

“…Is that a regular occurrence?”

Hunk breaks concentration from the road again, looking at her strangely. She barely notices, attention back on her phone as she waves her hand dismissively.

“Oh, yeah. He sends a mocking picture whenever he sees a particularly gremlin-esque animal, I seen him one whenever I see a rat.”

“Pidge, you live in Queens. You see a rat twelve times a day.”

Pidge sniggers. “Yeah, and it’s funny every time. He gets all pissy.”

Hunk just sighs, shaking his head fondly. He will never understand their relationship.

———

Hunk has visited Lance at his new home a handful of times since he inherited it. He always, always has the porch light on (he says it’s in case someone were to get lost in the woods at night, they’d be able to see the light and come to him. Hunk has tried to explain to him dozens of times that that is an excellent way to get serial murdered, but damn Lance’s bleeding heart because Hunk’s worry does nothing).

There’s no porch light on now.

“Maybe he finally just started listening to you?” Pidge suggests.

Hunk levels her with a flat stare. “We have been friends for over fifteen years, Pidge. When, even once in that time, has Lance listened to a damn word I said about safety?”

Pidge shrugs. “Who knows! Maybe his newfound hermit lifestyle has made him wise.”

“Right,” Hunk says, snorting. He takes another moment to stare suspiciously at the dark house, and then sighs in defeat.

“I guess we should go in, huh?”

“I did not drive six hours through rural New York to turn the fuck around, Hunk. We are staying with Lance for the weekend if we have to break in through the goddamn window, and I mean that.”

Hunk doesn’t doubt it — Pidge hates long car rides, and only agreed to come up here in the first place because she misses Lance way more than she’ll ever admit, now that he’s not a two minute walk away.

“Desperate to spend some time with him?” Hunk teases, walking up to the door.

“Piss off,” Pidge snaps, but there’s not nearly enough heat in her voice for Hunk to take her seriously. (Hunk has heard her when she’s truly mad, threatening random cat-callers in the street. It is a terrifying thing to witness, which makes Hunk glad he’s on her side.)

She reaches forward to knock on the door — another proof that she very much does miss Lance, being the first to knock, which makes Hunk smirk — and then steps back next to Hunk to wait.

They stand there for two whole minutes.

“Is he maybe asleep?” Hunk asks, but dismisses it just as quickly as Pidge does.

“That loser never sleeps before, like, 3 in the morning.”

“Maybe the ambiance of the woods has made it easier for him to sleep,” Hunk says, just to be contrary.

Pidge snorts, knocking one more time and then moving shit around on the porch.

“The hell are you doing?” Hunk asks as she lifts the dorky little wicker chair Hunk knows Lance made himself in his basket weaving phase.

Mostly ignoring him, she flips the chair completely over and starts inspecting the legs.

“If I can just… ha!”

She sets the chair down, and triumphantly holds up a key.

“Lance is the most predictable bitch in these lands,” she brags, which Hunk thinks is rich coming from the girl who has lost every board game against Lance she has every played.

He tells her as much. She scowls.

“He cheats,” she insists, which is probably true, but she also cheats and still loses, so.

Hunk decides to drop it, because he likes his kneecaps exactly how they are, thanks, and Pidge has a violence problem.

“Hello? Dork ass?” Pidge calls as they walk in, which is as much of a greeting as any.

The entrance hallway is dark, as is most of the visible rooms. The only light comes from some faintly twinkling fairy lights Lance has strung up around various walls.

“Whose boots are those?” Pidge asks, staring at something right next to the front door.

Hunk peeks over her shoulder, squinting to try and make them out. It’s hard to see well in the low light, but there’s a pair of big, clunky combat boots next to Lance’s dorky retro sneakers.

“Maybe he’s got a friend over?”

“His car is the only one in the driveway,” Pidge points out, which is true.

Hunk shrugs. “Maybe he picked them up.”

Pidge huffs, still suspicious, and starts poking around the living room and kitchen instead of looking for Lance.

Well. Hunk is doing that too, so he can’t really judge. (It’s been so long since he’s had real Lance drama, okay? Sue him if he’s curious.)

“There is healthy food in the fridge,” Pidge says, in the same tone of voice someone might say ‘there’s a nuclear bomb in my toothbrush.’

Hunk blinks. He rubs his ears, he must have misheard her.

“Oh my God, there’s meat!”

Now he’s definitely misheard her, because Lance has been vegetarian since he was four and found out the pollo the feathered little animal was the same pollo in his happy meal.

Hunk scrambles over to where Pidge is starting incredulously at the open fridge, and his own jaw drops when he sees it: a gigantic steak, chilling on the second shelf, waiting to be cooked.

“Maybe he really has been replaced by a pod person,” Pidge breathes.

She’s started to sound nervous, for all her joking.

“Let’s go find him,” Hunk says, and he can’t hide the urgency in his voice. They both rush down the hallway, wordlessly agreeing to be as silent as possible. They pause before Lance’s bedroom door, exchanging a determined look. Pidge nods, and Hunk carefully turns the doorknob, soundlessly pushing the door open.

It’s dark. The only light comes from the moonlight pouring through the open window, and the small shark-shaped nightlight on the desk. Despite the brightness of the moon, the only thing really visible are shadows and figures.

The lump on the bed, wrapped in the covers, is far too big to be Lance.

Hunk hears Pidge’s sharp intake of breath, and is strangely reminded of the tale of Little Red Riding Hood. They’re both silent for a moment, tense as live wires, and then the large lump in the bed lets out what Hunk can only describe as a muted growl.

Pidge whimpers. The smallest of sounds. Barely a peep. But before Hunk has the chance to throw his hand over her mouth, the lump in the bed shoots straight up, and then both of them are screaming as glowing yellow eyes narrow and shining, razor-sharp teeth are bared in a snarl.

Hunk squeezes his eyes shut as the monster in Lance’s bed flicks his hand and a blade shines in the moonlight, extended at both of them as the monster is out of the bed in an instant.

“I am too young to die,” Hunk sobs over Pidge’s incessant screaming. He wonders if the monster ate Lance quickly, or if his own death is about to be slow.

It all makes sense now.

“Hunk? Pidge?”

Well, that doesn’t make sense.

Hunk opens his eyes just as the lights flip on, and sees Lance — he’s alive! — scramble out of bed and in front of the monster.

Right fucking in front of the monster. Zero space between them.

God, where is Lance’s brain?!

“Keith! Chill out. Put the luxite blade away. It’s fine, okay? They’re not a threat. No threat here. That’s it, babe. Take a deep breath. Put the fangs away, there you go.”

Hunk stares in shocked silence.

He thinks his jaw might be brushing the wooden floorboards.

“Pidge, stop screaming,” Lance says irritably, turning around to face the two of them. “You’re freaking everybody out.”

Pidge, predictably, does not stop screaming.

“No! I was just threatened by a real-life monster! A monster, Lance, what the fuck!”

“He has a name and it’s Keith,” Lance snaps. “And no shit you were threatened, you broke into our house.”

“And you’re fucking naked! Both of you!” Pidge continues — somehow more shrill — as if Lance had not spoken.

That wipes the fury right off Lance’s face.

“Out!” he yells, frantically yanking a blanket off the bed and throwing it over him and — and the monster that he knows on a first-name basis, apparently. “Get out! Right now!”

“I’m not leaving you with that!” Hunk argues, finally finding his voice.

He means it. Lance is bad at looking out for himself, and that thing is very obviously bloodthirsty.

“Get out of my room right fucking now, or the most bloodthirsty thing in the room is about to be me!”

Hunk’s not sure if it’s because Lance sounds deadly serious or because the terror of the whole situation is starting to fade into something like shock, but without another word, he turns away and walks out of the room. Pidge follows, closing the door behind her. The walk over to the living room, sitting gingerly on the couch.

Moments later, Lance stumbles out of the room in a robe, the monster following closely behind him.

“Stop looking at him like that,” Lance snaps, which Hunk thinks is unfair.

“Explain immediately,” Hunk says instead of voicing that particular thought.

“I’ll make some tea,” the monster says quietly, pressing a kiss to Lance’s cheek.

Hunk startles.

Well.

The monster can speak English, apparently.

Lance sighs, looking gratefully at the monster and squeezing its hand.

“Thanks, babe.”

And apparently Lance is — sleeping with the monster?

“That is the least surprising thing about this whole thing,” Pidge mutters, which is an astute observation based on Lance’s track record.

(Venom is not a good enough movie to watch 47 times. No one does that without Gay Reasons.)

Lance sits heavily on the loveseat, staring at them warily. “Why are you here?”

“Hi, Lance,” Hunk says sarcastically. “We’ve hardly talked to you in half a year, and it’s basically been radio silence from your end. Yes, I’m doing well, thanks for asking. I did miss you, too.”

Lance glares at him for a moment, but then he slumps forward.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been…busy.”

Pidge, who has recovered remarkably quickly, snickers. She looks pointedly at Lance’s collarbones, which are littered with bruises and bites. He flushes immediately, pulling his robe tighter around himself and hugging a pillow to his chest for good measure.

“I can see that,” Pidge teases. “And from what I saw from Mister Tall Purple and Furry, which is unfortunately burned into my brain for all eternity, I imagine sitting in a car for six hours to come see us would be…difficult.”

Despite himself, Hunk laughs. It helps that Lance looks more flustered and annoyed than angry, now.

“Fuck off,” he says, shoving his face into the pillow. “God, you people are horrible.”

Suddenly a new voice filters through the room, a gruff chuckle making Pidge and Hunk sit up straight, looking at each other nervously. Hunk almost forgot his terror.

“Why are you laughing, you douchebag?” Lance says, begrudgingly accepting the offered mug. The monster says nothing, only smiling fondly — well, Hunk is having trouble looking at the fangs peeking out of that smile and thinking fond, but it certainly doesn’t look malicious — and sets two more cups on the coffee table, and then takes his seat next to Lance.

Like, right next to Lance. Any closer and he’ll be sitting on Lance, and he’s thrown his arm over the back of the loveseat for good measure.

“I’m Keith,” the monster says when Lance fails to explain himself. “I’m not from here.”

That is a gross oversimplification.

“Try again,” Hunk says flatly, and he wasn’t trying to be funny, but the monster — Keith — laughs anyway.

“I’m sorry for threatening you,” he offers. “I was shot out of the sky by the government a while back, so I’m a little paranoid.”

Pidge looks intrigued. “Tell me every single detail about that story and you’re forgiven.”

Hunk scoffs. “Speak for yourself.” But he reaches forward and grabs the mug Keith placed in front of him as a show of trust, anyway, because Lance has lifted his face from the pillow of shame to glare at him and Hunk always feels like shit when Lance is mad at him.

Keith looks hesitantly at Lance. “Is it…?”

“They’re safe,” Lance says with a sigh. He reaches for one of Keith’s hands and starts fiddling with it — a nervous stim.

Now Hunk really starts to feel guilty.

“Okay,” Keith says, only a little reluctantly. It certainly says something that he’s so willing to trust them just because Lance said he could, even though twenty minutes ago he looked ready to stick a sword in their heads. “Uh, I was born on a planet called Daibazaal, about three hundred million light years from here. Earth is well known among the Intergalactic Union as a danger planet populated by gigantic, monstrous lizards.” He grins wryly. “Obviously, that information is pretty outdated.”

“Why’d you come here, then?” Pidge asks, eyes bright in excitement. If she leans forward anymore she’ll fall right off the couch. Nerd.

“My father is human,” Keith says nonchalantly, as if that’s not the most insane thing to have ever been spoken in this timeline. “He was a Texan physicist. He was messing around with things he shouldn’t have been messing in and accidentally wormholed himself across the galaxy, and decided he liked it there, so he stayed. He never told anyone about Earth because he figured if anyone tried to come here it would be mayhem —”

Hunk inclines his head, thinking of his own (possibly) over-the-top reaction. “Fair.”

“—but I grew up hearing stories about it here, so I wanted to come see for myself. It took me a few years because y’all don’t have transporters anywhere near, but I got here eventually.”

Hunk glances at his best friend, who has yet to stop playing with Keith’s fingers and won’t look at them. “I promise I am not being a dick,” he starts, which in hindsight could have been phrased better based on Lance’s scowl, “but why are you here? Like, Lance’s house specifically? And why hasn’t he told us about you?”

Luckily Lance laughs, looking a little more at ease. “He’s here because his father only told him about the Earth he knew decades ago. He was shot out of the sky the second he appeared on government scanners. He crash landed in one of the forests around here, and eventually made it to my door one night because he saw my porch light on and figured hostile shelter was better than no shelter. Luckily, I am not hostile shelter.”

The irony is not lost on Hunk.

“And did you jump his bones the second you saw the claws, or did you wait a week?” Pidge asks, grinning evilly.

Lance goes red again.

“He was injured!” Lance says hotly. “My first thought was to help him!”

“So it’s a Florence Nightingale situation,” Hunk says, smiling just as sharply.

Lance sees the tease for the apology it is.

“You’re a jerk,” he says, pouting. “Nobody in this household loves me.”

“I do,” Keith says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to say.

Lance softens like a goddamn block of spilled ice cream on pavement during a summer heatwave. Holy shit. It’s so saccharine it’s honestly a little gross (not really).

“As much as I have decided to be happy for you, Lance, if you two start making out I am going to throw things at you.”

Lance rolls his eyes, but settles for a quick, chaste kiss.

“Alright, you prude. I assume you two broke into my house with the intention to stay for the weekend?”

“Yep!” Pidge says, completely ignoring the dig. “And you are no sooner making me drive the six fucking hours back to the city than fly to the moon, so point me in the direction of the nearest bed. I’ll make fun of you more in the morning.”

“You mean the late afternoon, you lazy dog,” Lance teases, but gets up anyway. He presses another kiss to Keith’s lips as he gets up. “I’ll meet you in a few, okay?”

“Alright,” Keith says, and then he says something else in a language Hunk doesn’t understand that makes Lance all moon-eyed before heading back to Lance’s — to their bedroom.

“I’ll get you guys some fresh sheets and whatever,” Lance says, waving them over. “And then none of you are to bother me until I leave. If you walk in on us again and get scarred for life that will not be my problem.”

Pidge and Hunk look at each other before looking away in disgust.

“Understood,” they say immediately.

Lance grins.

———

part two

#I HAVE MORE PLANNED FOR THIS UNIVERSE #vld #voltron #hunk #hunk garrett #pidge #pidge holt #lance #lance mcclain #klance #established klance #secret relationship #keith #keith kogane #hunk & lance #hunk & pidge #pidge & lance #garrison trio #hunk & lance & pidge #fluff and humour #galra keith #alien keith #modern au #my writing #fic #longpost

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

A Few Very Compelling Arguments - Frank Iero x Reader

Summary: You are new in the band and Frank can’t seem to stand you. After getting hurt by him on stage you decide to quit the band, something Frank is not at all happy about. Reader: fem!Reader Warnings: mentions of mental illness, hints at suicide(?), blood, jealousy, Frank is an asshole in the first half Word Count: 7 702 (don’t ask me what happened there, I don’t know either) A/N: I’ve wanted to write some enemies to lovers with Frank since I read this story by @ghoulgirlwrites​ a few weeks back. I hope it’s not too similar. Anyways this story sent me on a total enemies to lovers thing, and now you guys have to live with that. Also I take no criticism for writing Frank this vulnerably. We all know he’s sensible, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be afraid to be vulnerable in the presence of the people he loves and trusts.

You weren‘t sure when things had started to change, but you knew you didn’t like it. You had not been in My Chemical Romance for long, a little less than a year. You were a friend of Ray’s, all the way back from his time in college, even though you were several years younger than him. After he had asked you to join the band on tour as their drummer one thing had led to another, and suddenly you had become the fifth member of the band. Then things had been fine, as fine as things could be when you were stuck in a van a majority of the day with a bunch of guys who had yet to discover the concept of taking showers. It was only at the start of this tour, right after the release of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge that Frank had started to change. He had always been very sweet to you before then, polite, friendly. Sure he was somewhat energetic on stage, but off stage he had been nothing but a sweetheart, something that definitely had gotten more to you than it should have.

It started off slow, the poking, the pranks, the nicknames. You knew he loved sneaking bites of other people’s food, or just put on whatever shirt he found on top of the clean laundry basket, no matter who it belonged to. You would not have minded this at all, if it had not always been your plate he stole fries from, or your favourite band shirt he picked to wear on stage.

That had been the beginning of it all. He had stopped after you had gotten pissed at him for staining your only white shirt with coffee one morning, and almost you had allowed yourself to believed things would calm down again. Sure you were angry that he had ruined your shirt, which he had had no reason for wearing other than being too lazy to search for his own. And that he had bought you a new package of your favourite cookies after having finished the last one without telling you had almost soothed the waves of your grudge against his impulsiveness.

But then he began throwing shit at your drums. At first just empty water bottles, which were really harmless. You even laughed at that, feeling like he was trying to include you more on stage. The roll of gaffer tape he had thrown was not quite as funny, nor was the full water bottle, Mikey’s shoe, and his mic stand; especially because the last one had ruined one of your drums, leaving you to improvise for the rest of the show.

You had been righteously furious after that.

That had been the evening you had realised something between Frank and you had truly changed. When you had talked to him about stealing your food and clothes, he had nodded and apologized for overstepping. That night, he had shrugged you off, saying he’d pay for it and there was no reason to react as upset as you did. This comment got him not only protest from you, but also from Ray, who had had the misfortune of overhearing that conversation.

Since then things had completely gotten out of control.

Frank snapped at you every opportunity he had, watched you like a hawk as if he was waiting for you to make a mistake he could get you for. He did not necessarily insult you. He just made it abundantly clear that he considered you unfit for the job of MCR’s drummer.

You knew they had not meant for you to overhead that snippet of conversation, but one time you had even heard Frank complain to Gerard about you, how you distracted everyone, how you would make it impossible to enjoy this tour for everyone.

You had quickly plucked in your headphones in order to not overhear more than that, but these few words had been enough to drive you towards the brink of a crisis. Wasn’t it bad enough that you had to share the very limited tour bus space with someone who actively seemed to hate you? He also tried to involve others in this strange feud he had started and was scheming against you!

After that incident you did not try to hide your annoyance at him anymore. If he already had to tell Gerard, Gerard might as well see for himself. Maybe that would speed up the inevitable process of them kicking you out of the band. Nobody had brought it up to your face yet, but you were sure Frank had suggested it to the others already. You didn’t want to leave the band, but with the way Frank was treating you, it was not hard to guess that this was his goal, to get you kicked out of the band.

Whatever you had done to make him hate you this much, it was something nobody was willing to talk to you about. Had you said or done something wrong? Was it your behaviour towards your band members? You were sure you had treated them just like any other friends, and of course you were closest to Ray, since you knew him the longest. But even though you were not aware of anything that could have upset Frank this much, especially since the others seemed to have no problem with you whatsoever, you would still have been willing to make up for it. If you only knew what the problem was!

You had tried talking to Frank, who had always brushed you off with a mean comment about you not caring anyway. And if you tried talking to the others, they always said it was not their place to tell you, and you needed to talk to Frank. At your response that you had tried, but he wouldn't tell you anything, they had just shrugged, and told you they couldn’t help you.

And this was how tour had started. For two months Frank and you had done nothing but glaring at each other. He shot hurtful comments your way, and whenever you were too tired or annoyed to hold back, you returned them. The tension this created was undeniable, but to your surprise the others just laughed it off, even having fun watching Frank and you bicker.

The worst thing of all though was probably how much ever single comment from Frank hurt. Not because of the comment itself, but because of him. You had not known him for very long, but you spent enough time together to have gotten to know him quite well. You saw the way he treated his friends, caring, loving, mischievous of course, yes, but never leaving a sliver of doubt that all his actions towards them were laced with nothing but deep, honest love for them.

A part of you hated yourself for loving watching him play music, no matter whether he was writing it, rehearsing or playing shows. At shows he was as energetic as you had never seen anyone in their life before, writhing around on stage, singing, screaming, and still flawlessly playing his guitar. He threw stuff at you occasionally, but this tour it did not seem quite as bad as the previous one.

During rehearsals he was absolutely focused, only rarely loosing himself in the music as much as he did on stage. But your favourite times to watch him were when he was writing music. Most often it was during long bus rides, when Gerard and Mikey would read comics, and you one of the novels off your ‘to be read’-pile. Ray and Frank would grab their guitars, and sit down, playing the same melodies in variations for hours upon hours until they had found something they both were content with. Then you would take glances over the rim of your book, just watching Frank, as he was sitting on one of the sofas, his fingers skipping over the fret board, his eyes closed. He was so focused then, and still half lost in the melody, in the music he and Ray were creating. Those moments were so soft, so intimate. It felt forbidden to watch him then, and still you could not tear your eyes away. You just hoped he would never find out about it.

He, on the other hand, was unashamed whenever he stared at you. It was during meals, when you sat on opposite ends of the table, as many of your friends between you as possible to stop you from getting into another heated argument. He would watch you closely then, his eyes following your every movement, never caring if you were staring back at him challengingly.

It was worse on stage. Moments in which he should have payed attention to Ray or Gerard, he glanced at you, even when there was no need to. Of course there were the few parts of the show where the two of you needed to work together, coordinate with each other, and those were never a problem, because as much as you hated him, you were still professional enough to not let it show. But the moments where he made sure you were looking at him right before doing something stupid-

It drove you up the walls, the constant feeling of his eyes on you, until you would eventually give in and meet his across the stage.

This night was no different. Or well, maybe it was. It was more of Frank’s snarky, hurtful comments before the show, more than usual. More of relentlessly watching you during it.

You knew Frank was not in the best space of mind recently. Just like the Way brothers he struggled with mental health, and just because you could not stand seeing his pretty face around you, and felt like getting sick the moment you thought about him because of your contrasting feelings for him, you still were observant. Maybe it was about keeping the team together, you wondered, as you felt sweat running down your face, your arms, your back. In order to keep doing the shows everyone needed to be in top shape, and whenever someone wasn’t, the others did their best to take care of them.

It was difficult with Frank though. He would insist to be left alone, and wouldn't come out of his bunk for anything other than a small breakfast in the morning, a toilet break or playing shows. It had been like this for the past three days, and slowly but surely you began worrying about him.

He looked pale underneath his make-up, dark circles under his eyes which he covered up with red eyeshadow. If he hadn’t screamed at you that one time you had tried to ask if there was something you could do for him, you might have tried to get him to open up a little. You hated to see him suffer just as much as you hated him. But then again, maybe you didn’t hate him quite as much as you always made yourself believe.

The thought was unsettling, and at the realisation you almost would have lost the rhythm you were still playing. You definitely had crushed on Frank before things had gotten weird. And you knew you cared about him, even if you did not want to admit it to yourself. So was the idea that you did not hate him at all so far off?

Just in that moment you felt his eyes on you. Not to coordinate the music, but staring at you. For a moment you tried to resist looking back at him, but it was impossible.

He was close to your drums, black crosses over his eyes, the red eyeshadow masking how sunken in his face was. As if he hadn’t eaten and slept for days. You had a feeling he really hadn’t.

For a moment he was holding your gaze, and then, with three big steps, he strode over to Gerard, who was prancing around on stage as always. It happened so fast you were not even sure what you had seen, when Frank let go of his guitar, and grabbed Gerard’s face while he was still in the middle of singing, only to kiss his passionately.

You could tell Gerard was surprised, suddenly having been cut off by a kiss from one of his guitarists, but he reacted smoothly, wrapping his arm around Frank’s neck and kissing back for a short moment, before he pushed Frank off, and continuing to sing as if nothing had happened.

Quickly you averted your gaze, feeling like you had witnessed something you were not supposed to. Of course you knew of the rumours that Frank and Gerard were dating. It was nothing more than that, a rumour, as far as you knew, but maybe you did not know everything.

It was clear Frank had wanted you to see that kiss. Was this maybe the reason he hated you so much? Because you and Gerard had become close friends, and he thought you were trying to steal Gerard away from him? Nothing could have been further from the truth. You liked Gerard, but only as a friend. You were far too confused about your feelings for Frank to even think about liking anyone else.

Still, you felt like that kiss had meant to show you who Gerard belonged with. But what did you care? Frank could have Gerard all for himself, if this was what his weird behaviour was about. It just stung a little too much, the idea that Frank had never seen you as anything but a rival for Gerard’s affection. Secretly you had wanted his glances and stares to mean more than pure hatred.

That’s how the rest of the show went by. You tried focusing on your drumming, but were continuously distracted by thoughts about Frank, about how maybe you had liked him the whole time, more than liked even. About how he seemed to hate you because you were close to Gerard. About how unreasonably disappointed you were that he had probably never had any positive feelings for you at all.

You were glad when the encore finally was over. Your head hurt from all the intrusive thoughts, the picture of Frank kissing Gerard had burnt itself deeper into your mind than you wanted to admit, you were bathed in sweat and your whole body was aching. You had been so tense during the set that you would probably have a whole body muscle ache tomorrow.

You slammed your sticks down on the drums for the last few times that night, letting the applause of the audience wash over you as the last chords of the nights echoed back from the venue’s walls. Gerard was waving at crowd, Mikey already on his way off stage, and Ray threw the left over picks into the audience. You were about to do the same with your drum sticks, when your eyes involuntarily found Frank. He was standing not too far off from your drums, but instead of having turned to the crowd, he had turned to you.

Too late did you notice the motion he had executed with his right hand, too late did you see the blinking thing he had thrown through the air right at you. If you had not been mid motion of throwing your sticks into the audience, you could have evaded whatever he had launched at you, but now you were to slow, the metallic object hitting the side of your forehead hard, and you could not suppress the pained gasp.

Surprised you clasped your hand over the part where you had been hit, immediately searching for what had hit you. It was Frank’s capo. It had clattered to the ground after having it you. Annoyed you picked it up, and threw it back at Frank, not noticing the guilty and apologetic expression he was wearing. The capo hit him mid-chest, and surprised he caught it, as you stared daggers at him from behind your drums. Quickly, as quickly as you could, you climbed out from behind them, and headed off stage.

“Oh, (y/n), you’re bleeding,” Mikey noticed as you tried storming past him to get to the backstage room as quickly as possible.

You were done with tonight. Not only because of all these thoughts that had plagued you, or Frank kissing Gerard. No, this was the first time Frank had actually injured you, and that was the last drop. You couldn’t do this anymore. Frank had made it so very clear he didn’t want you in the band, he could finally have what he wanted. Tomorrow morning you would tell Gerard you quit. Tomorrow, not today, so nobody could say you were being too emotional about it. If they asked you really, really nicely, and promised to keep Frank in check, you would finish this tour with them until they had a new drummer to replace you. But you wanted out. Now.

A warm hand around your wrist dragged you out of your thoughts, and Mikey was looking down on you worriedly.

“What happened there,” he asked, gesturing to your head.

“What,” you asked, bringing your hand up to where Frank had hit you with the capo. When you pulled your hand away, your fingers were coated in blood. “Oh shit.”

Quickly you looked around, trying to find a mirror, but the closest one was probably down the hallway in the bathrooms.

“Is it bad,” you asked.

Mikey leant in closer, taking a good look.

“Nope, don’t think so. Small cut, about this long.” He held his hand out, showing you with his index finger and thumb how long the cut was. Not more than three milimeters.

It seemed there had been a sharp edge on the capo.

“Shit, (y/n), I’m so sorry-”

The voice belonged to no other than Frank, who had followed you off stage. When you spun around to face him, and he saw the thin line of blood running down the side of your face, his eyes grew wide.

“Oh fuck-”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, asshole,” you hissed at him, feeling your blood boil at the sight of him. Had you really thought you liked him? What the hell had been wrong with you? “This was the last time, the last time you threw anything at me, you understand?”

“I didn’t mean to hit you, I was aiming for the- it’s not gonna happen again, I promise,” Frank rushed out. Something about him now was so very different than you remembered him from the past months. He looked genuinely sorry and concerned. But you couldn’t be bothered, not anymore.

“No it’s not, because I won’t be on stage with you anymore for you to throw shit at me!”

You had not meant to say that, but it felt good, to see the shock on Frank’s face, to feel Mikey’s surprise.

“(y/n), you’re not-”

“Yes, I am Mikey! I am quitting! So you-” you pocked your finger into Frank’s direction, “are finally getting what you’ve wanted all this time. Happy now?”

And with that you stormed off.

You did not bother to go to the backstage room, as you had planned, and you did not wait as you heard both Frank and Mikey calling for you to wait. You headed straight out of the backdoor, past the tour bus that was supposed to drop everyone off at the hotel. You could not wait long enough for everyone to make it there, and you could not face Frank.

By now him and Mikey had probably found Gerard and Ray, and told them what had happened; that you had quit.

Shit. That was exactly what you had wanted to avoid, coming across as impulsive and emotional. Frank was supposed to be the impulsive and emotional one, not you. But fuck, you were emotional! There was still blood running down the side of your face, and the headache you had already felt before increased its intensity with every minute. You needed to get away from here, as fast as possible.

Not caring about security or fans being able to see you, you hasted towards the street, already seeing multiple cabs lined up, waiting to find concert goers who were ready to pay for a ride home. Climbing into the first cab in the line, you named the address of the hotel the band had booked rooms at. In the hotel the staff gave you concerned looks, considering how you looked, and even offered to call a doctor, but you insisted you would be fine with a plaster and the keys to one of the booked rooms.

Just as always during hotel nights, it was a double room. A queen sized bed took up the majority of the room, leaving little space for anything but a narrow wardrobe and two bedside tables. You wondered who they would pair up with you tonight. Probably not Gerard, Frank would insist they share a room. Maybe Mikey then, or Ray. You hoped it was Ray. He still knew you the best, and would understand why you could not stay in the band any longer.

Only once you entered the bathroom, you realised you had basically left everything but your wallet at the tour bus, your whole overnight bag with shampoo, towels and pyjama. Luckily the hotel had a shampoo dispenser, towels and some bathrobes prepared for their guests, so you quickly grabbed one, and locked the bathroom door behind you.

The first thing you did was inspect the cut on your forehead. It really was tiny, but the amount of blood had made it look way worse than it was. Now the bleeding had stopped, and the blood dried. Carefully you washed it off, and in the end there was hardly anything to see but a small scratch.

While you were in the shower, rinsing off the sweat of the show, you heard someone entering the hotel room. Over the rushing of water it was impossible to tell who it was, but you definitely heard the door to the room open and then close.

After that you tried to hurry. It wouldn't have been fair to Ray to make him wait too long for his shower. He probably hadn’t taken one at the venue yet. Drying yourself off, you threw on the bathrobe, hoping Ray had either brought your night bag.

“Hey Ray,” you called, as you unlocked the door, your dirty clothes thrown over your arm, and stepped into the room, “you didn’t happen to bring my-”

You froze as you saw that it was not Ray who was sitting on the bed, waiting for you to finish in the bathroom.

It was Frank. He seemed to have washed off the make-up at the venue, because only faint traces of colour stuck to his face now.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he got up. “The others said we should pair up.”

For a long moment you stared at him. You wanted to say something along the lines of never sharing a bed with him, but you knew that he would then insist of sleeping on the floor, and another part of you, the one that had come up with the stupid idea of you maybe liking him, would never have allowed that.

“I packed your bag,” Frank added, nodding to the bag he had placed on the window side of the bed. How had he known you preferred the window side? Or was it just a coincidence?

You nodded, not bothering with an answer.

“Can I- is the bathroom free,” Frank asked carefully. You knew he was watching you, but you refused to look at him, just nodded.

As you were going through your night bag, trying to find a shirt and a pair of shorts, you heard as Frank grabbed his own bag, and headed for the bathroom.

“What you said about leaving the band-”

You guessed he had stopped in the door, but you didn’t turn around.

“I don’t want you to leave. Never wanted that. Can you- I don’t know, can you think about it again? I know we all would-”

“Luckily I don’t care about what you – or the others – want. Not anymore anyway,” you hissed at him, and for the first time that night you felt your throat close up as tears burnt in your eyes.

There was shuffling behind you, and almost you would have expected Frank to say more on the matter but then the bathroom door closed.

Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you began looking through your bag again. The idea that Frank had been the one to have packed it, that he had gone through your stuff, made you feel uncomfortable, but at the same time tucked at your heart.

There was a pair of shorts, but the only t-shirt you found was not your own. In fact you were pretty certain it was one of Frank’s. Maybe he had packed it by accident. What other explanation could be there for it? In the end it did not matter though. Shirt was shirt, whether it was his or yours, so you threw it on, and tied the bathrobe closed over it, so Frank wouldn't give you shit for wearing one of his shirts.

In the bathroom the water was still running when you went to bed, cuddled underneath one  of the thick blankets. You were grateful there were separate blankets. The idea to share one with Frank was sickening. Speaking of sickening, you still had that headache. While you had been in the shower, it had gotten better, but now it came back worse than before.

After a while you decided you were not going to be the hero who suffered through it, and got up again. Somewhere in your bag you still had some painkillers…

Once more going through your bag, you subconsciously registered that in the bathroom the water had stopped running, and instead suspicious silence spread out from behind the door. No ruffling of towels, no clicking of shampoo bottle lids, not padding of naked feet on tiled floor.

Holding your movement, you listened. Only silence.

With a shrug you grabbed one of the painkillers from the small bottle, and downed it together with the contents of a small water bottle you had kept in your bag. Definitely needed to replace that one tomorrow with a full one, you mentally noted.

That was when you heard it.

Again you halted, not sure if you had imagined the sound, but a second later it was clearer than before. That was definitely someone crying, sobbing even. Quietly, trying to muffle the sound, but the nightly environment was too quiet to hide it. And it came from the bathroom.

Before you even had thought about it, you were banging against the door. You had heard about how badly Gerard had been, you’d be damned if My Chem lost one of their guitarists just because you couldn’t be bothered to try to talk to him. The idea of Frank doing something really stupid to himself wasn’t farfetched, considering the state he had been over the past days.

“Frank? Frank! What’s going on in there? Open the door!”

Again you banged at it, before listening for a response, but all you got was another sob.

“Frank! Are you okay? Let me in!”

Nothing but more sobs.

Your heart was racing in your throat, and your knees weak. You were probably the last person Frank would really talk to, but you didn’t dare leave the room to get help from the others. So instead you pressed down the door handle experimentally, and like a miracle it swung open.

“I don’t care if you’re naked, I’m coming in,” you warned before you pushed the door fully open and stepped inside.

The air of the bathroom was wet and smelled of Frank’s shower gel. The man himself was sitting in front of the sink, back leant against the wall, and luckily dressed in some shorts and an oversized t-shirt. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, his face buried between them, hands and arms pulled over his head as if to protect himself from the outside world.

As quickly as you could you ran over to him, and fell to your knees besides him.

“Frank,” you asked worriedly, carefully trying to pry away one of his arms. “Frank, are you hurt?”

Another sob, muffled between his knees, escaped him, before he unwrapped himself, and instead leant his head against your shoulder, burying his face in the fabric of the bathrobe. Instinctively you brought your arms around him, and wrapped him in an awkward hug.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he cried. The air he exhaled was hot, traveling through the layers of fabric until it brushed over your skin. “I know it’s my fault, and it’s all on me, but I don’t know how to fix this. I tried to fix it. But I’ve just made it so much worse. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to lose you.”

Confused you blinked, trying to understand what he was talking about.

“Well, you’re not gonna stop me from leaving,” you told him, fully aware that this was probably exactly the wrong thing to say. But lying to him wouldn’t help him either.

You felt a shiver go through him, and he sobbed again, probably smearing snot all over your bathrobe. Well, not really yours, the hotels. So this should be the least of your worries right now.

“I know. I’m not trying to stop you. I know I fucked up. I tried to fix it, tried to make it work so hard, and all I did was fuck it up. I’m so sorry for ruining this for you,” he whimpered between heavy breaths.

“At which point did you try to fix shit, Frank, hm? When you told Gerard I was a distraction, or when you kept calling me weird names even though you knew I didn’t like it? Or when you kept staring at me as if I’d grow a second head any second? When have you ever tried fixing things? Do you think throwing shit at me would make anything any better? Fuck, Frank, you couldn’t even be bothered to pretend you didn’t hate me as much as you do, just to make it less weird for the others! You didn’t try fixing shit!”

Frank nodded, his hands gripping into the bathrobe, still hiding his face. You could feel how warm his body was, from showering, from crying- he was like a furnace. His shower-wet hair stuck to his head.

“And you can’t expect me to take it any longer, you know? All I’ve been getting from you for months were off handed comments that made me feel like shit, and stuff thrown at me on stage! Fuck, you threw a capo at my head, Frank!”

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” he cried.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you did!”

You couldn’t help but wonder what a strange position you found yourselves in. You were shouting at him while he had buried his face in your shoulder, and was crying his eyes out, all while you soothingly rubbed circles into his back.

After a moment of silence, Frank took a shuddering breath.

“I never hated you,” he mumbled, his voice shaky but clear, as if he was putting lots of thought and effort into every word. “I know it seemed that way, but I never did. The opposite really. When you leave that’s the only thing I need you to know: That I’ve always admired you, and that I wish I could’ve done things right, so we could’ve played with this band ‘till the day we die.”

“Some things just aren’t meant to be,” you answered softly, patting his head, making him sob again.

“I just wish I could go back in time and do it right, you know. Do it right from the very first moment on. Just be honest with you, and hope things work out from there.”

“You could still be honest now,” you offered.

Curiosity was eating away at you. Could you finally find out why Frank had treated you the way he had? Why he had never let you get close, why he had not left his bunk in the past days?

“It wouldn’t make a difference anymore,” Frank mumbled, but he seemed calmer now, as if the idea of telling the truth might offer some relief.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” you suggested, running your hand through his wet locks. They were soft like silk. When he did not speak for a moment, you added: “What’s going on these past days? You barely got out of bed.”

“Wasn’t feeling good,” Frank mumbled. You could feel him slightly lean into your touch as you ran your nails over his scalp, so you continued the simple action.

“I thought so much. What wasn’t feeling good exactly?”

“Think I knew this was coming to an end,” he admitted. “That I’ve gone too far, and you’d want to leave, and that nothing I could do would stop you, and that everything I had tried to keep you to stay up until that point had only driven you away.”

You hummed, signalling him you had heard, waiting if he wanted to say more, but when he didn’t, you asked another question.

“What was that thing about kissing Gerard earlier at the show? You know… if you like him you don’t gotta worry about me, okay? Gee ‘n I are friends, nothing more.”

“I know.”

“Then why that kiss? It felt like… you wanted to demonstrate that Gerard belonged with you…”

“Didn’t,” Frank answered quietly. “Wanted to make you jealous.”

“Why would you want to make me jealous of you?”

“Not me. Gee.”

You blinked. “Gerard? Why would I be jealous of Gerard?”

Frank tensed underneath your hands, but did not answer. If he wanted you to be jealous of Gerard, could it be that- no. No possible way.

You filed that piece of information away with all the other puzzle pieces that did not fit the picture, and continued asking your questions. It seemed, for the first time since you had met Frank that he was willing to open up to you, at least to a certain degree. You had to make use of that opportunity.

“In the beginning – the first few weeks – we were fine, remember? What changed?”

Frank shook his head against your shoulder, making you raise your eyebrows.

“You don’t know?”

“Don’t wanna say,” Frank corrected.

“I thought you wanted to be honest,” you answered, knowing you were poking around in affairs that probably were none of your business, but he had made you suffer for months. You felt like you finally deserved some answers.

“Emotions are complicated,” Frank replied cryptically.

“What emotions?”

For a moment he thought about his answer, then he spoke slowly. “I wanted you to notice me, wanted you to know that I felt comfortable around you, like when I stole your food and your clothes. And when it got obvious you didn’t feel the same… I got frustrated. And jealous. Because you always hang out with Gee ‘nd Ray ‘nd Mikey- and I started doing dumb shit, and – it was easier to drive you away than to admit that I wanted actually the complete opposite of that. Because when I’m honest, I’m vulnerable, and I don’t wanna be hurt.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Frank,” you whispered, not entirely sure what to make of the things he had just told you. He had wanted you to notice him? He sure had managed that. Why would he have been jealous though?

“What hurts me and what doesn’t isn’t in your power to decide,” Frank mumbled, his words muffled against the bathrobe you wore.

“Frank-” trying to pull him slightly away from you to look at his face, you placed your hands on his shoulders, but he only stiffened under your touch, his hands clawing tighter into your clothes. “Frank, I feel like I still don’t really understand what is going on, what has been going on the whole time. You say you’re jealous, and you don’t really hate me- but it’s pretty obvious you don’t like me either. What is it, you feel? Can you try putting it into words?”

Frank shook his head against your shoulder again.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“’m scared.”

“Of what?”

For a moment he was quiet, before he suddenly sat up with a jolt. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips red-rimmed, and his whole face swollen and flaky from crying. He looked truly pitiful. You wanted to wrap him in your arms again and promise him everything would be alright. It would have been a lie. He had said he didn’t want you to leave the band but your mind was made up. But maybe a white lie, just to make him feel better…

You were still thinking about how much you wanted to help him, when Frank suddenly leant forward, and without warning pressed his lips to yours. They were hot and tasted of his salty tears. Slightly startled you almost lost your balance from the force with which Frank had come at you. Searching for something to hold onto, and desperate not to let go of him, you quickly wrapped your arms around him, holding him close.

At first it was just the surprise of the sudden kiss that made you dizzy, but when Frank opened his mouth, and licked against your lips, you felt like you could faint any moment. Everything around you was spinning; the only solid thing was Frank, as he took over the kiss, and kissed you harder than anyone had ever done before.

You could feel his pulse hammer underneath your hands, could feel his breath fan over your skin, could taste the desperation with which he kissed you. It was both sweet and hungry, the way he pressed closer to you needy and hopeful, as he twisted you so your back was pressed to the cold, tiled wall of the bathroom, with him pinning you against it, as good as your sitting positions allowed him too.

It was only when you seemed to have worked through the first rush of surprise that Frank suddenly pulled away. Confused at the loss of contact you blinked your eyes open, finding his lips were cherry red, and his eyes glowing. It made you want to lurch forward and kiss him again. But before you could, it seemed like dark clouded his face, and the glimmer in his eyes disappeared, the glow he had seemed to emit darkened.

“This is what I’ve wanted the whole time,” he sat back, bringing more distance between you. Agonizing, cold, painful distance. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you without-”

You cut him off then and there. You didn’t care. Yes, consent was important, but now that you knew he wanted to kiss you, you saw no reason as to why you should stop yourself from doing so.

He gasped when your lips met his again, just as desperate as he had been moments ago, but he kissed back hungrily, and placed his warm hands on your waist as you climbed into his lap. He held you close and steady, as you got lost in his touch. An hour ago you could never have imagined thinking this, but he radiated safety. The way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way his breath brushed over your skin in little gasps, the hammering of your heart at the quiet moans that escaped him. It made you feel like you were on top of the world, everything else around you forgotten, only you and Frank. Who cared about hotel bathrooms and touring and bands and music? Not you, not while you were kissing Frank like you had dreamt of since the first proper conversation you had had with him. The voice, that had tried to remind you of this little fantasy while the rest of you had convinced you that you hated Frank, seemed to dance a little dance of joy in your heart, as you wrapped your hands into Frank’s hair, and pulled him closer and closer.

Only when you were completely out of breath, you eventually pulled away, leaning your forehead to Frank’s shoulder. He used the opportunity to push the collar of the bathrobe away a bit, and placed butterfly kisses on your neck until you were giggling.

“I know I can’t make you stay,” Frank suddenly said, lifting his head. You did too, looking down on him from where you sat in his lap. “I know that if you truly want to leave the band, nothing and nobody can stop you. But when you do… do you think you could stay at least with me? I don’t want to lose you.”

Confused you furrowed your brows at him, tilting your head to ask what he meant.

“Do you think you could give me – us – a second chance. I love you, (y/n), I love your passion and how you never take shit from anyone, how patient you are, how caring, and you’re the most beautiful person I could ever imagine. I love you so fucking much, and I know I probably ruined any chance, but if I haven’t-”

“You haven’t,” you interrupted him.

Frank eyes widened hopefully, and he watched you very closely as he continued. “So if I asked you to be mine- will you be mine?”

“As much as you’ll be mine,” you answered, your heart beating a thousand miles an hour, as Frank laughed in disbelief.

“My heart’s been yours from the first moment on,” he breathed, before pressing his lips to yours again.

But instead of losing yourself in his kiss, you pulled away again.

“Ask me the other thing,” you demanded, making him look at you confused.

“The other-” he stopped, realisation hitting him like a freight train, and he barely managed to get the words out quickly enough. “Please stay in the band, please I beg you. Will you stay in the band?”

You smiled softly, and brushed his hair out of his eyes, before slowly getting up from his lap. Offering him a hand you helped him up. Immediately he placed his hands back at your waist, his eyes searching for an answer to his question in yours.

“Let’s go to bed,” you whispered, “We have a long tour ahead of us, and I don’t wanna miss out on a proper bed.”

“Is that a-”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll stay in the band. If you stop throwing shit at me on stage.”

Gently you pushed Frank down on the bed, and quickly he scrambled to get under the blanket before he opened his arms for you to crawl into. You followed his invitation without hesitation.

“I promise I’ll only throw myself at you from now on,” he whispered, and you could hear the sly grin in his voice, but when you placed your head on his chest, his heart was racing. He was not at all feeling as cool about the situation as he pretended. It made you grin, and you found yourself liking him even more than before.

“Approved, but only under the condition that you take the guitar off before.”

“That can be arranged,” Frank nodded, playing around with the hem of the bathrobe you were still wearing. “Hey, is that one of my shirts?”

Quickly you sat up again, and brushed the bathrobe off, revealing the shirt you had found in your bag, and put on.

“You packed that one for me,” you accused, but when you glanced at Frank, you found he looked at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky.

“You look so good in my clothes,” he whispered, pulling you back down to his chest, and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

His arms were tightly wrapped around you, and while he told you more about how he had felt in the months in which you had been fighting, how heartbroken he had been, how helpless, and how much he had loved you the whole time, you listened to his steady heartbeat until you had fallen asleep.

-

“Of course she was serious, when she said she wanted to leave,” Ray shook his head, pouring milk into his cereal. “Frank’s been harassing her for months. I’m surprised she didn’t quit sooner.”

“I always thought it was all in good fun between them,” Gerard sighed, sipping from his coffee. “I thought they were goofing around, not actually fighting. I mean, he’s so fucking hard in love with her...”

“Well, yesterday evening they were actually fighting,” Mikey mumbled. “Kept me up ‘till two before they finally shut up.”

“Do you think they killed each other?”

“If yes, we’re in real trouble finding not one, but two new band members,” Mikey sighed.

“I’m not offering my friends again,” Ray quickly defended. “She’s probably already mad that I didn’t shut Frank down more often. I don’t wanna loose more friends.”

“Do we even know anyone who plays drums and would join us?”

“You won’t need a new drummer, if you’ll still have me.”

Your voice made the three look up from their breakfast table, their eyes widening as they saw Frank and you standing next to them. It looked weird seeing the two of you standing so close next to each other without fuming from the mouths. Like an alternative reality, or real life Photoshop.

“Does that mean you’ll stay,” Ray asked, hopeful, his eyes quickly flickering to where Frank’s and your pinkies were linked between you.

“Frank and I talked tonight,” you answered and pulled out a chair, sitting down next to Ray. Frank took the chair on your other side, throwing his arm around your shoulder, and leant over, gently nudging his nose against your jaw before he placed a kiss there. “He had a few very compelling arguments for me to stay.”

Taglist:

@alexstyx @jayloverthe3rd @robinruns @lookalivefrosty @butterflycore  @omgsuperstarg @fivelegance @deadlovers @casmustdiee​ @cmtryghoul​

#my chemical romance imagine #frank iero x reader #my chemical romance imagines #my chemical romance fanfiction #my chemical romance fanfic #mcr imagine #mcr fanfiction #mcr fanfic #mcr imagines #frank iero x you #frank iero imagine #frank iero imagines #revenge era frank #frank iero fanfiction #frank iero fanfic #enemies to lovers trope #enemies to lovers #fluff #angst to comfort #angst to fluff #fem!reader #frank iero x fem!reader

[kedsandtubesocks]

I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS ABOUT GIRL DAD GOJO PLEASE AND THANK YOU

Eri…if I could go back in time and tell last month me you would be sending me this ask I would’ve thought I was sent into another dimension but I AM SO GLAD WE ARE HERE OMFG!!!!!!!

Girl Dad Gojo… goodness the two of them would be thick as thieves until she is older and utterly unimpressed by her father, the greatest sorcerer of all time, because to baby girl he is simply papa or aka the loser who cried when she learned how to ride a bike

The first time she get sick he is a total wreck. He just wants to keep her safe but her fever has her in tears and all he can do is hold his whimpering sick baby. He’s reminded of how human and small he actually is because of this tiny babe wrecking his heart. He stays up the entire night to make sure she sleeps good (he of course gets sick the next week and he’s even worse at being a baby about it than she is)

Anytime she tries to crawl he is lying on the floor right there besides her yelling outloud play by commentary of her movements like she’s a sports athlete and he’s the excited announcer cheering her on

The first time she takes her first steps, he’s away on a mission. Of course he’s so proud but he’s angry and hurt he missed one of the biggest moments of his baby’s life… but the minute he warps home and the second he sees her waddling to him with the biggest gummy smile all that anger and frustration just melts away, especially when you gasp seeing her walk more than four steps without falling, and of course it is to him. He doesn’t shut up about it for MONTHS!

When she’s a little bigger and has playtime Satoru is right there with her and taking every one of her ideas very seriously! If she tells him he is a pink feathery dragon that shoots out glitter then you bet your cute ass he’s going to be the best pink feathery glitter shooting dragon ever!

He loves tea time with her and has a secret stash of cookies for them that you don’t know about cause it’s just for them!

When she learns how to make friendship bracelets the first one she makes is for him and Gojo cries when she hands him the mismatched colored beaded bracelet. He wears it EVERYWHERE! He about beats the ever living shit out of a curse user for making fun of the colorful bracelet when they see it

They for sure tag team against you because as much as she is half yours, she is still a Gojo and learns from the Gojo considered to be the best

However, when you have to leave for a trip and leave the two of them alone they are having the biggest ball for the first hour. Until they both crack and are FaceTiming you crying about how much they miss you

He dramatically sings all her favorite nursery rhyme songs to make her giggle, he also does funny voices for all her stuffed animals

He doesn’t let her win at ANYTHING video game wise because as he tells you “it’s keeping her humble”

When she tugs at his pant legs he doesn’t hesitate to kneel down to her level to speak to her eye to eye or let her whisper into his ear because they are both AWFUL gossips and noisy as hell!!! They also argue about the DUMBEST things like which digimon is best and because they’re both stubborn and ridiculous they make you pick sides!

The first time she sees a curse and cries clutching him so terrified is when Gojo swears he understands all over again why he was born to be a sorcerer, born to be the strongest. Yes it’s to protect the world but he was born to protect his world, this little stinker who sticks her tongue out at him when he eats the last bite of cake and happily grins when she gets to cuddle you and he doesn’t

Because yes you are his gravity keeping him stable and so strong, but she is his universe

#OKAY I NEED TO GO BITE MY ARM OFF NOW 🤡 #ERI WHAT HAVE YOU DONE #YOU UNLEASHED ME #but also wowowow I love you I’m gonna cry BCS HERE WE ARE TALKING ABOUT THIS MORON!!! #Eri’s tag 🐝✨ #cw kids #Gojo 🩵 #asks and such things 💌 #long post #just in case

[andmaybegayer]

TOWER

TOWER

TOWER

Zizkov tower has a great view of the city. It's so funny to me that this is only ~100m up, as previously mentioned if you go up the little hill near me you're like 200m up and you can see the Johannesburg sprawl stretch off to the horizon. Teeny little city.

Stopped by an Indian grocery store to assemble a basic spice kit because hey did you know that they don't sell a full complement of spices in the normal grocery stores here, even a fairly big one? Wack. Anyways all spice stores smell absolutely identical the world over, a barrage of every aromatic known to man just fuses together into an astoundingly generic masala. Speaking of Masala they do not sell house mixes of masala here

Still sorting out a SIM card which means I'm relying on eyeballing some of my public transit routes, especially the trams. The local transit app is pretty good but it is not designed to work offline, and Google Maps won't give you transit routes offline either.

The energy efficiency obsessed part of my brain loves these buildings. Our Airbnb has double windows with a huge air gap, it's so good. The kitchenette is a weird mix of well appointed and sparse, like, decent quality double burner induction hob, oven, and microwave, but a dearth of tools and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to turn on the extractor.

I had a few apartment viewings queued up to look at from last week but most of them rented out in the past few days, so only one remains. Sent more emails this morning.

#back out of africa #prague #czech republic

[degloved]

aaa fic requests open………… hoffheight love languages……… (but they dont label their relationship bc inner turmoil of being apprentices ;-;)

hello anon!! first of all this was a very delightful prompt. saw rarepairs (regardless if i ship them) are so fun to me !! hoffheight especially, i think they're slept on (by myself also, tbh.) i thought about the best approach to take so as not to make this too long, and initially decided to pick a handful, out of the five, which i thought most would be best suited to them. those being: quality time, physical touch, gift giving. this is very funny, as it still turned out to be excessively long (normally, these are 500 words—somehow i've ended up with 1600 words here.) therefore, i've decided to post it also my ao3 & the link to it, should you wanna bookmark or what have you, can be found at the bottom. i hope you enjoy! thanks for sending in a prompt, once again! p.s. i'm getting around to writing everything everyone's sent in! i just find myself a little more inclined to first jump into the prompts i know i'm gonna do without much trouble. chainshipping, while largely what i'm getting the reqs for, isn't my forte, hence the wait. but i'm trying!

-> READ ON AO3 <-

‼️SAW REQS STILL OPEN‼️

The Apprentices, despite their shared unshakable tendency to slip into petty conflicts with one another on an hourly basis, appeared to work oddly well together; like a well-oiled machine. Left-brain, right-brain, and their brawn; Lawrence's steady hand, Amanda's creativity, Mark's ability to put it all into motion.

If they were a machine, then Adam was surely the cog that didn't quite mesh with all the other moving parts. Perpetually on the fringes of the warehouse, uncertainly hovering about—passing a wrench here and a drill there—until inevitably slinking off with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He didn't fit, and he wasn't even really sure he wanted to.

Wasn't sure whether he'd fit anywhere else, either.

He'd always moved through the world with a sense of displacement; as if something had plucked him off some distant planet and dumped him here, only to cruelly leave him to his own devices. Because Adam's life was also a fucking joke, whatever higher power lurked out there must've also seen it fit to exacerbate said feeling. If there'd ever been any hope of an eventual breakthrough—any hope he might stop listlessly flopping on dry land and find a suitable body of water to slip into—it'd sure been squandered now. With something of a bitter chuckle, Adam had the thought he might walk the length of the Amigara Fault without ever stumbling upon his own hole, too. (Well, at least that meant he was safe! Safety being, of course, a commodity these days.)

“Adam?”

The sound of his name bouncing off of the warehouse walls broke him out of that depressing little reverie he'd embarked on. Somewhere out of sight, the clanking of metal against metal; the noise was sharp and, by rights, ought to be annoying if not outright grating on the ears. Unfortunately, he'd gotten used to it. Didn't bother him half as much as it really should.

“Yeah?” he called out—though set down the camera he'd been fucking around with (hopelessly fucking broken after he'd knocked it off the table last week), letting his legs carry him to the machine Mark had been working on for the past hour. “Need help?”

“Nah,” the other man shook his head, rogue droplets of sweat flying every which way. “This should be done.”

Mark stood up on slightly shaky feet, dusting himself off. Adam supposed working for Jigsaw was as good exercise as any: his skin glistened beneath the pallid light overhead, face appropriately ruddy. (His own cheeks must've decided to take inspiration from it, flushing in tandem.)

“I was thinkin',” he continued, hands on his hips, “You've been cooped up in this dump too long. Wanna get out of here?”

Yes. Dear god, please.

But, Adam would never go down that easy. Pointedly, he adopted the same stance, accentuating the jut of one hip, and—with a scoff: “Way to treat me like y'all's dog, some fucking... charity case stray. What, we're gonna walk 'round the block so I can sniff about and take a piss? How big of you, Mark, thanks for the enrichment.”

Mark rolled his eyes, hardly the one to fall for the theatrics. (He was no Amanda.) “What's crawled up your ass tonight, then?”

“Nothing!” he huffed, “I'm just saying it how it is. Got the leash ready, then? I'm really itching to pay a visit to that fire hydrant—”

A strong hand fisted itself into the front of his shirt, tugged him up to the very tips of his toes—at which point, he was being shut up in the most cliché-but-effective way possible. Mark, ever the cavalier, let go of him with all the consideration one might let go of a garbage bag. Adam stumbled back, slightly dazed by the kiss and thrown off-balance—figuratively and literally. “Stop pouting and get dressed.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, “Something fancy?”

Mark snorted, “No.”

-

A bowling alley.

A bowling alley.

Adam had a hard time believing it. Out of all places in the world, a bowling alley? (What were they, sweaty seventeen-year-olds making the best out of the spare change left over from lunch that week?)

In the dimly lit space, he leaned against the worn wooden railing, eyes fixed on Mark as the other stood poised at the edge of a polished lane. His face was scrunched up with a frankly disturbing level of focus; two massive hands firmly gripped a ball, fingers knuckle-deep in its holes. With a smooth, practiced motion, Mark swung his arm back and then forward, releasing it with a precise flick of the wrist. The ball glided down the lane and—crash—it sent the pins scattering, every last one of them.

When Mark turned, pride and triumph etched into every little line of his face, Adam... was a little smitten, alright? Watching him trudge over, eclipsing the colorful lights behind him, Adam soon found himself rather crowded against that railing. “Getting a kick out of showing off?” he needled.

“Yes.”

“God, you're sooo...” Adam groaned, head thrown back. Laughing, despite himself. He felt two thick arms encircle him, peel him off the railing, press him up against a plush chest and a soft stomach.

(It was not lost on him, despite the illusion of privacy in this here corner, that they were in public. All but asking to be seen—which was far from their usual gig.)

“Sooo what?” Mark hummed, grinning.

“Shameless.”

“A little.”

“A lot.”

“The right amount,” Mark leaned down, making the most out of the situation by placing a shockingly chaste kiss to the underside of Adam's jaw, the drag of his stubble tickling just enough to chase a giggle out of him. “You like it.”

“That's a bold statement right there,” murmured Adam, letting his arms fall about Mark's shoulders; so broad, his hands didn't meet in the middle. The reminder of this man's sheer proportions, as ever, sent a little thrill through him.

“You gonna deny it?” Another kiss, a little to the left. Adam was impressed for the fact his knees hadn't yet given out. Granted, he did have supports.

“Mm, maybe,” he hummed, letting his eyes fall shut, fingers digging ever so slightly into the fabric of Mark's shirt. “Possibly. Depends.”

Mark hummed against the front of Adam's throat, the sound more so felt than heard in the way it reverberated throughout the column of his neck, thrumming along the underside of Adam's skin. On a whim, he hooked his ankle around one of Mark's legs.

“Y'know, we've still got an hour on this lane...”

“Wow,” Adam intoned dryly, “Truly didn't cheap out on me here. And you've got your priorities straight. Can't believe I'm not being mobbed by your manifold suitors every day of the week. Should probably start hitting the gym, you know, fend them off easier...”

“Lucky you're easy on the eyes,” remarked Mark, tone measured—though there was a warmth in his eyes, “'cause that mouth is doing you no favors.”

Adam cracked a smile, reveling in his turn to be a smug shit.

-

By this point, Adam had developed a strong sense that something wasn't right. Not to say something was wrong per se, but... Well, they'd been driving for upwards of thirty minutes now—and they still weren't home. ('Home' was used, here, very loosely.) He was quite certain it hadn't taken them even half as long to reach their very romantic destination initially. So, what gives?

In any case, Mark's hand was warm where it lay on his thigh. Very rarely did it move, only to switch gears on the odd occasion—and just as quickly, it’d return to its post. They haven't spoken much, but they didn't need to. The silence enveloping them was comfortable and cozy, like a blanket straight out of the dryer on a cold night. An oldies station played very softly, so much so Adam could hardly pick apart the words.

Frankly, he could doze off.

Out of nowhere (and perhaps it was a good thing, as his eyelids had gotten concerningly droopy), Mark spoke up. “There's uh,” he cleared his throat, “something in the back.”

Adam, too tired to needle ('There's uh, something in the back'—are you a caveman?), twisted in the passenger's seat to the best of his ability, pawing at the—true to his word—a box wrapped in brown paper. It sat just out of his reach. Took a few tries to propel it toward himself.

He looked at Mark, an eyebrow quirked.

“Well,” the other's eyes were firmly affixed to the road ahead, perhaps stubbornly so, “Open it.”

“It's for me?”

“Might be, if I don’t change my mind.”

Needing not be told twice, Adam swiftly undid the wrapping, balled it and carelessly tossed it to the floor.

Then stared, mouth agape, at that which was revealed.

A camera.

“How did you—”

“I didn't do anything,” Mark blurted out, tone on the side of defensive for some odd reason, “It was all Amanda. And Lawrence. I just did the wrapping, that's all.”

Adam couldn't tear his eyes away, turning the box this way and that (even though he couldn't really read or see much of anything, dark as it'd gotten.) A well-timed glance in Mark's direction—just as drove beneath a street-light—revealed a deep blush staining his cheeks, seemingly spreading down his neck.

Adam’s lips twitched. His throat tightened. His heart throbbed.

Softly, fondly, he said: “I can tell. It looked like shit.”

(He’d bet all his life savings—granted, there wasn't much there, but it was the thought that counted—that Amanda and Lawrence had less than nothing to do with this.)

“It did, didn't it?” Mark smiled, shoulders sagging. Perhaps with relief.

Adam set his hand atop Mark's, still sat on his thigh. Squeezed.

The silence resumed.

#saw #saw fanfic #hoffheight #adam faulkner stanheight #mark hoffman #n #fic request

[clarencethemouse]

Eli/Hawk Moskowitz Relationship Headcanons

[insert funny and interesting description here]

I actually got carried away so for my one specific follower who likes Hawk, this is for you

Eli:

because they’re two different dating experiences, let’s be honest with ourselves

let me just start by saying he did not ask you out

you made the first move 

(which there is no problem with, especially if you’re a girl reader. Masculinity/femininity is not defined by willingness to take a risk of asking someone out)

but then some problems started

you know nothing about each other. Hardly any time spent together outside of school, and it only gets worse after the first week

this boy does not know how to function around you 

let’s assume for the sake of it, you didn’t start out as friends. So Eli had no time to warm up to you before things go serious

this was a mistake, you soon find out

so you break it off for a few weeks/months 

which sucked cause there was a strong mutual liking

this first go lasted a solid three weeks

but in good conscience he couldn’t be with you knowing he couldn’t force out three solid sentences at a time, much less go on a date. And you didn’t see yourself being happy in a relationship where he buried his face every time your eyes came anywhere in the vicinity of his being

during this break you two got to know each other at your own paces, and there was no longer any pressure to be this perfect macho boyfriend for you, and you no longer felt like you were the one applying that pressure

you engaged with Demetri as well, who DID NOT like you at first

then Demetri warmed up to you a bit once he saw how happy you were making his best friend

then... take two

eventually you come to a point where you ask him out again, and this time he is more than willing to accept

more confident in who he is and his place in this world as a human

you bond over comics and video games

if you hadn’t liked them before, he introduced you

and even if you still don’t like them... that’s okay, too! There are other things in the world this boy is interested in!

the relationship is so caring and full of adoration

I feel like he actually was the first to pop the big three words, and it was terrifying for him

a complete weight was lifted off his chest when you repeated it

you’re still going strong by the time Miguel shows up and karate starts up in the Valley again

...and things slowly start to decline

he gets the mohawk and changes his preferred name, which is a shocker

you comply ~ through reluctance ~

this is not your sweet and kind boyfriend

this is not the boy you fell in love with

you end it with him a few weeks after the All Valley. You just couldn’t take it anymore

Hawk was no longer your precious Eli. You doubted anyway that if Hawk had been the one to ask you out all those months ago (almost a year), you would not have considered. They were not the same person

he was your first heartbreak

Hawk:

you guys get in trouble. A lot

you met while he was Hawk. So you never knew Eli. You only knew this bad ass rebel with sick hair and body art

the dynamic is definitely different than the other situation

you’re the only person he allows to see his hair down. Absolute only

he could be sent to the ER, and instead of worrying if they need to remove an organ he’s begging them to place him in the bed in a way that will preserve his mohawk

and you scold him for it through the tears of watching him hooked up to the IV

(hypothetical situation you’ve worried over^^)

I feel like you two don’t say “I love you” audibly very often. In times of stress and utmost happiness (no, get your minds out of the gutter)

but he’s not a very vocally affectionate person, I don’t think

that being said, he is physically affectionate

maybe the most out of the entire group

the entire damn world WILL know whose you are, and they WILL have to accept it

cause you’re perfect

and he has a perfect thing

you grace him with your presence every day. He’s so lucky

he totally wants you to dye your hair a matching color

and you totally do

finds a way to tattoo you onto his body, no matter how difficult your name is to make art out of. He’ll search for anything

this man is creative. He could come up with something

sneaking into each other’s bedrooms are an every week occurrence

your parents know about it, though you don’t think they know. But they do

Hawk tries so hard to keep up the macho man vibe around you, but it becomes strenuous. With everyone else he only has to act hours at a time. But there are times during the summer when you’re practically living in his basement, so his mach man vibe becomes a full time acting job

he thinks you don’t see through his facade. You do

regardless of whether or not you cared anything for Robby in this world, you didn’t after the forced cut. Any ties remaining with Cobra Kai were completely severed, and you were happy to do so 

You hated Robby

Hawk begged you not to act on anything and put yourself further in harm’s way, but what can you say? There’s a reason you two have been together for so long

you are 90% of each other’s impulse control

so... you can imagine how that played out

---

Robin

#hawk moskowitz #hawk cobra kai #cobra kai headcanons #eli moskowitz imagine #eli moskowitz #eli moskowitz headcanons

[flower-biter]

15-21 April 2024

Maybe I am, Costar - what about it?

Got my glasses and contacts in my updated prescription, so I can seeeee - both how beautiful spring is, and have an existential crisis when I see the news alerts on my phone. (It’s just a lot of internal screaming lately. Try not to panic. Do what I can. It’s a nice day. I am alive. I am alive. I am alive. Enjoy what I can, while I can).

Ghost stories class is over (and as a whole, it was...meh). I chickened out on asking out the cute person, mostly because their mother (who also attended the class and seems really cool) was like, right there, and that was not a conversation I wanted to have with an audience, and also while they are really cute and I enjoyed their insights and want to get to know them better, and am glad they have a good relationship with their mom, it does strike me as a little weird? I did not ask them out, but I did get their social handle and we followed each other, so…maybe later?

It was so hot this week, it got up to 91ºF/32ºC. Ugh. Time to break out the iced lavender oat milk latte, probably the gayest thing I could order (and so tasty). But everything is blooming and I keep catching whiffs of flowers and sweetgrass, and of course, summer fruits are coming into season, so I can’t complain too much.

The mother of my childhood best friend (the friend who is now pregnant with twins) sent me a bunch of pictures she found of us as kids, from about 3-6 years old: on our kids bowling league team, playing soccer, swimming in an inflatable pool, playing dress-up, laughing at a church gathering. It’s so weird to look back on these pictures and realize I have very few actual memories of these events, and to think about how different I turned out as an adult compared to what was clearly expected of me. It is funny seeing how much the same some things are, though - I still hate being hugged by strangers for pictures. And Jess and I are still best friends.

Trivia night, last one at this brewery for a while. Old Slavic man at the bar was openly staring and I thought he was going to comment on my hair but he told me “oh, you’re such a beautiful girl, you don’t need to drink to get attention!” Which. I don’t follow that logic, but okay. Good thing that’s not why I drink, and I told him so. Of course he couldn’t leave it at that. He followed me from the bar to my seat to tell me his life's story (divorced, of course), that he’s a Buddhist (good for you) and to call him if I ever need help (???). Wanted to give me his number and I told him nah, don’t bother, I won’t use it. “Oh, you’re not lesbian are you?” Uh. I don’t know if I’m safe to answer that question. Would that actually deter him, or just make him try harder? Or get violent? He finally left. But why. Why are men like this. What is it about me that looks like I welcome these weird interactions??? How do I disable it???

And then guy doctor friend cornered me after trivia to ask “is there something between us?” Nononono I cannot keep having these conversations. We are just bros. (He said that it was mutual, thankfully, but it was a weird conversation to have.) Honestly, I don’t know how people look at me and see a straight woman. I don’t know how to look gayer without plastering myself in rainbows, which…is not really my style. But in what world is this not the look of a raging dyke??

I don’t mind the attention from women, obviously. I took myself to lunch and another solo woman seated in a booth near me shouted “I like your earrings! And your hair! And your glasses! You’re just so pretty!” (which, thanks, most of those are things I have control over so you're complimenting my mind/taste/choices and therefore I enjoy that comment) and I got to compliment her on her gorgeous colorful sundress in return! And the server was so sweet (more “darlin’” and “honey”) and wished me an “absolutely beautiful” day. (The whole interaction really drove home the thing that "Americans can be stupid friendly, but especially those in the South" like. Yeah. That stereotype is true). but anyway, I love women.

Found out the local university does free planetarium shows on alternating Sunday afternoons! I’ll definitely have to go check those out, I haven’t been to a planetarium in way too long and could use another thing to be more curious about.

It’s so nice to have a relaxed weekend between trips. Saturday I got to sleep in, then met up with a friend first thing at a local farm to pick strawberries and catch up on gossip. Took myself out to brunch at my favorite coffee shop, then washed the strawberries and prepped them for storage. Ate way too many of them already, whoops (but they’re SO sweet and juicy and delicious; there’s nothing as tasty as sun-warmed, in-season, just-picked-it-myself fruit). Did some house work and lazed around with the cat. Dad’s back from Germany, and it’s frankly a little insulting to see how affectionate Butterball is with him, following him around the house like a puppy and chirping at him. Butterball may be my cat, but dad works from home and is clearly Butterball’s person. Hmph.

Today has also been gloriously relaxed, another late morning. Did laundry. Made french toast with brioche from the farmers’ market and topped with yesterday’s strawberries. I don’t normally like sweet things for breakfast, but it was delicious. Crocheted a bit - I had to frog the sweater and start over because I realized I was somehow two stitches short on the row. Now I’ve made it one stitch too long. (How?? asdfghjk) But since it’s for a sweater that I’ll have to layer (big open stitches), and it’s cotton, I’d rather it be a little bit big to account for shrinking (and also I don’t want to start it over AGAIN) so. One stitch too wide it is, then.

I’ll be in Charleston next weekend for work, so I’m going to relish in this slow weekend. Try to read (I finally got a copy of The Traitor Baru Cormorant from my library and need to just. Dive in and get into it. Come on, brain, work with me here). Work on the crochet projects I’ve been neglecting. Actually fold my laundry the same day I take it out of the dryer instead of letting it wrinkle in the hamper overnight (ha! ambitious). Write a newsletter and schedule some social media posts for work. Play a game of scrabble with mum. Try not to doomscroll.

Well. Onward.

last week

#what did i even really do this week #just overthink everything tbh #two days is not enough weekend. i need at least a day for fun. a day for personal admin stuff. and a day to just rot in bed #so every weekend i have to just pick two of those things and try to squeeze the rest in the other day or throughout the week #anyway #chugging along (how is april almost gone already WHAT) #catalog of little joys

[almost-a-class-act]

Happy Pacific appreciation week!

Prompt: Day 5 ( February 10th ): Favorite quote Author's note: Might expand on this at some point. Any other characters I should include? Let me know! As with the first several stories this will probably end up on AO3 after I have some time to go over it. You can find me there under roaroftheninth.

--

“I believe in ammunition.”

Leckie says it once, after the war has become a hulking beast with its boot on his neck, famously his least favourite place for a boot to be. It’s a lot of bravado, and a bit of nihilism, and truth be told he doesn’t mean it as much as he thinks he does.

He thinks about it relentlessly in the months – and years – that follow, about how war is less about what you are willing to do and more about what you are willing to give up. It’s the only real meaning in anything, once the conflict is long over and the enemy long gone. The comrades he left behind on the beaches and in the jungles of Guadalcanal and Cape Gloucester and Peleliu are not heroes because they were killers; they are heroes because they died, doing what men are sent to war to do.

He no longer believes in ammunition, or just causes, or whatever romantic reasons drive an ordinary city kid to ask for a gun so he can kill people he’s never met. There’s no sense in it.

He believes in finding meaning. It is the only thing within his grasp to do.

--

Burgie believes in family, in working hard for those around you – in the value of a strong foundation. There’s simplicity in that. If your roots go deep enough into the ground, you will be unshakeable.

It’s not his fault that they keep giving him wide-eyed kids to look after and he has to watch the light leak out of them in real-time. No one has assigned him to prevent this from happening, but it feels like a task that he is failing anyway. The enemy simply will not surrender. The only way out is through. The only way through is vivisection, being cut right to the bone, right through the part of you where a soul should be.

He watches it happen to Sledge, Leyden; Hamm, and Peck. Their leaking light pulls at his; he has to protect the last of it, hold it close and fast under the curve of his fragile ribs.

He goes home still believing in family. He just knows better now than to think that any amount of hard work will mean you can save anyone but yourself.

--

Runner believes very fundamentally in the power of a good joke.

There is a time and a place, to be sure, but the world will never get better without one.

He finds his people pretty quickly, and those people have a knack for wit too, too smart for their own good, chafing under a tight military bridle of doing whatever hellish, nonsensical thing you are expected to do for however hellishly, nonsensically long you are expected to do it, without asking questions, without accommodation for how hellish or nonsensical it is. The jokes they make are so black that no one will ever think they are funny again.

What on earth kind of war would it have been without them?

When he turns the corner and spots Lucky hunched over those rough-looking canned peaches on the ship that will carry them both far away from here for the last time, he is so relieved that he comes over warm and then cold, like a fever.

He believes in the family you choose.

--

Lena believes in doing your part. She is supposed to have purpose. She was not put on this Earth to follow the tide of whatever life was preconceived for her.

She knows that she can come across as brutally independent, standoffish, even difficult, but she is not interested in softening her sharp corners for the comfort of other people, especially of men, who seem to find those qualities unappealing. So be it. She was not put on this Earth to disappear into a marriage, either.

As time goes on, she believes in many things that present themselves to her, concrete things into which she can place her trust. She believes in the Marine Corps. She believes in John, who couldn’t quite figure out how not to be alone either, set apart from other people, until they saw each other – in every way you can see a person. She believes that sacrifices have meaning.

She believes that some people are meant to move through this world alone.

--

Snafu believes that you reap exactly what you sow, which is why he went to war in the first place.

He is not so gifted at doing his own sowing, but he is pretty effective at being the whirlwind. When he sees Eugene’s eyes fixed on the moaning enemy soldier at Bloody Nose, the marine on top of him fishing for the gold in his teeth, he finishes it because he knows that Eugene’s never done anything to merit reaping all of this. If Eugene is fucked, there is no hope for the rest of them.

So maybe he can turn back the whirlwind, too. Not always, but sometimes.

He believes in the immediate circle of marines around him – in Burgie, who would dutifully, stubbornly come and drag him out of any quagmire of blood and bullets and screaming, and in Eugene, who would avenge him.

By the time he gets home, he can’t figure out whether he expected to be alive or not. He doesn’t have any plans, and God – the universe – is silent on the matter of what exactly he deserves.

He believes he can start again, all on his own. So he does.

--

Andrew believes that on a long enough timeline, the good guys win.

He wakes up on that morning in October still believing it.

--

Eugene believes in a singular God – his God – and finds ways to make the world accommodate, even on those dark days when the pickings, faith-wise, are extremely slim.

There is a God, because if there isn’t, then all of this is random, no order to the chaos. All the good dead men he knows were erased through an act of indifference from the universe, not an act of love – not gone home to rejoice in the kingdom of the Lord.

Not part of a plan carefully constructed by someone who knows better.  

There is a Heaven, because if there isn’t, the none of this means anything and they have all spent their one brief and extraordinary life in service of killing.

When he is so tired that it drags on every one of his bones, he tries it out one day, in the dark on Okinawa, the stench of corpses so strong that he might not ever get it off of his skin. Looking around at what remains of his friends, miserable and defeated, he tells himself: After this: nothing.

No, it hardly bears thinking about.

He believes that here is a plan, because he doesn’t have it in him not to.

#tpweek2023 #hbowardaily #the pacific #fanfiction #roaroftheninth

[wutheringmights]

looks like i gotta be the one to ask for some director's commentary for chapter 16

And we thank you for your service!

The flashback section for this chapter was a last minute decision. I originally was going to move onto the next major plot point, but I realized that I needed to do some more ground work for the plot point to make sense

I thought the opening section with the rumors was a genius idea until I started writing it and realized that, no. It was not that great of an idea. But it was an easy way of conveying information so I stuck to it.

I have been trying to have another scene on the battlefield where can I reiterate that the child is still running around using his transformation masks (because it's extremely important), but there has been so much interpersonal drama that I have not been able to make it happen. rip me I guess

The dance Link does in this chapter is supposed to be the same dance in chapter 6

Link and the child hanging out together are definitely my favorite part of the chapter, even if child endangerment is involved

Everything with the engineer is just building up to the major plot point next chapter, and I thought I made it pretty clear what was going on with him, but so far no one has gotten it(?)

The plot point is one of those things where I have meant for this at the start and have alluded to it already in the present day, which means I have to commit to it. But I also worry that a lot of you are not going to like it

Moving onto the present day

Was it fun to start with Warriors losing the Triforce? You know, that plot point I should have ended the previous chapter with until I dumbly left it out?

Admittedly, starting with the loss of the Triforce made for a kick ass opener. But as I predicted, it got drowned out by the sheer weight of everything else that happened

You might be wondering: what is the plot hole I spent a week fixing? Originally, Four caught up with Warriors way sooner, about a week, and disguised as a minish, he spent time with Warriors before before Warriors was delivered to the Royal Guard. During this time, Warriors was going to build a bond with Four and tell Four secrets he wouldn't have told otherwise

Mainly, Four was going to learn that Warriors knows that Wind is doomed to die young

But here's the problem: I picked Four to be Warriors's rescuer because he was the only member of the chain who could single-handedly rescue Warriors from the Kakariko Well. How? With the Colors, of course!

But if Four could split into the Colors at any given time, then why wouldn't he rescue Warriors before he was handed over to the Royal Guard? If four people could take on the whole well, then it would make sense that they could also take on, like, 10 guards.

So I had to trash 2k-3k worth of Four and Warriors bonding to make it so that Four didn't catch up to Warriors in time to rescue him

(By the way: Four had to catch up with Warriors before his hearing with the generals so that Four would know where Warriors was sent to. Like, having Four do a surprise rescue was not an option)

I just think this plot hole is funny because I have had this planned for over a year and I didn't realize until I wrote it that it wouldn't work despite me picking Four expressly for his competence

Moving on

My favorite part of the present section is Warriors's speech about his mother to minish!Four. I have known logically what his relationship with his mother was like and how that shaped who he is now, but as cliche as it was, I feel like Warriors didn't tell me himself until now.

Like, I understand fully now what his mommy issues are, so look forward to seeing some more about it

So much of this chapter is just Warriors in despair, and honestly glad that you guys found that compelling(?)

My other favorite scene is (surprise) Warriors spitting on Zelda and yelling at the generals. It was immensely satisfying to write, especially since we can finally see Warriors start to make different decisions from his past

When I planned this story, I thought I was going to have an interesting interpretation of the Kakariko Well, but when it came time to write about it, I came up short and went with this setting that combines a hospital and a dungeon. I really wish I was more creative with it

Kei and Warriors's guard (who I swear has a name) were based on a different character concept of a torturer who, upon realizing that they were going to have to torture the Hero of Hyrule, put their foot down and said that they weren't going to do it.

There was a bit more to that character that would take more space that I have now to describe. Just know that they wouldn't have worked.

I had this whole idea of having "His hand hurt" repeat through the chapter, building up to a single line to describe Warriors being tortured. I'm not sure if I picked the right line, though. Other options include "it hurt" and (of course) "his hand hurt." I went with "he hurt" because it sounded a little clunky, which I hoped would make it more memorable.

(Yes, minute difference between lines are sometimes a thing I care about)

Also, Warriors got a hair cut! Fair warning that his appearance is going to change again fairly soon

I hope that the non-existent Toto fans out there enjoyed their confirmation that he's still alive. I'm quite sure that if I did a vote on the most popular OC's in this story, Toto would be at the bottom. rip

When I first got into LU, I really wanted a Colors reveal fic that played more off of Four using the colors strategically. I had this scene in my head that of the Colors leading the Chain out of a prison they were locked up in, expect the Colors were switching out with each other without anyone realizing

I never found a fic that did that and the comic is obviously not going to do it now, so I used that idea here to confuse Warriors

I remember I showed a line from this chapter that described Green's eye color and someone theorized that it was Legend. And it made me so giddy. I was like "heehee this person doesn't know that the Colors are in next chapter."

I would be the first to admit that I could have cut the wallmaster scene to save space, but I could not resist the metaphor having a monstrous hand hunt down Warriors after he spent weeks thinking about how much his own hands hurt

I just... really like hands...

I don't think I made this clear in the chapter, but the reason Four didn't split again when he saw Impa was because he was now injured. Reforming as Four mitigated Vio and Red's injuries, but it also means that if he split again, all of the Colors would be similarly injured

You will find out next chapter what Impa's plan is, but you could figure it out now if you tried. There's (hopefully) enough evidence. You can do it!

#no offense but I really did went with this elaborate colors reveal because we certainly didn't get that in the comic #like i'm not a four stan but even i thought it was underwhelming #me rambling #lu ctb #linked universe #ask #anonymous #ok this next tag is spoilers but it pertains to what I was saying about people being potentially disappointed in the next flashback section #ok so basically my thing is that spirit was never going to be this perfect victim character #like he was always going to start getting mean and become the worst version of himself cause that's something people undergoing trauma can #do. and i'm just worried that the people who really like and feel sorry for the engineer are going to be put off by his... corruption arc? #like it feels weird calling it that but that's really what it is. he becomes a little fucked up himself #ok enjoy these tags while you can cause i might delete them in a bit

[sparxwrites]

i'm slowly circling around hermitcraft (i keep telling myself i'm not going to get into another minecraft smp thing, i did my days in the yogscast mines) and it's so compelling. i won't lie. what would you, personally, suggest as a starting point for someone who hasn't watched any of these people before? even without knowing these characters, your hermitcraft fic is so good that i want to learn more about them

yeah see, i told myself that too and then dsmp and 3rd life and hermitcraft happened and. here i am. back in the pits again!! having the time of my life about it ngl.

so, okay, my first caveat would be: fandom does a lot of heavy lifting re: it having a plot. like... i'd say they're less plotty than the yogs were, with season 8 being an honourable exception. so don't go in expecting that my fic has uhhhhh. really any relation to canon lmao. (though to be fair, it didn't really in yogs either, so...)

first option: watch an episode of Hermitcraft Recap (a channel that does a weekly "what happened on hermitcraft this week" highlights video), see if any of the things mentioned take your fancy, and then check out the channel of the hermit that did it. this is good if you're hunting for someone doing a specific Thing in minecraft, rather than streamer personality.

second option: see the rec list below, and check out one of those people's season 8. season 8 is now over, but it was very short compared to regular seasons - so a lot of the excitement gets compressed and amped up, and it's a good way to really get an idea of what people are about. it will give you an unrealistic idea of how plotty hermitcraft gets, especially the end, because they went absolutely off the shits with that one, but it's a great season.

third option: see the rec list below, and jump straight into season 9 - either at the beginning of someone's series, or at the current point, or skip around through various people's things. we're like 20-ish eps in, depending on the person, but honestly it's pretty easy to dip in and out; we just had a big Plot Development with rendog getting crowned king of the server, so it's a good time to start! rec list (biased to the people i watch, obvs! the others are great too, but these are my faves), to help you decide who to pick:

Literally unhinged impossible redstone, constantly on his villain arc, (and tomato plants?): DocM77

Very good redstone, also extremely funny: TangoTek (also makes excellent noises), MumboJumbo (on break atm. i miss him :( ), Zedaph (he's doing. weird shit this season, but i support him in his quest to be a lunatic)

Incredible building, but also chaos-gremlin energy: BdoubleO100 (excellent noises pt.2), Grian (main character energy, tumblr's fave), PearlescentMoon (i am kissing her s9 base directly on the mouth)

Incredible building, really nice voice: GoodTimesWithScar (tumblr's other fave)

Building but also like. weirdly chill-but-horny vibes: Keralis (deliberately), Rendog (on accident)

Literally no idea but you should watch him: Joe Hills (very odd, currently hyperfixated on pinball machines, i find him very soothing for reasons that escape me, writes haikus for his episodes????)

fourth option: some of what you've seen from me will be from 3rd / last / double life, a bunch of semi-hardcore "death games" series run by grian and involving a bunch of hermits (plus some other friends, including inthelittlewood from the yogscast!). these are great, and i watched these before hermitcraft, and then based who i was watching in hc on what i'd seen there. double life is happening rn and we're only 3 eps in, so it'd be easy to catch up! it's basically a soulmate au but in minecraft, because grian is insane; i'm really enjoying BdoubleO100, PearlescentMoon, Tango, Rendog, and Grian (Scar is on a weird zookeeping arc, godbless, so he's in my bad books until he starts killing again. otherwise, the go-to rec is Grian or Scar's pov of 3rd Life, which sent me fucking insane.

#anonymous #ask #sparx chats #hermits crafting #life smp tag #v i b r a t e s #anon if u watch any u gotta come back and gimme the Reviews #:DDD

[ejcaswelll]

Based on what you saw in the trailer, what do you expect to happen this season and what do you want to happen (in this case you still have to start from the trailer info, but you can go in whatever direction you want)? This should be fun :))

combined all of these questions into one post bc otherwise i’m gonna be out here copypasting. ANYWAYS right yeah so i’ve seen the first trailer that dropped that had an absolutely suspect amount of ej in and have not consumed any content or spoilers beyond that so i could extend my dreamworld where ej’s the protagonist <3 and also bc i know i would only get angry <3

my thoughts on the trailer are that i saw it more than two weeks ago and therefore have forgotten damn near every part of it which in one sense is a blessing i suppose. my overarching thought on the vibe of the trailer was that it felt Wrong and i know the only reason i’m thinking that is bc it’s not set at school and also seb wasn’t there like sorry how am i supposed to make a joke about seb getting absolutely slam dunked out of the main lead again?? anyway much love to ej going to a camp he’s probably too old for, apparently not giving a damn about his bafflingly unknown college situation, and most importantly getting his legs out……king shit. you didn’t hear it from me but portwell was funky fresh and cute in the trailer and i don’t want to burst any bubbles but they definitely had a cursed feeling lingering around them and his name was ricky.

speaking of ricky, nini’s storyline is obviously going to be wrapped up because miss olivia escaped disney’s clutches and made it out into the big wide world. how they’re going to do this i don’t know, bc in the olden days if you were getting written out you’d just be sent to “europe” or “mexico” and facetime didn’t exist. they can’t exactly just send nini to LA and be like oh did you hear they just banned wifi in the entire state of california <3 i mean. they could actually that would be incredibly funny i hope they do.

ricky’s an absolute wildcard this season especially because it looks like big red is also missing(??) and therefore he’s got approximately one friend at camp and it’s carlos and you know carlos only views ricky as a mildly inoffensive acquaintance at best. this would be a great opportunity for carlos to help ricky realize he’s bi and write a song about it called oh i don’t know, ‘finally free’. (for legal reasons this a joke.) as much as some people refuse to accept this, ricky’s obviously going to break up portwell. like oh my god if i’m wrong that’s great! what an absolute fresh take on a love triangle! unfortunately i will be right though. why any of you have faith in the writers to not careen every character’s development off the rickety track they were already on, i don’t know.

wait this is getting depressing now what fun things do i want to happen. gina getting anna because she deserves it. gina generally coming out of the season happy and thriving like literally leave her alone. uhhhh who else is a character. ashlyn! interested to see what they do with her without big red bc honestly their relationship had reached the point of insufferable for me and i wanted to see if they absolutely drop her character arc after giving her belle last season or take it somewhere interesting. i’m kidding i know they’re going to drop it and just make her gina’s advice giving best friend who will inexplicably push her to go for ricky instead of ej in the last inning <3

i’ve literally forgotten every character this is so funny. kourtney! most likely will take up the now empty slot of nini’s screen time but probably not with anything interesting since they apparently wrote out howie which. ok. she’ll probably get elsa and kill it as per.

this is so funny but i actually have zero thoughts for ej this season like they could literally give him two lines and as we all know i’d still be like wow………i smell an emmy. i hope we get some indication of what’s happening with his college situation like i’ve been asking this for over 12 months now. i hope we get a brief mention of his dad and it’s just that he got indicted for going to the capitol riots.

sorry i literally just remembered this entire season takes place over two weeks. for that fact alone it’s going to be terrible goodnight everyone

#i really just said so many words without anything coherent in between <3