#having a very low social battery day so enjoy this as a present

[fbfh]

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things memes #fbfh memes #having a very low social battery day so enjoy this as a present #ALSO I REALLY HOPE THIS HASNT BEEN DONE YET

[valeriianz]

Smutty fic idea prompts - 36 is just perfect for Dreamling please?

36: A rolls sleeves up/takes shirt off, revealing body hair to B. B has no idea how to act normal around A anymore.

Hob dresses up as Sexy Santa for a staff party and Dream absolutely loses his cool <3

-----------

These days, Dream finds himself as the newest addition to Johanna Constantine’s friend group. It’s quite nice of her, if not a little presumptuous, to drag him along to nearly every social outing and local music show in order to introduce him to as many people in her network as possible. The only reason they are still friends, Dream and Jo, is the small mercy of her not putting up a fuss when his social battery has been drained and he awkwardly dips out.

The best thing to come out of these adventures, at least, is meeting Hob Gadling.

Hob and Jo go way back, or so she’d announced the first time he and Dream had met. At a bar where the lights were low but Hob’s natural charisma and warm smile had radiated through anyway. They got along immediately, exchanging intellectual conversations where Hob had surprising takes and kept Dream’s interest; kept the dialogue fresh and spontaneous. Dream didn’t even need to contribute much while sharing a space with Hob, he could simply sip on his gin something-or-other and listen as Hob went on passionate rants about revolutions or human invention over the past centuries– each time they met up he’d go down a 100 years. Or complaining about how washed up Shakespeare was (an argument Dream allowed himself to fall into and they’d talked about all night, much to Johanna’s chagrin and massive eye roll, muttering a very clear “nerds” under her breath).

Chemistry aside, Dream also couldn’t deny how… effortlessly attractive Hob was.

Deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with barely contained mischief, chocolate dark hair with brush strokes of greys that unfairly complimented his face, and a seemingly permanent five O’clock shadow that Dream never imagined would leave him staring and daydreaming… alas, he’d discovered quite a few new things about himself around Hob.

Like how he’d imagined on more than one occasion, how easily he’d be able to lift Dream, how those broad shoulders and chest, thick biceps that even a cable knit sweater couldn’t hide– might manhandle his own body, lifting and bending him into submission. Dream ached with it; the possibilities. Was dying to kiss Hob’s plush mouth, his gaze fell to it enough, or feel the stubble of Hob’s jaw under his own palm, under his lips, along the inside of Dream’s thighs.

Hob was everything Dream was not; roguish, masculine, and unbearably kind. It was no wonder Dream had developed a crush from their very first meeting.

And maybe Hob was interested too, if you squinted. He always offered Dream a ride home, set his hand on the small of his back, his shoulder, and never seemed to stop smiling in his presence. Dream was never very good at picking up cues though– his prior relationships had been him making the first move, striking immediately at what he wanted, courting in the most by-the-book manner, before he was ultimately either rejected or caught up in a love affair that burned out before the year was up.

He didn’t want to do that with Hob. Dream held back, kept his desires at bay… because he truly enjoyed Hob’s company. It would be devastating if Hob rejected him, or worse, fell into a relationship and then realised Dream was… too much, too fast, too methodical. Dream wasn’t sure he could handle not having Hob in his life now that he’d met him. He was determined to keep him around, even if it meant remaining friends. Dream could work with that, could suffer quietly and go home after a long night of drinking or dancing and being subjected to Hob’s ever-present smile, his unwavering gaze, the warmth his body radiated, even feet apart. Could hold onto those images and sensations and close his eyes, take himself in hand, and work himself to climax in the safe darkness of his own bedroom, clenching his teeth and imagining how it might feel if it were Hob’s hands on him instead.

All of Dream’s self restraint comes crashing down about a week before Christmas, at the staff holiday party Johanna had invited him along to.

Because Hob is sitting on a large red velvet chair at the back of the venue, surrounded by cotton snow and boxed presents, wearing absolutely nothing but a Santa hat, explicitly short red and white trousers, and black boots.

It’s a mockery of what you’d see at perhaps a mall: Santa waiting to greet children and ask what they want for Christmas while his elves putter around and keep order. This is…

Obscene, is what Dream’s brain provides before it completely resets and replaces the word with animal noises.

He’d overheard Hob and Johanna talking about this, how they had a “sexy Santa” every year (because Jo’s office was mostly comprised of women who voted on it every year, vastly sweeping the competition to the point of tradition). And to save on money this year, decided to find a Santa who would do it for free, hence Jo asking Hob to do her a solid.

Dream felt heat rush through his entire body, unable to look away as Jo, Matthew, and him walked out of the foyer and into the thick of the party. Dream heard Johanna speaking, but couldn't decipher her words, his brain wiped clean by the reveal of Hob’s body, something Dream had only imagined in the safety of his own head, and kicked himself over the exclusion of hair.

So much body hair. Thick, dark hairs covered Hob’s chest like a pelt, rolling down his abs and scattered out around his soft belly. It was enough to make Dream’s mouth water, a ringing sound began in his ears, making him dizzy as he forced one foot in front of the other.

Dream had only met Hob a couple months ago, while the weather had just turned cold and they’d both only seen one another buttoned and bundled up in high necklines and long sleeves. To see Hob nearly completely nude was a shock to Dream’s system. And holy shit, Dream wanted. He had to know how those thick hairs felt between his fingers, digging them in while he sat on Hob’s lap, grinding his hips down while his own naked chest slid along Hob’s. What sounds Hob would make while Dream petted and pulled and rubbed his cock along the swell of Hob’s furred stomach.

And then Hob spotted them coming in, his smile dazzling as he stood up and waved.

Giving Dream a fantastic view of his legs, which were just as thick and strong as Dream had fantasised, and just as hairy as his top half. As well as a view of how those pants rode up enough to make Dream question if the man was wearing underwear.

Dream stumbled to the nearest restroom, locking himself in a stall and attempting to breathe and calm his erratic heart beat.

Friend, friend. Hob is your friend. Dream chanted to himself, keeping his hand out of his pants and taking deep breaths as his blood circulation regulated itself. Don’t make it weird.

Dream didn’t know how to socialise on a good day, and how with a half naked Hob in the building– shamelessly on display and humouring drunk female staff as they boldly sat on his knee– Dream felt himself shutting down entirely, spluttering and stumbling over his speech with enough velocity that he feared he'd glitch and spark out, setting the place on fire. Or at the very least, melt into a puddle of goo, the remains of his dignity soaked into the hardwood floor.

Dream tossed back drink after drink, matching Jo’s pace if only to distract his wandering thoughts, losing his jacket somewhere in the scuffle and rolling up the sleeves of his black button down.

Johanna’s laughter snapped Dream back to the present, looking down at the red solo cup in his hand and Jo standing across from him, visibly swaying on that spot. Dream doesn’t remember what he’d said to elicit such a reaction, but felt his lips curl anyway. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You, dreamboat!” Jo’s laughter simmered down to a pleasant chuckle, if not a little devious. “I thought– nah, can’t be. But holy shit, you like Hob, don’t you?”

It took several long, embarrassing seconds to figure out what Jo just asked him. Dream felt warmth spreading up his ears.

“Of course. He’s my friend–”

“Nonono–” Jo stepped into Dream’s space, landing a heavy hand on his bony shoulder. “You like him. I can tell, because you haven’t spoken to him all night.”

Dream swallowed. The alcohol was affecting his brain, sloshing it around and rendering him speechless.

Johanna smirked. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re a menace, Constantine.” Dream said, pushing her hand off him and sliding his gaze sideways to find Hob rubbing the tops of his thighs. It’d been well over an hour since they’d arrived, Dream wondered how long Hob had been sitting there, playing a role he clearly wasn’t enjoying anymore.

Jo inclined her head.

“He likes you too.”

Dream’s head snapped back to meet Jo’s eyes, searching for that tell of humour or sarcasm, and finding none.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “He told me not to tell you. Thinks your eyes are ‘dazzling’ and your hands are pretty–” she makes a face at that one. “And that your hair looks– and I quote– ‘like raven’s feathers’.”

Dream swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“When did he tell you this?”

Jo huffs a sigh, taking a sip from her beer, her lips making a smacking sound off the bottle’s mouth.

“The night after I introduced you two.”

Dream’s heart flips over at the revelation. 

Johanna winks and shoves at Dream’s shoulder. “Now go say hi before you break his heart.”

Taking Johanna’s advice seems like a death sentence, but Dream is just drunk enough to summon courage, finishing off his drink and setting the empty cup on a random surface, before forcing his shoulders back and finally making his way towards Hob.

The smile that breaks across Hob’s face once he spots Dream is staggering, and it strikes Dream down more so than before, informed with the knowledge that Hob might like him as much as Dream does.

Dream slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, affecting nonchalance as he finally stands before Hob.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Hey, Dream.” Hob tugs on his ear, looking up at Dream. His entire body seems to relax, even slouching a bit in the chair. “Was surprised to see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

Dream hums, his eyes selfishly taking in their fill. This close to Hob, he can catalogue every hair, curve and freckle in greater detail, storing the information away for later.

And with Hob looking up at him, giving the illusion of superior height, an unmistakable flicker of arousal begins low in Dream’s belly. 

“I can be persuaded, from time to time.” Dream smiles, coy. The alcohol gives him a confidence boost and relaxes him further. “I apologise for not visiting you sooner.”

Hob waves it off. “I honestly didn’t expect you to. I know this is… a lot.” He gestures to himself and laughs self-deprecatingly. “I only agreed to be Sexy Santa because I owe Jo a favour.”

“It’s a fetching look on you,” Dream says, flinging himself into the deep end. He bites his bottom lip as Hob actually looks twice up at Dream, his smile falling into something like disbelief.

“O-oh. Really?” Hob laughs, but it’s small, doubtful. Dream will have to remedy that.

Dream takes a long breath, grounding himself, licking his lips before speaking what he’d wanted to say to Hob all night.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask Santa what I want for Christmas?”

The prettiest pink flush rises up Hob’s cheeks. His lips part as his eyes rove across Dream, down and up.

Despite what Johanna said, Dream feels himself shake with nerves as he tips forward, touching the top of Hob’s thigh before slowly lowering himself onto it. His eyes never leave Hob’s as he goes, silently asking for permission and receiving a nod once he’s fully seated.

Hob’s hand instantly curls around Dream’s narrow hips, holding him steady, locking him into place both upon his lap and in his gaze; wide and dark and focused.

Dream crossed one leg over the other, settling his hands on his knees, which inadvertently causes him to sway that much closer to Hob. He can feel the heat of his body, this close. Can smell something sweet and earthy, like sandalwood and pine, mixed in with something tangy that makes Dream’s mouth water. He has to hold back the urge to close the gap between them and shove his face in Hob’s chest, into the crook of his neck, under his armpit and lose his sanity. Abandon all pretence and inhale Hob like a wild animal, scent and mark him with his teeth and tongue and–

Hob swallows. Dream watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs, fascinated.

“Are you messing with me?”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “You think me capable of jokes?”

Hob laughs, soft, wonderful. “You are. You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb is pressing into Dream’s side, caressing back and forth, sending spikes of electricity through his veins and heating him up from the inside.

“No one thinks I’m funny,” Dream says matter-of-factly. 

“Well, you make me laugh,” Hob says simply, his other hand coming across Dream’s front to lace his fingers together, forming a snare around Dream that ignites something within him. “You challenge me, keep me on my toes… keep me guessing.”

Dream’s heart beats so hard against his ribs it nearly hurts. He wonders if Hob can hear it, how he makes his blood race a mile a minute. 

“I’m being very serious,” Dream takes a breath. “But if you deny me, I’ll just say I’m drunk.”

Hob laughs again, his hold around Dream tightening and nearly causing Dream’s knee to bump into Hob’s crotch.

“Are you drunk?”

Dream is very aware that they are in the middle of a party, and although the people around them seem to be paying them little attention, it would probably be inappropriate to follow the path enticing him to resituate himself on Hob’s lap to instead straddle him. To grind his barely contained semi against Hob’s flimsy excuse for shorts, while winding his arms around his shoulders and kiss him stupid.

Dream leans forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Hob’s ear and lowers his voice.

“Not enough to not know what I want.”

Hob groans, Dream can feel the vibration in his own chest as he pulls back just enough to see how his eyes have fluttered shut, swallowing again before opening his eyes and focusing on him.

“And what do you want, Dream?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Dream wets his lips. His hands venture up, tentatively brushing his knuckles against Hob’s bronze skin, fascinated at how snow-white his own appears against it. His fingers uncurl as he dares himself to properly touch; pushing into the soft flesh at Hob’s sides and drinking in the unmistakable sound of a choked off whine from his friend.

“I’ll take anything, Hob.”

“Holy shit–” Hob whispers, his head lolling back, exposing his throat which Dream violently refuses to latch his mouth on to.

“Okay…” Hob clears his throat, his eyes swinging over to gauge Dream again. His pupils are blown wide, hunger clear in its depths. “Okay.”

He’s looking at Dream’s mouth as he speaks again. “Meet me out back in 10 minutes?”

Dream bites back a smile and nods, his heart soaring as he climbs off Hob.

Johanna gives him a knowing look as Dream stumbles back into the crowd to find his jacket and coat, managing a wave (great, now he owed her a favour as well) before all but running out of the building to make good on his promise to Hob.

Hob makes good on his offer as well; indeed giving Dream everything he’d wanted. All night.

#dreamling #hob x dream #omg i managed to write a semi-holiday themed fic! #so sorry this took a hundred years lol #im slowly working on all the prompts sent to me from this list #thank you so much for sending one in!! #i hope you love it! #my writing #happy holidays! #this is sfw mostly

[pedroschka]

not my type

Joseph Quinn x reader

words: 1.9k fluff

Summary: one sided feelings can destroy friendships, so you and Joe make it very clear that you both are not each other's type, pinky promise clear

A/n: @ghostinthebackofyourhead grab your favorite bread and (hopefully) enjoy because I'm your secret Santa!! thanks to @quinnyfairy for organising this <3

Mid laugh, brown eyes crinkling and his head thrown back, that's the blurry image of your best friend in front of you for the last two minutes.

"Joe as much I love to see your little potato head but your screen is frozen."

" ugh, shit! The bloody wifi connection at my parents' is the worst. Wait a second!" his voice on the other end is a bit muffled as he seems to be moving around, trying to fix it.

It was one day after Christmas and you and Joe are trying to have your own little celebration via video call while you both are at your family's and didn't want to wait till you eventually see each other in person again, unpredictable with Joe's busy schedule nowadays anyway. So you both had sent each other's presents via post and now wanted to unpack them together.

So now you sit on your bed in your old bedroom, presents scattered around you and your tablet in front of you with the frozen image of your laughing friend.

" OK, what about now?" Joe's face finally in time again and him waving at the camera

" yes, now get started I already tried peaking but you really are serious about your sticky tape"

" and see how it came in handy" his cocky little smile makes you roll your eyes while grabbing the first present on your left which already has a bit of wrapping paper ripped out, but sticky tape all around it preventing you from making out what it could be.

At the end, you both sit in a colorful mass out of wrapping paper, presents sorted in a little pile beside you, and now updating each other on the newest family tea.

" no! I swear my aunt was full-on gushing about how Eddie looked like her ex-boyfriend's when she was a teen and started showing pictures of you as Eddie all around the dining table, it was soo uncomfortable!" you comically shuddered and Joe's snickering like a little kid at your theatrics.

As comfortable and at ease you were now around him was the complete opposite when you first met each other a year ago.

You sat on your friend's couch, phone in hand, and playing some stupid game, that only seems to come to use in social situations out of ultimate boredom, but trying to look very busy for the people around you. Questioning why your friend even thought it was a good idea to invite you to one of her parties, celebrating whatever with a bunch of her actor friends, when you were the epitome of socially awkward and just overall really bad at meeting new people.

You tried, you really tried to be a part of some conversations, standing in a group full of, on first sight, cliché book extroverts, all of them with interesting lives and using big words talking about different plays, with you just standing there and fake laughing at their jokes you didn't understand and attempting to stop comparing yourself with them. Which didn't work so after a few exhausting hours in which you've been ignored or got an awkward "was nice meeting you" after you ranted too much about a topic you finally could understand you gave up. Your social battery drained and you loathing in self-pity.

Loud cheers and greetings make you look up from your phone, great even more people. The new guest is a very ordinary-looking guy, plain light washed baggy jeans hanging low on his hips, a plain white shirt, sneakers. Not bad on the eye with tousled brown curls as well as brown eyes but not really your type.

Still he held an aura around him that forced you to keep your attention on him, apparently the people around him felt the same effect as they were hanging on every word that was coming out of his mouth. Or is he... Famous around here?! And you are just the only one who has absolutely no idea who he is?

But you're already admiring him for a different reason, Looking so awkward but at the same time so charmingly charismatic and being able to find the right words and topic for each person. You couldn't help to be slightly jealous.

Forced to look down again as he looked across the room and dangerously close in your direction you continued your game, only looking up again as you felt the couch dip as someone sat themselves beside you, and you hastily tried to turn your phone away to not get caught.

"well, that looks fun" shit.

Unknown ordinary looking /maybe famous guy is smiling at you and nodding at your phone

"uggh, kinda" and your brain is letting you down again.

But he doesn't seem bothered by your brain-dead state and tried again to engage you in a conversation, ending up with him having your phone and you, hanging half over his shoulder, explaining to him how to play the game.

"oh, I'm Joe by the way!"

You met Joe a few times after that again and eventually exchanged numbers which resulted in a weird and chaotic friendship. With his ability to make you feel so comfortable around him and just being yourself, he has to endure your ranting over the most ridiculous topics or oversharing the most private things, but it doesn't seem to bother him, on the contrary, he seems to even encourage your weirdness and just adapt to it.

Because of this connection between you both, you lost count of how many times people thought you both were dating or how many times your friends and family tried to play matchmaker, so a pinky promise between you and joe was made that you both are on the same page, that you are not each other's type, both of you already familiar with how one-sided feelings can destroy a friendship, so better making sure at the beginning right?

It was now new years eve and like you planned with Joe in your last call you both were gonna drive over to a friend's house who's throwing a party to celebrate it together, in person this time.

Joe's gonna be at your place to pick you up in nearly 20 minutes and you're still sitting in front of your wardrobe in only your bathrobe and still wet hair, nibbling nervously on your fingernails and looking over all your clothes, eyes wide with panic debating what you should wear to look presentable for him.

Which is absolutely ridiculous because Joe has already seen you in your absolute worst states, coming over to you with pimple cream all over your face, greasy hair, and sloppy oversized shirts with holes and stains you couldn't even explain.

But you haven't seen each other for nearly a month now, well except for the few video calls but that's just different, and now you are a nervous mess, suddenly worried about your appearance and you hate it.

The buzzing of your doorbell makes you jump slightly, spraying the last bit of hairspray on your head and turning the music off, which you needed to hype yourself up, and speedwalking to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.

Joe's standing in front of you in black slacks and a slightly striped white shirt, the last button undone and a necklace peeking out of it, and you feel your heartbeat throbbing in your ears.

With a happy call of your name, he went straight into a hug and you suddenly felt distracted by the smell of his perfume, still the same one you smelt a thousand times but different regardless, Like his arms around you, squeezing you firmly into him, it's like your sensory perception is on high alert and suddenly everything feels more intense.

The car ride to the party is awkward to say at least, your nerves preventing you from coming up with anything other than occasionally humming or nodding as an answer, and after a few more tries from Joe he gave up, thinking maybe you're just nervous again because of all the people that are gonna be there and needed a few more minutes for yourself, so the car becomes silent and you hate it because that was your least concern right now, you felt like a bad friend, not seeing each other for a month and you can't even talk to him because this bloody nervous feeling just won't go away. So you both just stare at the road in front of you.

It's loud and full and lights flickering everywhere and you're so overwhelmed and tense that the weird feeling is forgotten for a moment and you're clinging to Joe, following him around like a lost puppy. Him ordering drinks for you both and chatting with people, trying to include you, taking you with him for smoke breaks, the only time when you both are separated is when one of you has to go to the toilet.

A few minutes before midnight a group of people had gathered on the balcony, with them you and Joe, shouting the countdown to the new year and watching fireworks exploding and illuminating the night sky.

" happy new year!" you screamed in each other's faces and laughed as you tackle each other in a big hug. People around you doing the same or walking around and giving the traditional New Year kiss.

Observing this you both looked at each other and shrugged while giggling, both slightly tipsy, and pecked each other on the lips. Physical contact wasn't unfamiliar to you, both being touchy when around people you feel comfortable enough, small kisses when saying goodbye, or cuddling together on your small sofa when watching some movies weren't new either. What was new was the feeling you felt as your lips met his.

As you separated you looked into each other's eyes, you always thought that his eyes were beautiful, even told him so, but you never felt such strong emotions when looking into them, unable to hold eye contact your gaze trailed to his lips, so full and soft looking and you never felt such a strong urge either to be near them. Subconscious you both lean in again and your lips met again but this time for a real kiss.

Warm flooded your body and you can't think of anything else other than the feeling of his lips against yours. His hands found the back of your neck to bring you even closer and you copied him, trailing your fingers through his curls, both of you starving for each other's presence and hungry for more, captivated and lost in your own little world.

Until a person stumbles into you and you remember again where you are.

Both of you catching your breath as you separated again, waking up from the trance-like state, emotional chaos whirling up in you again because you just made out with your best friend, with which you made a silly pinky promise and made very clear to not be each other's type to save this friendship but now you experienced the best kiss you ever had and when you look at his face now he is so beautiful and you can't help to want to kiss those lips again but you were also so overwhelmed because what the fuck does this all mean now.

Luckily Joe answers your questions as he leans in again for a third kiss, shorter but still as breathtaking.

" I know we promised to be not each other's type but do you wanna go on a date with me?" he asked against your lips and you both giggled as you nodded 'yes' before going into another kiss.

(reblogs and comments are very appreciated additional to your likes)

#secret santa project #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn #joe quinn fanfic #fanfiction #joseph quinn fluff

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

SaShiSu anon here!

Deep down I think I already knew that you would choose suguru but I wanted to ask anyway, because you always give interesting answers lol

I honestly don't know who I would choose, it's just as you say, the three of them would be very good partners!  

I am very fond of Satoru but realistically I don't know if I could keep up with him lol, he’s a very active and social person, I don't know if my poor social battery could handle keeping up with him. I wouldn't mind watching digimon with him, because I love digimon, I've seen every season at least 2 times, I've played the games and the tcg and I'm basically a walking encyclopedia of digimon.

I wouldn't mind going with him to pastry shops to try new things, because going to pastry shops is a hobby of mine anyway. Satoru looks like the type of person who likes to tease his friends and his partner just for fun and honestly it would be hypocritical of me to criticize him for that because I'm the same. u.u

I love Shoko, I would do anything for her, cooking, cleaning, cuddles, I would give her everything she asked for and more! my poor baby works too much and she is always tired :(  Shoko deserves a lot of love and cuddles! i don't drink or smoke, but if that girl sent me to the store at 2:00 a.m. to buy her a beer, I would do it!

Lastly we have suguru, my love languages are acts of service and quality time. Which I feel fits well with him. For me it would be strange if someone was so attentive to me because that's normally my role in relationships so I would feel lost. I wouldn't mind him judging what I read... because every time he does it, I would make a power point presentation with 50+ slides debating all his points (being a digimon fan is hard work D: )

AAA SASHISU ANON!!! that’s so sweet, i’m happy u enjoy my rambly answers :’3

AND YES I GET U IT’S SOOO HARD TO PICK JUST ONE…. 😔😔 they’re all so lovely and charming……. poly sashisu x reader is the answer always <33 i think a relationship with all three of them would be so sweet and fun !!!

BUT YES YOU’RE SO REAL my social battery is so low it’s kinda embarrassing lmao but i feel like satoru would be very good at knowing his partner’s limits yk… just whisks you away when he can tell you’re getting tired <33 and i also think he would get so smug if your social battery never ran out around him LMAO like he would thrive off being your safe space…. 🥺🥺hhh i adore him. AND HELLOOO FELLOW DIGIMON FAN i was a pkmn kid through and through but i grew up watching all digimon seasons too :33

SO REAL ON SHOKO TOO I WOULD MAKE HER TEA AND COFFEE EVERY SINGLE DAY she could throw a bone and tell me to fetch it like a dog and i would simply Listen <333 she could manipulate me. she wouldn’t do it but she could. but ohhh anon i really do think shoko would benefit sm from having an acts of service s/o !! :( she deserves to be pampered!!

AND OFC SUGUU acts of service and quality time are 100% good fits for him….. AND i think a relationship with someone who’s kind of similar would be good for him!! :’3 two acts of service babies taking care of each other … he would be so attentive all the time and you would be attentive right back!! tbh i understand you anon i think i would be a bit uncomfortable around sugu if he was Too attentive even if i would probably really love it deep down 😭😭 but he’d be so patient !!! aaaa he’s just so perfect…

TYSM FOR INDULGING ME WITH THIS DISCUSSION ANONNN i love these three with my entire soul T_T…. they could fix us

#I HOPE YOU HAVE THE LOVELIEST DAY <333333 tysm again for the ask !! it was so fun to answer !!! #sending u the goodest coziest sashisu vibes mwah mwah mwah #my emotional support trio <33 #i need to take care of them 😞😞 #ask tag ✩

[alycosworld]

I posted 139 times in 2022

That's 38 more posts than 2021!

79 posts created (57%)

60 posts reblogged (43%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cipheress-to-k-pop

@teeeentitaaans

@rubinocore

@markired

@incorrectbatfam

I tagged 109 of my posts in 2022

Only 22% of my posts had no tags

#aly.rants - 69 posts

#dc's legends of tomorrow - 29 posts

#legends of tomorrow - 28 posts

#john constantine - 12 posts

#matt ryan - 11 posts

#sara lance - 7 posts

#in space with markiplier - 7 posts

#markiplier - 7 posts

#ava sharpe - 6 posts

#the clone dilemma - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 110 characters

#watch it pick back up again for a fleeting moment and then i'll leave you all stranded with absolutely nothing

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

bethic twinstinct doesn't feel like an episode. it feels like i had a very shameful and strange dream and now im awake and do not know how to go about my day without thinking about it or letting it affect me.

151 notes - Posted September 19, 2022

#4

MANDO 🥺🥺 HES SO CUTE

See the full post

157 notes - Posted March 3, 2022

#3

i saw yr post abt the request thing so im gonna request^^

how abt venti with a s/o that i introverted and hates alcohol??? im not a big fan of alcohol and drunk ppl really scare me lol so id like to see how that would work out! i also have a social battery and when i do run out of that social battery and get really irritable and frustrated so how would he deal with that? take yr time and get rest <3

🧸/💮 anon~

(did u know iphone added new heart emojis0.0)

Venti with an Introverted S/O

A/N: in the process of momentarily reviving the blog as I said earlier, so here's the first post to mark that.

also, if you understand/like the phoenix wright reference then ily &lt;3

thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

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okay so, he's not gonna stop drinking for you. dude's an alcoholic, through and through.

and, he doesn't want to leave you alone because he loves you and he likes having you with him.

but...he realises that you don't like the atmosphere of the rowdier bars he frequents, or even the nice bars late into the night.

people shouting and making unnecessary comments, loud, horribly-sung music, all the drunkards crowding together and closing in around you.

it's terrifying and Venti's used to it, but you aren't and he understands.

you can stand him being drunk alone, because he's just dumb, funny and flirty - which, honestly, isn't much different from regular Venti.

so, what exactly does he do to help you out?

solution one: drink at home, sing his own songs, and recreate the atmosphere of a bar with just you. He doesn't care much for the patrons either - they're fun to be with, but he much prefers you.

solution two: take you two a calmer bar like Angel's Share (usually while Diluc's around so he can keep everyone in check) and defend you like Phoenix Wright.

as for your social battery, Venti just knows when you're running low. No matter what he had planned, no matter who else wants to see either of you, as soon as you get a little bit irritated, he's ushering you home.

he can't cook anything fancy, but he lives off bar food and he'll pick up something or haphazardly make something for you. Sure, it isn't elegant or well presented, but it fills you up, calms you down, helps you relax and tastes pretty damn good.

he'll cuddle with you, sing you an impromptu tune, tell you a good story, or just let you sleep while he takes care of everything else. If you need to get away from people, Venti will know and he'll handle it perfectly.

he'll stop whatever he's doing and immediately remove you from a social situation with some vague excuse:

"Well, I-- oh! Look at the time! Y'know, I think my darling lover and I should get going right about now, huh? Buh-bye, now!"

and he'll let you do whatever you want straight after, whether it be flee the scene like a villain or collapse on the street from tiredness.

"Oh? Have you had enough for today, my love? I agree, let's get you home and I'll take care of the rest."

"Don't worry about them, dove. All that's important is that we get out of here. No matter the situation, I'll handle it. You just rest. I love you."

161 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

#2

guys mark confirmed that yancy, as lore, has magical tattoos that change according to the universes changing around him. omg. y'all.

189 notes - Posted May 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Sweetheart

John Constantine X Reader

NEW A/N: so! It's finally here, the finished version of "TITLE" that I accidentally posted all that time ago (and decided to leave up for the memories). I've left in all the old stuff, no changes to the original text, I just added to it so it's a complete story. I've even left in the old A/N for nostalgia ykwim. aNYWAYS, HAVE FUN!

OLD A/N: 100 followers is coming up but I have nothing for y'all so take the product of my latest obsession: john mf constantine - resident demonologist, exorcist, master of the dark arts, accomplished warlock and outrageously attractive brit. I love him, you love him, so let's give our soulless boy a round of applause! thanks for reading, please enjoy &lt;3

warnings: a lil spicy, slight choking??, talk of sex, inexperienced reader, reader is called pretty, love, sweetheart (idk if these are considered gendered words but I dont think they are??), gender-neutral reader

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(takes place in s4, Séance and Sensibility with the old Zari (Tomaz))

Kamadeva, now locked in the brig of the Waverider, poured some of the glittery ashes of his vial into his hand, blowing them through the air vents and to reach all the other rooms and Legends aboard in the night.

...

"Now, what are you doing, dreaming about me, love?" John asked. His trench coat had been removed and his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows as he sat on the edge of your bed.

"The fugitive must've done something. It's fine, y'know, can't two friends hang out in a dream?" You chuckled nervously, sitting on a beanbag on the ground, crossing your legs and trying to act perfectly normal, although you knew that Kamadeva's magic wasn't for friends and John had special abilities when it came to dreams - he knew you were dreaming then and when you woke up, he'd know you'd been dreaming about him.

"Friends...that's not how I'd describe you and me. The way you act around me...it's not typical for friends, is it, sweetheart?" John asked with an undeniably attractive grin on his face.

"Don't call me that." You said, unable to stop heat from rising to your cheeks as John tilted his head to the side.

"And why not? I do it all the time. Or is it suddenly becoming less...friendly?" John asked before you felt your body stand up and walk to him. You definitely wanted to be near to him but, unaware of how much John would know about this dream when you woke up, you had to try and resist having fun. You came to stand just in front of him but he pulled you closer still, holding you by the waist as he guided you to straddle his lap.

"John..." You started, feeling your heart race as John leaned in towards you, pressing a kiss from your jaw to your neck to your collarbone and then pulling away to look at your flushed face as you gasped and breathed heavily, chest heaving up and down for John to marvel at.

"Pretty..." He mumbled with a dazed smile on his face.

"What?" You asked, not believing his words despite the whole situation being a fantasy.

"I said, pretty. Prettiest "friend" I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." John said, making you smile and look away from him. John seemed to realise the effect of his words and how you partially didn't believe them.

"I mean it, love," John said, snaking a hand behind your head to cradle the back of your neck, but when he watched you shudder and flinch slightly as his hand touched the skin, he grinned wickedly.

"Oh?" He asked, testing his theory of sensitivity by ghosting his fingers along your neck again and watching as you fell apart.

"John, I--" You managed meekly, but he only chuckled deeply before coiling one hand around your neck and tightening his grip ever so slightly as the other palm rested on your thigh.

"And how do you enjoy that, love?" He asked, watching your breath hitch but noticing your blatant satisfaction. John squeezed a little harder before letting go completely and smiling charmingly at you before leaning in and pulling your head down gently so your lips could meet his.

...

Unfortunately, just before the kiss you had dreamed about would occur so vividly in your mind, you woke up, panting heavily and in desperate need of a cool down.

You walked into the kitchen where the girls were, in just your pajamas, hair a mess and heart racing.

"The fugitive get to you too?" Sara asked, a smile on her face as Charlie beamed brightly.

"Yeah." You nodded as Sara handed you a glass of cold water.

"Well, personally, I really enjoyed my night. Blowing David Bowie's mind." Charlie grinned as Sara chuckled and Zari rolled her eyes with a smile.

"Who'd you get a leg over, Z? Wait, lemme guess, Nate? No, Kamadeva?" Zari stayed silent but raised her eyebrows making you and Sara look at her incredulously.

"Both?" You and she asked.

See the full post

331 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[jokarlekin]

Présentation

Nice to meet you, I am Jokar - but you can call me Charlie too ! I joined Tumblr to post my art and chat about my hyperfixations, do not expect a lot of any other kind of creations at the moment :]

I wrote a little might-be-frequently-edited post to make a clean presentation on this app. Let’s start now~

🌱 Who am I ?

Artist (Procreate/Traditional), writer, VisualNovel coder (Ren’py) and beginner musician (GarageBand/LMMS)

Any pronouns work for me <3

Nature enjoyer, huge fan of rainy days, vegetal caves and misty forests ! Space fascinates me too 🌌

I dedicate my life to bats and deers 🦇🦌

High anxiety level, married with a low social battery and the attention span of a 5 years old. Sorry in advance-

Not a native english speaker, I may make a lot of spelling errors or anything language related, feel free to correct me !

I want this account to be a little bubble isolated from the real world 🫧

(Alas do not be fooled, I love angst and sensitive themes in fiction. I will try to warn such content properly when it comes 🫂)

Current hyperfixation : Genshin Impact (Collei my child 🌱) - Aaand a bit of mahoako/Mahou shoujo ni Akogarete !

🌱 What do I do ?

As already stated, I’m an artist, aaaand I hyperfixate a lot about fictional subject/stories. I love to create content of what makes me happy, and on Tumblr I will mostly post fanart, stories or even create alternate universes of my favorite book/game/etc. One day I maybe will talk about my own creations, but we will see what future is made of !

By the way, I am also a serial character creator, and I deeply cherish all of my original characters. (Well almost all of them, I don’t support the horrible things some of my absolutely-not-kind children do, but eh, I need them for some stories-)

🌱 Where to find me ?

Want to find me on another social media ? There you go, have my simple carrd ! 🌱

🌱 Which are my tags ?

These are my personal tags to find my stuff easily. I made it to organize myself because my memory is short, but feel free to navigate with them too! They’re also tagged under that post~

• Subject :

#jokar art (Jokar makes art, so Jokar will tag it) ⋆ #jokar writes (When I post my (probably angsty) texts) ⋆ #jokar rambles (For whatever batpoop I want to say) ⋆ #jokar news (*Gasps* Important stuff I have to say !) ⋆ #jokar reacts (…I will drown you in whatever subject keep my attention hostage)

• Content :

#jokar character (When one of my imaginary children is in the post) ⋆ #jokar refsheets (I make reference for characters, mine or redesign of canon characters) ⋆ #jokar sketches (I’m the kind of person with a hundred work in progress and never finish them, so take some sketches and wips!) ⋆ #jokar fanart (I do fanart, mostly that on my tumblr) ⋆ #jokar received a request (Someone proposed an idea, I accepted it and drew it <3) ⋆ #jokar art trade (When I post an art trade I made with someone, feel free to ask by the way!) ⋆ #jokar hyperfixates (Eat my hyperfixation, world!) ⋆ #jokar-headcanons (I have fan-ideas, so why not sharing them !) ⋆ #jokar question (Got a question ? I answer !) ⋆ #jokar character question (Same as before, but with one of my character) ⋆ #jokar character talk (Did you ask about random info of my characters ? No, but I enjoy myself very much ehe !)

🌱 End note !

Thank you for reading this ! Take care of you now, do not forget to drink water and breath some fresh air <3

Au rêveoir/Goodbye !!

#jokar art #jokar writes #jokar rambles #jokar news #jokar reacts #jokar character #jokar refsheets #jokar sketches #jokar fanart #jokar received a request #jokar art trade #jokar hyperfixates #jokar headcanons #jokar question #jokar character question #jokar character talk

[marwincabsy09]

CELEBRATE LITTLE SUCCESS

WHO ARE YOU

Hello! I'm Marwin Jester D. Cabunoc. My first name is Marwin. It comes from the name of my parents Marife and Edwin or you can call me MJ in short, the simple person. The only boy and the youngest sibling in family Cabunoc and also the tallest. I'm 17 years old, born on January 9 2006 from Barangay. Bantug, Cuyapo, Nueva Ecija. A dreamer who wants to achieve all my dreams to help my parents to compensate for their suffering and resentment. What do I do for a living? Well I am a Grade 11 senior high school student who is taking up the strand of humanities and social science (HUMSS) . I'm still deciding what I will pursue in future. When it comes to the things that I love and I like the best thing is playing basketball because basketball lowers my rates of stress and it helps me to build confidence. And I also love listening to my favourite music while driving, even if it is far away because it gives me relief from all my problems. It makes me happy when I explore with family or friends because exploring is my stress reliever.

II. HOW ARE YOU?

This time I'm feeling well and good. For a month or years? I would say that it's fine but there are some instances where life would play on us. Life's been so hard since COVID-19 pandemic came. I feel sad like a phone that doesn't have a battery. But I realised that God is always by my Guard for every fight in my life and I believe we're healed by grace. As a teenager, one of my own greatest strengths at home and school is believe that life is a learning experience and being recognize our own weaknesses and strengths can help us become better individual in anything we choose to do, whether it is positive abilities and skills that can help achieve my goal or negative personal areas that need improvement knowing myself and can I do, can help to recognize and overcome my weakness and I'm very happy with my life and enjoying all things that makes me happy. My weakness is having a lack of confidence this is the weakness that I have since day one, nervousness I'm nervous every time that I present a report in front of some people because when I got wrong I'm scared of what people can think about me and, I have low of motivation i have low of motivation because I haven't enough experience and practices in my life at my age I believe that this part is learning experience. Yes, life is short. We must do what is good and better to solve our life's problems. It is a journey in our life to solve and to learn but the best is an experience to enjoy. I wish to reach my goals and my dream as I said to myself to help my parents to comprehend their suffering and resentment.

Everything will be fine if we choose the right thing in our life and always mark in our mind that every obstacle in our life has a solution. All we can do is trust the process as always with the guide of God. Life is like a song, create a own lyrics.

III. TANAGA POEM

I am taught how to be strong

I feel like I don't belong

I think all I do is wrong

I hope this don't last year-long

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 4

Once again, A won in a landslide. I hope the choices this time around will be a little more interesting. As a result of A winning, Journalist will help Villain.

Both of the options from last time around led to separate twists. It may be a little confusing at first, but I promise, it’ll make sense!

Again, the suggestions I received this time around were amazing!

I hope you enjoy!

CW// Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, talk of torture, talk of blood, explicit discussion of injuries, medical discussion, deciding whether a person will receive medical treatment, mention of pneumonia, amnesia, panic, talk of law enforcement and criminal charges

The news segment began with its cheery jingle, starting with a light whistle, and crescendoing into an orchestral sound.

The video dawned on Journalist’s set. Behind the camera stood their crew. But the show’s usual host was nowhere to be seen. Instead, having been replaced by two other reporters, sitting behind their table. In their chairs.

“Hello, everyone.” One of the reporters spoke with a nod of the head. Their practiced, fine-tuned smile was present on their face, but there was a level of appropriately moderated sadness to their tone. “We hate to inform you that the previous host of this show, Journalist, has unfortunately left their post.”

The other reporter spoke with a similar tone, looking up at their cohost. “Shall we get right to it, then?”

“I suppose there’s no point in beating around the bush.”

“No. There’s not.” The reporter shook their head. “Your regular news for this segment will be moved to tonight’s News at 10. After much discussion, we figured it was only right to address the situation regarding this segment’s former host.”

“Yes. I am certain that many of you have seen this video on various social medias.”

In the corner of the screen, a panel faded into existence, showing a silenced video. Only a few frames long, looping every time it finished.

The video was of remarkably low quality, and taken in remarkably low light. The faces of only one of those in it could be made out-- that of a bloody, bruised, yet alive Villain. They who stood over the injured was little more than a shadow in silhouette, face never once turning towards the camera. After a few repeats, the video skipped around, showing different frames. Always in shadow. Never showing more than a hundred pixels or so.

The action within could only truly be seen if the viewer was to squint. Or, if they knew what to look for.

“This video was released by the Organization of Heroes, late last night.” One of the reporters spoke up, after the display was finished and faded away. “It was taken by one of the employees of their headquarters, shortly after this very news segment was filmed yesterday, in that very headquarters.”

“The Organization stated that it released this video to promote transparency regarding a current investigation. Though the exact details have yet to be revealed, this video is harrowing on its own.”

“We do not know why Journalist would do this.” The reporter’s gaze met with that of the camera lens. “We all have our own opinions about Villain, but no opinion can justify beating someone senseless. We all knew Journalist. We never thought there were capable of such a horrible thing. It is believed that, after filming an interview with Villain, Journalist led them to an unused room, and beat them severely. This video shows the incident.”

“The Heroes and local law enforcement have stated that they are currently pursuing a manhunt for Journalist on charges of assault and battery.”

“To dispel rumors that have been spreading: As of only a few minutes ago, the Organization of Heroes has reported to us that Villain is alive and well. Rumors of their death are greatly exaggerated. Journalist is not being pursued as a murderer.”

“Villain is currently under the care of in-house medical professionals of the Organization. They are in critical condition, but are expected to recover.”

“If you believe to have spotted Journalist, please call the number on screen. This is a tragedy, but together, we can at the very least bring this criminal to justice. Thank you.”

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“Can they hear us?”

“No, no. They’re asleep.”

Villain’s eyes twitched, the voices above them hazy, coming from behind a layer of fog. Still, they thought they knew them... Maybe. The effort of recognizing who was speaking when made their head hurt, but their heart was beating far too fast to allow them to fade back into sedated bliss.

“Good.” Teammate muttered, their hand shifting the hospital bed ever so slightly as they placed it upon the bedrail.

“Yeah, good.” Hero’s grunt dripped with sarcasm.

“They need their rest.” Villain didn’t quite recognize the third voice, though they could only assume it was a doctor. “They’ve regained consciousness a few times, but they‘re somewhat sedated, right now. We can’t risk them choking.”

Choking. Villain knew that word. They remembered it being shouted, over and over again, next to them. Their mouth tasted so much like copper...

“I wish they’d choke.” Hero growled. Villain didn’t need to open their eyes to feel Teammate’s glare.

“Well, we’re not going to let that happen.” Doctor shook their head. “What we need to do is talk about... well, you’re in control here. We’re under your command. We have them stabilized, but if you want them to do anything more than lay in a hospital bed, we need to talk about what comes next.”

There was a moment of hesitant humming, before Teammate asked, tentatively:

“How bad is it?”

Villain had heard that question before, in a tone of panic and screaming. Who had said it?

Again, hesitance.

“Bad. Really bad.” Doctor sighed, straightening their tone to something more official. “We’ve seen some possible early signs of pneumonia, but, well...” Another deep breath. “Their torso sustained several dents. There’s risk of internal bleeding. That’s not to mention three snapped ribs, five additional broken or fractured ribs, and fractured clavicle. And the leg.”

For a moment, the nerves in the doctor’s voice turned to fury.

Villain knew that fury. The fury of someone who was watching the person they tried to protect die. Why didn’t they remember?

“A spiral fracture. I’ve never- I have no damn clue how you managed to do that. It’s generally only seen in falls, or industrial accidents, but... yes. There is a spiral fracture in their left tibia. We believe it’s shattered into five separate pieces, though we won’t be able to tell for sure until we can perform exploratory surgery. Villain will need to be a lot stronger before that, though.”

“Okay.” Teammate gritted their teeth. “And that’s all... bad.”

“Very bad.”

“Well, they’re not dead.” Hero hissed.

“They may as well be.” Doctor snapped back.

“Hey, who here is paying you-”

“Shut up, you two.” Teammate growled. “Are they going to die?”

“As it stands now... no. We have them stabilized. Any external bleeding has been stopped. But if our suspicions of pneumonia and internal bleeding are correct, then they could very well die, if we don’t act quickly. That’s what we wanted to ask you about.”

“Whether or not to save them?”

“Essentially.”

“Do it.” Hero’s tone was firm, though still frustrated. “At least for a bit. The edited video will go out on national news tonight. If this assault investigation turns into a murder one, it’ll be more scrutiny than I care to deal with. The less anyone looks into it, the better.”

“Having them back on camera so soon may not be a great idea, sir.” Doctor’s voice had practically turned to a whimper.

“Well, how soon can we expect them to be healthy enough for it?”

“A month-”

“A month?!”

“One month for the initial recovery. And at least four for subsequent physical therapy. They should not engage in any strenuous physical activity for at least that long.”

“We don’t have a month. Much less five.”

“Well, I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker.”

“I need them on the air tomorrow. Either tell me a way to make that happen, or I’ll find a better doctor.”

Doctor’s footsteps could be heard against the tile as they stumbled backwards.

“I guess there’s...”

“What is it?”

“The miracle drug. That’s what they call it. It’s certainly not a miracle, but... I’m sure you’ve heard of Hollywood medicine. An injured actor getting up the day after a car crash, looking good as new.”

“You can do that?"

“Well-”

“Then do it!”

“It’s not that simple. There’s no such thing as a miracle drug. Painkillers and steroids won’t fix their injuries, but with the right mix of them, they can be as good as new tomorrow. Well, along with some seriously good makeup work. Those injuries are... not pretty.”

“Then do that. The news is coming back at 9. Now, was that so hard?”

“Wait.” Teammate interjected. “It can’t be that simple. What’s the catch?”

“The catch?” Doctor began. “The catch is kind of the whole matter of the thing. This treatment, it won’t actually do anything. We’d be blocking pain signals to their brain, and giving them enough strength to press on despite their wounds. But that’s all. The injuries will still be there. And the longer they’re untreated, the worse it’s going to get. Especially if Villain is up and moving.”

“But they’ll be able to appear tomorrow night?”

“Yes. They’ll be good as new.”

“Then...” Teammate hesitated. “You treat them like normal, and we just give them some kind of miracle drug whenever we need them on stage?”

“Again, it’s not that simple. This treatment, it’s going to destroy any possibility of a normal recovery. It’s either or, not and. Either we treat them like normal, or we have them ready to perform tomorrow. It’s your choice, but I’m sure you know what I recommend.”

“They’re performing.” Hero spoke with such a force that it was known in the room that no one could hope to oppose the decision. “Get them up and moving. How long will this work? This miracle drug?”

“There’s no way of knowing, really. They run the risk of collapsing at pretty much any time. We’re tricking their mind into thinking it’s unharmed, but we can’t do that with the body. The wounds are still going to be very, very real.”

“Just give me an estimate.”

“I don’t know, two weeks? Less if the pneumonia gets bad.”

“And then?”

“And then they collapse. Kaput. Gone. The human body has its limits, superpowers or not.”

“I can work with two weeks. I want them back in their cell by tonight, understood?”

“Understood, sir. They’ll be as good as new. And, lay off the collar, please.”

“That depends on if they choose to behave, or not.”

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Villain wasn’t sure when the rough linen of the hospital bed turned to a duvet made of plush, laid atop an impossibly soft mattress that sunk several inches under their weight. They must have been moved at some point, they certainly didn’t remember walking. They couldn’t so much as feel their legs, so walking would have been an impossibility.

One hand curling around the plush on which they lay, they fought against their leaden eyelids until they finally relented and opened. The ceiling above them was one they knew far too well, having spent far too many sleepless nights staring up at it.

They blinked a few times, waking up their mind, which was rapidly beginning to panic.

Had they been dreaming? The day before, had all of it simply been a horrid nightmare?

Sitting up took only minor effort, and as their lungs filled with air, they felt no pain. In fact, their whole body was absent of any pain at all. Even their leg felt to not have lost an ounce of its strength.

It couldn’t have been a dream, could it have been? The pain had felt so real, but...

They raised a hand, drawing it to their ribs. Pressing down prompted no pain, only a vague soreness. But even with their limited medical knowledge, Villain knew full well that ribs weren’t supposed to fold inwards like that.

Nope. Definitely not a dream.

At least, that part wasn’t. Maybe? Trying to think about it was so difficult, causing a horrible, gnawing pain at the back of their mind. Closing their eyes to aid their focus, they did their best to recount.

They had eaten lunch, they believed. There had been others at the table. Visitors. Government representatives? The mayor, maybe? That sounded somewhat right. But then, no, that couldn’t have been right. They remembered the burning of stage lights so strongly, it must have been a news crew.

And then...

Then pain.

They didn’t remember the circumstances in any detail, but they remembered exactly how it felt for a boot to collide with their flesh, crushing all in its wake. They remembered how it felt to have every nerve alight in artificial agony.

After that, there was shouting. Someone was touching them, helping them sit up. It mustn’t have worked, though, for a moment after, they were on the ground, and there was more shouting. More yelling. Screams.

Then nothing. Next thing they could remember, they were swimming through sedatives and painkillers in a hospital bed.

And now they were here.

They looked to the clock, noting it to be late in the night. After the time at which the Heroes would have eaten dinner. There were never any appearances at night, so they would be left alone until it was time for lunch.

It probably would have been best for them to go back to sleep, to rest and recover, but now that they were awake, they couldn’t help but feel that such a thing would be impossible. Warmth ran through their veins like alcohol, making them feel more alive than they could remember having felt in quite some time.

Villain couldn’t sleep, but perhaps they could do the next best thing. They felt around their nightstand, finding eventually the television remote, and clicking on the TV mounted on the wall before them. It was what they spent most of their time doing, anyways. Staring at the screen and rotting.

The screen blinked on, displaying something that caused Villain to do a double take. They looked at the info for the channel, double checking its number.

It was the news. The Heroes had always kept every news channel, or really anything that talked about current events, firmly out of their reach. Yet, here one was, playing right in front of them.

They couldn’t help but feel a dull ache in their neck.

Still, who would catch them? No one would be coming in at this hour. Perhaps they could, at least, peek into the outside world. Hell, they would have been grateful to know the weather.

But what was playing was not the weather.

A banner on the bottom of the screen read, in big white letters, “News At 9.” Two presenters sat behind a table, a brief moment of silence hanging between them as a video played in the top right corner.

Villain saw their own face. Their own bloody, beaten face.

“It is believed that, after filming an interview with Villain, Journalist led them to an unused room, and beat them severely. This video shows the incident.”

Journalist.

Villain did not know that name, but it made their stomach twist in on itself.

Their nausea turned to panic in an instant as they heard a quiet knock, echoing against the door to their room. Already shaking, they lunged for the remote, tapping in a random number and willing the channel to change faster. By the time the doorknob twisted and the door opened, they were sweating bullets.

They looked to the doorway, doing their very best to pretend that they had only been innocently watching an approved channel.

They had expected Hero, or perhaps one of the others on their team, and they supposed that they weren’t entirely wrong.

Hero had long since stopped having a singular sidekick, stating that such a thing was horribly inefficient. Instead, they had multiple at any given time, training each for several months before sending them off to other duties.

Sidekick was one of the newer trainees. Villain couldn’t quite remember what exactly their powers were, though they remembered that this trainee in particular was one of Hero’s favorites. They were younger-- not a kid, but firmly college-aged, though their stature was far too muscular to suggest such a thing.

They had painted on their face the same smile that Hero always presented to the media. It made Villain shudder.

After flashing that bright smile a moment, Sidekick turned, closing the door with notable care and approaching their bedside. Villain turned off the television, shifting to face their visitor. Sitting up straight, drawing their shoulders back, showing all the respect that a trainee of Hero deserved.

“Can I sit?” Sidekick pointed to a spot on the bed.”

“Yes! Of course.”

They nodded, sitting down. There was a remarkable care in the way they moved and shifted, as if they were terrified of making even the slightest noise.

“Turn the TV back on.”

“Um- okay. I promise, I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to, it just turned on, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, please don’t-”

“Shh, shh. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not going to hurt you. We need to be quiet.”

Villain nodded, turning on the TV. The noise practically drowned out Sidekick’s voice, and they couldn’t help but feel that that was rather the point.

“Villain. You know me, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that I know you very well.”

“That’s okay. I’m Sidekick, and we want to help.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’“

“Me and your friend. Journalist. They couldn’t be here, it’s too dangerous, but... I know you don’t know me very well. And to be quite honest, I don’t know you very well, either.”

Sidekick raised their hand, causing Villain to flinch back. But they were not struck. Instead, the hand was presented as if offering a handshake.

“Villain, I need you to trust me.”

They felt their mouth grow dry as they looked at the offered hand.

“I know we don’t know each other well, but what I do know is that you’re suffering, and you need help. In three days, you’re going to be at a live press conference, down on the East side. There’s going to be a signal. When the sun disappears, that’s your signal. You’ll know what I mean, okay?”

“I don’t know if I-”

“Please. When you see the signal, you need to cause as much chaos as you can, okay? I mean, don’t hurt anyone, or at least try not to, but do what you need to do to get them running. That’s all you need to do. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“W-Why?”

Sidekick moved their offered hand closer.

“Villain, do you trust me?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. Alongside each option is a question specifying what exactly will happen. Answering this question is completely optional, but it is great if you have any particular ideas! Otherwise, feel free to just put a letter.

To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes, and will choose whichever answer I find the most interesting to base the next part upon. The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) Trust - Should Villain go along with the plan? B) Refuse - Should Villain report the infraction?

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #villain whumpee #gilded cage #choose your own adventure #choose your own whump #hero villain whump #hero villain prompt

[kosmossolarus]

Benefits of Solar Panels 2021

A Residential Solar Panel In Fort Worth board is a gadget that is utilized to assimilate energy from the sun to create heat or by and large power. It is additionally alluded to as a photovoltaic cell since it is made of numerous cells that are utilized to change over the light from the sun into power. The solitary crude material for these sunlight based boards is the sun. it is made so that the cells point toward the sun to empower most extreme ingestion of the sun beams. The more noteworthy the energy from the sun is, the more the power that is produced. Sun based boards are utilized in many properties on the planet because of their numerous geniuses that are definitely more than cons. A portion of these stars are talked about beneath.

One vital benefit of utilizing sunlight based boards is that they don't emanate any gases that are normal in green houses. The boards don't discharge any smoke, substance or substantial metals that can be hazard components to human wellbeing. Sun oriented boards are consequently natural cordial when contrasted with consuming of petroleum products to create energy. This is vital since fossil fuel byproducts are hazardous and keeping away from their emanation helps in shielding our present and future climate. Being climate agreeable is significant since the public authority is continually thinking of approaches to control an unnatural weather change and the utilization of sun based boards is an extraordinary method to begin. The sun powered boards thusly keep a perfect setting and they leave the air new. All the more significantly they help in counteraction of numerous disease occurrences. This is on the grounds that a few items from certain wellsprings of energy like thermal power have been said to cause malignancy because of inception of changes in cells.

Also, utilization of sun powered boards guarantees progressing free energy for the individuals who use it. This is principally on the grounds that the lone expense caused is that of establishment. When the establishment has been done the energy is free since the board doesn't need ordinary support or fuel to run it. It likewise requires no crude materials for its activity. It fills in as long as there are sun beams which is something ordinary in many pieces of the world. In our current reality where equivalent appropriation of assets is consistently being looked for, this is vital since each and everybody has equivalent rights with regards to utilization of sun based energy. This is on the grounds that the energy from the sun falls on all. This is a decent method to keep up with uniformity as contrasted and energy from petroleum derivative which low pay residences don't bear as a rule.

There is additionally the benefit in that, the utilization of sunlight based boards empower the decentralization of force. This is vital since it is exceptionally modest. This is primarily on the grounds that when force isn't decentralized, it must be shared by all and is therefore moved to numerous spaces. With this occurrence, there are a lot of costs that are brought about. These incorporate; the mileage of vehicles, the air contamination among others. These expenses are completely fused in the power bills of people as the public authority doesn't cover the costs. It is in this way more profitable to utilize sun based boards as a saving arrangement and to make a feeling of decency since people with significant influence will in general exploit and utilize their situations to steal reserves. This isn't reasonable on the residents' part. This is on the grounds that the greater part of them battle to earn a living wage.

A sun based board can be worked off lattice. This is an extraordinary benefit for the individuals who live in extremely secluded regions or in country locales. Off network implies that the house isn't associated with the state's power framework. This enjoys the benefit of minimal expense since establishment might be pricey for those living in detached regions. These people have their electrical cables detached in many cases because of the way that it is some of the time more expensive for some. Sunlight based boards offer an answer for this since they don't need as a lot to be introduced. Nonetheless, those living in towns can likewise utilize the off-network procedure. An additional benefit in this is that there are no guidelines administering whether one needs to work off-network or on-matrix with regards to utilization of sun oriented boards. This anyway is an issue when utilizing non-renewable energy source created power.

Sunlight based boards create open positions. This is critical since there is an extremely high pace of joblessness on the planet today. These positions are happened through, assembling of the sun based boards, research about additional enhancements, support, improvement and social incorporation. With the proceeded with presence of the sun, these positions are ensured since there is progressing upgrades and change of this gadget. Occupations like support and establishment don't need a drawn out preparing and are thusly more invaluable for the individuals who don't have numerous abilities and are jobless.

Utilization of sunlight based energy is protected from value controls and legislative issues. The way that there are no crude materials that are exclusively constrained by imposing business models guarantees that there is no control of costs just like the case with petroleum derivatives. With non-renewable energy sources, the costs can ascend as high as the hoarding powers controlling them need. There is additionally less seriousness with utilization of sunlight based boards since there is no battle about such things as oil fields and other crude materials. Albeit the public authority has begun resolving the issue of sunlight based boards, there is little impact they can have in value control. This is on the grounds that nobody controls the primary crude material.

There is additionally less natural annihilation with the utilization of a sun based board. This is on the grounds that there are no instances of mining or extraction of crude materials that in the end lead to annihilation of woods and water catchment regions. With the utilization of sun powered boards, there is less of this and thusly there are consistent rainfalls that significantly support creation and subsequently the public pay of every single country. Numerous nations deal with issues of starvation because of annihilation of timberlands to get fuel. This can be forestalled by utilizing sunlight based boards.

There is a benefit of unwavering quality in utilizing sun based boards. This is on the grounds that there is capacity to foresee the measure of sun to anticipate every single day. Consequently one is has assurance of energy. The gadgets are additionally made so that they can ingest sun beams in any event, when there a couple of mists and the sun beams are not exceptionally solid. The sun based energy is likewise sustainable. It can subsequently be utilized endlessly without getting exhausted. Albeit sun powered energy can't be utilized around evening time, it works full power during the day which is critical. The energy can likewise be put away in type of batteries for use around evening time.

Everybody adores some harmony and calm. This is something you get when you utilize sun powered boards. This is on the grounds that they are extremely quiet. There is no clamor that parts with the way that the sun oriented board is there separated from the way that you can see it. This is something worth being thankful for since it makes the climate quiet contrasted with wind and water created power supplies which have moveable parts that are very boisterous and destruct the harmony. Sunlight based boards are hence useful for use for individuals living in domains where hoses are near one another. This is on the grounds that with quiet, harmony is kept up with between the neighbors.

When introducing sun oriented boards, there is no enormous scope establishment required. They along these lines require almost no space to introduce. This is vital with regards to quickly developing districts and towns. The establishment will primarily include a solitary cell to persistently create energy. Henceforth a residence requires a solitary cell. There is in this way no blockage and a proceeded with supply to the appeal of energy. This keeps a decent picture locally since swarming may make the spot less appealing which might keep individuals from moving to the space since everybody needs to live some place they consider wonderful, therefore, utilization of sunlight based boards doesn't meddle with land deals.

Sun powered boards are sturdy. This is on the grounds that there are no moving parts in the gadget. This consequently lessens its opportunity being destructed. It is feasible to utilize a sun powered board for an extremely extensive stretch of time without buying another, contemplates gauge that it can keep going for more than ten years. Such a gadget is valuable since it diminishes the pressure that comes about when a machine quits running since something became lose or exhausted. There is additionally diminished support cost since it is less inclined to wear. This for the most part makes the gadget extremely simple to deal with for an individual with very little abilities in taking care of a sunlight based board.

Many organizations that put resources into sun oriented energy get the benefit of higher benefits. This is on the grounds that they cut back on costs caused in power and the remainder of the benefits are as a rule used to extend the business. This is exceptionally profitable. Measurements show that the organizations that utilization sun oriented boards have more noteworthy returns contrasted with those that utilization different wellsprings of energy. This might be because of the way that power can be pricey and may make these organizations not manage allocate of resources. This is particularly apparent in little or new organizations. There is additionally a benefit that customers get when they get administrations from an organization that utilizations clean energy. This is the way that they can gain admittance to government motivations that are made accessible to these organizations.

Utilization of sun powered boards empowers people and organizations to partake in the advantages of low charges. This is on the grounds that in many pieces of the world, the assessments that are charged are around 30% less when contrasted with utilizing different wellsprings of energy. With all the expenses that one needs to pay for each thing bought, this is an extraordinary chance to lessen spending on charges. Since there is no month to month bill when utilizing a sun oriented board, it makes it tax exempt. When utilizing petroleum derivative energy, this is no alternative since one needs to pay their power consistently which much of the time is vigorously burdened.

Kosmos Solar - one of the best and ultimate local solar installer in Dallas - Fort Worth Texas. If you are looking for the best solar panels in Texas then we are here for you. Get a free estimate from the #1 Solar Energy Installer in DFW area.

[skvaderarts]

Happy Holidays Everyone!

Here’s my yearly Christmas fic if your interested! I love all the art you’ve been posting! Repost with links to your art and fics! Let’s make a thread!

Gathered for Greetings

 I’m going to end up writing a Christmas fic every year, aren’t I? That’s okay. I just hope that next year I’m no literally writing it on Christmas day! Curse you, procrastination!

-~-

When they’d received the invites in the mail, they’d been skeptical.

Togetherness wasn’t something that none of them were used to, but it was something that they were willing to play at, if only because of the simply apocalyptic year that they’d all had thus far. Due to obvious circumstances, the majority of them had little to no experience with planning holiday events, let alone even attending them, but that wasn’t going to stop them from trying. In a strange turn of events, Nero and Kyrie were probably the most well acquainted with how holiday parties worked due to the addition of the orphans a short while back, but even then they had never thrown a party. After all, there weren’t exactly a lot of people they could invite, and they didn’t have a very spacious living area. Try as they might, there was only so much that they could do, especially on their limited finances. 

But there was one unexpected additional point of intrigue that made this particular holiday get together a bit more interesting than it already seemed to be at first glance, and that was the setting that it was set to take place in. That, and who’s idea it was in the first place. Towards the start of the holiday season, V had approached Nero with a very much out of character proposition:

“... I think we should do something this year… at my house.”

Nero remembered looking at him as though he had grown a second head. Had V lost his mind? From what he knew about his generally socially challenged sibling, this particular request seemed like something he’d come up with after a particularly traumatic head injury or as the result of a late-night cheese binge. Was he caught in the middle of some kind of irreverent fever dream?

“Why do you wanna do that? I thought you hated parties.”

V had looked away from him, obviously uncomfortable with the reality that he was now going to have to explain what he was thinking. He’d figured that he’d more than likely have to do that, but that reality did little the quince the feeling of unease that he felt in the pit of his stomach. Voluntary honesty was difficult, especially when it forced him to speak on matters that he could frankly do without digging out of the lower recesses of his mind. He’d prefer to keep his problems buried deep, and this certainly counted as a problem, but he’d brought this up, so he was going to follow through.

“You’re correct, I do… but this is the first time I’ve ever had a family to actually commemorate the occasion with, and as such, the first time I…” he paused for a second, looking down at the floor with an earnest look of sadness.” I’ve never actually celebrated Christmas. Ever. Even as a child. I was hoping to change that.”

So naturally, not being a heartless psychopath, Nero couldn’t turn down such a heartfelt plea, especially from such a close member of his family. It was rare for V to ask for anything, and after the frankly hellish few months they’d had since his resurrection, he couldn’t think of a logical reason to dismiss his idea. He’d had an opportunity once or twice to do something for the holidays once he’d met Kyrie’s wonderful family as a younger child, but the idea of literally never doing anything for it at all… It actually hurt his heart a little to imagine that. Aside from cultural or even religious reasons, how on earth did that even happen?!

That was a question for another day. If his older sibling wanted to have his house destroyed by their extended family, then he was happy to help him in that regard. So in the last days leading up to Christmas, Nero, Kyrie, and Nico had brought the children over and they had spent several long hours decorating, wrapping gifts, and generally trying to keep V from having a protracted anxiety attack from the prospect of having everyone they knew at his house. Planning it was one thing, but actually doing it was another thing entirely, and he’d never been the best at long periods of social interaction. It drained his social battery to even think about it.

“Do you think they’re actually going to come over? Hell, do they even like Christmas? They barely like each other!” Nero shouted down to V over his shoulder as he shrugged and secured the last of the lights over a doorway. He was dead tired of climbing this ladder, and he hoped that the architects that built the place and decided that it needed close to fifteen-foot ceilings were burning in hell right now. But if he ever saw V climb a ladder again, he was going to have an anxiety attack.” I can’t see our old man even being the festive type. Maybe Dante but…”

He shrugged, fussing over the bottom of the gigantic Christmas tree that Lady and Trish had brought over early that morning. Where they had managed to find a real twelve-foot tall tree on Christmas day was anyone’s guess. It was probably Morrison’s handiwork, considering the fact that he’d helped them bring it over in the first place. That man could find ice in hell. Lady and Morrison were in the kitchen with Kyrie and Magnolia. They were helping taste things while the two of them finished up the last of the cooking. V had helped them cook a short while before deciding to turn his attention to the entirely bare tree. Three people in one kitchen was a bit of a crowd, but considering the fact that this had once been Magnolia’s family home, not inviting her would have been extraordinarily unkind. In an ironic twist, he’d managed to find ornaments but nothing to actually put them on. How fortunate that they’d arrived when they did.

Nico and Trish were on either side of the tree, attempting to help him get the last few ornaments on and clean up the bristles that had fallen on the tree skirt. As it turned out, V was actually horribly allergic to pine needles. They made him break out in an extremely itchy rash, a fact that he’d gone his entire life without knowing due to the fact that he’d literally never gone near a pine tree. It made the process of hanging ornaments slow and slightly nervewracking, to say the least. He imagined that this was what it would feel like to try and decorate poison oak.

“I’d imagine that they have mixed feelings about this time of year, to say the least. It more than likely brings up unfortunate memories.” He stepped away from the tree and allowed himself to slump over on the couch. All this standing didn’t agree with him.” Admittedly, I was pleasantly surprised when Dante agreed to come over. Even more so when he called back only a short while later to inform me that Vergil would be following suit. I suspect there was violence involved in that negotiation.”

Trish scoffed slightly, trying and failing not to laugh.” Oh, I’m sure there was. I don’t think either of them like parties. It’s one of the few things they agree on!”

With a relieved sigh, Nero climbed down from the ladder, thoroughly done with hanging things.” Sorry, but those are gonna have to stay up until next year. No way I’m going back up there.”

V nodded, equally tired and ready to get started with the festivities..” Agreed. It is quite a hassle. Thank you all for tolerating my request. It seems that none of us particularly enjoy large gatherings or decorating for that matter. I’m flattered that you would do so for my sake at your own expense.”

Everyone present waived him off nonchalantly. None of them minded on this one occasion. It was a welcome moment of normality in their entirely supernatural lives, and they couldn’t say that those happened very often.

“Yea, well as long as this goes better than that damn beach trip, I think we’ll all be just fine.” Nico said as she walked towards the kitchen with a bag full of pine needles.” Now don’t touch that godforsaken tree again or I’ll skin you all alive. I’m tired of cleaning!”

An awkward silence washed over the room as they thought about that trip. It had been a stressful year, hadn’t it? Between that and Belial… “yea, well if you aim low, you can’t be disappointed, can ya? That’s how I talk myself out of bed every day.!”

They all turned in the direction of the doorway, surprised to see who had spoken. Standing before them were Dante and Vergil, the two of them seemingly taking in the surprisingly festive atmosphere. It had been Lady’s idea to play Christmas music. She’d even brought over wine for the occasion. She was perhaps the most excited person there besides Magnolia and the children who were playing in the next room over with Lucia. Getting the redheaded guardian there in time had been nothing short of a logistical nightmare, but they had pulled it off nonetheless. Even Matier had managed to come over for the occasion, no doubt surprised to be invited in the first place. There were still a few stragglers who would be coming later on such as Patty, but the number of people who had agreed to come in the first place was enough for V.

Much to their collective surprise and disbelief, V actually laughed at that statement. It was a sentiment that he honestly had to agree with. It was rare that V actually agreed with Dante on something so wholeheartedly, but this was one of those occasions.” You make a valid point, Dante. I suppose I’m just glad you both came.”

Dante and Vergil almost seemed flattered by the statement, unsure of what to really say. It had taken quite a bit for them to talk themselves into coming over, but seeing everyone there wasn’t something they expected and as such, they were a little unsure of where to start. But they were willing to try, and that was what counted, wasn’t it?

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all…

Looking notably uncomfortable, Vergil glanced in the direction of the tree. It had been a long time since he’d seen one of those… It brought back vague but vibrant memories he thought he’d lost to the void of despair that was his life a lifetime ago. Perhaps actually attempting to make a few new ones wasn’t such an awful idea after all.

“... Thank you for inviting us.”

With that statement, the entire room fell strangely silent again, everyone collectively surprised to hear Vergil say something so… agreeable. It was a nice change of pace. One could only assume that he was genuinely pleased to be included in something like this, but it was hard to tell. They had no point of reference. But if the barely concealed look of surprised pleasure on Dante’s face was anything to go off of, they had done something right.

It was Nero’s turn to break the silence. He was admittedly starting to get hungry, and he was sure the children were probably driving Lucia insane in the next room. It was actually time to celebrate.” Anytime. Now let’s go eat. Kyrie and V were cooking and magnolia brought over desert again.”

Dante practically teleported into the kitchen.” Well, hell you shoulda started there! Speak up next time!”

Vergil shook his head and followed after him at a much slower pace. He was in much less of a hurry to get to the kitchen. He hadn’t really come there for the food.” At least he’s eating something besides pizza.”

Nero and V nodded in agreement. The holidays were supposed to be about the little things. It was about time they went and enjoyed them. After all, it wasn’t every day that they all got to spend time together without it being a life or death situation. They were going to savor that. Well, that and the food. The food was probably going to be amazing.

-~-

Thanks for reading this little holiday fic that I threw together! You’ll all see how this ties into the main story once we get there in Hirathe. I thought you might like this. Happy Holidays everyone! See you on New Years! I hope next year is a little better!

#Happy Holidays #DMC5 #V #Vergil #Nero #Dante #Lady #Trish #Nico #Kyrie #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #Post Devil May Cry 5 #DMC #DMCV #Post Devil May Cry V #Devil May Cry #Fic #A03 FanFiction #Skvader

[casual-eumetazoa]

i’m a perpetually broke grad student so instead of buying gifts for Christmas and birthdays i write fanfics or short stories for friends. Christmas 2019 i asked my best friend to pick up to three genres for his gift story and he told me political drama + classical literature + self-help. i added steampunk sci-fi to that and took that as a challenge...

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

A Yule Anthem

(or how to end the monarchy and overthrow the government in twelve* simple steps)

a memoir by Erasmus Waynard Smith, a once royal circuit keeper

 *

Season’s greetings to you, dearest reader. Although I have no way of verifying this, it is quite likely that you are starting this book on the dawn of a Yule, as this is the date my memoir is set to be released. If that is the case, then happy holidays! I wish you all the best. May the spirits of old Earth guard you and support you in all of your endeavors in the upcoming cycle of the Suns.

It is with an unsteady hand that I begin this story, for I have never intended for it to be heard. Indeed, the book you are projecting onto your cornea as of this very moment would not exist if it wasn’t for the efforts, diligence, and, if I may be so frank, stubbornness of a certain someone.

Thirteen months ago, you see, I was approached by Theodosia Pruce – a talented and perceptive lady from the distant, exotic shores of the planet Zanzibar. Miss Pruce was the one who convinced me to put my memories into words, for the sake of future generations. And although I do not give as much as half a bitcoin for the future generations, I was, nonetheless, swayed, by the most generous offer of a personal mansion on a resort world and a fully paid pension for the rest of my physical existence. And so, I am sitting here now, a tall glass of rapidly cooling Roomas juice by my side, and a touchscreen quill pressed tightly in between my fingers, trying to jolt my memory and produce exactly as many words as I was asked for, not a word more, not a word less.

Conveying all the truth and nothing but the truth about these events is an earnest challenge for me. I am an old man of a hundred and fifty now, dearest reader, and 2237 seems centuries away from the present. Back then, I was a young lad of hardly forty, and my mind was full of foolish desires, far-reaching ambitions, and cotton candy. I worked as a royal circuit keeper in her majesty’s planetary servers - a skillful but simple and honest occupation - and, like so many before me and around me, dreamed of preposterous things. Dreamed of success, and money, and love, and a glorious revolution…

Lean back, dearest reader, adjust your mindscreen settings, and let me bring you with me on a trip to the past and tell you how to accomplish what I have somehow accomplished.

step 1: identify your project

This story begins on a dark, uneasy, snowy evening, on the first day of Yule of 2237. The shifts down at the factories and the river banks were rolling to the end, and the work hours just came to a close for all the royal employees. I – your faithful servant – had only about arrived at my usual spot, the Drunk Mongoose pub, when a roar of thunder shook the ground and shattered the glass in the liquor cabinet.

-The forecast didn’t say no thunder snowstorm. -  Said my best friend Arabella, as she fell down into a lumpy seat beside me. – I left Boy outside. If he will get struck by lightning again, I’ll never get the money to replace his burned-out batteries.

-Chill. – I advised, and took a generous sip of my drink. – It don’t seem to be a big one.

As if to disavow my word, the thunder crashed again, with twice as much strength this time. It pulsed through the floor, crackled in the walls and shook the roof above our heads.

-I ain’t likin’ it. – I whispered.

The lights and sounds of the pub were starting to flicker.

-Same. – Arabella retorted, clutching the rackety table with utmost strength.

Side by side, we watched as every single candle and kerosene lamp in the building lingered and died, blown out at once by a rush of electromagnetic wind. A low, irritating murmur reached my ears, and I realized that the entire holographic engine must have gone caput. For the second time this lunar cycle.

-Not again! – Came the exasperated moan of Octavius, the pub owner.

I sighed, and forced myself out of my seat, intent on helping the man with the machine.

-The entire network’s down. – Arabella informed, pointing at the blank projected screen of her pocket watch. – I’m so sick of this, Ersh. They’d promised to fix this back during the wet season!

-Sick of the government? – Yelled some drunken gentlemen from the other side of the pub. – Sick of his majesty’s empty promises?

-Yeah! – Another random visitor of the establishment supported the man enthusiastically.

-Well big mood, I tell ya. – The first man snorted. – Everyone hates them, but ain’t no one gon’ do a thing about it. So get back to your work.

Now I cannot put my finger on why that simple remark had such a profound effect on me… Was it the man’s voice, so full of despair and apathy and subdued anger? Was it my own exhaustion, the quiet rage at the thought of coming back home by foot, through the howling thunder and snow, in the absence of a sky bus? All in all, something must have short-circuited in my mind, as a sat back down, looked Arabella in the eyes and said, in a voice most confident:

-You know what? Let’s overthrow the government.

 step 2: define goals and objectives

On my way home, I was drowning in feverish frenzy, drunk without wine and hopeful beyond reason. Oh, for how long I have dreamt of this! Many a morning I have spent imagining what it would be like to live on a planet fair, unburdened, free from the thralls of corrupt government and incompetent king. I knew that I wanted it, and I knew that every one of us wanted it, and, somehow, despite all common sense, I knew that I could do it.

I stumbled out of the pub and wondered on unsteady feet towards the docks. The snow swirled and raged around me, and my blurry eyes struggled to focus on my surroundings. I stopped at the slope of the northern canal and gazed into the clouded sky, feeling the snowflakes land on my eyelashes and the wind slash my face. I cannot tell you why, dearest reader, but I felt so utterly happy.

-How much for an uber these days? – I announced cheerfully as I approached the line of carriages waiting by the canal.

-Three fifty for a mile. – Echoed one of the drivers – an older lady, who was stroking the head of a white, shabby-looking horse.

-Steep. – I whistled, and swung myself into the carriage. – Hampton Hall please, down at the cross of Richmond and Westby.

She nodded at me, and pushed the minute counter switch. One word to the horse, and I could hear the sound of its metal hooves striking against the cobblestone. I half-sat, half-laid in my seat, staring at the hole-ridden ceiling of the carriage, and listening to the sounds of the dreaming city.

‘Alrighty then’, I thought, pulling out my notebook. It had hardly any charge left, so the bleak night mode would have to suffice.

“Tasks for tomorrow”, I noted down, and drew a flower on each side of the line. “Destroy the government from the inside. Make King Edmund step down from the throne. Profit”.

 step 3: define tasks

It was only at noon next day when the realization of what I just committed myself to hit me like a bolt of lightning. I was enjoying my Roomas (the good kind – they don’t grow it right anymore) with my colleagues at the servers, and suddenly it dawned on me – I was going to take this planet apart, bit by bit. So powerful that was, so profoundly terrifying, that I had to excuse myself and sit in a locked bathroom stall, wheezing, my heart pounding in my chest. A few girls and a man must have heard me, as I was asked repeatedly whether I was okay.

I was not, but I was going to be.

I went straight home after the workday was over. I forced myself to gather my thoughts, and look rationally at this situation. This task, though ambitious, no doubt, could surely be accomplished. I knew this planet, knew it through and through. I knew politics too – it was the first thing I ever studied in university, and I hated it, I’ll admit, but it was useful nonetheless. All I needed was to sit down, think it through, and draft a plan.

And that is precisely what I did.

 step 4: build your team

We met in the abandoned park by the lakes at dawn the next morning. The air was bity with cold and static electricity, and the seven of us could not help but shiver as we walked towards our gazebo. It was buried underneath a thick layer of snow, and I laughed as Arabella pretended to push the fluffy heap onto my head.

-Good morning, everyone. – I greeted, inviting them inside before myself.

-Skip to the important bit, please.  -Arabella yawned, and took her seat at the table.

-Fair enough.

I took a deep breath in and gazed upon my freshly assembled crew. Arabella, a fellow circuit keeper and the fastest hacker I have ever met. Ambrose, a talented but not extensively successful journalist. Cecilia, an up-and-coming politician herself, but currently a secretary to one of the most famous politicians on the planet. Wilhelmina, a social media manager with hundreds of contacts at her fingertips. Josiah, an artist and designer, currently one of the official dressmakers to the king. Euphemia, a policewoman in the past, now a social activist and respected public figure. Matthew, a writer and a poet, who happened to be the lover of three separate government figures, all of different genders, all filthy rich. And me, a humble sysadmin with a dash of organization skills and arrogance to spare.

-Esteemed guests, - I said, and paused to clear my throat, - you all know why we are here. Now allow me to explain to you exactly what we will do.

 step 5: create a timeline

-This is flippin’ insane, Ersh. – Wilhelmia exclaimed, glaring, and I was forced to shush at her.

-Quiet. – I reminded, and she swallowed hard, remembering that anyone in the building was at liberty to overhear us.

The upcoming revolution was now two days old. On the surface, we continued to lead normal lives, working, complaining, gossiping, and counting the minutes to the end of the shift. In truth, we were right in the middle of action. Meeting all over the city – in undiscovered pubs and inns, in unguarded computer cellars, on the rooftops of nuclear boilers, and in the dead-ends of dark alleyways. We communicated over quantum radio and made sure to burn all of our transmissions after every call. We were brave, and vigilant, and determined, above all else, to bring this to a close as soon as possible.

-But that is too fast. – Wilhelmia insisted in a hoarse whisper. – You don’t seriously believe that this will be over before the Yule ends, do you?

-Indeed, I do. – I replied, and had the displeasure of being poked in the ribs. – What’s more, it is the only way to accomplish what we set out to do.

-How so? – She questioned.

-Conspiracies are short-lived. – I elaborated, and shifted in my tight, deeply uncomfortable sit.

The server ventilation shaft was far from a pleasant place to be inside of.

-The longer it goes on, the more likely it is to fall apart. Especially as we begin to bring more people into it.

-But ten days, Ersh! – Wilhelmia repeated. – How would that ever work?

-Simply and elegantly. – I smiled. – Remember, my friend – I am brilliant under tight deadlines, especially when said deadlines are self-inflicted.

Wilhelmia chose not to argue with me – for she knew, deep down, that I was right.

 step 6: adjust your plan accordingly

I did not get a wink of sleep on the fifth night of the revolution. The visions of failure haunted me like vicious yet intangible ghosts, and I tossed and turned in bed until the second moon grazed the sky. Giving up on sleep altogether, I got up, mixed up a glass of dehydrated water, and turned on the radio. I expected to be lulled back into calm by its soft, crackling static – but instead, I had my anxieties validated.

-Thank heavens, Erasmus. – The voice of Josiah erupted from the speaker. – I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!

-What is it? – I asked, and slumped down to the floor, my head dizzy all of a sudden.

-It isn’t working. – Josiah confessed, and I could practically taste his desperation. – Not a tad. He is listening to me, but he doesn’t believe me in the slightest, I fear.

-Okay. – I said, though I was as far from okay as one could be. – It’s fine. – It was not, in fact, fine. – Roadblocks happen. Let’s talk. We’ll think of something, I am sure.

And, unlikely as it was, we did.

 step 7: be flexible

The sixth day flew by so fast; I hardly noticed the night arriving. Eleven pm, and I found myself on the top floor back row of a double-decker, moving smoothly on its set path, the electric engine buzzing and murmuring somewhere far below. Outside, the snow was replaced by a thick fog, with neither of the moons in sight. The bus was almost empty and deathly quiet. I sighed, turned to my left, and met eyes with Matthew.

-How many in total? – I inquired, my voice down, still aware of the potential danger of being overheard.

-Forty-seven. – He informed, and the hint of a smile touched his lips. – Which makes it almost a third of the entire government.

-Not enough. – I shook my head, unsatisfied.

-Not enough? – He pouted.

-Time is not in abundance. – I said, and he looked away, avoiding my gaze. – We need to accelerate. Do you agree?

He sighed, but nodded.

-Good. – I glanced sideways, and drew a spiral on the mist-covered window. – You know what to do, Matthew.

-Yeah. – He said, smirking. – Unleash them memes.

 step 8: communicate with your team

All of us gathered together again on the afternoon of the seventh day, in a tacky, brightly lit and empty tea room. The forecasts mongered another thunderstorm, and the atmosphere was heavy still, but, somehow, it did not bother me in the slightest. I smiled as the maid droid placed a tray in front of me, and the smell of cinnamon and lemon zest reached my nose.

-We’re on the right track. – I proclaimed confidently, and took my acai rice pudding bowl and a steaming hot cup of Earl Gay off the tray. – Cheers.

-Cheers. – The team echoed, and we clanked our china cups together.

We spent the hour discussing the current affairs, congratulating each other, chatting, laughing, and feeling oddly optimistic about the whole endeavor. My step was light as I was leaving the tea room. We had a few challenges ahead, sure – but, overall, everything was going according to plan.

 step 9: address any problems before they occur

Then the eighth day arrived, and, all of a sudden, nothing was going according to plan. News rushed in through the radio one by one; they piled all on top of each other, and right as I was leaving the server maintenance room to enjoy my well-deserved Roomas break. I felt drops of sweat form on my neck and roll down my spine as I scrolled through the message feed of my wristwatch. Nothing terrible has happened so far, I admitted – but it could. So shaky. So many opportunities for it all to go to hell – and in rapid succession. Three seconds later, and I was overtaken by fierce, unwavering panic.

It must have been twenty years at least of sitting in the memory cube closet, hugging myself and trying desperately to remember how one was supposed to breathe, when someone knocked on the door. The first aid droid, I realized.

-I have detected alarmingly high levels of adrenaline and cortisol. – The droid’s voice sounded even sillier than usual, obstructed by the door. – Would the gentlemen like some treatment? I can offer morphine drops or deep brain stimulation.

-No. – I yelled back through the closed door. – No, thank you.

-Very well, sir. – The droid responded. – If you will need me, I’ll be at my re-charging station.

-Yes. Fine. Now leave me, please. – I groaned, and gently bumped my forehead against the wall.

I cannot tell you why, but somehow, that brief exchanged kicked some sense back into my mind. I let go of my shoulders, took a deep breath in, and told myself – “think”. Yes, the opportunities for disaster were plenty. Yes, we were on shaky ground now, even more so than before. Nevertheless, not all was lost. In fact, nothing was lost yet, I realized. You see, dearest reader, the benefit of having anxiety is that you can foresee potential problems and overcome them before they arise.

Fifteen minutes later, I had a solution for every single issue that could occur in the last phases of the plan. I thought about it further over my Roomas (with just a few drops of morphine), then found an excuse to leave the server buildings for a brief pause. Outside, it didn’t take me long to find a kid aimlessly wandering the streets.

-Any spare change, sir? – The kid asked, big blue eyes full of sadness. – I am all out of coins to buy Fortnight mods.

-Just your luck, your little rascal. – I smiled, and ruffled the kid’s curly hair. – I’ll give you a tenner – if you can bring this, - and I handed him a memory stick, - to lady Euphemia O’Malley. You will find her somewhere in the city center, most likely close to the town hall.

-Alright, sir. – The kid said, and snatched the memory stick out of my hand even before I transferred the payment. – I sure will try.

I nodded, said my farewells, and felt completely tranquil at once. Whether it was the effect of having dealt with the problems, or the morphine kicking in, I had no clue.

 step 10: learn to say ‘no’ and accept help

I took a break on the ninth day, knowing that the revolution was beyond my grasp at that point, and all I could do was step back and watch the dominos fall into place. I ended the shift early, and went to the ice rink up at Thatchley Square. It was full of preschoolers and noisy beyond tolerance, which prompted me to push my airpods deeper into my ears. I would take the majestic, sophisticated sounds of Ed Sheeran, Gwen Stefani, and other classics over the offensive modern chaos they played in public places any day.

Half an hour of skating back and forth across the artificial crystalline surface, and my muscles were starting to betray me. I sighed and leaned against the nearest wall to rub my aching thighs and ankles. Alas, I had not been built for physical labor. I was about to leave the rink, when something – no, someone – rammed into me at subhuman speed, making me cry out in shock and stumble backwards into the snow.

-Oh lord, - the someone exclaimed, - I am so sorry!

And I mumbled something incomprehensible in response, for there, in front of me, covered in snow and helping me get up from the ground was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Tall, lean and bright-eyes, she had bubblegum pink hair and a pierced nose and a tattoo of a rose on her neck. And she was staring at me… goodness me, she was staring at me as if she knew me.

-Erasmus Smith? – She asked, frowning, and my face lost all colour.

-Shush. – I said, immediately on guard. – Come to the dressing room with me.

We sat there, talking and drinking those awful food machine concoctions out of cellulose plastic cups, and she told me everything she knew about the revolution, and how she came to know of it. It brought me concern at first, but soon enough it left my mind, for I was told that she had no intention of upsetting our plans. And what’s more, she even wanted to join in – and take it up a notch.

-Out of the question. – I responded immediately, once she had laid out her scheme for crashing the entire political system. – We are not risking the original plan on a dare.

-But… - She protested.

-No. – I shook my head. – We’re sticking to our goals.

-Oh well. – She sighed. – It was worth the shot. Say… can I help you out, at least?

I considered it for a moment, then gave her a singular nod. It made her eyes glow with excitement and pride. Such a stunning smile she had…

-I have a different proposition for you, though. – I found myself saying. – What do you think about going to the holographic theater next week? With me.

-Oh. – She looked away, and a soft shade of blush touched her cheeks. – I’d be honored.

And thus, the exchange was not all in vain.

 step 11: write tomorrow’s task today

On the dusk of the tenth day, all – now as many as fifteen – of us gathered together by the docks, next to the roaring powerplant, where the moons were shining, making the freshly fallen snow glow and sparkle. We drank warm beer, talked, and watched the dodo birds and the pterodactyls play and chase each other on the canal slopes.

-All set to run. – Arabella concluded, after we revised every minute step over and over again. – Shall we?

I paused, took in a full lung’s worth of fresh cold air, and said yes.

We followed the first sparks of the fire on social media, observed as politician after journalist after king’s man turned all against each other, throwing accusations, spilling dirt, and digging political graves for each other – and we thought it lit. I did not wish to stay there at the docks for the entire night, so I brought the meeting to a close.

-One last thing before we go. – I announced, just as the people were turning to leave. – Write down a tweet for me, people.

“All political parties on the planet have fallen apart. The entire government has resigned. King Edmund is stepping down from the throne to marry a commoner. Bitches, let’s party.” I finished, and every single one of us cheered.

 step 12: celebrate milestones and victories

And bitches did, indeed, party the next day – party day and night as the biggest scandal of the century shook the planet to its core. I do not recall where I was for most of the Yule Tide. All I know is that by midnight I ended up in the town hall, which was utterly wrecked and overflowing with people. I came to my senses sitting on the floor, wearing nothing but booty shorts and an undone tie, and smoking weed through a pipe. It was the most splendid party I had ever attended in my life.

-To the revolution! – I shouted it, and half a hundred people – most of whom I have never met in my life – joined in cheerfully.

-All hail Ersh, - Ambrose added, - for without him, this wouldn’t have happened.

-All hail Josiah, - Arabella interrupted, - for if he hadn’t sucked the king’s dick, this wouldn’t have happened either.

-Oh leave it. – Josiah dismissed. – I’ve always wanted to do that anyway.

-When are you gonna tell him? – I asked. – That you aren’t marrying him after all, I mean.

-Well. – He shrugged. – I think I might actually like… do that.

-Wouldn’t that be funny, - Euphemia said, - if Josiah became a prince.

-Anything is possible now. – Arabella pointed out.

-Yeah. – I agreed. – Anything’s possible.

And that’s when yet another crucial realization dawned upon me, and made me instantly sober.

I have accomplished my goal – no question about that. Brought down the government, destroyed the monarchy, did away with every major political party – all like I had imagined. But the more pressing question was – what are we going to do now?

 And here comes *step 13, dearest reader, which no one had the courtesy of warning me about. The step is to ask yourself: what in the name of holy fuck you are doing in the first place, and why.

I advise you to complete this step before all the subsequent ones, for it took me all but twelve days of the Yule to bring my entire planet into chaos, and more than twenty years to carry it out of it and back into order.

Which is why I always say to the young, overly ambitious people who seek my wisdom – before you fuck some shit up, you better come up with a plan of how you will unfuck it – or do not go fucking it up in the first place, my child.

 Signed, Erasmus Waynard Smith.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #original fiction #short story #steampunk #sci-fi #paradox nerd post

[one-of-us-must-be-crazy]

"I can explain."

HERE YOU GO AND I’M NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR IT.

Turns out if I get really sick, light headed, and take cold meds, I’ll write some Explicit Things for you guys.

Enjoy and I’m sorry!

Christopher knows damn well what a ‘micro aggression’ is, he’s lived with this amazing human nearly a year, and they’ve been noticeably a couple in public for three months. He can pick up on small and delicate changes in human mood and social cues, he’s designed for it. Amanda’s teased him more than once by calling him a protocol droid.

But he couldn’t quite grasp the series of small remarks, quips, and too-close brushes against him throughout the day, not until she invited him directly into the shower that night. Oh. Seduction. 

Processors and logic drives burned in him to think that a human found him worthy of that level of want and persuasion, and he appreciated it deeply. Not quite foreplay but a drawn out question of his mood. A drawn out, beautiful prelude of a question of consent, presented by Amanda in various states of dress and amorousness. And she did it for him. 

That was two weeks ago. Not that they hadn’t had any contact during the fortnight, but it had been drowsy on Amanda’s part, gentle and slow–he likes it, it’s a sort of intimacy different from the rough and overt sexuality of some encounters that she’d initiated. Elements of trust, safety, and the implied security that Amanda must have felt to fall asleep next to him when they were done. If he had to choose a favorite form of contact, the slower, sweeter touches were what he gravitated to. His partner on the other hand….

Surely she might be waiting for him to initiate something along those lines now? She doesn’t usually go so long without starting something, or asking him if he wants to start.

Amanda’s in the bath now, and he’d love to join her, but if he does, the heat will make his environmental sensors buzz pleasantly, and he’ll get as close to ‘tired’ as a synthetic can get. And he does like simply….sharing the space with her, sometimes even squeezing in on the same side of the tub so she can snuggle into his chest and doze in lavender bubbles….

But perhaps she’s not the only one who may be a little–on edge. 

He’s been watching her eagerly all day, looking for those minute little signs of dilated eyes, of biting her lip, watching him when he’s unaware. But nothing. Nothing different other than the usual beauty in the curve of body, the smooth muscles of her arms, and the scars across her here and there, the way her tattoos seem so much part of her that she could have been born with them, the contrast of her bright hair and pale chest against that low slung shirt she had on today. the first of the freckles over her heart visible, that constellation he loves to trace with his lips softly before and after giving attention to her breasts, or kissing up her stomach from between her legs, sharp hipbones and too-thin belly that makes him worry she’s not eating enough again.

Gods he could get lost in her. Shape of her mouth as she pouts, not really, it’s just her resting face but it looks so distraught that he finds himself wanting to make her smile even though he finds her distressingly beautiful regardless, her peach lips soft against his artificial skin–his surface fully laced with nerves, adjusting sensitivity to something close to a human, but sometimes, sometimes making it even higher to feel the exact imprint of her lips on his, on his chest, on the ugly ‘scar’ on his back where he had been torn open for make shift repairs on that same trip that gave her so many of her own scars. Her lips around his member, guilt eating at his core becuase she wasn’t getting anything out of this other than a sense of secondhand pleasure. 

The faux muscles of his stomach tense as he recalls the memory of her kissing down them, lightly, lower, and lower, down his shaft to the very tip of his head before her tongue slipped under it and her mouth closed around him.

He could draw her fingerprints from how committed to memory her touch was. 

If she knew the depths to which he adored her she’d recoil immediately, having told him to put a stop to worshipping her, to the hero idolatry but it was impossible to deny it in his mind, that for as short of a time as he was anything nearing sentient, she has been the center of his universe for most of it.

And she’s relaxing in their bath now, and if he doesn’t bloody do something she’ll fall asleep not knowing that he’s been looking for her all day.

“Chris?” she sits up in the bath, no shame between them, her breasts visible from under the foam. “You didn’t even knock?”

“I can explain.”

“Did you want to join me?”

“Not…exactly, I just thought that if you’re in the mood for a bath, perhaps,” he looks for words as he’d rather articulate the art of water droplets sliding down her skin. “You’d like a back rub?”

“A back rub.” she repeated incredulously.

“If you don’t, it’s fine, I only wondered if maybe–”

“No, no. It sounds fantastic, let me dry off first though,” she braces herself against the cool air and stands up. Mechanically he hands over her towel, trying to not look at her as she leans forward to dry her hair first. She’s quite flexible, he’s learned, delightfully, fantastically flexible. 

“Ri-ight.”

“The couch or the bed?”

“What?”

“Back rub. You do mine and i’ll do yours?”

“Sounds fantastic, and…couch? That works.”

“Give me a minute, babe.”

“Of course.”

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“Oh, er, sorry.” he makes a motion to walk away, and when she says nothing else, he keeps going, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt in the mean time. 

“I’m all yours,” Amanda standing, in her underwear and nothing else sits in front of him on their couch, and Samuels has to remind himself that her bra would have only gotten in the way of a back rub and that’s the only reason she hasn’t put one back on yet.

“Right…” She melts across his lap as he gets to work on this thing he’s done a dozen plus times for her, working out knots as she hums softly. Now what, now what to do, she can’t see him, but he doesn’t want to take liberties either, so he starts by trailing lower down her spine.

Or he could just activate one tiny line of code  and she’d feel it with a positive or negative reaction or—

“Amy?”

“Yeah? Don’t stop…”

He doesn’t, but continues talking.

“I couldn’t help but notice that today you didn’t….seem–”

“To notice your bedroom-eyes attempts to seduce me?”

“WHat? No, no! I was–I was going to say that I was watching you and–I wasn’t trying to–oh.. Oh, no. If I’ve done this wrong–”

“Fuck, you’re cute,” she gets up, looks at him as if she was sizing up a difficult broken bit of equipment. “Do you want to keep trying, or get right to it?”

“Well you didn’t–leave much to…”

“I figured it would take you long enough to get just my underwear off,”

“Your confidence in my abilities does wonders for my self image,” he reaches for her, but she inches back. 

“Not yet, keep going. Get me in the mood.”

“But–But your eyes are dilating and your heart beat is–”

“Physically I might be turned on but I mean mentally. You’re cute. Let’s see how much farther you can get.”

“Do…Do I lose if I don’t do it right?”

“No! Chris, if you want to learn this sort of shit, I’ll help but I’m not. I’m not going to tell you, you can’t have what you want until you’re perfect. It’s okay.”

“In that case, take off the pants. I want to see you.”

“Bossy. Works for you,” she starts to wriggle out of them gracelessly, but they’re not on the floor when she looks up to meet his eyes: “Yours too.”

“Only fair,” he pulls his shirt over his head, and pushes down his joggers. Amanda doesn’t ask for him to lose the boxers too, he’s amusingly shy about total nudity outside of their room.

“Now what?”

“Do I have permission first, to do several things in short succession that I don’t…typically do without telling you first?”

“Chris, full flat out hell yes to whatever’s in your–” he at her side, arm under her knees and another supporting her back as he scoops her up in one fast movement, “—mind.”

“I’m going to take you to bed,”

“Okay…” he walks her down the hall and into their room, dropping her softly on the bed; she catches sight of the erection forming beneath the cotton boxers with a grin and a sense that she should have called him out on his randy mood hours ago.

“Now….” he looks much less sure of himself than his voice presents. “Mrs. Samuels.”

“Mr. Ripley.” she leans back onto the bed, looking up at him. He’s tall, but so is she and she doesn’t fully appreciate it enough.

“Do you want….me to do this or,”

“Or what?” she tries, help the poor bastard a little.

“To quote you, would you rather you ‘fucked out my batteries?’”

“Get.” She hissed at him as he gingerly stepped out of his boxers, and turned off the lamp. “Down here….now.”

“Did I do it right?”

“Oh fuck, Chris, either you did or I’m just weak for your cute shit, come here,”

They don’t usually start with him on top of her, but she looks worn out already, and after watching her slide her own fingers into herself and out, he settles a fraction of his weight on her, she’s wet enough that he fills her easily, and she wraps her limbs around him tight as she can.

“So…successful?” he kisses her mouth softly before she can answer, it’s chastity a strong contrast to her clenching around him. 

“Absolutely,” she answers, softly, truthfully, rocking her hips to his to encourage him to start, and when she does she sinks into the pillow, wide content grin, only for moments though as he starts to draw sounds from her throat she’s never heard herself make before she was with him.

#outreotter

[saphsilver]

Inktober Day 28: Companion

Prompt from @ttimemachines​ ‘ Inktober

Voltron: Legendary Defender Happy Ending AU: Fly Me to the Moon

Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars Let me see what spring is like on A-Jupiter and Mars In other words, hold my hand In other words, baby, kiss me

Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for All I worship and adore In other words, please be true In other words, I love you

-By Bart Howard, performed by Frank Sinatra

This is like 4 days late cuz the power went out while I was doing this and it stayed off for days lmao thanks pg&e anyway 

I followed VLD since 2016 and am veeery fond of sheith. As a form of self-care, I decided to completely disregard the existence of season 8 and I daydreamed a  sappy, romantic ending I would’ve liked to see and am accepting as canon. GAY RIGHTS.

In a nutshell, Shiro and Keith get together and live on Earth. But you can’t tie down a space exploring power couple to one planet, so they go off with the Blade of Marmora. In this picture, they’re dancing to Fly Me to the Moon, celebrating their (kind-of) elopement and new life together.

I wrote a rough outline and bolded the main points. It’s long, so if you want to read it, buckle up and hit that Keep Reading!

Picking up from what little I remember of season 7 cuz I watched it the day it aired in 2018:

After the big battle with the Galra, everyone is chillin. Shiro is officially captain of the Atlas and Keith is like hell yeah I’m the Black Paladin! Idk whatever stuff they did to conclude the fight with the Galra, but I guess they did that. 

Idk why they killed Allura, but that doesn’t fuckin happen. Everyone is happy!

They eventually settle into their new roles on Earth with Pidge/Katie working as a head of the tech department with the Holts. Hunk and Lance handle diplomatic/relief affairs. Allura becomes the queen of the Alteans they found with Coran and Romelle as her advisory. The mice are there too.

As admiral, Shiro gets a cool fancy house. So they throw a house party and the gang and some of the cool Earth/Galran/Altean people are invited too. It’s a great party 10/10 and 3 hours in, Lance gets wasted cuz Allura drinks him under the table. Hunk is getting some water while Pidge/Katie is taking blackmail pictures. Coran is still partying with the mice and Romelle.

Keith and his introvertedness has his social battery run out at this point,  so he finds a porch to sigh upon. It takes Shiro exactly five minutes to notice that Keith isn’t coming back yet, so he seeks him out in the big fancy house.

 Shiro finds Keith sighing on the porch or smth and jokes about this being their easiest time finding each other and Keith smiles at this. Shiro has a beer or smth and Keith asks to try it to break the ice. Shiro teases him about being old enough to drink. Then he’s like uh yeah remember the time I was stuck on a meteor for 2 years with my mom?? Fair point. Shiro lets him try it and Keith spits it out cuz it’s nasty even though bruh probably drank swamp water. They laugh and banter about that too.

The mood settles and then Shiro asks about those two years. And about  their lost time. Keith asks if he took any of Kuron’s memories since he’s got a clone body now. 

He does. He remembers it, but Kuron’s memories feel like it’s him, but he’s taken a backseat and is watching himself do things instead of doing them himself. Then Keith asks him if he remembers what he said when they fought. “You said you love me,” Shiro speaks softly as he turns back to face Keith. “Is that still true?”

Finally they talk about their feelings. Like a well-developed couple should. Keith does still love him and says that he always will. Shiro also admits his feelings too. Thought he was fam. Turns out he was bae. They almost kiss, but the Voltron gang interrupts because that’s how it be.

The two awkwardly get dragged back into the party and Lance is recovering okay. Also, he’s been offical with Allura at this point too. Lance teases them about being a couple and Shiro and Keith are internally screaming. 

The party dies down and everyone starts to go home. The Voltron gang is the only few left and they help Shiro clean up. Lance gets benched cuz he’s still recovering. As they clean up, Shiro begins to notice how large and lonely the house is gonna get. He catches Keith before everyone leaves and slips him a key and says he’s always welcome just in case he gets lonely. Or something.... There’s some Shiro head scratching and Keith knows what’s up.

Everyone leaves. Shiro is alone. He tries to get some rest, but the house is too gotdamn big and unfamiliar. Being alone in a large space is not good for a guy with PTSD. He works out. He investigates his house, etc. Bro still can’t sleep. 

Afterwards, he just gives up and sits at his kitchen going like :( at a glass of water. Then the doorbell rings. Who is it? DING DING, It’s Keith!  With a duffel bag! Turns out he couldn’t sleep either. Shiro invites him to join him in the kitchen with his :( water and they talk a bit.

Then they pick up where they left off at the party and finally kiss. One of them asks if the kiss was okay, and the other is like HELL YEAH and so they keep going. It’s really spicy. One thing leads to another and then they go upstairs to Shiro’s large bed. (I’ll leave that to your imagination.) 

Either way, morning comes and Shiro wakes up with Keith in his arm(s). (HELL YEAH) Guess they got REAL official. He asks about the duffel bag. It’s literally everything Keith owns. So like. 3 outfits. And some weapons. Hygeine products. Etc. (Dude is a minimalist.) Kosmo is in the living room or smth. Bottom(lmao) line is, Keith planned on taking Shiro up on his offer the whole time. He literally just left to pack lmao (HELL YEAH) Shiro gives him his own closet and drawers since the room is big. Guess they live together now yeehaw. 

Eventually, everyone finds out they’re official and is like FINALLY and so they continue their lives on Earth with Shiro as admiral and Keith as captain. They sort out the war damage for a year-ish or so and then do whatever leaders do in peace time. Probably train their people idk. Shiro is up to his neck in papers. He’s not really digging it. He enjoys his peaceful life on Earth, but he often thinks about what it would be like exploring the galaxy now that the Galra aren’t a threat.

Allura and Lance get married. Lance still gets those blue marks but idk why. Why not lmao. It’s a big wedding and Lance throws the boquet. Keith catches it. He looks to Shiro and DING DING, the lightbulb goes off. The Altean Queen and King have many babies and they all have the marks too. Happy family. Goofy dad. Badass mum. Gotta rule the new Alteans too. That’s all good. They either live in space or get their own land cuz racism doesn’t exist on this earth. Cuz I said so. Either way, Lance and Allura visit the others often with their kids. Hunk and Pidge are GREAT with kids.

The Blade of Marmora calls. Krolia is like hey wus poppin’ son. Keith tells her he and Shiro are a couple and she’s like oh finally thank god. That guy was the only thing he’d talk about for the two years and like honestly it’d be awkward if they didn’t get together. But also, the Blade of Marmora needs Keith. For a while. Like, at year at least. He has a few days to decide to go with them. Keith’s torn between his people on Earth or his people in Marmora. 

Shiro tells him it’s okay to go. But before that, he kneels on one knee and presents Keith with a ring. An engagement ring!!!! It’s specially designed by Pidge with a one-channel track that won’t get in the way of any signals or whatever, but they can find each other, no matter where in the galaxy each is. (Since that’s been a recurring problem throughout the series.)

Keith goes. Keith Galra Facetimes whenever he can. Weeks pass. Months pass. Seasons fly. Shiro terribly misses his fiancé. Nothing goes terribly wrong since this is the endgame, but Keith is away for a looong time. More than a year. He misses Shiro terribly, but he knows his duty is to the Blade of Marmora, which has become a relief effort and guardians of the galaxy. No talking trees or raccoons, unfortunately.

Eventually, Keith makes his way back to earth. Krolia, Kolivan, Axca, and the other Blades are with him. Krolia has a mother-son moment with him and asks him what he truly wants. Keith wants Shiro, but he also wants the life with the Blade of Marmora. It’s way better than on Earth, (no offense.) Then Krolia asks, “Why not take your man with us? His skill is going to waste at that desk.” And Kolivan is like “Shiro is a man of honor. He will always have a place with us if he so desires.” And Keith is like :0

He tells Shiro to come with him and Shiro’s like :O But he’s got papers! And Duties! And... the ability to train a successor to be Admiral! He gets on it. But low-key. Cuz he doesn’t want everyone to freak out. Like All Might and Deku, but not as life-threatening a situation and no consumption of hair. It’s probably that guy who thought Keith was his rival. Jack? Jacob? James! Or someone else idk. Who’s Curtis? We can sprinkle him in, I guess. Not sure if Hunk would want to be admiral. But either way, Shiro steps down from his position and gives it to someone very capable.

Then the Blades are back on Earth. Keith leaps into Shiro’s arm(s) all dramatically and gay as God intended. Shiro and Keith get married!!!! Everyone is there and it’s such a happy day like wowie.

After the wedding/goodbye party and preparations, the newlyweds announce their leave into space. And they fly off! Shiro is part of the Blade of Marmora. They’re a happy family and visit Earth and Altea whenever they can. Everyone still gets together every year for Christmas or something.

The last scene is the space ship leaving earth with Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” playing. The planets and space stuff fade further in the background. They’re in a field of stars. It cuts to Keith in his uniform holding Shiro, who’s in his earthly clothing and kissing his husband’s hand. A golden ring shines on each of their fingers and they continue to dance. Gosh, they’re so happy and in love. The two never lose each other again.

THE END!!!

#voltron #sheith #vld #voltron legendary defender #inktober #ttimemachines inktober #shiro #takeshi shirogane #keith kogane #shiro x keith #keith x shiro #vld sheith #allurance #fix it fic #fly me to the moon #space gays #marmora keith #Krolia #hunk garrett #pidge #pidge gunderson #katie holt #voltron fanfic #voltron fanfiction #i bolded the main points but it's still long lmao #im really proud of this tbh #no i dont take constructive criticism #im a salty bitch and i will die on this hill #if you read all of this i love u

[maggiemcdesignforchange-blog]

Blog Post 2

The Art of Innovation- Chapter 4

I really enjoyed the content in this chapter. It had a lot of great advice on how to improve brainstorming skills. I appreciated reading this because lately, I feel like I have been in a bit of a creativity block and the skills mentioned in this made me realize that I don’t spend enough time on brainstorming before I move to the execution of a product. I like the strategy of numbering your ideas. Kofi and Eve have always given us a number of ideas to come up with and although this can be hard, it does work to get your brain working and more ideas flowing. A lot of the brainstorming mentioned in this chapter talked about working and brainstorming with a team. This is something I always think about when I am trying to come up with ideas. I feel like the idea generation is not always my strong suite, so I like the idea of working in a team with other people. The “ripple effect” that was mentioned in this chapter is a great way to explain how brainstorming in a group can feel. One person has a good idea that gets the group talking and then more and more ideas blossom from here. Working in a team also helps with good feedback on whether other people think your ideas will be successful or not. In Eve’s design for social change class we have split into 2 teams to work on separate projects. I am in the Morgantown Pride group where we are helping Morgantown Pride with any kind of graphics they need for their events. So far, I have really enjoyed working with other people and hearing their ideas. This, along with the group projects we are about to begin will only be successful if we practice good brainstorming. Nothing is more rewarding when a good idea is executed and turns into a successful product but in these past 3 years almost all of the design work I’ve done has been all on my own.  I am excited to start working with people to see how we can work together to come up with and execute some awesome designs. 

The Design of Everyday Things- Chapter 3&4

Chapter 3

In the very beginning of this chapter, the first thing that stood out to me was the idea that, “when in confusing situations where we don’t know what is expected of us, we arrange things” For example, Norman mentioned that people can organize their environment to support their behavior and that this is a way that non-readers can hide their inability even in situations where their job requires reading skills. I related to this because I am someone that has always struggled with reading. I like to read, it just takes me a longer time to comprehend what I am reading than the usual person. I have figured out that I need pure silence to read. So, when I am assigned to read something I find a quiet place that I won’t be bothered to do so. Trying to read in a noisy place is a waste of my time because I know that I won’t be able to retain any of the information that I read. Therefore, I arrange my situation whenever I know I need to read. 

Close to the end of the chapter Norman explains that constraints simplify memory. He talks about rhyming and how it is easier to remember a set of rhymes than to come up with them. He goes on to explain The Classic Study of Memory for Epic Poetry by Albert Bates Lord. Albert Bates Lord explains the power of multiple constraints which allows a singer to listen to another singer tell a lengthy tale once and then hours later recite the song back. Maybe not in a the same exact message but in their own way. This reminded me of Marc Retting’s presentation in Eve’s class. We had to listen to someone tell a story and then try to recite it back to them word for word. This wasn’t as easy as it seems and it was a test to see how good of a listener you could be. It made me realize that I need to pay more attention when someone is speaking to me and lock what they are saying into my short term memory. Being a good listener can really mean a lot to someone. This also reminds me of a lot of people my age that can listen to a song a few times and memorize every word. I am not one of those people but I always get jealous of them. I am the loser that never knows all of the words and just makes up my own. I guess this is just an example of how people’s memories retain information differently. This chapter had a lot of information on how short-term and long-term memory work. I thought it was interesting that everyone’s capability of retrieving information from their short and long term memory is different.

In the section about natural mapping it was funny to me when he kept mentioning turning on the wrong burner on the stove because I literally do this once a day. I always think that I am an idiot when I am waiting for the water to boil for 10 mins before I realize the wrong burner is on... but now I know this is not my fault! My stove is poorly designed / the buttons are poorly mapped. At least that's what I am going to tell myself from now on! If manufacturers argue on what the mapping of a stove should be then I know it’s not my fault and that this is a common issue. I need to tell my sister this because she makes fun of me for it all the time. Mapping is definitely something important that we will all need to keep in mind when designing our products. 

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 focused mainly on the constraints in the world that are all around us. There are physical restraints, cultural restraints, semantic restraints, and logical restraints. All of these categories offer obstacles in doing things the wrong way which help us figure out the correct way to do things once we figure out these incorrect ways. He goes on to explain how batteries can be inserted the wrong way and goes back to the example of the problems with doors and problems with light switches. These, like many other things cause constraints in our everyday lives. The common problems with these items got me thinking about how many constraints I face on a daily basis like the problem with the stove burners that I mentioned earlier. I also always have issues with microwaves. Every microwave is different and it always takes a bit to figure out how each one operates, why isn’t there a standard microwave design so they all just work the same? Using sound as signifiers was interesting to me too. I liked his example of hybrid cars and how it is an issue that they are too quiet because pedestrians don’t notice them as easily. Too much sound on a product can be irritating, but I think sound signifiers can help in alerting the user that they are using a product the right way, or that the product is working correctly. My old speaker used to  talk to me when it turned on and said, “powering on, you are now paird, enjoy” to let me know that the device is on and my bluetooth connected. It also starts beeping at me when the battery is low. I got a new speaker that doesn’t have the sound signifiers and I don’t like it nearly as much. The sound was a way for me to not think about the product so much and alert me when I needed to do something. 

[yes-supreme-justice-blog]

Open Letter To Forsyth County

FORSYTH EXPOSED

Open Letter

An Open Letter To Forsyth County

August of 2018, a 19-year-old UGA student didn’t return home on time, the overly zealous and dramatic parents of Byron Grogan, contacted the police. The Forsyth County Sheriff’s department, outside standard procedures in a missing person, is reported, initiated a full-scale search effort. Enlisting the help of Park Rangers, members of the community, the media, and even police dogs. Byron was safely found alive when he stumbled into his parents Suwanee home in the wee hours of the night. Forsyth County utilized the best of the best, of their resources when a 19-year-old white resident sent all of his parent’s calls to voicemail. Three months later, Tamla Horsford, also a resident of Forsyth County was found dead, in the backyard of her friends home. Forsyth County then assigns it’s the dumbest investigator to supervise the case, Andy Kalin. Byron Grogan got helicopters, boats, community shock and worry, and even a police dog and all Tamla Horsford got was Andy Kalin. Tamla Horsford was black.

Dear Forsyth County, I have some questions.

I have poured over hundreds of hours of video and social media post, before writing this letter. I wanted to get a better understanding of, what #blacktwitter was calling a murder and a poor attempt at a cover-up, in Tamla Horsford’s death. And like Forsyth County, I spent all that time investigating and I am still not any closer to understanding any of this. But, unlike the Sheriff’s department, I actually proofread my stuff before releasing it.

This subject matter evokes a lot of emotion within my soul. This letter has been weeks in the making, I did not want to get too far off topic or too deep into my feelings when addressing this subject matter. But music has been my outlet since I was a child, it has given me a way to express my emotions when I had no words, it has been the noise I needed when I could not sleep. And music has been the soundtrack of my life. My favorite artist is Michael Jackson, his music moves my feet and my soul’s conscience, with his help, through his lyrics, here is my

Open Letter To Forsyth County.“Carry me / Like you are my brother / Love me like a mother / Will you be there?”

November 4th, 2018 Jeanne Meyers made a call to 911 to report her friend was unresponsive in her backyard. As per her statement, she began to call 911 before even seeing the lifeless body in her yard. What stood out to me the most was her tone, it was flat and had no emotions.

So this is where it gets odd for me. During the 911 call, Jeanne’s voice is, slightly labored but calm, she’s middle-aged and out of shape. She speaks in a very matter of fact tone. Without being prompted, she gives the 911 operator her alibi, which is again, is odd to me. Her friend is lying lifeless, and instead of asking how to help, she’s walking the 911 operator through her version of events. This is called an alibi.

Jose Barrera then takes control of the call and talks to the 911 operator. He introduces himself to her and I am sure they know each other. As if almost on cue, with no prompting, Jose begins to walk the 911 dispatch operator through his version of events. And refers to his girlfriend’s friend, as “the woman we believe to be deceased.”

Looking at her as she lay motionless, probably pacing back and forth, walking the 911 operator through his poorly constructed alibi. Jose continues on, the 911 operator asks him, repeatedly did he assess her, or did he check her pulse? “NO, but I did bend her leg back, and she appears to be stiff.”

During the entire 911 call without “assessing her,” he believes that she is dead, not one of the 4 people present, attempts to provide aid to her when the police arrive no medical personnel accompanies them. No statements are taken that day, her car is driven to her home be police, and aside from crime scene tech taking photos to illustrate how her body was positioned, no evidence was gathered and no statements were made.

According to online training documents that I found online, basic standards for training of Probation officers involves CPR. Jose Barrera failing to administer aid to Tamla Horsford, given his training and employment background and after repeated prompting by the 911 dispatcher is somewhat suspicious

Responding officers, crime scene techs, and the coroner where on scene, but medical professionals were noticeably absent from any of the reports given to open record. By Georgia law, a medical professional has to present to declare a person dead according to § 31–10–16.

As Michael Edward Christian, walks around Jeanne’s backyard and speaking to his pal Jose, he requests that all the guest present who left return. As they do, I am sure he probably trips over his own two feet somehow and notices an inanimate object in the grass, and declares she had a medical emergency from a ground level fall and then succumbed to her injuries a few hours later. Remember Byron Grogan got police dogs, Tamla’s death investigation was done by Michael Christian and Andy Kalin.

“If they say, why, why, tell them that it’s human nature.”

And 2 weeks later, Jeanne produced an email from ARLO stating the batteries in her camera were dying, and they needed to be replaced. And in the forwarded email to Detective Christian, Jeanne alluded that she was not astute enough to know how to replace the batteries in the cameras.

A quick trip to Best Buy and a phone call with ARLO determined this to be a lie. If Jeanne has ever replaced batteries in a child’s toy or even a sex toy, I am sure Jeanne would have been able to change them. She has 3 sons, a boyfriend under 30 and an ex-husband, and none of these people were able to help Jeanne change some damn batteries, I call foul.

From the beginning, this investigation clearly was not a significant concern or important to Forsyth County. “Persons of interest” interviews took place days later including one that happened 3 weeks later. More than enough time for possible corroboration, cover-ups, and lies.

As Jeanne sat next to her aunt Madeline Lombardo, as if she were assisting one of her children with their homework. Jeanne Meyers directed her aunt on what to write in her statement. And while her aunt gave detectives her oral statement during her interview, Jeanne barged her way in yielding gifts in the form of gift cards for the detectives.

“Situation, aggravation / Everybody allegation / In the suite, on the news” “All I want to say is that / They don’t really care about us.”

As I look back on the history of Forsyth County, mainly racism. I wonder did that have any bearing on the handling of this investigation? According to his self-written biography, Ron Freeman started his career over 30 years ago, in 1987. The same year that was plagued with racist counter marches by white nationalist and hateful bigots in robes calling themselves the KKK. Did any of this history have a part in the way this case was handled?

Sheriff Ron Freeman, Judge Jeffrey Bagley, District Attorney Penny Penn, Judge David Dickinson, Coroner Lauren McDonald, and Judge Phillip Smith this letter is too you. You all are elected officials and are in place for two purposes, to serve the citizens of Forsyth County and to protect their constitutional rights.

But instead, you misuse the authority and power you are given in its complete capacity. I will provide you with some examples:

Bagley, Dickinson, Smith, and Penn, you 4 especially Bagley are amongst the top 5 corrupt officials along with Sheriff Ron Freeman. Instead of using the authority given to you to protect the community that has elected you, you instead use it to further create a racial divide within Forsyth County. How many wealthy defendants have you given a “sweetheart” deal too? How many rapist, child molesters, and sexual predators still roam the streets freely because of the “sweet deals” their overpriced attorneys have afforded them?

Seriously how many sexual predators are going to be able to be free of the label of a “registered sex offender” when their probation is done, but their victims will forever carry that burden of pain. You, Judge Bagley, are a despicable round little man, you like the lack as mentioned above any sort of integrity or moral compass. How do you from an ethical standpoint preside over a case that you are friends with the defendant and the attorney. Is that why Frisky Hands Frank Huggins got off with only probation for sexual assault on a teen.

“Tell me what has become of my rights / Am I invisible because you ignore me? Your proclamation promised me free liberty, now /I’m tired of bein’ the victim of shame.”

Ms. Penn how many DUI’s has the sheriff’s office covered up for you now? I lost track when you were required to pay for the damages out of pocket. Can you also explain to me why you love sending blacks to prison? The question, for you, Penny Penitentiary Penn, wasn’t your job as a public defender to keep your clients out of prison, so why did the majority of your cases end up with plea deals that ended in prison? I mean the number alone would make even Dickinson blush.

Dickinson, what about you sir, you old grumpy goat. Why the significant disparity in sentencing and bonds when it comes to black defendants? But you give rich white kids breaks? Like the kid a few years ago who was already on probation for underage drinking, has a serious DUI, kills his passenger and you give him a low bond, and you sentence him on the low end for his offense so he can “enjoy his life” and he will also be able to get his license back? I know you remember Adam Robert Joesph Di Millo. You sentenced him to just 5 years in prison, you gave him a low bond you even let him “stay in rehab” before going to prison. It’s not like in prison he is going to have access to an open bar now is he Dicky?

And you Ronnie or do you prefer to be called Ron? I really could care less. You ran this big campaign hinged upon you’re more ethical, you’re smarter, more qualified, and hell you probably think you are better looking than Piper(no, you’re not). But I hate to tell you bud, the results have come in and that sir, like everything out of your mouth was determined to be a lie. I am not sure if it is because you have low self-esteem and you just want to have friends, and you desire to be liked, or is it you like to have the authority to selectively, administer the law.

Like all of these scandals that are popping up like teenage acne out of your office. Todd Maloney, Chris Barrett, and I hear you may have dug a hole and stuck Ben Finley in it because you don’t want his sexting scandal to get out. Why is it hard for you to be ethical and adequately administer the law. And why are you still friends with Creepy old man Frank Huggins? Why do you sympathize with racist Ronnie? I mean, that’s the reason why you are no longer at the City of Brookhaven, you stuck your chubby little neck out for Chris Shelton after he was fired, right Ronnie? For that photo, he posted of himself online in blackface. That’s the real reason you needed a two-year head start, to start your campaign. Now Chris Shelton is a deputy coroner, who got him the job? The man was fired for having poor judgment in thinking it was ok to be a racist, yet here we are again, and you have re-hired someone who was already fired, and fried for good reason. Ironic how you went on about Piper being dumb and turns out he was quite the opposite. When he fired the 11 of you, Barrett and Shelton included, that was one of the best things to happen to Forsyth County. So

And what do you do Ronnie? You come back and you bring the unwanted guest with you. Maybe instead of acne, you’re more like herpes? You know you were fired, and you and the other 10 rightfully unemployed people went to court on 4 occasions trying to get your jobs back.

And here we are, and no one has been held responsible for the death of Tamla Horsford. Ronnie, can you explain to the people why?

Nichole Lawson

Matt Meyers

Let’s backtrack a little bit there Ronnie back to your campaign. Anna DeBlois was your campaign manager, right? Didn’t her husband Brian give a hefty donation? Stacy and Tom Smith are friends with DeBlois, they are also good friends with you and your wife, right Ronnie? Did this have anything to do with the way Tamla’s case was handled? Brian was one the 11 fired by Piper, he also got creepy Frank the job at Lanier Tech, and he knew Huggins was a sexual predator right? Which is why Paxton forced him into early retirement..

“Tired of injustice / Tired of the schemes Your lies are disgusting / What does it mean”

Ronnie my boy! So let me make sure I got this correct, the Deblois’s are good girlfriends friends with your wife, and the Deblois are really good friends with Nichole and Steven Lawson as well as Stacy and Tom Smith. Jose Barrera and Andy Kalin are also really good girlfriends, back when Andy was employ be the courthouse. Then you brought him over to the sheriff’s department after he helped your campaign, right?

So just off things, I can prove on paper, you and 4 persons of interest have a connection and a friendship, Jose Barrera knows personally at least 75% of the people that work at the courthouse or the Sheriff’s department. Not only that, you got racist Chris Shelton working at the coroner’s office, where Tamla’s body stayed for two days.

So Ronnie, why wasn’t this case turned over? Clearly, there are conflicts. No one within Forsyth County clearly has any ethical values. Penn, Dickinson, and Bagley don’t keep getting re-elected because they are just great people, they keep getting re-elected because no one is running against them. So, this is what I am going to do, I have written an identical letter, with just a little less satire and I have emailed it to every elected official in the state of Georgia. I also have crafted a message to more progressives encouraging them to run. And just like Penny Penn can indict a ham and cheese sandwich, I am sure someone will be able to successfully run against you all ending your corruption and conspiracy.

Truly Yours,

Supreme Justice

www.forsythexposed.com

#forsyth county #tamlahorsford #justicefortamlahorsford #josebarrera #sheriffronfreeman #judgedaviddickinson #judgebagley #pennypenn #frankhuggins #jeanne meyers

[shireness-says]

The Prickly Witch’s Guide to Magic

Summary: Emma Swan tries to keep the witch thing on the down-low. But when a handsome stranger discovers her secret and begs her to teach him magic, Emma finds herself using her powers for good to try and save his brother. ~9.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

A/N: It’s finally here - my @cssns piece! I’m really pleased how this one turned out, and I hope you love it too.

The fantastic fic art up top was put together by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, and will also be posted on her page. Go give her some love - she deserves it! Thanks for the edit, darling, I love it!

Special thanks also go out to my beta, @snidgetsafan; @distant-rose and @winterbythesea, who helped me come up with titles at the last minute; and the great mods for this event, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, and @katie-dub. Thanks for making this such a great event, I’ve loved getting to know folks in the fandom!

Tagging the folks I think might be interested: @branlovesouat, @awkwardnessandbaseball, @searchingwardrobes, @courtorderedcake. If you ever want to be tagged in my stuff, sent me a message.

And a quick disclaimer: my knowledge of anything medical is completely non-existant.

Without further ado: Enjoy!

Emma tries to keep the whole witch thing on the down-low.

It’s not that she’s ashamed – she’s really not. It’s just that if someone’s going to put the whole witchcraft thing into the public eye, it should probably be one of the people who view it as a way of life or whatever, instead of Emma, who tends to treat it as a hobby at best.

The thing is, she wasn’t raised as a witch, and she didn’t really actively seek it out either. She just went into the second-hand bookstore looking for a birthday present for Mary Margaret, and the old, leather-bound tome had just seemed like it was calling to her – like it was there for her and her alone. Like it wanted her more than anyone (with the exception of her best friend) ever had. So she had bought it for nearly obscenely cheap and brought it home.

(She learns later it’s technically called a grimoire, but when she first found it on the shelf, it was just a weird looking old book with a lot of funny illustrations.)

It was just messing around at first. It was pretty obvious the book was about some sort of magic, filled with discussions about the pros and cons of using wands and short biographies of famous wizards (hello, Merlin and da Vinci) and the importance of using as fresh of snake scales as possible for maximum potion efficacity. Emma didn’t take it too seriously right away, but she was finally bored enough to look through it one day, and shocked to find most of the instructions actually worked. At first, it was just little things – seeing if she could turn on the lights (she could), make a grilled cheese appear (she couldn’t, but that’s apparently less about ability and more about obscure laws of witchcraft), clean her dishes (and oh fuck yes she could, this was the best book ever; her apartment would finally be clean and Mary Margaret would get off her back). So spells go pretty well.

And then she got into potions because her cramps were fucking awful one month and she never wanted to go through that again. So she looked through the book and found a potion for curing muscle aches and made up a batch to keep on hand. And the next month, when her uterus tried to kill her again, she tried it as practically a last resort, and it worked. It worked even better the next month when combined with the potion for “intestinal distress” that she found and thought might be good for the bloating (and hot damn, it was).

So Emma Swan, who can barely feed herself, is suddenly using her stove to cook up all kinds of potions – mostly the frivolous ones for, like, shiny hair or ‘an aura of confidence’ or whatever, but still. It counts. The massive soup pot Mary Margaret got her years ago has never seen so much use in its short, somewhat sad life.

And she kind of thought that’d be it – Emma Swan gains a weird hobby, keeps Mary Margaret stocked with all the aphrodisiacs she and David could ever hope to go through. But she’s out and about at a little café one day, and that same sixth sense that led her to the book starts going off again, and that’s how she meets Belle – librarian by day, witch and magical researcher by night.

And then Mary Margaret gets her a fish and calls it her familiar as a joke, and she and Belle keep meeting to try new spells, and it sneaks up on her, just like that, that oh my God she’s totally a witch. Even if Harold the goldfish doesn’t do much more than placidly putter about his bowl instead of helping Emma channel her magic, like she thinks a familiar is supposed to (that is the idea, right? The book wasn’t particularly helpful on that subject).

Things kind of spiral from there. It’s just her and Belle for a while, until Emma has to swing by the library to print stuff one day and finds a woman in there about to hyperventilate because she accidentally froze someone’s water bottle. And even if they haven’t noticed, the woman is still standing there shaking and muttering about this being why she can’t leave the house, and Emma can’t just let that go. So Emma manages to calm the woman down enough to get her into the Bug and back to her tiny apartment, and goes about plying her with hot chocolate made with magically operating equipment (à la Mrs. Weasley, if Emma’s being very honest about how this all looks) in an effort to show her that magic can be controlled and is actually a good thing. And that person is Elsa. Emma and Belle do a lot of research and invite Elsa to all their meetings, and are generally able to help Elsa get her powers under control – especially since so much of the problem was that Elsa thought she was the only person in the world who could do magic and everyone would hate her if they learned of her abilities. In time, Elsa becomes a regular member of their little social/research group.

(It’s especially nice when, after Elsa pulls her life together, she offers to let Emma live in one of the rooms of her old Tudor-style home and just pitch in on the utilities and groceries.)

(Anna still likes to periodically send Emma fruit baskets as a thank you for coaxing her older sister out of her shell, and Emma has never been one to turn down free food, even if the whole thing makes her somewhat uncomfortable. Emma Swan is not great at thanks, ok?)

Belle is the one who meets Regina at an old bookshop, when she actually has to fight her over an old spellbook (a fight that Regina wins because Belle is a total pushover, but what are you going to do). Regina is looking for a new circle after a whole debacle with her previous group – “My batshit crazy sister turned it into some sort of power-hungry coven, and I was not there for that” – and Belle is, again, too kind to say no.

(Never mind the fact that they’re practically becoming their own little coven after Belle moves in to one of the other rooms at Elsa’s, and shit, they really are becoming witches, aren’t they? Clichés and all.)

And they’re good, the four of them. Regina may want them to stretch their wings a bit, get out there and use their magic to effect small changes in the world, but Emma is more than happy with the way things are right now, searching out new texts and comparing notes with other local witches, and finding the perfect spell to extend their rooms to include an ensuite bathroom because that is a priority if Emma’s ever seen one.

But they’re not a coven. They’re just a group of mutual friends - or acquaintances, as the case may be with Regina - who all practice magic, and sometimes get together to do some research. That’s it. It’s like… a weird book club or something. And so what if they sometimes test out some of the more intriguing spells in the house or back yard? It’s not that unusual. And honestly, some of these spell names are so smudged they have to test them somewhere just to figure out what the hell they do.

(Oh fuck, they’re totally a coven.)

Honestly, Emma tries to keep her magic inside the house. That’s not everyone’s strategy; Elsa in particular uses hers out in the world, now that she’s opened an ice cream parlor, which makes sense given where her magical strengths lie. Belle sometimes uses her magic as a research tool at the library, Emma knows, especially when she needs that one specific book that has been reshelved in the wrong place (she’s actually fashioned this impressive computer application that will give her a map showing exactly where it is, which is hella impressive and something Emma thinks they could totally capitalize upon if the magic thing becomes common knowledge). Emma really doesn’t want to know if lawyer Regina is using magic in her profession because that seems pretty unethical. And Emma doesn’t want to be in the middle of it if it’s happening. Better for her to just… not know.

So she tries to keep the magic inside the house, but sometimes, exceptions have to be made. Like when she breaks a heel while chasing one of her skips and it just seems more efficient to create something magical for him to trip over than to keep chasing. Or when the horrible ancient computer in the bail bonds office freezes up again, and she sends a little spark into its ancient guts just to encourage any kind of action. Or any of the multiple things that go wrong with her Bug.

Like now. Standing on the street, staring at a dead battery.

And yes, eventually she will have to get that new battery, but it has been a Long Day, and Emma is tired, and she just wants to get home, dammit, without calling Belle or Elsa to come pick her up. And hey, she does have a way to fix this, doesn’t she?

So Emma metaphorically winds up and lets loose a little burst of magic, just enough to get the old girl running.

Unfortunately, when she steps back, satisfied with the now rumbling engine, she notices she has an audience.

Fuck.

She should have paid more attention, checked the area, but she was so damn tired, and now some dark-haired dude is staring at her with his mouth wide open. Which, granted, is warranted, since Emma just started her car with magic.

As Emma makes eye contact, his jaw snaps shut, and she throws him a look she hopes conveys “Don’t you dare tell anyone, idiot.” It must work, because he nods frantically with wide eyes. She’ll have to take his word for it; lord knows she’s not marching over there to demand a promise and even debating a memory spell feels far too Regina for Emma’s liking.

So with a final look, Emma gets into her car and drives away, trying to forget the whole debacle.

------

The problem is, she can’t just forget it, though not for lack of trying. After taking down her latest skip, Emma gets a few days off of work, finally getting the chance to replace her damn battery and even have a little downtime. But the afternoon of her first day back, when she’s just ready to get into her car and go back home to the creaky Tudor and maybe talk her roommates into takeout, he’s there, waiting for her to show up. The guy from the other day - the guy who saw her do magic, the guy who could probably expose her secret to the world if he felt like it - standing, just leaning against a streetlight right next to her car. And it’s fucking creepy, but Emma can handle herself. She’s got her gun at her hip and a switchblade in her boot and a whole encyclopedia in her head of ways to hit a man and make it hurt.

She’s just paging through her mental catalog for precisely which move she should use to get him to hit the road when he opens his mouth and shocks her.

“Can you teach me magic?” he demands, leaving Emma somewhat startled.

“Excuse me?”

“Magic,” the man repeats. “You have magic, right? Can you teach me?”

He may not actively be a threat, but he has now been reclassified as an annoyance in Emma’s book, which is almost worse. Threats? Emma can deal with threats: shoot them, punch them, kick them in the balls. An annoyance? Well, she still wants to do all that, but can’t find any justification to act on those impulses.

So again, Emma just rolls her eyes, climbs in her car, and drives away.

------

This continues for a week.

Emma will walk out of her building to find the dark-haired nuisance waiting and ready to beg. He always keeps his distance, never makes her feel unsafe, but is a near-constant irritation that she just can’t shake, dammit.

Her week goes something like this:

Monday: Tall, dark, and irritating flashes a grin he must think is flirtatious or disarming or something, starts to say “Excuse me, Miss, if I could just ask you a few questions…” and earns a car door slammed in his face for his trouble.

Tuesday: The annoying bastard comes with bribery this time in the form of a cup of coffee and that same charming smile. Emma gives him another look and drives away without words.

Wednesday: The persistent son of a bitch tries to get personal. “Hi there,” he starts, “my name is Killian Jones, and I was hoping we could talk -”

“Still nope!” Emma tosses over her shoulder before driving away.

Thursday: Emma doesn’t go in because she has an overnight stakeout that evening. It’s a nice break from Killian(noying) Jones.

Friday: He starts to seem a little desperate. He shows up with an honest-to-god hot chocolate and one of those packaged chocolate chip muffins she loves and tries to convince her (“The lady at the cafe said this is your order, and I was hoping to have a word with you…”).

Emma is not convinced, but she does take the muffin and tries to ignore the way his face falls in disappointment that her reaction hasn’t changed. (Even if she is starting to feel a bit bad, there’s no way in hell she’s taking an open beverage from a stranger. She’s not interested in becoming the next installment of Dateline, thank you very much.)

By the time the next Tuesday rolls around, he’s resorted to outright pleading.

“Please, Miss, I am begging you, teach me something about magic.”

Even Emma and her prickly heart are a little moved and intrigued by his desperation and persistence. A little. But the thing is, even if Emma wanted to teach him magic, she can’t. It’s not something he’d be able to just… pick up. You’re either born with the ability or you’re not, and Emma’s been able to tell which, ever since she first picked up the grimoire. It’s like a magic sixth sense or something, an itch under her skin that says all is not as it seems. It’s an itch she’s probably always had - come to think of it, that might have something to do with her lie detector and uncanny talent for tracking down people who don’t want to be found - but ever since she had found the book and delved into the study of magic, she’s suddenly and acutely been aware of that instinct. It’s how she met Belle, it’s how she met Elsa, it’s how she knows that her favorite waitress at the local diner isn’t just what she appears (and why Emma tries to tip extra well at the full moon, because if working with PMS is a bitch, working before you turn into a freaking wolf has to be equally awful). But this guy? This Killian Jones? Emma’s not getting any of her little mental alerts. There’s not a magic bone in his body. And Tuesday is the day she finally snaps and tells him as such.

“I can’t, alright?” she snaps. “Sorry to disappoint.”

But of course, a man as inexplicably desperate as he just has to push, to prod, to refuse to accept her damn answer.

“Well why not?” he demands. “Too busy? Just give me an hour, I’m sure we can figure something out - ”

“Because I can’t teach people who don’t already have magic, you idiot!”

His entire body practically collapses in on itself as he registers her words, and Emma almost feels bad. Almost. Except for the part where he’s been pestering her for a week now.

“You’re a muggle, Jones,” she chuckles humorlessly, before a thought catches her. “Why the hell is it so important that you learn magic, anyways?”

------

She feels like a total ass when he tells her.

Killian Jones, she learns, has an older brother, who is his entire world.

“He’s all I have left,” he chokes out through the tears. Because Liam Jones, beloved older brother of one Killian Jones, has been in the hospital ever since a drunk driver plowed into his car a month ago. There’d been a convenient bus stop nearby with a bench on which they could sit and talk, but Emma finds that he’s having trouble meeting her eye, as if fully facing the woman he’s begging for help means facing the reality of his brother’s situation. “The doctors were able to set the broken bones and fix the internal bleeding, but he won’t wake up. They’re saying things about brain damage…” the sad, dark-haired man in front of her trails off, running a hand through his hair. Emma can’t decide whether the gesture is more absent-minded or distressed. “He’s everything to me. And they’re saying it will take a miracle for him to ever be alright again.” His back straightens, as if with new resolve, and finally fully turns to face her. “Well, I don’t have a miracle. But you have magic, and I thought if you could teach me, that might be enough.” As the memory of her earlier words catches up, he slumps again. “But if you can’t teach me…”

“I can’t,” she interrupts, hating herself for the abruptness as new tears spring to his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I won’t help.”

For the first time, she sees a flicker of hope cross his face. “Yeah?”

Emma nods, once, definitively. “Yeah. Hop in.”

------

“Dinner will be ready soon!” Belle chirps as Killian and Emma walk through the front door of the old Tudor. “I found this mac and cheese recipe in one of the new cookbooks. It’ll probably be our cause of death, but hey, what a way to go - ”

“We’ve got company,” Emma finally cuts in, trying not to chuckle as Killian looks around the entryway with eyes comically wide, like he’s expecting a stack of broomsticks in a corner or something.

(To be fair, there is currently a broom in the corner where the stairs meet the wall, but it’s one of the plastic ones and there because Emma’s a bit of a slacker when it comes to cleaning.)

Belle rushes into the living room a moment later as Emma is still trying to motion to Killian to take off his shoes (technically, she could do it for him, but using magic on unsuspecting people who don’t deserve it is rude). She looks like some picture out of a misogynistic 1950’s Betty Crocker advertisement, with her heels and carefully coiffed hair and a damn apron, for fuck’s sake.

“Company?” she asks a little breathlessly - probably what running around in platform heels will do to you - “You didn’t mention company this morning.” And then, not nearly far enough under her breath to disguise the words, “You never have company.” It earns her a glare from Emma and an even more bewildered look from Killian.

“Yeah, well this wasn’t exactly planned.” Gesturing to the man in question, Emma continues into the introductions.  “Killian Jones, my roommate Belle. Belle French, Killian Jones. We’re helping him.”

Belle furrows her brow. “We? I’d love to help, Emma, but I’m not sure how much I can do to help find your skips -”

“No, not that. Magic. We’re helping him with magic.”

That catches Belle off guard, sending them into several moments of shocked silence, only broken when Killian quietly offers, “If that’s okay with you…”

Belle finally snaps back to attention. “Oh! Yes, of course! Oh Emma, this will be such a good opportunity to finally use these powers to make a difference…”

And they’re off.

------

Elsa reacts similarly to Emma’s sudden pronouncement, and Regina is practically giddy over the phone at the opportunity to finally fucking do something (and someone really needs to talk to her about interacting with people, because this is not the way to go about it). By the time Belle has the goopy macaroni spooned into bowls, they’ve brought down every spell book they own and spread them across the kitchen table.

Belle full-out cries when Killian tells the story again, and Emma knows she’ll do anything to help, what with her tender Disney Princess heart. Elsa’s already pulled out a legal pad to write down all their ideas, and Emma’s actually feeling really confident about this. Regina’s proved particularly good at locating sleeping curses and antidotes (which is, frankly, a little alarming), so that’s what they decide to try first. They all agree to meet at the hospital two days later to test their first batch of potential solutions.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” Killian tells Emma quietly before he leaves, standing by the door and trying clumsily to put his shoes back on while juggling the Tupperware containers of chocolate chip cookies and macaroni that Belle insisted on sending home with him.

It’s the wrong thing to say, at least if he wants a real answer, because Emma Swan has spent her life looking out for herself and never really learned how to react to others’ thanks. She thinks she manages to mutter out something along the lines of, “Yeah, whatever, no problem,” but honestly there’s no telling - she’s too busy shuffling her feet and not making eye contact to really pay attention. He must sense it, because his words change from sentimental to almost business-like.

“I’ll see you Thursday, then? The main lobby at City Hospital, 6pm?”

Emma nods, grateful for the change in subject. “We’ll be there.”

He almost manages a smile. “Wonderful.” And then he’s gone.

(It’s not quite relief that Emma feels at his departure, but Killian Jones just makes her feel off balance, so it’s not sorrow either.)

------

Liam Jones looks rough.

Emma isn’t quite sure what she expected—she is coming to see a comatose hospital patient, after all - but it’s shocking all the same. She can see such a strong resemblance between the two brothers, but his frame looks diminished from a month hooked up to wires and fed through tubes, cheeks hollow and frame slim with an unhealthy, sallow tint to his skin. She can see the hint of a curl in his sandy brown hair, but it’s lank and slicked back. Overall he has the look of a man barely clinging to life, a barely breathing corpse, and it brings what two days ago in the kitchen was a theoretical problem into horrifying reality.

Maybe it’s just the harsh fluorescent lighting inside the hospital, but Emma Swan can suddenly see how awful Killian looks too. There are faint shadows under his eyes, and his cheekbones stand out in stark relief, more gaunt than they ought to be (though Emma does suspect that he always has those handsome, defined cheekbones, but this seems excessive and unnatural). Clearly, the worry over his brother is taking its toll on him.

Killian still tries to stay cheerful, plumping the pillows of a man who can’t tell one way or another and chattering away about “all these lovely ladies come to see you, you lucky bastard!”, but Emma can tell his confidence is wavering.

It’s only now, here at the hospital, that Emma realizes exactly how out of their depth they all are, how out of place to boot. They’re all here at the behest of a man they barely know, trying to help a man they’ve never met. No matter how Emma looks at it, she feels like an imposter, and even worse, a bearer of false hope for a man they may already be too late to help. Killian is trying as hard as he can to bring normalcy to this situation by making one-sided introductions, but there’s an awkward and heavy cloud that hangs over the whole situation.

It’s Elsa who’s the ice breaker, surprisingly, walking up and taking Liam’s hand like he’s anyone else she’d greet  in a meeting or on the street. Emma may have helped Elsa out into the world, but she’s still a retiring sort, shy and nervous about meeting new people. But she’s the one able to take the human, compassionate approach where the rest of them have fallen into the mistake of looking at Liam as a problem to be solved.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Liam,” she says in her soft, matter-of-fact voice. “We’re going to do everything we can to help you.”

And that’s enough to focus their attention and get everyone started.

Emma’s the first up, which is nerve wracking, but she’s the best at healing spells (way too much practice on herself), and they collectively decided that would be the first theory to try. Maybe, if they’re very lucky, this can be an easy fix, and Emma can sort out whatever is wrong with Liam’s brain the same way she would deal with a sprained ankle or broken ribs. Emma isn’t particularly hopeful, but looking over and seeing the trusting look in Killian’s eyes helps.

So she holds her hand over Liam’s forehead, gathers every ounce of concentration she possesses to collect the necessary magic from that well deep inside her, and releases it all at once. And yeah, it creates a nice little glow, but Emma can tell right away that it’s not going to work. She can already feel with her magic that there’s nothing to fix. She’s sure there’s better medical terms the doctors would use, but the closest she can describe it as is a feeling that his brain is stalled, or hibernating. She can help with some of the swelling, but Emma just knows, in a way that she can’t describe, that she can’t make him wake up.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to tell Killian with words about how she’s just failed; one look at her face, and what must be an incredibly guilty look, and he nods resignedly. “Thank you for trying,” he tells her, and that hurts almost as bad as her failure itself - the way he isn’t blaming her.

“We’ve got other things to try,” she adds, whether to remind him or herself still unclear.

And they do. Regina is already stepping forward with a list of spells to reverse sleeping curses, and Emma willingly passes the proverbial baton to allow the other woman a chance to try her solutions. A concentrated blast like she had just attempted is a pure burst of energy, and Emma welcomes the chance to slump into the nearby chair, no matter how uncomfortable, and take a moment to recuperate.

Emma has to admit - Regina is good at these complex spells, where each and every word has to be pronounced just so or it all goes awry. She’s also surprisingly gentle with their patient, brushing his hair back where a gust of magic must have tousled it, and Emma is surprised and gratified to realize that Regina must actually have a heart underneath that terrifying shell.

But even her skilled spellwork doesn’t do it. Liam Jones is still resolutely unconscious.

Back to the drawing board.

------

“I know technically it’s not a sleeping curse, but it’s not like magic is the most exact thing in the world,” Regina says, pacing the front room and blatantly contradicting her many soapbox speeches about how exact you have to be in magic and spellwork. “I was so sure it would work.”

She’s disappointed. They’re all disappointed. It had been heartbreaking to leave Killian with what was still only a shell of his brother, but they’d filed out one by one, Emma the last to leave.

“We’ll find something else that will work,” she says as confidently as she can muster.

“I believe in you,” he says. It’s funny how just those four words warm her heart. “But even if you can’t, I just want to thank you for everything you’ve tried. It’s a lot more than most would have done.”

(And damn if that doesn’t make her all the more determined to find a way to fix this.)

So they’re paging through the books again.

“There’s one here for ‘opening the mind’…” Belle uncertainly offers.

Emma shrugs in return. “Worth a shot. Can’t be any worse than that thing Elsa found about reversing a soul being trapped in the wrong body.”

They’ve made it through the obvious options - healing magic, sleeping curses - so the evening has been taken up by more outlandish suggestions. Light magic used in the wrong context doesn’t backfire, thankfully, so even their more absurd ideas won’t negatively impact Liam.

Emma has just shut one book and is about to open another when there’s a knock on the door. It’s late, nearly 9:30, and as far as Emma’s aware, they’re not expecting anyone (she’d been counting on it, actually, when she’d pulled on her fleece Mario pajama pants and an old t-shirt). But none of them are in the habit of just ignoring the door, so she hauls herself up off the old couch to find out what the hell this mystery person wants.

And (of fucking course) it’s Killian, standing there on the front porch holding a collection of Granny’s takeout bags like some sort of fried food fairy. And of course he looks bashful and adorable, while Emma’s in sloppy clothes and the glasses she never lets anyone see if she can help it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I, uh…” She can see his hand moving like he wants to scratch behind his ear, but he’s got too many bags and a tray of drinks to actually manage the maneuver. “I thought I’d buy you all some dinner as thanks for what you’re doing.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. Very sweet, but unexpected. “That’s, uh.... thanks. That’s nice of you.” She moves to take some of his load, and he gratefully hands her one of the stuffed bags. Emma can already smell the fried goodness, and she is so ready to eat (she may have forgotten to do so in the middle of all this research, a fact Killian undoubtedly knows somehow). Holding half the haul, she stands there, confused and with raised eyebrow, as the man on her porch makes no move to hand over the other half, and then some, of her dinner.

Seeing her questioning look, he smiles sheepishly. “I was hoping to maybe come in? Eat with you? I picked up something for myself as well.”

And suddenly, it clicks. He’s lonely, just like Emma used to be before witchcraft brought so many people into her life. He’d already said it; Liam is his entire world. And without Liam, he’s probably wondering what to do with himself. So she steps aside and lets him in the door.

“I hope it’s alright,” he says, “but I just went to the place down the street. They seemed to know everyone’s orders, so there wasn’t any guesswork.”

It’s more than alright. In fact, Emma’s switched her opinion and he’s clearly some sort of food bearing angel. The other ladies are in similar states of surprise and gratefulness - Regina earns a particularly baleful look for saying “Why are you here?” instead of a proper greeting - but dinner is a welcome distraction from their hours of research, and Emma is even convinced to give up part of her sprawl on the couch so the bearer of diner food can actually sit down. And then Granny is the saint, because the bags contain everyone’s favorites - some sort of salad and an iced tea for grease-phobic Regina; lasagna and a Reese’s milkshake for Elsa; a burger, loaded fries, and strawberry milkshake for Belle; and Emma’s classic grilled cheese, onion rings, and butterscotch shake. It’s just what they need to refresh their depleted energy, and offers a chance to step away for a few minutes and come back looking at things from a new perspective.

“Can I help?” he asks, halfway through his own bacon cheeseburger, and Emma can’t find any reason to say no. Especially not after he adds, “I’m surprisingly good at research.” This is an all hands on deck type of situation; another pair of eyes would be more than welcome for wading through stacks of dense text and Regina’s weird internet research.

He actually is pretty good at it, they find out. Killian Jones may not have a lick of magic in his entire body, but he’s got a knack for recognizing when some of the weirder wording might be applicable to their goal, like the “cleansing of the mind spell” that’s probably meant as a forgetting tactic or the “jolt of wakefulness” potion they could probably feed into his IV (and that Emma definitely wants to try on some of her stakeouts).

“Thank you for letting me be a part of something,” he tells her at the end of the night, his eyes hinting at meanings she’s not yet ready to understand. So she shrugs it off.

“We’re the ones who should be thanking you. You’re the one who brought us dinner, after all, and then stayed to keep looking at spellbooks. That’s not everyone’s idea of a good time.”

He smiles, a sad little thing. “Maybe not, but it’s an awful lot better than sitting at home, worrying about Liam and unable to do a damn thing.”

And she hates the confirmation that her suspicions were correct, that he’s lonely. But the good thing is, they can do something about the loneliness, because if Emma never had to be alone again after meeting her collection of witches, Killian won’t have to be either. Still, she tries to keep her words as nonchalant as possible. “Well, you’re welcome any time. Belle’s always looking for someone else to fuss over.”

He still smiles, like he can see right through her and knows Emma likes his presence too. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then, in a final maneuver she thinks must be unplanned, if the way his ears turn bright red is anything to go by, he grabs her hand to press a kiss to its back. “Goodnight, Emma.”

And then he’s gone into the night, leaving Emma wondering what the hell just happened.

------

They’re back in the hospital again on Saturday, this time at a more decent hour. Liam Jones doesn’t look any better in the full light of day, and it’s with some alarm that Emma thinks he might be looking worse. She hopes it’s all in her head, that her eye has been prejudiced by the sight of all the hospital equipment, but she can’t help but remember what Killian had said - that the doctors decreed Liam would need a miracle. It’s absolutely crucial, imperative, that one of their attempts work.

Killian is still trying to keep the positive attitude on in front of Liam, but Emma can almost physically see the frayed edges of his optimism. “The lovely ladies are going to try a few more things, Liam,” he says, adjusting blankets. “So hold still, would you?”

There is some progress. The wakefulness potion is a dud, but the spell for opening the mind does increase brain activity, so Emma’s counting it as a slight victory. Even if Liam is still firmly unconscious, Killian is thrilled to see any change in his status. But unfortunately, they still end up having to leave again without finding a real solution.

It’s a pattern that continues over the next two and a half weeks. Emma, Elsa, Belle, and Regina spend every spare moment researching, and Killian will bring them food from various local restaurants or, on a few memorable nights, cook a meal (and Emma doesn’t even really like fish but damn if that baked whatever with the lemon sauce wasn’t the best thing she’s had all year). Schedule permitting, they visit Liam in the hospital every two or three days to test out new potential cures, some with more success than others - the potion for “opening one’s eyes” turned out to do literally that, which resulted in a still unconscious Liam staring at them with unseeing eyes until Killian carefully lowered his lids again.

Killian tries so hard to hold on to hope, but Emma can see the toll this has taken on him. He’s gotten progressively quieter, his shoulders more slumped, the determined fire in his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. The more she sees his optimism fade, the more her own determination grows, until she finds herself pushing to try some of the more risky solutions that the other women are hesitant about, because anything has got to be better than making Killian just watch his brother slip away.

“I don’t understand why you won’t try these things!” she argues one night.

“Well, we’re trying to cure Liam, not cause his demise,” Regina drawls, and somehow that only makes Emma’s anger burn hotter.

“And this is better?” she demands. “Sitting around, just hoping the right solution will fall into our laps? When it hasn’t in the past three weeks?”

Belle, as always, is a voice of reason. “I think if we end up moving into the riskier options, that’s a decision Killian should make, not you, Emma. If that’s what he wants, I’ll be more than happy to try.”

All eyes turn to Killian. He’s been especially quiet and downcast today, only picking at his sandwich and fries. That’s part of the reason Emma’s pushing especially hard for a change in tactics today - it hurts in a way she can’t explain to see Killian like this. But even with so many eyes on him, he just sits there quietly, rolling a French fry back and forth between his fingers and not responding.

“Well?” Emma prods. “What do you think?” If she can just sway him to give it a try, maybe they can make this better, and maybe she can put that smile back on his face, the one he gave her when they first started this endeavor and he was still excited and hopeful…

But something within Killian must break, as he stands up and mumbles something about needing fresh air before he stalks out of the room, the front door banging shut in the distance.

Regina offers her a disapproving look that is, honestly, probably deserved for her actions. “Great job, Emma. I’m sure it was absolutely helpful to piss off Jones when he’s the one whose favor you needed to win.”

Emma glares right back before exiting the room herself, following Killian out to the front stoop and sitting down at his side. He looks a mess, honestly; his hair is all mussed from running his hands through it, and she now finds him clutching his head like he’s trying to block out everything else that’s going on. They sit there for a few moments in silence - Emma gathering her thoughts, Killian seemingly suppressing them - before she finally finds her words.

“I’m sorry for pushing,” she says quietly into the night. “I know this is all your decision, and you shouldn’t do anything that you think isn’t what’s best for Liam -”

“It’s not that,” he says, flapping a hand to wave off her concerns. “I appreciate all you’re doing, really. It’s just…” He trails off, head dropping again before he finally turns back to her and completes his sentence, so quiet she has to strain to hear. “The doctors told me today that if Liam doesn’t show marked improvement by the two month mark, the middle of next week, that he probably won’t ever. And then, I’ll have to seriously consider letting him go.”

Killian’s quiet explanation leaves Emma feeling like there’s suddenly ice running through her veins instead of blood. It’s been obvious from day one how important this is, but now they will have to contend with the fact that they’re running out of time. There’s no words she can say to fix the situation; she can’t even begin to imagine what Killian is going through. All Emma can offer is to take his hand and squeeze it gently, simply offering the comfort of not being alone.

“I don’t know what to do, Swan,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to lose him, but if we don’t do anything, it’ll still happen.” There’s a heavy pause, as he once again stares off into the darkness, lost in his thoughts, before he finds the words to continue. “I trust you, Emma, and I trust your magic. Do you think the best chance to save Liam is in some of these riskier options?”

She’d suggested it out of desperation, but the truth is, she does. They’ve gone through all the obvious and safe answers, so if they’re going to save Killian’s brother, they’re going to have to step outside their comfort zone, try other options.

So she takes a deep breath, gathers all her courage, and replies in as confident a voice as she can muster:

“I do.”

------

Regina and the others take the new direction somewhat better when the marching orders are coming from the man any issues would most affect. There’s still quite a few mentions of “If you’re sure…” but that’s more or less expected, and they continue on all the same.

They’ve really had to get creative now. It’s not entirely unexpected that they start looking for spell combinations that might work in tandem where they’d be ineffective alone, but Belle also starts dabbling in writing new ones herself, taking the useful parts of several different incantations and somehow mashing them together. It takes a skill with languages that Emma frankly doesn’t possess, but she thinks the results ought to be effective, and Belle gets excited talking about the potential for publication if any of them work.

Each of their next several tries is still woefully ineffective. Liam is stubbornly unresponsive, and all the attempts just result in utter exhaustion on everyone’s part. Killian tells Emma over and over how much he appreciates their efforts, her efforts, that he’ll remember that regardless, but they’re all tired and desperate and it’s not working.

Until it does.

It works. It finally all works. Emma is so relieved, she doesn’t have the words to properly describe it. Killian’s belief in her may never have wavered, but Emma’s faith in herself certainly had, and the last days had been plagued with the panic that maybe she wouldn’t be able to save Liam Jones after all, that she’d be forced to disappoint Killian and his beautiful hope. But they succeed.

She’s right, too; solution that ultimately works is so far outside the box that it’s a miracle in itself that they were able to devise its steps. The easiest way Emma can think of it is as the human equivalent of turning the computer off and then back on again: Elsa freezes his brain in stasis for protection, Belle enacts a complicated spell for removing the soul from the body in a shining ball of light before reaffixing it as Regina shocks his heart with a burst of magic like defibrillator paddles. Then Emma’s left to send another glow of healing magic as Elsa removes the freeze, the whole thing topped by a kiss from Killian to his brother’s sleeping forehead - a True Love’s Kiss. It’s a cheesy measure, one that makes Regina roll her eyes, but Belle had argued that it couldn’t hurt.

And it hadn’t. There’s not some ridiculous blast of rainbow light or anything, but the moment Killian’s lips touch Liam’s brow, Emma feels the world settle in a way she can’t quite explain but attributes to magic, to things setting to rights again, to a sleeping soul breathing a sigh of relief.

It’s not like the movies. Liam doesn’t gasp and sit up in bed, eyes flying open in a cinematically dramatic moment. But he squeezes Killian’s hand where it clasps his, and that’s enough to signify drastic improvement.

“Liam?” he asks, so hopefully, and while the elder Jones may still be unconscious, they all watch as his hand tightens around Killian’s. It’s conscious movement at last, and with that realization, the room becomes jubilant, exploding in a chorus of cheers.

There’s hugging and smiling and they may all be tired but Elsa lets out a little joyful screech, and it’s probably a miracle they’re not all kicked out. Somehow, Emma finds herself in Killian’s arms, and he’s smiling that smile again and there are tears in both their eyes and his face is just so close—

—and she kisses him.

It’s not planned, not at all, but her lips meet his and he’s kissing her right back, and God, she could get lost in this if not for the fact—

—if not for the fact that he’s only doing this because she saved his brother.

It’s like a bucket of cold water, that realization, and Emma steps back with wide, horrified eyes to find Killian looking at her with an unfocused gaze.

“Swan—” he begins, but Emma’s not willing to hear where that sentence ends - hear the excuses and the apologies and the buts. Almost before she knows it, she’s backing away until she’s out the door and into the hallway.

And then, Emma Swan runs.

------

She knows she’s really fucked up when even Elsa comments about her desperate exit.

“I know I’m not one to comment on others’ love lives,” she says, “but that was quite harsh, Emma. We might know about all your… let’s say struggles with dating, but the poor boy was just left there in a daze without any idea why you had booked it out of there.”

Emma really hates the picture that puts in her head, of a sad Killian just standing there with that stunned look on his face melting into confusion and disappointment. There’s a shock of guilt that accompanies that vision, but she does her best to push it aside. It was a moment of weakness on both their parts; it didn’t actually mean anything. Killian was undoubtedly just so happy that something had finally worked, which led him to reciprocate… whatever Emma’s excuse is. She’s still not entirely sure. Anyways, it was surely just a one-time thing. Her usefulness to him is effectively over, now that Liam is firmly on the road to recovery; they likely won’t ever cross paths again, now that there’s not any real reason for them to.

Of course, that’s not strictly true. Emma may not be having anything to do with the Jones brothers, and Regina is not enough of a people person to willingly pursue any further friendship without measurable advantage to herself, but Elsa and Belle are much better people who still stop by the hospital with dinner and check up on how both men are doing. It’s how Emma gets updates on Liam’s condition - how he finally opened his eyes and properly woke up two days after their breakthrough, how he’s still tired and healing and a bit out of it, but how the doctors expect him to make a full recovery, against all odds. By all accounts, he’s starting to get antsy, and Emma hopes he’ll be allowed home soon for both men’s sake.

“He asks about you, you know,” Belle contributes, and Emma can’t even pretend to not know who she’s talking about. “Whenever we walk in the room, he perks up for a moment until he realizes you haven’t come with us. Really, Emma, you’re being ridiculous.”

And she probably is. She definitely is. But she can’t get over the fear that Killian isn’t really interested in her, just in what she can do.

The weeks pass by. Elsa and Belle keep inviting her to the hospital, insisting Liam wants to meet her and Killian would just love to see her, but Emma dodges and avoids and works more hours, just to have an excuse not to go.

(She’d tried Mary Margaret at first, who had relished spending more time with Emma until she realized it was an emotional avoidance ploy. And then she’d flatly refused to be a part of it.)

At the end of the month, Liam gets to go home to the apartment he and Killian apparently share, and Emma gets to hear all about it. Elsa and Liam have apparently taken a liking to one another, which has resulted in even more visits and even more updates on all things Jones Brothers and the promise of an actual date once Liam’s well enough to drive them both to a nice restaurant. Emma’s happy for her friend, she truly is - Elsa deserves the world, after everything she’s been through - but it really throws a wrench in Emma’s plans to just never see Killian Jones again. If his brother and her roommate start dating, it’s a little inevitable that their paths will cross eventually, for better or worse.

Their latest ploy - ok, it’s not a ploy, but each invite Emma has to dodge feels like an individual attack on her resolve in some larger evil plan, so she’s sticking with ploy - is a welcome home party for Liam. Emma declines, almost out of habit now - she’ll find work or something to occupy herself, give herself a plausible excuse. The thing is, if she was to show up, it probably wouldn’t be that big a deal. They’d all talk and laugh and have a good time. Elsa’s trying to figure out what flavors of ice cream she’ll bring, and there’s sure to be cake. But Emma’s a wuss, and she might have feelings for Jones, hesitant as she is to admit it. She’s not sure she could take it if she spends an entire night in his company where he treats her as nothing more than a friend or, even worse, some sort of business associate. So she’ll stay home instead, thank you very much.

And she does have plans. They just involve executing a honeytrap on the latest jumper instead of socializing at some party. The problem is, those plans don’t last nearly as long as she anticipates, and Emma finds herself back home at the Tudor much sooner than she planned, sporting a number of scrapes from where she had to tackle her man to the ground outside the coffee shop. She’s barely limped inside and taken off her shoes, flipping through the mail in the kitchen, before she hears the awful dramatic doorbell that some relative of Elsa’s had installed God-only-knows when. Groaning audibly, she hauls herself downstairs again and throws the door open much more forcibly than she really needs to. “Look, I’m really not in the mood for whatever pitch this is,” she begins, fully ready to give whatever door-to-door salesman is bothering her a piece of her mind—

—only to find one Killian Jones standing on her doorstep.

The guilt hits her immediately as his face shifts through sheepishness to shock and then on to anger.

“You are avoiding me!” he accuses, and it takes every bit of willpower Emma possesses not to physically flinch at the words. Even if they are true. “I thought I’d come check on you tonight when you didn’t show, and thought I’d find you sick or working, or any reasonable excuse, but you’re flat-out avoiding me!”

His anger hurts, somewhat, and makes her feel guilty, but at the same time, those are fighting words. And Emma Swan has never been one to back down from a fight. Defenses raised, she shoots back with all the vitriol she can muster, “So what if I am? Most people would get the hint, or figure there’s a reason.”

“Well, as the one being avoided, I think I have a right to know the reason!” he demands, before softening once again, seemingly suddenly aware of his tone. “Look, Emma, it’s just… we kissed. And I thought it was a pretty good kiss,” he adds bashfully, scratching behind his ear in that way Emma has always secretly found adorable. “But then you just… ran off. And have conveniently not shown hide nor hair ever since. Did I do something wrong?” By the end, he’s almost painfully earnest, and Emma feels that knife of guilt dig just that little bit deeper. She still needs to stand strong, to protect herself from heartbreak, but there’s no reason for her to hurt him in the process, so she finally shakes her head, all the while avoiding his eyes.

“What then?” he asks, as gently as the situation allows. “Because I’m observant, Swan, and this? This is avoiding me.”

There’s a pause. A great, big, heavy pause. How do you tell a person the fears of your heart, when the greatest fear in your heart is letting anyone in?

He plows on, nonetheless, in the face of her silence. “I like you, you know?” he says softly, scratching behind his ear again, a tell-tale nervous tic. “I don’t know if that kiss meant something to you, but it did to me. Because I think you’re brilliant and fierce and… I like you.”

“You just like the magic,” Emma mutters. She can tell the moment her words process in his mind because he suddenly stares at her like she’s grown a second head.

“You think I just like you because you can wield magic?” he asks incredulously. He almost looks insulted, oddly enough, and it takes Emma somewhat aback. “Emma, that’s… that’s ridiculous, really. You really thought I only valued your company for what you can do, and not who you are? I mean, maybe at first…” he runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and she’d almost think it was cute, if she wasn’t anxiously waiting for his next words. “But then I got to know you, Swan, and you were much more than that. So brave, and determined, and… honestly, anyone who’s only interested in you for your magic is an idiot, love. You’re so much more than that. Well, and you treat it like some kind of bloody ridiculous hobby instead of the power it probably could be.” Killian laughs at his own joke, and Emma cracks into a slight smile too, unable to resist the sound. “But no, Swan, I find you fascinating for many, many reasons, and your magic is the very least of them.”

Tentatively, Emma meets his eyes, seeking confirmation. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t disappoint, smiling and nodding back at her with a chuckle. “Aye. You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.” His smile is so wide, so full of hope and truth, that try as she might, Emma can’t find a reason to doubt him.

She’s never been good at this part of relationships - making the first move when things are still so tentative and unsure. But she can sense that Killian’s nervous too, can practically feel it rolling off him in waves, and that gives her an unexpected boost of confidence. This doesn’t have to be like magic, be precise and exact or the whole thing will fall apart and your nose probably will turn green. It doesn’t matter how either one of them approaches this, just that they do.

So Emma gathers all the courage she can muster, and steps forward to catch his lips with hers, creating a different kind of magic altogether.

It’s a little bit fanciful (okay, a lot a bit fanciful), but Emma can’t help but feel like there’s an energy that flows between her body and his, between her soul and his, as their lips move together - at first softly and gently, but then deeper, stronger, more passionate as lips open and tongues caress and they both lose themselves in the special magic of a first kiss. Some might call it fate, or soulmates; Emma’s not quite ready to call it anything yet.

(But she very well might be some day, perhaps sooner than she thinks.)

They’re both breathing heavily when they finally separate, foreheads still touching as if connected by invisible threads.

“That was…” he begins, a smile creeping over his face.

Emma quickly interrupts. “If you say magical, I swear to God, I’ll smack you, don’t think I won’t.” She tries to look stern, but honestly, her kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair from where Killian had slipped his hand into her curls probably ruin that illusion.

“Of course not, darling,” he good-naturedly replies with a smile and what she suspects is a suppressed laugh. “Who am I to challenge a witch?”

------

Killian Jones has no magic to speak of.

But he’s a great cook and patient with all the chaos only a house full of witches can conjure up - not to mention, a damn good kisser - so Emma’s more than willing to overlook that fact.

Magic and Killian don’t always mix - he’s particularly not a fan of how Emma sets off the magical equivalent of firecrackers under their bed for April Fool’s Day - but overall, he’s so casual about the whole topic that Emma wants to laugh at herself for believing even for a second that he’d have a problem with any of it.

Things change, of course. Their relationship strengthens and solidifies and eventually relocates to their own place when Elsa decides they could all use a bit more privacy (especially since things have gotten serious between the elder Jones and herself), but their relationship is the constant. That little corner within Emma that hosts her magic simultaneously boils and settles every time she and Killian are together.

Killian Jones couldn’t perform a spell if he tried. But sometimes, curled into his side in bed and feeling her heart glow with happiness as he pulls her just that little bit closer, Emma Swan thinks he possesses his own magic all the same, one born of the feelings they share for one another.

And that’s a witchcraft more powerful than any spellbook.

#cssns #cs ff #my writing #the prickly witch's guide to magic #cs au #witch!Emma