#WHAT WORLD AM I BUILDING HERE. MY OWN PERSONAL HELL?????????

[fireladyofink]

Oh God.. uuhhhh.. been a minute since I tried one of these..

Skipping 1, hate first person, just can't do it, not even read it.

2 is 100% Andlàtkyn. There's some issues here and there but it will always be my pride and joy.

Due to not posting on AO3 (even though I really should be), 3 is mostly ineffective. Except Wattpad has tags. I'd say UTAU, dragons and crossover.

4, lol. Literally. Lately I keep using that (only when texting others) and it's bothering me. I feel like a simpleton because of how much I'm saying that, eugh.

5 I've honestly learned a lot while researching fics. For one, I found out lantana berries are toxic to humans yet taste like blueberries, and I have them growing in my backyard. They're actually my favorite plant! I love their flowers; so pretty, and they have such a uniquely funky smell as well. Part of why I adore them, it stands out so much without being a bad smell. And the leaves have a sort of citrus smell? I love lantanas.

6 I don't know. I've thought about requests due to the money, but I feel like I'd either struggle to start writing it or get carried away with it- or straight up not finish in a reasonable timeframe. Commissions? Like art commissions? Maybe in a few years when I'm more confident in my skills and also somehow have a drawing tablet to properly draw digitally. Something like that.

7 Either or. I love making sickeningly sweet coffee or various different teas.

8 Is honestly hard to decide! Off the top of my head I can think of Dust initially meeting Killer with the hilariously absurd question of "What do you mean you don't have a mouth? How are you speaking right now? Your ass?"

9 Believe it or not it was basically when I first got a phone and commented a short story in the comments of a YouTube video. Someone replied with a suggestion of Wattpad. The rest is history, lol.

10 Off the top of my head I can't think of anything beyond something very specific for the fic I've been thinking about again lately, Ninjagaësia. Only time I've written outside of the UT fandom too, I specifically want to get around to writing that version of Zane more. What I had planned for him is fun as hell. An absolute badass.

11 Lots of comments, votes and people enjoying it. Which, continuing the above mention, Ninjagaësia doesn't qualify for. Pretty unsuccessful, but for once I don't really care.

12 Undertale AU's. I doubt I'll ever leave, either.

13 No. Hell, my ultimate fic of Andlàtkyn was written throughout the later half of highschool. I am technically working on an original story on the sidelines, I call it my worldbuilding project because I'm building up so much lore in this world before I actually touch on the story itself outside of a vague idea. About 60-ish different species of people, including the were-diseases. Last I counted, anyway. I'll be working on it for years, I know it, and I don't mind that either.

14 Comments talking about my fics on said fics. Actual interactions! It brings me joy. 🧡

15 My family is well aware. I don't bring up a lot of details but the last time I went into vague detail with my mother it was over a scene in Andlàtkyn (no direct spoilers) and she interpreted it weirdly and now she teases me by asking if I'm killing babies again! A bit awkward..

16 Actually finishing a damn story. I don't mind the periods of no writing until I get inspired again, but what annoys me is when I can't seem to finish anything. Only ever finished Andlàtkyn. I still have yet to write anything for the sequel to it, either! Zeradelsída is still just a bunch of loose plot points..

17 I am semi successfully writing benevolent eldritch horror. It doesn't intend harm, but it is truly.. horrifying nonetheless. The uncertainty of someone knowing he died, feeling his own heart stop beating, and feeling something OTHER seep inside and force it to start again, pulsing in his veins, fusing with his anatomy, permanently altering both him and itself into something completely unknowable.. I'm rambling. Anyone who hasn't seen my Wattpad, read Awakened. If you don't mind ridiculously long fics, read Andlàtkyn too!

18 I have at least 7 I mostly expect to finish, with at least 4 others just kind of.. there. I don't think I've posted any of those, either. I also have ideas inspired by dreams that I'd love to write down someday, though don't really expect to actually codify.

19 I kind of just don't. I work on different projects as the inspiration hits, take a backseat for a month or so, then come back to either the same project or a different one.

20 Hmmm.. Hard to think of something specific. I'm leaning towards stuff in Andlàtkyn. I don't really have a favorite kiss scene because I don't do romance. I write adventure! Andlàtkyn has some side romance though- not that any of it is my favorite. Platonic stuff, though.. I'd say my favorite is honestly Lust and Alter incidentally befriending each other and becoming venting buddies. It's the cutest thing, their friendship is adorable and wholesome despite the background angst. I didn't write nearly as much of them as deserved.

21 Honestly it's mostly lack of inspiration that I'm pretty sure stems from depression. If I could get an ADHD prescription or depression meds I'd probably be a lot better but like. I am completely broke. So much so that those issues aren't even in the top 10 of pressing problems solved with money.

22 Given I've literally only done it once.. not really. I guess I post it around everywhere I can think of in excitement?

23 That one continuous dream I had that went on over a month centered on a Nightmare that was freshly corrupted. He was honestly so nerdy and adorable despite putting on the brave and mildly "evil" front. The boy. Him. Goddamnit I want to write that at some point.

24 Honestly I can't think of anything for this one.

25 Oh yeah, I can't think of anything off the top of my head but there's a lot I'd like to fix in all of my stories, lol.

26 Kind of? It's a more recent development, did it for Zeradelsída which still has yet to be written, did it for that Ninjagaësia too. A little bit of a broad, even vaguer outline for things I want to happen in Awakened, too? More like events, no particular order or connection.

27 A few of those WIP's that haven't been posted... Okay technically just one. There's also the very first fic I wrote that is subsequently the only one I've ever deleted.

28 Angstiest often coincides with cursed for some reason, so I'll just go with the ending of Andlàtkyn for the Apple Twins.

29 I kind of just.. don't. If I do, I start hating everything, and because I'm not THAT bad at spelling and grammar I think it's mostly fine the way it is.

30 Oh absolutely. It's particularly obvious when one looks at Andlàtkyn, which I wrote over the course of 4 years. Really neat transition, if I ever manage to do it, I'd rewrite the beginning a little to match the rest when crossposting to AO3. If I ever get around to that.

31 Again, Andlàtkyn. That fic is my baby, man. It's so precious to me.

32 Honestly I don't know for this one, which is weird.

33 100% Ink of Awakened. My little boy. I have some friends that would rib the hell out of me if they ever found out, lol. Thankfully the main one doesn't even remember that he has a Tumblr.

34 I was not expecting how hard of a question this is! I thought it was Andlàtkyn, but thinking about it.. I don't think so? It might simply just change depending on which one I'm currently fixated on, but at the moment I think my favorites to get that on is Awakened and Ninjagaësia, second of which already has basically nothing to begin with.

35 I don't have anything, oof.

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[lovesickeros]

Darling: you hate me, it's written all over your face

Reader's resting b*tch face: what?

darling says it just to annoy you lbr. bc no matter how bad your resting bitch face is, the tsaritsa's is worse. darling has had years to learn how to discern the tsaritsa's mood when shes as reactive as a statue.

[the-upside-down-umbrella]

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Summary: After finding out about the seven years Lila and Five spent together, reader walks in to a diner in between all time and space and finds exactly what she didn’t know she was looking for

Warnings: cursing, cheating, anxiety

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The walls were closing in on her. The air in her lungs was poison. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only see the tender look that Five and Lila shared. A nightmare.

No, not a nightmare. Reality.

Her name was being repeated over and over but she couldn’t claw her way back to the surface in order to reply. Her knees gave way and she sunk to the ground, the world spinning around her.

Callused hands were cupping her face and she heard her name again. Pleads of forgiveness. Pleads for understanding.

She came to.

“Don’t…touch me,” she snarled, jerking away from the man in front of her.

“Y/N, please, let me explain,” Five pleaded, looking utterly dejected.

Her heart tightened in her chest and for a brief moment, the part of her that still loved him and still wanted to hold on to what they had, ached to reach out and comfort him. But it was quickly dashed by the realization that she was far angrier than she was sorrowful. She hated him. She hated him for making her feel this way.

“Just give her some room to breathe, asshole,” She heard Diego’s angry voice snap from somewhere off in the distance.

“Stay the fuck out of our business,” Five barked.

“You made it my fucking business the moment you decided to fuck my wife and betray Y/N’s trust!”

Five reached out for her again, his hand clasping her forearm as he blinked them away from the chaos. She stumbled, catching herself on a bench as they reappeared in the subway terminal he had brought them to just a few days before. At least, it had only been a few days for her.

“Take me back, Five!” She demanded, rounding on him.

“I need you to hear me out, Y/N,” he said, holding his hands up in defense, “please, just let me explain.”

She was shaking now, palms sweaty and heart beating erratically, “I heard enough, trust me. I don’t have anything to say to you. It’s over, Five. That’s all there is to it.”

Turning on her heel, she set off in a run, desperate to put some space between them. She had no idea how she would get back on her own, but she wasn’t thinking any farther than the need to be away from him. She couldn’t look at him anymore. The pain was unbearable.

She ran until her thighs ached and her lungs burned, forcing her to stop at the top of a dark set of stairs that went down in to what she assumed was more nothing.

She took them anyways.

When she reached the bottom, she blinked in surprise. A lone building stood before her, a neon sign blazoned across the front that read ‘Max’s delicatessen’.

A deli existed between all time and space, surrounded by nothing but dilapidated subway terminals.

She was definitely in an ask questions later mindset because her legs carried her forward without much thought until her hand was reaching out for the door handle.

She stepped across the threshold and every head in the room swiveled to look at her, the entire place falling in to shocked silence.

Her mouth went dry and her heart thundered in her chest as multiple sets of familiar green eyes stared her down. Every patron and every employee of this deli was a variation of her boyfriend. And they were all looking her like they had just seen a ghost.

“I’ve died and this is my own personal hell,” she murmured to herself, rooted to the spot.

Finally, a Five that was sitting in a middle booth stood up, breaking the silence as he waved off his counterparts, “As you were, you animals.”

He made his way over to her and gave her a gentle, easy smile, “You’ll have to forgive them. It’s been years since most of them have seen their Y/N and never in here.”

“You know who I am?” She questioned him as he gestured to his booth, leading her over to sit down across from him.

“Of course I do,” he spoke softly, a tenderness in his gaze that set her face aflame, “We all do. Now, where are you from?”

“Um,” she swallowed hard, not knowing where to start, “I’m from the cleanse timeline? Another apocalypse.”

Another Five, this time with his sleeves pushed up and an apron tied around his waist, appeared before them, sitting a cup of tea and a plate full of her favorite cookies on the table. She didn’t even need to ask how he knew what she would like.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly.

“Anything for the missus.” This Five said, voice laced with longing.

Her companion shooed him away and turned his attention back to her.

“You’ve been crying,” he said matter-of-factly, noting the tear streaks that still marked her face, “what happened?”

“Five, my Five that is, he and Lila…,” she choked on her words, tears pricking at her eyes again as she remembered what brought her here in the first place. She hung her head as her mind replayed the entire scene in Diego and Lila’s living room.

Booth Fives expression darkened as he read between the lines, his fists clenching on the table, knuckles whitening, “I’ll kill him.”

“He and Lila were stuck for seven years,” she explained, “but for me it was only a few hours. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“That’s still no excuse!” Booth Five growled, “Do you know what every single one of us would do to have even just a moment longer with our Y/N? I don’t care how long he was trapped with her, he should have never crossed that line!”

His anger was palpable and she felt the need to reach out and soothe him, her hand covering his own, his fingers relaxing under her touch. She stroked her thumb across the back of his hand and he turned it palm up, interlacing his fingers with hers.

“I’m okay. I promise,” she assured him, “or at least I will be. Can I…can I ask what happened to me in your timeline?”

Pain flashed across his features and she realized she was probably forcing him to relive one of the worst days of his life.

“You…died. The handler put a hit out on you so that you wouldn’t be a distraction. They got to you before I could stop it. You saw it coming because you put up a hell of a fight, but there were too many of them.”

“Oh, Five,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, “I’m so so sorry. I can’t even imagine what you must have gone through.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said, voice distant, “But I still think about her, you, every day. I never thought I’d see you again until you stepped through that door today.”

“I’m the shittiest seer,” she said, lip quivering, “because I never saw any of this coming. And I’m willing to bet that no other versions of me could see what misfortunes were ahead of them.”

“You always did struggle seeing in to your own future. But there’s limits on all of our powers.”

She broke down at those words, feeling more powerless than she felt actually without her powers. What was the point of being able to see in to the future if she was never able to stop any of it? She couldn’t prevent any of the apocalypses in any timeline she existed in. She couldn’t stop the death and destruction that marred every last world that Five had fought for. She couldn’t even prevent her own death.

Before the first sob even escaped her chest, booth Five was scrambling out of his seat and sliding in to the spot next to her, pulling her in to his arms.

“Oh, my darling. My darling,” he cooed, kissing the tears from her cheeks, “None of this is your fault. You are not responsible for any of our unhappiness. You are everything good that has ever come to any of us, my love. Even if it wasn’t meant to last.”

She cried harder, her whole body shaking as he tightened his arms around her.

“I’m going to fix this,” he whispered in to her hair, holding her against his chest as she sobbed her anguish in to his shoulder, “I’m going to make sure that you never feel this pain ever again. You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

And she believed him. He was essentially a total stranger but the way he held her, the way he spoke, was of a desperate man who already went through the loss of her once and had no intention of losing her again.

She felt safe.

Authors Note: Possible part 2? I haven’t been this inspired to write in a long time!

Part 2

[mylovesstuffs]

Could you write where a member of seventeen has a s/o that's like very out of their league like him being an idol and his s/o being like a medical student soon to be a doctor or something very different from each other and what would the members say when they found out lol a lot of teasins hehehe please any member would do!! I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS SO MUCH AGHHHHHH

"You’re Dating a What?!" | Hoshi x Medical Student!Reader ft. SEVENTEEN’s relentless teasing

A/N: AHHH THANK YOU!! I love this concept—it’s so perfect for teasing and chaos! I’ll go with Hoshi because I think he's so perfect for the scenario and I love his reaction lol and the members would absolutely clown him for dating someone so seriou. Also, note that, he's very smart too, alright? Let’s not forget how incredibly smart Hoshi is, especially when you look at how he plays Mafia. Have you seen him in action? His chaotic genius is honestly impressive.

Word count: 432 words

Hoshi had every right to keep you (except Dino) and your profession a secret for months. Not because he was ashamed—God, no, but because he knew exactly how his members would react. And he was right.

The moment they found out that their goofy, tiger-obsessed, choreographer leader was dating a soon-to-be doctor, all hell broke loose.

It happened during a normal group dinner just like every other day. Hoshi had stepped away to take a call and his phone lit up on the table with a notification from you.

“Just finished a 12-hour shift at the hospital. Dead tired. Miss you :(”

The room went silent.

Jun, sitting closest, immediately grabbed Hoshi’s phone, “Hospital?” he read out loud. “Wait, wait—guys, who is Y/N?”

“It’s his girlfriend,” Dino answered absentmindedly, stuffing his face with food. Then he froze. “Wait. Why is she at a hospital?”

Everyone turned to look at each other before Seungkwan gasped, “No way.”

Hoshi walked back in at that moment, completely unaware of the chaos about to unfold. “Hey, what’d I miss?” he asked, sitting down.

Jeonghan leaned forward, a wicked grin spreading across his angelic face. “Oh, nothing, doctor’s boyfriend.”

Hoshi choked on his water that he was about to gulp. “Wha—” silence. “How do you know?!”

Vernon waved his phone. “You left it unlocked. Rookie mistake, professor’s pet.” Cue every single member losing their minds.

Special scene lol.

The Roasting Session Begins

Mingyu: “You—YOU—bagged a future doctor? What did you do, trip in front of her and pretend to be unconscious?”

Dokyeom: “Wait, wait, so while we struggle to read our own contracts, your girlfriend is out here diagnosing diseases??”

Seungkwan: mockingly “Oh no, Dokyeom’s knee hurts from practice. Let me call my girlfriend.”

Woozi: “How did you even meet her? Was she studying in a library and you accidentally walked into the wrong building?”

Minghao: “Imagine working years to become a doctor only to date a guy who yells ‘I’M TIGER!’ for a living.”

Hoshi sat there, absolutely suffering, his face in his hands, “I hate all of you.”

Jeonghan threw an arm around him. “Nah, we’re proud of you, man. Who knew our little performance leader would be dating someone who actually contributes to society?”

Hoshi groaned, knowing the teasing would never end. But as his phone vibrated with another text from you—

“Heading home now. Call me when you’re free, love. <3”

—he just literally just grinned. Let them tease all they want. He was dating the coolest person in the world. And that was a flex.

The end.

Okay, but imagine Hoshi actually dating a doctor—it’d chaotic and adorable. He’d text you with things like “I sneezed, am I dying?” or “I accidentally ate expired ramen, will I survive?” I loved writing this, and if you want a different member, please let me know!! Thank you again for the request—you’re the best!!

[deathmetalangel]

HARDLY SEEMS FAIR

robby keene x fem! reader

warnings: "casual" relationship", swearing, arguments, crying, heavily ldr coded, implied hookups, slut shaming, cheating, angsty

“in what world is that fair robby?"

oke so this is kinda a retconnned chapter from my wattpad book that i'm just extending and making more ambigious instead of clearly x oc. i hope y'all like it tho. i am sorry i have been gone for so long :(

Y/n plays with the ends of Robby's hair. He was laying with his head in her lap while they just relaxed in her room. It was calm, domestic. A small and very rare moment for just the two of them. No outside force would intrude and break their safe haven. There was no what if's that lingered in the air. Nor past resentments that hung over them like an ominous cloud determined to damper their moods. 

It was just Y/n and Robby. And that's all they'll ever be. No labels. She figured that much after the last time she'd brought it up. But she's become so full of him she can't even bring herself to care. She'd rather have what they have now, whatever it may be with him. Rather than risking losing him, and the routine she's started to build around him. 

She hums softly. Her mind far off. "Y/n?" She hymns in acknowledgement without turning her head. "Something happened this weekend."

He was lying. This had been going on for weeks. He had been having doubts for weeks. He'd been seeing her for weeks. "What happened? Another karate fight?" She wasn't the girl who got heartbroken. She was never the second choice. She got what she wanted. And she wanted him, however she could have him.

"I kissed Sam Larusso."

Y/n freezes. Her body betraying her as she tenses up. She has no right, she knows that. They were 'casual'. Just her and Robby. Non-commital.

"I mean big deal right? We were drunk anyways. Just felt bad not telling you. I know were not dating so it's really not your business, but don't worry about it. I mean we've fucked so often what does a kiss even mean?"

A kiss. To her it meant everything. An act of intimacy that they rarley ever shared. So innocent, so pure.

"Get out of my room Robby." Y/n mumbles, her voice above a whisper. The teen sits up from her lap and looks at her incredalously. He was only telling her to keep her in the loop. She didnt have the right to be mad. So why was she making a big deal about this?

"What?"

"You heard me. Get the fuck out of my room Keene."

He furrows his brows in a toxic coctail of anger and confusion. "Why? You can't get pissed at me for this Y/n. We aren't fucking dating. Don't get all aggro on me like you're some psycho girlfriend when you're a friend with benefits at best."

Y/n stands up and pushes the boy out of her room. "Get the fuck out of here Robby! If it didn't mean anything why don't you go fuck her then? Go whine about your mommy issues and daddy issues to her and leave me the hell alone."

"You have some nerve you know that right? Don't act all high and mighty now. You're a whore. Why the hell would I ever actually take you seriously when I can get everything I want without the label or work. You're easy, I could never do that shit with Sam."

Her breath was stuck in her throat as the boy she truly thought cared began to berate her as if she was a random person on the street. The boy she suffered for. The boy that was really never her's to keep. Y/n forces herself to wipe her anrgy tears and push Robby once again.

Y/n's hands were shaky, she desprately wanted to cry. To scream. To give in and give him the satisfaction of getting to her. "Oh so you can come over whenever you want, make me listen to your shitty life, and basically force yourself into my own life, but all that means nothing right? Well guess what Kenne. You kissed her, and she still doesn't want you!" She presses her finger into his chest while her voice level rises. "That same girl is still with Miguel. So just because you wanna jump ship and 'upgrade' doesn't mean she wants anything to do with you. Face it babe, you're just white trash."

"Shut the fuck up Y/n." Robby practically spits back.

"Oh, so you can disrespect me and belittle me in my own fucking room, but when its you its a problem? Grow up Robby. You're a man baby and a hypocrite. In what world is that fair Robby? Maybe in your little made up fantasy where Sam picks you and you leave me for dead. So go stay there. Cause you're sure as hell not welcome here."

Y/n throws everything he's given her at him. Every last peice a memory they shared together. Posters, drawings, braclets, anything that adorned her room. All of it thrown to him and crashing down like victims of a violent storm. Tears streamed down her face as he backed up to her door.

She opens the door for him and grabs his sweater and keys before shoving it in his chest. The boy watches her dumbfounded.

"Stay away from me Robby. Go back to some other slut that can put up with your baggage and shitty attitude for one night stand status. Because I'm done."

He looks at her, but there wasn't the girl he knew looking back at him. Not with how she glared, not with how she stood, and not with how she felt. Her eyes, the e/c irises reflected love, now they were dark. Harbors for her contempt. The grimace on her face was unforgettable. Especially as the last thing he seen before she slammed her door on his face.

Robby swallows the spit in his mouth, a hard lump of guilt not wanting to go down. He didn't think any of this would happen. He wanted her to care, but he didn't want to fight. His temper, his father's god forsaken temper, and his own damned ego.

He wanted what he had with her, with Sam. The girl next door with a rich family and big house. Like something out of a book. Not the girl that did whatever he said for the sake of making him happy. He really did want to just abandon her, didn't he? After everything.

Choking back his frustrations the boy marches down her stairs and lets himself out. He liked what he had with her, but he wouldn't fight for her. Guys only did that for the girl they want.

[redflagshipwriter]

check yes to go on a date w a dead guy ch 4 progress

next chapter here

(masterpost with this story here)

It took a minute for Jason to recover from that realization. He kept the anger he felt off his face. Danny didn’t seem upset about dying young, but that didn’t mean much. It wasn’t an appropriate topic to prod about on a first meeting. He’d get there eventually.

Jason stilled. Ah, shit, he still didn’t have a plan. Just eating together was too short and too boring. He needed to have something better than that.

Fuck, what were they going to do next? 

Jason strained for ideas. What was a good date? Normally, he'd know more about a person before they hung out romantically. 

Well. Actually, normally he hung out platonically with someone a lot before he started to feel interest in them. This was all kinds of backwards: but he didn't want it to end yet. 

“So, uh, what do you like to do?” Jason asked. Masterful. So smooth.

Danny scrunched up his nose. “Lately my afterlife sucks,” he groused. “I am drowning in paperwork and busy stuff.” He slumped over. “I miss being in high school,” Danny sighed. He drew his knees in and rested his elbows on them, then squished his cheeks with his palms. “I guess I used to just hang out, you know?” He shrugged. “Played a lot of video games. I miss that.” 

“Of course,” Jason said, despite never having hung out and played video games in high school. He'd been an overscheduled nerd in junior high school and then been too dead for high school. “That sounds fun. Wanna go back to mine and play something later?”

Danny lit up, blue eyes sparkling in the fading light. “Yes! That would be great.” He straightened his legs and kicked his heels against the side of the building. “Wait, can we do the whole grungy high school hangout thing with pop and chips and dip and pizza and stuff?”

He almost said “we literally just ate”, but what the hell. “We'll hit the store next,” Jason said. He couldn't say no to that face. Look at ‘em. He was so excited.

'Ugh, god. Danny died in high school,’’ Jason realized. He'd already known Danny died young but it still stuck in his stomach like a rock. 'No wonder he misses what he did then. He's interacting with the physical world now but if he died, he probably went to like, dead land immediately.’

But, uh. Video games. He could do that. He kept up a conversation as his mind churned, asking Danny what kind of games he liked.

The thing was, Jason didn't really play video games. He had a console at his place and if he was hanging out with Roy or Dick there, they'd bring a game over. He owned like, two games. 

He considered popping by the store and just buying something. But that would be weird and intense. He'd probably freak Danny out if he went and dropped money on a game just to play with him. 

Ok. Well. He'd get someone to drop off games before he and Danny could get back to the apartment. Jason sneakily got out his phone and strategized. 

Steph? No. Terrible. He couldn't let that girl know he had a date until the poor bastard really liked him for sure. She'd either chase Danny off or somehow orchestrate the two of them getting engaged. 

Tim? God, no. He'd definitely own a lot of games but they'd all be for the PC, and he'd hang around and smirk about Jason meeting up with Danny.

Dick? Too far away, and way too smug. He'd take it as an opportunity to tease.

Oh, wait. He had it. Jason opened up a message to Duke and sent out a quick “I want to bribe you. Homemade pizza? Artichoke dip? Fried oysters???” 

“Did you take a life?????” Duke shot back. Then, “pizza! What do you need?” 

“Get to my place with a bunch of video games that'll work on my tv in less than an hour and I'll make whatever you want.” 

The three dots indicating typing popped up. They stayed there for a weirdly long time. Then, Duke said, “Can I stay and hang out? 🥺”

Adorable little bastard. Jason typed out NO and then hesitated, feeling kinda bad.

“Who's that?” Danny prompted. 

Ah, shit, he was being rude. Jason flushed. “Asking a little brother to bring over a game,” he admitted. “He wants to stay.” 

Danny laughed. “That's adorable,” he announced. “It's fine by me. Lots of games are better with more people, anyway.” 

Well. If that was the case, Jason was fine with it. He sent Duke an OK and then put his phone away before the inevitable “I AM THE FAVORITE SIBLING” fireworks started. 

[sunseed-fandump]

Someone asked for a post with some of my personal writing tips, so uh here I go I guess!

When I'm writing, I tend to follow 5 points. And they're actually really simple!!

Ask Questions

Do Your Research

"How Does It Move The Plot Forward?"

Consistency = Plausibility

Take Notes!!!

Lemme break it down:

1) Ask Questions

And I mean a LOT of questions. Have a little nagging annoying guy in your brain who is always asking you "why?" because 9 times out of 10, trying to answer those questions is going to help a lot in the long run. And occasionally it'll help you circle back to previous answers!

Here's an example that I vaguely recall from another post here on tumblr (alas i don't remember the username and i cannot find it, but if someone finds it please link it in replies!;;) :

"These Vampires have a problem where they can't be out in the day, but they want to stay within this city." "Well, why don't they just live in the sewers?" "They can't live in the sewers because there's vampire eating alligators down there." "Why are there alligators in the sewers?" "A vampire hunting organization trained them and put them down there." "Why did they put alligators in the sewers?" "To keep vampires out."

Boom, simple. Sometimes you only have to go a few layers deep, so don't worry about making complex systems or ten billion years worth of fictional history (unless you really REALLY want to for some reason).

But yeah, ask questions. Annoy yourself with them. It helps develop a lot, not just for story but also for characters! Entire stories can be created by asking yourself a single "What if" question.

What if food started raining from the sky?

What if we lived in a world where people were capable of controlling the elements?

What if a ghost started haunting a school to search for their killer?

Ask questions!!!

2) Do Your Research

I know, I know, "studying??? EW!!" But trust me this is also important. Study the genre(s) you want your story to be. Look at the things you enjoy, things you find interesting. Are you a history geek? Look at historical stories and pull inspiration from that. Do you like sea creatures? Then pop open the dozens of available resources and fun fact websites. Research your genre's common tropes and pitfalls. Look at what you really like about that genre and build off of that. Pull from anywhere and everywhere, even your own personal life/experience! EVERYTHING can be used to fuel the creative fire!

3) "How Does It Move the Story Forward?"

THIS is a VITAL question that you should ALWAYS ask yourself which is why it has its own little category. If you have a scene you feel is stagnant, or slow, or its just not coming to you, then it's probably because the story isn't moving forward. Go back, read it over, and ask yourself "is this moving the plot? is this progressing a character's arc? is this progressing the villain's plan? What is the audience supposed to take away from this? What is the point I am trying to make with this scene?"

Even when it seems like something isn't happening, a story is ALWAYS in motion. Keep that in mind!

4) Consistency = Plausibility

This is mostly for fantasy/sci-fi stories. Anything that has a magical or highly technological system. If Big Billy Jones can pick up a car and throw it at a group of thugs in chapter 3 of your story, then he sure as hell can do that in chapter 24 when he's facing off with Ghuthu'lock the Abyssal Horror. But if you dont WANT Ghuthu'lock going down to a mere mortal vehicular machine, then give him some power or ability that lets him totally negate Big Billy Jones' car flail attack. Don't just make Billy decide to NOT throw the car, when in any other situation he WOULD throw it.

In the funny words of Schaffrillas: "SHOOT THEM WITH THE DEHYDRATION GUN"

5) Take Notes!!!

This one helps a LOT. This will make your life so much easier, especially if you are dealing with a multi-chapter monster of a story. Taking notes will help you keep consistency, will keep your research in line, will help you visualize your thought process, AND with all those thoughts and plot points written down and out of your head, that will give your brain more space for NEW ideas. WRITE. DOWN. EVERYTHING. Even if it's 2AM and you're tired as fuck. If you get an idea, and you're like "Oh that's pretty good" WRITE IT DOWN IMMEDIATELY. Because you are GOING to forget, and/or the idea will NOT be the same the next time you remember it. Even if they're messy, you can organize them later!! Write it all down! Even if its just bullet points! They don't need to be fancy, they just need to get the point across and help you jog your memory!

Take notes!!!

Lastly, Be Willing to Change.

While writing any script, novel, whatever, you will find yourself bouncing around between phases like character creation, world building, plot writing, back to character creation, etc.

You'll be 7 chapters in and realize "i need a new character here" or "i don't like this aspect of the setting and its dragging everything else down..." Hell, an entire story's genre can wind up being changed if you feel the characters would be a better fit for a comedy instead of a drama (or vice versa!)

Don't be afraid to go back and fix it! Nothing is really "locked in" while you're writing! Creating ANYTHING is not a linear process, so be ready and willing to switch gears when you feel like you need to add/take away. Jump around, get messy with it, and most importantly, have FUN!!!

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke selection- Creep - Radiohead

AN: A little more insight on Nancy and her major: Nancy is majoring in architecture. The Landgraabs are famously known for owning land and property- both residential and commercial- and Nancy will eventually operate the part of family business that will allow her to design houses, buildings and other structures in addition to leasing. (Geoffrey comes from a family of doctors but he decided to get a business degree- as he knows this would likely please Nancy's parents)

Transcript under the cut

Siobhan: Think about it, Nancy! Making your mark on this university—on the world—begins with Theta!

Becca: Nice one, you two.

Nancy: They only want me to join their organization because it’ll benefit them. All they care about is money -Ouch!

Geoffrey: [winces] Sorry. Your knees are completely raw.

Geoffrey: They’ve only got as far as knowing your name. If you give them a chance to get to know the real you-

Nancy: There’s nothing to know! Why do you think I had my parents make arrangements so I’d have my own room? I don’t want roommates. I don’t want friends! I just want to do my time so I can-

Geoffrey: Get away, I know...but what if you just take the next four years to have fun? It’s ok to just enjoy it for what it is. Isn’t that what college is all about?

Nancy: [scoffs] Sure, for you. You don’t have the same expectations as me.

Nancy: You can be anything you want. You can join any sports team; you can switch your major a million times if you want to. I have to excel at everything I do, whether I want to or not, and I cannot come out of this a failure. I have to be ready to start working along with my parents the moment I graduate.

Geoffrey: I just want you to be happy. I want you to take care of yourself. Be kinder to yourself. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’re a good person. You’re an amazing person, Nancy. Anyone would be lucky to be apart of your life.

Geoffrey: Does this hurt?

Nancy: Yes. It hurts.

Nancy: You’re too good for me.

Geoffrey: Don’t say that.

Geoffrey: It’s Karaoke night at Tab’s. Bobby and I wanted to check it out. Did you want to go?

Nancy: I think I’ll pass. I should get started on this project for Munch. I want to get ahead.

Geoffrey: If you change your mind, come down and unwind a bit. Have fun. Eat. Ok?

Nancy: Ok.

Geoffrey: I love you, Nance.

[door shuts]

Nancy Narrates: [I’m holding him back. A selfish part of me knows it, but I can’t fathom the thought of losing someone else]

[distant laughter]

Nancy: Heavenly Father, help me to find peace in Your love and wisdom-

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke Pick: Creep by Radiohead I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[crowd whistles and cheers]

I don't care if it hurts I wanna have control

I want a perfect body I want a perfect soul

Morgan: [hums] Upright High Priestess. That’s twice now. Once again, my intuition is being called forth.

I want you to notice When I'm not around

Morgan: My appetite is off. I can’t focus. If I weren’t on the pill, I’d think I was knocked up. So. What does that leave me with? I can almost bet this is all connected to-

Morgan: You! You have something to do with this.

Nancy: [frowns] Do with...what, exactly?

You're so fuckin' special I wish I was special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo

Morgan: Rich Christian girl with walls as high as Berlin stumbles on campus and taps my shoulder. I had a dream the night before that I placed an injured dove back into its nest. I think this is fate. Sit. I’ll do your reading. Free of charge, of course.

Nancy Narrates: [I didn’t know it then, how right she was. About fate. About everything]

What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[critterbitter]

What do you know- I'm trying out the askbox *eyes*

anyway I just wanted to say that high-key I think I'd follow any content you make at this point bc your art brings me so much joy. That doesn't tend to happen super often since i am,,,, very much so a hyperfixation-focused person HAHA

regardless I'm not exactly quiet about it but I adore your art and I look forward to each new time you post :D

I WISH i had the capability of pumping out art like you do bc man while I love to draw and have so many ideas all the time picking up the pencil is Hard Dude.

Also! In a recent post you mentioned the whole Twin Dragons AU and HC that people love to have- I'd be super curious as to your opinion on it!

-( ╹▽╹ )

I SEE YOUR TAGS AND IM.

I’ll have to slow down at some point on that Submas Grind, but the hyperfixation throes are REAL. Thank you for inhabiting the tunnels with me! People that tag and cheer artists on are the real mvps of the art economy.

As for twin dragon aus!

I’ve always seen Emmet as more zekrom esque, and Ingo more reshiram esque. Is it cause the typing matches their starters? Maybe, hehe.

Ultimately though, the guys are too multifaceted for me to easily split them into truth and ideals.

I also see the legendaries as Eldritch Abominations Beyond Understanding, so having the dragons in my iteration become the twins would, uh, have consequences. The funny goofy story would dip into horror territory instead. (Reshiram demands only truths, and anything not Absolute will burn. And zekrom’s ideals are beyond human understanding, and trying to understand the mad tangle of thunder would drive somebody insane.)

(I’m a huge tma fan. Can you see it? Man.)

((Also N’s a scary mofo for summoning reshiram. I’m digging directly into the whole “twin heroes have a civil war and it destroyed unova” backstory that pokemon set up, and the more I think about it the stronger my dread mounts at the idea of Zekrom OR Reshiram casually flying overhead.

But this is also just how I see the legendaries of the pokemon world! Lugia sinks islands. Groudon covers towns. Arceus loves the mortal world, and mourns because its immortality only brings grief. Giritina hates, because it’s the ghostly remains of every one of Arceus’s mistakes given drive, banished into the distortion realm. Normal stuff!)

You sly dog, you got me monologing! But here’s the tldr: Not sure i’ll ever make my own serious Dragon AU that follows my internal world building for pokemon. I’m too attached to my favorite trope: “the smallest people can still initiate the biggest of changes”, and I’m too attached to my other favorite trope: “legendaries are actually gods and you Should Be Frightened.”

So that’s why, in this essay, if the trio gets turned into pokemon, I’d make them route 1 run of the mill rats. Because rats can do whatever they want.

(Plus, patrats and pachirisu aren’t banned from the subway battles last I checked.)

If i had to make a goofy crack dragon au though, I think this would be the result:

The whole story would just be the trio and historians trying to figure out what the hell the twins got turned into, and concerns of other people becoming pokemon as well. So far, people are convinced they’re a paradox version of an archen. (I mean…)

(Alternate take of THAT, where elesa gets turned into a victini.)

[peachy-writings]

PARADOX | Viktor AU Pt. 1

Summary: Reader receives the shock of their life when Viktor essentially materializes into their world, forever altering their version of reality as he tries to get back to his own.

Content Tags: Gender neutral reader with They/Them pronouns (no use of Y/N), Kinda follows S2 Pt. 2 canon, Angsty, Vi and Jayce deceased in this universe, Strangers to Friends?

Note: May become a series, or at least a 2-parter if people like it!

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Sulfur.

That tang has always sprinkled pockets of air in the Undercity, to the extent that those dwelling within barely take notice anymore. Therefore, when you do, it takes you by surprise. You glance around the room, troubled. Had the ventilation system halted? Or worse—had Piltover’s best decided to poison your already polluted oxygen with sewage, or something similarly offensive? And then a sharp, metallic singe punches you square in the nose. So sudden that your eyes squash shut, overwhelmed.

After taking a moment to reorient, you are shocked by the sight of a man scorched onto the coarse floorboards of your shabby homestead. Like a meteor had cannoned through the building, but a cursory glance upward reveals no such destruction.

Even more curious is the man’s appearance; he is a sinewy splat, draped in a white robe, crumpled on his side and perfectly pristine. Despite the edges of his garment and the surrounding space having been kissed with char. Mahogany tresses cover most of his pale face, shifting over sharp peaks as he stirs to consciousness. All the while, you are struck statuesque with bewilderment and a whisper of utter captivation.

How?

Who?

Why?

The stranger groans, a hand coming up to soothe his head that must be pounding from such a sudden entrance. Amber eyes blink open slowly into a squint. Confusion, then some kind of realization has his eyes widening when they meet your own. Your expression must match his as the two of you scrutinize one another, a pregnant pause scribbling the walls of your mind with even more questions that you cannot fathom one single answer to.

“Tell me…” He breaks the silence with an accent that tells you he is a Zaunite, in spite of such an odd appearance for this origin. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” you reply softly, cautiously. And then your walls come up, as though your subconscious punches an internal panic button. No matter how otherworldly this materialization has been, this is still a stranger. “You better explain whatever the hell this is before I manually eject you from my home.”

A nimble hand reaches for the nearest weapon: a knife you’d left out on the counter to be washed. In his direct line of sight, you hold the flat of the blade against your thigh, posed to get rid of any threat quickly and efficiently.

“There is no need for that.” He says your name. Your real, given name. You almost don’t react since it’s been eons since the last time you’ve heard it said aloud. That hand at your side clenches the hilt of the blade—Not in anger, but petrification. “You don’t seem to know me in this timeline. I promise I am not here to hurt you, but to ask for your help. You are the only person I can trust.”

“How do you know my name, and what do you mean by in this timeline?” You take a step backward, bumping into the counter and jolting when the rough surface meets your clammy skin.

“I will answer all of your questions, but first,” he clears his throat. “May I have some water?”

Viktor is the name of your unexpected guest. This is the first thing you learn about him, after he drains two full glasses of water. The second piece of information you glean is that he is a scientist from another version of your world. A version in which you knew one another. In fact, the two of you were co-creators of a scientific breakthrough in his world with Jayce, another man you don’t know. Supposedly, this creation led him to end up here, on the other side of your dining table, looking as if he has been through hell and back.

While it is an interesting anecdote, you still do not trust that he isn’t someone sent by the heathens that haunt your past. How can you even believe something so utterly improbable? Does this man take you as a fool?

“If you are who you say you are, from where you say you’re from, how can I know that? How can I know what your intentions are? That little magic trick was impressive, but if you’re a minion of my father’s, I will find you out and you won’t be leaving in one piece.” You begin in an even tone, but work yourself up to a growl by the time the last words rattle from your mouth.

A small smile quirks the left side of his mouth upward. Fed up, you plant the tip of your knife into the table in the blink of an eye. “Your time is up.”

“Wait! I can prove it,” Viktor sputters, shock widening those gemlike eyes. “You cannot stand the way looking into deep water makes you feel. You have a need to protect those weaker than you, especially if they are children. And one of your dreams is to be able to ride in one of those fancy carriages the wealthy do, no matter how much you despise them.”

Your stomach churns, nauseous from the fact that all he said is true, even the truths that solely live in the back of your mind, never voiced to another soul. He explained himself perfectly— The how, the why, and the who— but you have great trouble comprehending that what he says could be— No, it is true. It has to be, right?

Is he attempting to disarm you so that he can kill you? No. The man could barely stand and make his way across the room to his chair. He is weak. He is begging you for help. And worst of all, he knows another you. That fact makes you feel as though you stand in front of him exposed. He has all of the power, even though you could take him out in seconds.

“What are your intentions?” You finally ask after a good few minutes trapped in lip nibbling thought.

“I am determined to get back to my world, with your help of course.” His tone is so annoyingly matter-of-fact, it brings out some of the bitterness you’ve been attempting to wrangle since he first said your name.

“And how am I supposed to help you? Clearly I’m no big scientist in this world!” Frustration is the way you naturally cope with all of this.

“That is fine, but you still harbor a love for inventing, do you not? Over there.” He points to a shelving unit on the other side of your living space. “That was your favorite creation: A simple device perhaps, but it works as a security system for the community, to warn children and the weak of impending danger. Your city would be left vulnerable without your work.”

That crude little contraption is, in fact, your proudest work. A vaguely cat-like creature that joins two wires when provoked, to make a noise the whole town can hear. To give the people enough of a warning to protect what they hold dear… If only there was someone in your hometown that had such a thought. Maybe you would have ended up in Piltover with your version of Viktor. Maybe things would have been different.

A deal is finally struck after hours of slow conversation. The two of you sit at that table until you can hear his stomach growl, and his expression screams exhaustion. Over a meal you almost burn in your distracted state, you agree to try to help him. But in exchange, he must answer all of your questions about the other version of yourself.

He agrees, of course, but not without a warning that some things are better left unknown. That flying too high does, in fact, come with grave consequences. You can only imagine the horrors those tired eyes have seen. A man beyond his years, steeped in tragedy, from a world that seems a whole lot better than yours. How so? You must know, even if it destroys you.

First thing on the agenda is to get Viktor equipped with a cane or crutch and some regular clothes. You learn of his disability and the impact growing up in the lower levels of Zaun has taken on his overall health. As he tells you more about his life, you wonder if the two of you could have been friends if you’d bumped into each other organically. Even though he has an irritating air of knowing what you do not, something about the way he looks at you makes you feel… odd. You mull this over as you browse the town market for the items on your shopping list.

Kids run between peoples legs, causing a man to fall on his ass and yell after them. They laugh and sprint faster with reckless abandon. A woman with a large basket of goods spins gracefully to save herself from the same fate, giggling as she adjusts her grip. The smells of the street food and perfumes and the people fill you with a sense of pride in your environment. A moment of peace amongst the absolute shitstorm that awaits you back home.

Last night, you were unable to get much rest with a virtual stranger on your couch. The lack of sleep as well as all that you’ve gleaned from the sudden appearance of Viktor has left you pensive. Your hand skates over the fabric of a plain shirt and you wonder what he usually wears, how he would look in something more familiar to you. It isn’t lost on you that this man is attractive, and his attentive attitude toward you leaves room to wonder just how close he was to the other you. You could see yourself falling for him, maybe in a different life. A fleeting thought that causes you to chuckle under your breath. There is no time for such thoughts, never has been.

A slightly banged up, but still fine-looking, cane catches your eye and you immediately inquire about it. It would cost nearly the rest of the coins in your pouch, the money you need to use for food. You stand dumbly in front of the grizzly man that runs the small shop off the top of beaten up tables, a hand on your chin as you go over your options. All the while, the man in front of you looks unamused at your indecision.

As he goes to spew some most likely unkind commentary, you hear a familiar voice bellow from behind you. “What’cha doing at the market? I never see you here.”

“Powder!” You chirp in surprise as your blue haired friend rounds you, peering curiously at the cane sat atop the table.

“What the hell do you need this for?” She considers the object, not paying any mind to the vendor as she holds it in front of one eye, mimicking peering through a telescope. “Some kind of sex thing, huh? Always knew you were a bit…” She makes an inappropriate gesture that shocks you into temporary silence.

“Whatever,” you disregard, gently prizing the item from her sly hands. You sigh as you roll it up and down your palms. There is no doubt it was made well, with consideration for anyone who may need it. “I was just trying to decide if it was worth the coins.”

“Ah, I see. Old man Harry’s marking up his goods again?” One pointed look from her has the aforementioned scrambling to explain himself, but she interrupts him. “How much did you get this for?”

“Well, you see, I- I didn’t buy it, so much as acquire it,” he splutters.

Powder hums. “And so you’re gonna make our people pay out the ass for some stolen goods?” She shakes her head, scolding him with a simple motion.

“Fine, I’ll lower the price.“ He chuckles nervously. “And tell Vander I say ‘Hi’.”

“With pleasure!” Powder remarks, her infectious smile beaming at him as she drops a small fraction of your coins into his open palm.

The two of you swiftly exit the area with all of your items stuffed into a rough, burlap pouch. The cane hangs safely from the strap, rhythmically thudding against your leg as you rush forward. Powder is hot on your heels, no matter how hard you try to lose her on the way home. She is relentless as always, too inquisitive for your own good.

Shit, she can’t see Viktor, you think. But there is no stopping her once a seed is planted in her head.

“You gotta tell me what all this is for, c’monnnnn,” she whines as you arrive at your doorstep.

“I’ll talk to you later, I just have a lot to do and it’s all so boring, you should just—“

With no consideration for your privacy, your friend bursts into the front door. Viktor is in plain view of the doorway, sitting on your grungy couch with a book poised in one hand. His eyes widen at the sudden invasion, taking in your embarrassment and then focusing solely on Powder.

“Ha! I knew it was a sex thing,” she exclaims, all the while you attempt to push her out of the door, talking over her in an attempt to distract from her brash exclamation.

“You.” Viktor’s voice is barely audible, but the iciness to it causes pause for both you and Powder. He scrambles for something, eventually landing on a glass vase that he holds as if to defend himself.

As you look between the two, it clicks that something must have happened between them in Viktor’s original world. Now is not the time for theorizing though. The energy in the room is building and you must get Powder out of here. A protective feeling overpowers you as Viktor glares at the girl.

“Jinx,” he spits at her, then he turns to you. “Why did you bring her here?”

“Whoa, okay. Chill out. What the hell did I do?” Powder’s hands fall onto her hips and her bottom lip pokes out in a provoking manner.

“She’s dangerous, get her away from me!”

“Wow, your boyfriend’s being rude—“

“He’s just a friend,” you grit out, nearly seething now. A harsh inhale through your nose. “Listen, Powder, I need you to leave. I’ll explain later, but things are complicated and I need some time. Please understand.”

She is silent for a moment before scoffing and quickly leaving, slamming the door behind her. A frustrated groan escapes you and your knuckles kiss the rough wall paneling.

Your gaze lands on Viktor. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” You throw the bag of clothes and the cane at his feet. The things you’d spent your hard earned coin on. “She’s not dangerous, she’s a nice fucking girl.”

“That girl is a terrorist in my world, responsible for countless deaths. Jinx—“

“Stop calling her that!” You scream, every muscle within you coiling up with rage. “She is the sweetest person I know. Do you know how much she’s gone through? How many times I’ve had to pick her back up after the guilt of her sister’s death nearly destroyed her?!”

You rant on about that day, about how early on Powder learned the value of life and kindness. When their little group showed up at The Last Drop without Vi, three kids in tears, all covered in soot, you made a promise to yourself and Vi that you would take care of her little sister. Claggor and Mylo were never remotely attentive to her, Vander and Silvio had their own things going on, and Ekko was just a child himself. It had to be you.

“… Violet. She is dead?”

Another sharp look from you wounds Viktor as you snap, “How do you know Vi?”

Viktor runs a hand over his face, appearing even more exhausted than you know him to look. “Things are so different here,” he whispers to the floorboards beneath his feet.

Heavy breaths turn calm as you watch him, clearly having a hard time adapting to this place. You can acknowledge that this must be like a weird dream to him. Hell, if you were in his place, in a timeline different than yours, you would most likely lose your mind. Two long breaths.

In.

And out.

“Listen. This is a whole lot to take in, for the both of us, but I think laying out a few ground rules and giving each other the benefit of the doubt would be very good for us. If we intend to get along and get you home.”

“Home.” Viktor nods slowly. “I think you are right.”

“Anyway,” you nudge the bag you tossed at him earlier with the toe of your boot. “I got you these.”

He notices the cane and gains the first genuine smile you’ve seen out of him, mumbling something about feeling like himself again. Quietly, you observe as he tests it out, getting used to its assistance after a few steps and then giving the object a little nod of approval.

He looks over to you with an unearned softness that irks you just a bit. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Just some things to help you blend in and get around,” you brush off, scooping the bag up and handing it to him. “Get changed. We have a lot to do.”

When Viktor returns from getting freshened up, you find yourself taken aback. Replacing the man with scraggly tresses and a tattered robe, is a completely new person. He has tied up the top half of his shoulder length hair, and you notice the blond underlayer for the first time. The look softens his striking features, and accompanied by the casual style of clothing you picked out—a long sleeved yellow shirt tucked into some straight legged brown slacks—it looks as though he will fit in quite well now.

“Lookin’ good,” you comment offhandedly, looking him over and mentally patting yourself on the back.

You catch a faint redness painting his cheeks before he turns away from you, fiddling with the cane. An oddly nervous innervation wraps around him for a moment, and you choose to ignore whatever is going on with him. There is a mission you must complete. The sooner you finish it, the sooner you will be rid of this man.

“So, how do we get you back?”

What a simple question for something so complicated that it may nearly be impossible.

“We will have to go to Piltover and talk to Jayce. He is a friend, one of the only people who will understand this situation and be able to help us,” Viktor supplies after clearing his throat.

Simple enough. Although you hate going up there, you follow his lead, creating a plan and mapping out where exactly this Jayce guy lives so you can get in without raising too much suspicion. A quick meal, some supplies from a couple trusted merchants, and you’re off.

Viktor and you begin the journey through the undercity, to the elevator that will spit you out on the opposite side of the river from Piltover. It is silent from the moment you exit your place, until Viktor dares to cut the odd atmosphere.

“I may sound crazy, but I missed walking through these streets,” he muses offhandedly, eyes taking in every little detail on your path through Zaun’s city streets. As amusing as this is to watch, it is dangerous nonetheless.

“Don’t act like a tourist, unless you’d enjoy getting your ass kicked. Or worse.”

Almost as if on cue, the two of you round a corner and nearly bump into somebody. You are initially ready to square up, but then you spot a familiar head of choppy, blue hair.

“Powder, what are you doing this far out?” Your tone is scolding, but your hands grasp her forearms protectively, having stopped her from tumbling over.

You feel Viktor’s hand on your bicep, tugging you backward, away from Powder as if on instinct. It pisses you off just a bit, scratching at the just barely scabbed over wound that was the last interaction you all had. You must center yourself, remembering the agreement of peace that came into place right after all the theatrics. He should remember too, though. His hand falls from you when you move out of his grasp to the side, freeing your hands and standing between the two.

“I could ask you guys the same thing.” Powder’s arms cross over her chest, hip cocked out in a defiant, and admittedly petulant, stance.

“Uh, we were just going out,” you explain, half-honest.

“So you are together!” A shit eating grin causes your eyes to roll. “You should’ve just been honest from the start, instead of rudely kicking me out.” She punctuates the statement by sticking her tongue out in the direction of Viktor.

Quick on your feet, you decide to go along with this narrative. It’ll be easier to get out of this quickly without involving her in this mess. “Sorry, Powder. You know I’m not the most… open person, and Viktor here was just confused. He thought you were someone else. Isn’t that right, babe?”

“Mm. Yes, of course. I do apologize, Miss Powder,” Viktor quickly plays along.

Powder hums and accepts the shitty explanation in all her victory. She values being right over being alert.

“Well, where are you going? Somewhere fancy, I bet.”

“I can’t afford fancy, but—“ Viktor cuts you off.

“But, I want to show them some beautiful spots I’ve come across in the uppercuts. The sky is so beautiful there, when I first saw it I was in awe.”

It’s your turn to become struck off guard and Powder giggles excitedly.

“Oh, I see. Treat them well, or I will find you and kill you.” She says it in an overly matter-of-fact manner that is clearly humorous, but the way Viktor’s eyes narrow lets you know that he isn’t trusting of the girl at all.

It is true that the sky is beautiful in Piltover. The way the fluffy clouds dapple the rich blue backdrop is breathtaking. Yet there is no time for sight seeing. Viktor is leading you straight to your destination with the vigor of somebody who is late. You know he’s trying to get back to his timeline and all, but his urgency leaves you a little on edge.

Finally, you reach the outside of an apartment building and he stops dead in his tracks, focusing on a giant hole in the space where you can only assume a very nice penthouse used to lie. Viktor begins mumbling to himself, something about the explosion still happening but a something-core can’t exist here because— he stops and turns to you.

“Something is wrong here. We must make another stop, but first I would like to investigate.”

He suggests that you stay outside, but there’s no way in hell you’re doing that. You stick with him and end up in front of a gate at the base of a staircase within. Locked. Viktor curses in defeat after rattling the barred door. You scoff at his simplicity, grabbing a set of lock picking tools from your pocket and instructing him to keep watch. Upon seeing your rolodex of tools, he is baffled, but then a smile develops on his face. He is impressed.

Upstairs, you come upon a memorial outside the door the two of you seek out. Viktor freezes for a moment, closes his eyes and sighs. He places a hand atop the one already resting on his cane, the weight of this revelation leaving him physically laden. You inspect the display and spot the name Jayce Talis.

Realization instantly hits. The man with the answers is dead. More so, Viktor’s friend doesn’t exist here. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his shoulder and he squeezes his eyes shut harder, lips pressing together. A long silence before he turns to you.

Voice just above a whisper, eyes still cast downward, he says, “I hate to ask for more of you, but would you happen to have anything to add to the memorial? It would mean a great deal to me.”

You slowly nod, shucking off your bag and finding a pretty rock you collected on the way over here. You place it near an unlit candle on the polished floor, gentle and with care. The heaviness somehow extends to you and wraps around the both of you for the time that you spend in that hallway.

“We must continue,” Viktor finally says, gesturing to the door. You try the handle and find the wooden slab barely attached to its hinges. It swings open and then adjusts to its weight, hinges squeaking before it settles on the floor permanently.

Viktor waits outside for a moment, eyes cast downward, and you wait to go further until he joins you at the threshold. Fragments of a blue gem embedded in the wall are collected and placed in a stray vile you find on the floor. It is difficult to maneuver the place. It looks as though there was an explosion that blasted the hole through the outside wall.

Some effort to clean up afterward was made, but you notice some blood spatter on the floor and wall. Your skin crawls, and you wonder if this incident could be connected with Vi’s death. From the little Powder has filled you in about that day, you are able to spot connections within the little details here and there. Your heart sinks and you halt your imagination from going any further. As soon as you get what is needed, you rush to get out of there, Viktor in tow with the same sentiment.

That secondary destination Viktor spoke of is Piltover Academy. You ask many questions about why you’re here exactly, and Viktor feeds you continuously bland answers. All you can glean is that you seek a person that will be in the courtyard shortly. Viktor has memorized their schedule, so they must’ve been close in his world. You hope, for his sake, that they actually appear.

And they do. The person in question is a professor: Cecil Heimerdinger. You’ve heard of the Yordle inventor in passing, word of his contributions to Piltover reaching even the far sides of Zaun. Enough to know that he is a highly respected scientist, and you deduce that this is why Viktor was so insistent on finding him.

Viktor gets straight to the point, spilling his guts about traveling to another dimension and wanting to get back to his original timeline. He speaks of the crystal fragments you gathered, how they have the potential to create a machine capable of taking him back.

“This is very much feasible with the correct mechanics, I am quite impressed,” the professor remarks, a hand on his chin as he mentally scrutinizes the possibilities. His eyes then land on you. “And who is this friend?”

A pregnant pause. Viktor stares at you for an uncomfortably long time before speaking. “This is my only ally here, a co-creator of the technology I speak of… They were also my significant other in my original world.”

This is news to you, and the way Viktor tears his gaze away from you tells you that he didn’t want to divulge this information. But why? What difference would it have made in this whole affair? The unearned affectionate glances and his shyness around your compliments all make sense now.

“Oh, I see. How poetic that they should lend a kind hand to you here as well,” Heimerdinger muses.

Viktor hums, looking lost in thought. You remain silent, ruminative for the rest of this interaction. The Yordle agrees to lend one of the university’s labs to the two of you, with the condition that he oversees your work. He connects the explosion at the apartment with the gem fragments and notes the dangers of the operation. While he is wary of such a conquest, he seems almost tickled by the prospect.

An appointment is made for Viktor and you to return tomorrow. At that time, you’ll receive the keys to a lab and the consent to invent… A magical machine, you suppose. You just hope this endeavor doesn’t take too long. You have already grown tired of the friction Viktor is causing in your personal life.

On the long journey home, a thought you’ve had since you heard Viktor’s confession spills from your mouth before you can hold it back any longer. “If we were together in your world, why did you tell me you hadn’t seen me in a while when you—appeared here?”

“I don’t wish to discuss that at the moment. It has been a long day,” Viktor responds, voice rough with his exhaustion.

You let it lie, for now at least. He promised to tell you all that you ask, and you intend to hold him to it. A quiet meal and a few more words are exchanged before bed. Tomorrow, more answers await the two of you. You can’t help how heavy you feel after today, or what to think of Viktor’s unwillingness to divulge the truth about your other self. It must be more than a simple falling out, or a breakup.

What could have happened to the other you? Could he have hurt you? You don’t think so, but the guilt behind his eyes makes you uneasy. Once again, the night is restless with too many unanswered questions. You will get to the bottom of this, but will you regret it when you do?

Viktor’s haunting anecdote rings in your mind all night.

Some things are better left unknown.

• next chapter here

Viktor nation! It is done!!! Please leave me your thoughts, I would really appreciate it :) The huge, positive response to the preview post motivated me to get this done quicker than I thought I could. Anyway, thanks for reading, I appreciate every single one of you 💕

[shadowbriar]

Five Hargreeves — Daddy Issues

Pairing : Five Hargreeves x (she/her) CIA!Reader Word Count : 3.3k Warning : Angst. Character death. Snogging but nothing too graphic. Season 4 references. Synopsis : He promised himself that he would not let her come near his family madness, but the marigold was melting his blood vessels and none of his siblings look like they’re ready for a real fight. Notes : Inspired by The Neighborhood - Daddy Issues. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

The lack of presence on the other side of the bed made him pull himself entirely out off of drowsiness. Five’s frown was deep when he pulled the blanket up to cover his body, half sitting up with his elbows as support as he scans the room. It was far too early for his liking.

He caught her standing by the bookshelf, his white shirt hanging loose on her shoulders. A small satisfied smile tugs in the corner of his lips. The sight was too pretty for him to not appreciate. She was lost in her own world, caught in her own thoughts. Too busy reading the scribbles of some crumpled paper to realise that the other person in the room has awakened.

“Found something you’re looking for?”

She looks up to see him with a wide smile, looking slightly sheepish of being caught red handed, “No, but I found this,” She took out the fake moustache she found, placing it on her face “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous,” Five says, rolling his eyes “Come here so I can rip it off of you.”

Her grin only becomes wider as she comes closer to the man. She sits on the edge of the bed, leaning so that he could take the silly moustache off of her.

“What’s the story?” She asks, still curious about the peculiar item “Any exciting undercover stories you want to share?”

“You know I can’t even if I wanted to. And I don’t,” He remarks, giving her a playful disapproving look “What were you doing rummaging my stash?”

She shrugs, “I was just bored. You always wake up much later than I do.”

“It’s only what— 6 am? It's not my fault you have sleeping problems.”

She rolls her eyes in response.

Five bite down his smile as he leans in, kissing her softly.

This wasn’t what Five had in mind when he ran through the portal six years ago. Losing his powers and having to build a new life in a strange timeline was certainly not in his to-do list, but developing some clandestine affair with a girl from work was a bigger mindblown for the mentally sixty three years old man. Romance and any other personal relationship were practically out the window the moment he understood about the Apocalypse. Yet now, after one too many timelines, Five has found himself entangled with the knots of love.

He would never admit it out loud. Afraid that a confession would only spoil the fragile bond they’ve created. Hell, this was never even a proper relationship. It was just a simple deal made by two adults. A little roleplay they do whenever they’re alone. Nothing too serious, nothing too monogamous. Strictly business.

But he knew he was doomed the moment he tasted her. There was no other drug that could be as intoxicating, no other substance as addicting. The way that she knew just how much of a dose to give to get him crawling back for more. How she would push further than she pulled him. A little game she does that he’d never grow tired of.

There was only one rule— no rules within these four walls. He could show her how much he cares, how much he worships her, whenever she comes over. Not an inch of her skin left without his kiss. Five was whipped beyond saving whenever the door closes, but even with such intense affection, neither of them dared to pop the question.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks, staring deep into his eyes.

“I’m thinking whatever you’re thinking about.”

She bites her lower lip, climbing on top of him. She pulls him for a proper kiss, clinging her arms around his neck as he rests his hands on her hips.

“Tell me something I’ll forget,” She whispers, kissing the corner of his lips “Something you might have to tell me again.”

Five hesitated. The words were hanging by the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill in any second. Her gentle touch was melting his walls, breaking each and every fortress he’s built over the years. For someone who thought that he’s seen all the things in life, Five was once again caught by surprise.

“How bout I show you instead?” He offers, swapping their positions that she’s now laying on her back with him on top of her.

One of his hands travels to cup her cheek, deepening their kiss as he changes their course of action. Five could feel her smiling through the kiss, giving him the courage to continue his venture. His thumb brushes the skin of her cheek gently. Years of being a cold blooded spy had made him think that there’s no tenderness left in his soul. A broken shell of a man is all he is. Yet, he was once again proven wrong by her. Always her, only her.

It’s crazy what you’ll do for a friend.

—-

“Tell me about your past lovers.”

His grip on her hand loosen a little, brows rising from the unexpected request. It was fortunate of him to have her back leaning on his chest. This way she wouldn’t have heard the slight spike of his heart nor seen the surprise he had in his face. How he blinked and furrowed his brows as his brain tried to digest her words.

He lets go of her hand and rests his arm around her shoulder, silently caging her in an embrace in case the words he utters would make her flee, “Lover. There was only one woman.”

“What’s her name?”

“Dolores,” He sighs, the rare forlorn look in his eyes were potent “Her name was Dolores.”

“What happened between you and Dolores?”

There was a brief pause. His chest hitches as he struggles to find the words, “I.. Left her.”

“Why?”

“I had to.”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me too?” She questions. The fragility of her voice made him wince. Voicing her words barely above a whisper.

“I might,” He confesses with a heavy heart, swallowing a lump in his throat “Will you hate me then?”

She turns her head to face him, nodding like it was a promise, “I will.”

She wanted to ask more. To know deeper about what happened between him and Dolores. If their separation was recent or if he ever tried to come back to her. She wanted to know what made him leave. If there was a bigger story to tell, a bigger secret to share. She wanted to know if he loved her, if he would use his hands to trace the invisible stars on her skin and mark it with his kisses, if he would tell her the word she’s been dying to hear from him. She wanted to know it all.

And Five wanted to tell. He wanted to tell her about the fights and all the running he’s done for the past years. He wanted to tell her how Dolores was the only thing keeping him sane after being trapped in the post-apocalyptic wasteland for forty-five years. He wanted to tell her how tired he is, how he misses his powers and secretly hoped that he never got out of that hotel alive. He wanted to tell it all.

But both of their words die in their tongues. Crestfallen from all the silence that they’re bound to be stuck in. Their eyes tried their best to convey the message their lips couldn’t utter, hoping that the invisible string between them was strong enough to connect their hearts better than words ever could.

Her fingers gently tucked the stubborn strand of hair off of his face. She studies him, trying to see any trace of deceit or vice, but all she could see was the love bleeding out of him like a muck. His eyes were warm, radiating with that one sentiment she’s never seen on anyone else.

She cups both of his cheeks, softly kissing his lips, “I wish you’d let me in.”

Five shakes his head, “I’d never put you in such danger.”

“I can take care of myself,” She argues, an impressed smile decorating her face “Have you forgotten? We’re literally CIA agents.”

He smiles, pulling her head to his chest.

They would never admit it but tender moments like this scares the living out of the both of them. It felt too real, too personal to what they signed up for, but they would rather lose a limb than to miss it. For some reason such delicateness felt like it would dissipate in a moment. Like a bitter farewell was looming behind, ready to catch them off guard and without a fight.

And so they keep quiet. Letting the frail second to fall gracefully like the first drop of snow. His fingers entangle themselves with her hair while she listens carefully to the steady rise and fall of his chest. They make notes of one another, recording each and every little thing the other does before their time turns into bittersweet memory.

—-

Five hesitated. He taps on the payphone with uncertainty, doubting if he should dial her number and ask for the favour. He promised himself that he would not let her come near his family madness, but the marigold was melting his blood vessels and none of his siblings look like they’re ready for a real fight. Whatever this dry cleaner’s daughter kidnapping was about has certainly gone a notch more serious than it ever was.

He weighs his options. The only thing he could make out of her were the pleasant times they’ve spent. The laughter and the stolen glances they would exchange when nobody was around. The sun has always shone on top of them, no rain nor shade to ever taint their story. It feels as if they’ve been living in a fairytale despite all the secrecy he hides from her.

But Ben’s tails were stubborn and Lila’s laser eyesight was not boosting his confidence enough to follow through with this rescue mission. His family might have gotten their powers back, but it was an overstatement to say that the team was officially back on. Their bodies were still trying to readjust themselves with the liquid gold, whatever it might mean now.

The bitterness in his tongue sets thicker as his decision comes to a final. For some reason believing that calling her would compromise the charming affair they have. Not from the squabbles his family might show, but from other perils he couldn’t foresee.

“Hello?” She answers right on the second ring “Who is this?”

Five’s words were caught in his throat, unable to continue his action.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” He finally says. 

“Five? Is everything okay?” She questions, worry evident in her tone as she proceeds to speak in whisper “I know we promised not to talk during work hours, but I heard that you’re taking a sick leave and now you’re calling and I just— I’m worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” He answers, his tone heavy with regret “I’m fine. I’m just— Look, there’s something I need to tell you,” There was a pause, clearly still debating if he should end the call and just face whatever’s to come alone with his family.

“Five? Are you there?”

He nods, his voice strained with anxiety, “Yeah, I just— I’m going to Maine. There’s something I need to do there with my family.”

“Oh, okay. Will you be back soon?”

“No, I.. I don’t know,” He answers in surrender “Listen, I know I’m asking too much of you but.. Could you meet me there? In New Grumpson?”

A few seconds of silence, her confusion thick in her voice, “You.. Want me to come to your family gathering?”

“Well, it’s not really a gathering,” Five struggles to explain, running a hand through his hair “It’s more of a.. Rescue mission? I can’t explain the details through the phone, there isn’t enough time.”

“I can’t just drop things off and drive to Maine, Five. I’m in the middle of a case,” She reasoned.

“I know, but I need you to come. I need you to help me,” He begs, his heart beating fast inside of his chest as if it could already see the disaster this phone call would bring “I promise to tell you everything. I’ll explain everything—about my family, about myself, about Dolores, about us. I’ll tell you everything. I just— I need to do it in person. Please.. Please come and meet me there.”

There was still silence from the other side of the phone.

“I promise to let you in,” He continues, his voice faltering in despair “I’ll tell you what you want to hear. What I needed to tell you a long time ago.”

Silence hung heavy in the air. Beads of sweat were breaking in the back of his neck, afraid that he’s just lost everything before it even started. There was no going back now. Not even with the power that he’s just gotten back.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, fuck it,” She answers, having zero sense of hesitation left in her voice “But you better tell me right after I get there.”

“I will, I promise.” Five bites his grin, taking a deep breath of relief before he finally says the magic words “I love you. And I promise to say it again when we meet.”

—-

She has to admit, driving countless hours down to New Grumpson with little to no context, might not have been one of her brightest moments. She should’ve asked more about the plan, where to meet and what time, before hanging up and picking her car keys. God knows how she would meet Five now. Who’s to tell just how big this town is or if he’s even in the city yet. She was blind. Completely lost in a random town thousands of miles from home.

Between finding some covers for the windows that Victor broke and frequent bathroom breaks, the Hargreeves siblings could only reach their destination when the sun was already at its peak. Not to mention the bickering that they have to resolve every other ten minutes. The eight of them are certainly behind schedule but without any means of communication, there was no way for her to know his whereabouts.

Now sitting in a diner, she wonders just how long she should wait before leaving this town. There’s something eerie about this place. The people were kind, sure, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched. Like these people were not just civilians but someone placed to fill certain roles to make up the city folks.

She watches as a man enters the diner. He was kicked out the first time by the diner’s owner, but supposed the kind lady could see that this stranger was in need of a shelter. He looks like a tourist, too. A little lost and too peaky to be a local.

And that’s when she heard it, the first gunshot outside. She reaches for her own gun, hiding it under the table as she tries to assess her surroundings. The people in the diner now corner the strange man and the diner lady, commanding the woman to come with them with their guns pointed out.

Good God, what is this place? She thought as she cocks her gun.

Just as the two people ran out through the back door, another shot was fired and it was enough reason for her to take the small mob down from behind. Whatever their reasoning is, the people of this town are certainly not the friendliest to tourists.

She runs outside, trying to help the other three people that were being gunned down by a bunch of the town folks. She watches as the biggest man shields the other two. An act that shouldn’t be logically possible.

She tries to help out, shooting the crazy goon with her own gun. It was a no match with the numbers of these lunatics and their AKs compared to her handgun, but it was enough to give a window for the three people to run further away.

One down, another ten appears. The people in this town just so happen to be complete terrorists who shoot on weaponless people, she reckons.

Out of the blue, Five blinks to the road and joins in the shield of the big man. It took her a couple of seconds to believe the sight she just saw— Five appearing out of thin air and hiding under the protection of the big guy who’s bearing all the gunshots fired at them. None of this was making any sense. Not the city, not the people, not the events she’s witnessing. But she didn’t have time for questions, not yet. Her finger pulls on the trigger nonstop, refilling her magazine as soon as she can before more madmen come.

But her hands weren’t fast enough. There was not enough time for her to raise her gun. To point and pull another shot before a couple bullets were aimed at her chest. She was hit. Too many times for her to count as she fell limp to the cold concrete, gasping for air.

“No!” She could hear Five’s echoing scream. In a blink of an eye, he was kneeling by her, lifting her body to be in his embrace. His hand was shaky, trying his best to give some pressure to the holes in her chest as his other arm pulled her close, “I’m here, I’m here.”

No words came out of her lips. Breathing hurts as blood starts to come out of her mouth. Colour was draining from her face, skin turning cold as her ear rings.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Five apologises, his tears flowing down to her face “This wasn’t supposed to happen, I’m sorry.”

“S-Say it,” She whispers, gasping “You promised.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” He confesses, cupping her cheek with his bloodied hand “I’m sorry. I love you. I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

The light in her eyes slowly dims out. Her laboured breathing quiets down as the interval widens before it eventually stops. Her hand that was holding his wrist fell gently, no longer having any care that the shreds of mirror were creating new cuts to it.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

Those three sentences were flowing out of him like a broken record. Five holds her close, planting tear stained kisses to her cheeks as if it would give her another breath of life. He calls for her name like a prayer, begging for her to look at him just once more, but the magnetism that would always fill those orbs were gone. They were staring into the empty space without a blink. Gone were the eyes that would stare into him with so much love and tenderness.

Five looks up to see his siblings. They were looking down with pitiful, sorry eyes. Never had they ever seen the collected brother be this broken, drowning in the anguish of a lost lover.

“It was Dad,” Luther says bearing the bad news “They were all Hargreeves goons.”

Another tear escaped his eyes. Five’s sobs were getting louder, whispering his apologies to her now deaf ears. He was sorry about everything. About asking her to come, about promising to tell her some complete nonsense, about falling in love with her. Even with his powers, Five was utterly helpless. He couldn’t undo what was done— save the life that he’s lost and keep her away from harm. The one thing that matters most to him has finally been ripped off of his hands.

There was a sense of resentment brewing in his heart. He thought that he could not be any more hollow than he already is, but now that she’s dead in his arms, now that the better half of him has disappeared, Five has ultimately become that one broken shell of a man he once thought he was.

If only she was his little girl, he would’ve run away and hide with her.

[skyfallscotland]

Onyx Storm, by Rebecca Yarros ⚡️

She was the first to choose me, to elevate me above all others, the first to see every ugly side of me and accept it all, and every single person in this fucking canyon will die before they remove a single one of her scales.

Oh boy, here we go. This is probably going to be the longest review I've done (as it should be, I suppose) and I think I'm going to have to separate my likes and dislikes into separate posts and link them, just to at least try and be more concise.

To be completely honest, I didn't really enjoy the book all that much. When I finished it I just felt confused, empty, and completely overwhelmed. I cried.

It might sound a little stupid to other people, but I think if you've lived with depression, you know how much stock you can end up placing in the little things like this, and your hobbies and obsessions, and what you pour your time and energy into.

So it's hard when you don't enjoy things as much as you expect to. I didn't have lofty expectations for the book at all, in fact I had no clear idea of what exactly I was expecting plot-wise, but I did expect to really like it. A lot of small things piled up to make this unenjoyable for me at times as an experience and I'm having a bit of a hard time with that.

It's not even the book itself, so much as the fact that I kind of feel like I'm the only one who didn't love it, on the outside looking in at a fandom I’ve given a lot for, and worse, that it's killed my drive to write anything for the universe at all.

Overall, and this is my biggest problem, I feel stupid. So many things did not make sense to me. I finished this book feeling like I no longer understand the world building, the foreshadowing, the characters—nothing.

It didn't feel like a cohesive story, there was a lot of info-dumping and more than a handful of threads picked up and pulled on, and never looked at again. I don't have the answers to questions I've had for years, I only have new questions, and a lot of things that happened well...they don't actually matter at all. You could pick a bunch of things and pull them out of the story and the end result will be the same.

Someone on Goodreads said "Onyx Storm felt like a kid lost in a supermarket trying to find their mother." And wow, yeah. Yeah, it did. We went down all the aisles, every single one, and in the end we left without the groceries.

I feel almost like I need to apologise to Iron Flame, because really, her issues feel negligible to me now, in my personal experience. At least then I understood what the hell was going on.

Is this a chicken and egg scenario? Am I the idiot? Even if I am the idiot, should it be written in a way that idiots understand? Because I do not understand, Rebecca. I'm lost.

There just wasn't consistency.

There was no 'kill your darlings' in this book. It felt like there was a lot of fan service, and honestly it really felt like someone had gone onto the subreddit, grabbed a bucket of every theory ever mentioned and then went 'oops' and dropped it all in.

I feel like we shouldn't be learning about how magic works in the second half of book three. You're over 400k words in and you're going to choose now to tell me the dragons actually don't have their own magic? You told me in book one and two that they did. And now they're just four-legged venin?

None of this would be as big of an issue if it was news to Vi, but it's not. We're constantly just having things she apparently knew this whole time dropped on us with zero explanation over and over and over again. If you want to keep things from the reader, write in third person.

I spent half the book going back and re-reading things because I just didn't understand what was going on. Maybe it’s the OCD, maybe I'm an over-thinker, maybe I'm just dumb, but that kind of thing doesn't do it for me, it seems unbalanced and illustrates a lack of continuity from book to book.

In terms of characterisation, I wanted a more badass Vi and I got her, but it feels like there's a massive character development gap missing between 'I don't want to even know the truth in case you hurt me again' and 'I'm going to poison someone, blackmail them, and threaten their children.' Did they deserve it? Sure, but it felt out of place to me.

I've made another post here with the things that frustrated me and the questions I still have, and one here with all the things I did love. Because there were things. There were times I smiled, and laughed, and cried, and quotes I adore.

Ultimately though, my rating for this (on my personal scale) is it’s a good book, it just didn’t do it for me.

And personally? I really really wish it had 🥺❤️‍🩹

[hexedwinchester]

Early seasons of SPN are superior

so I'm re-watching Supernatural (I'm always re-watching SPN, don't mind me) and I realised why the early seasons are so freakin good whereas the laters ones are a complete mess...

Horror was the core theme of Supernatural (yes, I'm not discarding the brothers' drama, I'll get to it in a minute). These beautiful scare tactics that they employed were amazing: the crib mobile toy rotating, shadows moving out of the corner of the eyes, toys going off, subtle bloody Mary reflections in the mirror, creepy skulls dug from the ground, the ghosts flickering. Hell yea they nailed 'Scary just got sexy' with these.

Don't get me started on the background music. Whimsical music crescendo, building up the anticipation. The rock music blaring through the Impala. What happened to the cool ass music in the later seasons? They just played this weird, sad tune like someone's blowing raspberries to show grief and that's it!

Monster of the week theme and the lores/legends in early seasons were much, much better than S12's Foundry or the later season episode with bizarre tentacle porn thingy (you know which one I'm talking about). It just didn't feel the same. The stories were poorly written and even more poorly executed.

Early seasons used to be purely about Sam and Dean (as it should have been throughout) Them against the world, heaven and hell. No dumbass angel lurking in the background like a pathetic third wheel. No king of hell bitching about his sad childhood for two whole seasons. No Soccer mom half assing their way into hunting.

Foreshadowing was done so beautifully! Everytime I re-watch the early seasons I find a few bits that connects to something that happened initially in say S1-2. The parallels are done beautifully and writing is good, and I mean 'I wanna use this quote as a wallpaper' good.

The struggle for the boys was real. They had to do their own research, save their own asses, stitch their wounds, pop their dislocated shoulders back in the place. Later seasons? Bunker has answer to everything, angel healing wounds with a flash of light, Lucifer bringing Sam back from the dead without asking for anything (and no, taking him to Jack is not a good enough bargain), Jack healing wounds or whatever. Where is the damn struggle?! Where is the hero's journey?!

I miss the beautiful, colourful motel rooms that had its own personality. I HATE the bunker (yes I know a lot of people love it because Dean has a good shower, they have a home etc, etc) but no! Bunker is lame and boring and monotonous. There isn't a single thing I like about it. Gimme back my motel rooms with the sunburst mirror!

Story arc or lack thereof from S12 onwards. The main plot just got duller and duller from S12 onward and it felt like the writers got lazy and stopped putting efforts. There was no build up and the plot felt forced. The main arcs didn't feel exciting enough. BMoL and Kelly's pregnancy: the who and why? Jack: predictable. Other Micheal and Micheal Dean: meh, next! God as the big bad: interesting but I don't think they have it in them to execute this correctly.

Irrelevant/Unnecessary characters and their mini plots. S1-5 focuses purely on the brothers and that's what I'm here. I don't care how and why an idiot angel opened purgatory. It sounded more like a dull spin off plot than main story arc. I don't care about prophets and their lives (yeah Kevin is in Advance Placement, what am I to do with that?). I don't care about the different angel garrisons at war (again a plot for a lame spin off). I don't care about Crowley, his son or his relationship with Rowena. Tell me how this affects the boys. If it doesn't, please let's move on. Whatever was going on with Cole Trenton was pointless. I don't care about Mary and her hunting escapades with BMoL. I don't care about Kelly's pregnancy. The multi-universe and all characters they vomited back in the show with this. Not needed! Let Charlie, Gabriel and Bobby's memory rest in peace. Nick's killer storyline and wayward sisters. Enough said. Empty and the deal with Cas and Meg 2.0? Boring! Billy playing the bad cop, the whole death's library? Poorly executed and it turned into a bowl of cold spaghetti. In the end, the focus moved from the boys to useless characters and mini plots. Fuck that! Supernatural is about Sam and Dean and that's about it.

The direction. Later seasons lack the beauty of scenic shots of the landscape, close on up the boys' faces, the lights hitting their faces to show their beauty. Camera angles and slow panning shots. I miss the beauty that were the early seasons.

[preservationofnormalcy]

[It is November of 2021. I am being led down a hallway that looks more like it should be on a ship than a government building. Metal walls with painted horizontal lines down its length, marked with “water depth” markers every 30 feet or so. My guide is a bored-looking man in a suit, balding, checking his clipboard. I seem to remember his name is Clarke, but he’s not who I’m here to see.]

M] Does this tunnel flood?

C] Hm?

M] The water markers.

C] Oh, those. Not unless something bad happens. She’s pretty good about it.

M] Is her name really –

C] Yth’Wa, Herald of Change. Yes. Changed it legally. Not that she gets out much.

M] …kind of an indoorsy person?

C] I mean she’s never in the outside world.

M] Not even to get food?

C] She has people for that.

[Suddenly, from doorways that lead off the hallway, we are joined by six figures wearing yellow robes that conceal their identities entirely. I smell brine and dead fish. Clarke looks back and seems to count the figures, but otherwise doesn’t react.]

M] Is this a joke? 

C] Wish it was, ma’am. Hey, fellas.

[Two of the figures wave. We approach a bulkhead at the end of the hall, and Clarke spins the wheel lock. The taste of salt hits my mouth - like the seaside, like brine. Clarke enters the chamber beyond, and three of the figures follow him. Three of them wait behind me, as if waiting to escort me. After a moment’s hesitation, I enter the chamber.

It is dark, hewn from rough stone, sloping downward into dark water. I look up, and the ceiling cannot be seen in the darkness. Utility lights illuminate the path downward, a few of them trailing into the still water. Clarke takes up a post next to the door, and the yellow figures form a pattern facing the water. Two of them kneel, two of them prostrate themselves, and two raise their hands and begin a chant. 

I can’t help myself. I back up, and whisper to Clarke.]

M] You cannot be serious.

C] You’re the one that wanted to meet her. 

M] Who the hell am I meeting? 

[Wordlessly, Clarke points to the water. A figure is emerging. 

A humanoid figure, also clad in yellow robes. Her hood is pulled low over her face, only the bottom half of her face visible. She has both hands placed together, palms pressed together in a gesture of prayer. She walks calmly from the water, up the incline, and it becomes clear she must be…seven feet tall, or more. Pallid grey-green skin is visible under her hood, and her hair….not hair. Tentacles. Tendrils roll down her shoulders and chest, spill from her sleeves. Her face is thin, her cheeks are marked with slits - gills.

As she emerges, she joins the chant with her own voice. As water spills from her form, fully on dry land now, her words change to English. An unearthly, inhuman voice…but not unpleasant.]

Yth’Wa] Fathoms deep, fathoms old. Fathoms dark, fathoms cold. We leave the cradle, leave the fold. To serve the one, the Lord in Gold. 

[There is a pause. Yth’Wa smiles and stands beyond the yellow figures, who are silent but have not moved from their spots. She is close to me, and seems to regard me with a small smile. Her face is…unnatural, but not ugly. Something beyond. When she speaks, it is with a strange resonance, and no small amount of amusement.]

Y] Ms Hendricks. I was told of your coming.

M] …wh…Yth’Wa?

Y] Do not be afraid.

[She moved her arms, spreading them out. Water dripped off her robes, and tentacles slipped back into her sleeves.]

Y] I am an ally of the Office. I do not harm the unbeliever, as they have their part to play in the grand Circle. The King Of All And Nothing has spoken, and we listen.

M] I don’t…I don’t know what to say. 

Y] Then speak your truth. 

M] ….I’m here to ask you questions.

[Yth’Wa’s smile widens. Her teeth are sharp, triangular, serrated. I look back at Clarke, who seems nonplussed. He looks at his phone and swears softly, seemingly realizing he doesn’t get reception here. Yth’Wa’s tone is not unfriendly, but somehow…as if she’s humoring me. Slight but not aggressive sarcasm rolls off her lips.]

Y] Inquisitiveness is what drew us all to the Circle, Ms Hendricks. It is a virtue worthy of the Yellow Empty. This is a holy quest. 

M] I feel like I’m being condescended to. 

Y] No force in the ocean could compel me to do so. 

M] But on land? 

[She puts her hands back together with a playful smile.] 

Y] What are your questions, my dear?

M] …I was going to ask you about the poster, but first…who are you? 

Y] I am Yth’Wa, Herald of Change, leader of the Yellow Circle. 

M] And what is the…Yellow Circle? 

[Yth’Wa gestures to the other figures in yellow behind her.] 

Y] We are the children of the One Who Dwells Between. We reach out in humility and hope to the space beyond our candlelight, and we embrace what we find. Our god, the Golden Father, shepherds us into the dark void, and bestows upon us gifts that we take upon ourselves gladly. 

M] And you’re….allied with the Office? They’re okay with this. 

[Yth’Wa’s smile is slightly more amused, almost smug. Her tone is like kindly addressing a child.] 

Y] It’s our world too, Meghan. We live here. We have a vested interest in keeping the things that slither around the lighthouse of the human mind at bay…or under our control. The Office often finds these skills useful. Such as your poster.

M] The….sock a Shoggoth one.  

Y] Indeed. It’s an old one. You saw a ripple of waters past, Ms Hendricks.

M] Sorry? 

Y] Do you know of Operation Deep Whisper? 

M] I…I don’t, no. 

Y] Mmmh. 

[She steps forward. I’m unsure of what to do, and in my hesitation, she walks around me. Studying me, her eyes never visible but nonetheless biting into me.]

Y] You’ve met Josiah. Josiah Carter. 

M] Of Psychotronics? 

Y] Of those who wade in pools they will drown in. Tell me. Did he talk about the things they invited? 

M] He mentioned things that…came from their experiments. 

Y] Poor Josiah. He knew only half of what he unleashed. 

M] I don’t think I understand. 

[Yth’Wa took in a deep breath.]

Y] When men take hammers to glass, they should not be surprised when it leaks. Those at the Office, in their uniforms and titles. They frayed the real in order to see through it, and they didn’t like what they saw. What they let through. By the 1960s, the camera obscura  they had made in their blind stabbing through reality had become a tear. A broken fence post, and of course things came through. Things…not under our control. 

M] The things he described sounded horrific. What are they?

Y] Me and mine are…inured to them, somewhat. The Office now calls them Outsiders. Entities from other spaces, other realms, dimensions beyond ours. Beyond the veils. As you can imagine, they are often dangerous to humanity. Physically violent, or ontologically inimical to human life. Often...alien thought patterns, incompatible with the mortal mind. Ontologically incompatible - too many of them, and their reality leaks into ours...impossible geometry, mosses and fungi that degrade the integrity of realspace. Or reality, as humans see it.

M] And you can control them?

Y] More or less. Keep them at bay, influence their behavior. Sometimes they can appreciate something that thinks like them. But all that and more were slowly being unleashed through the world, a secret plague that threatened to collapse the Office’s so called normality. Beasts, anomalies, and forces threatened even our way of life. 

M] So they asked the Yellow Circle for help. 

Y] Indeed. I was not the leader at the time, but the Circle allied with the Office to eradicate this plague. Using resources and funding from the more mundane conflict in Vietnam, we battled the Outsider across the globe throughout the 1960s, and into the 70s. Our people call it Gul’tho Z’Thuth G-Uz, the Conflict of Brother Blood. But the Office calls it Operation Deep Whisper. It is there your posters come into play - propaganda, encouragement for a war against an enemy so alien that they cannot be understood. 

[That smile again.] 

Y] By the Office, anyway.  

M] And it worked? 

Y] You had not heard of Outsiders before you came to the Office, had you? We saved the world, Ms Hendricks. Our world. 

M] I guess we can chalk that one up as a success. 

Y] Indeed. 

M] I don’t feel the need for most of my questions….Yth’Wa. But I guess I had another. 

Y] Speak freely. 

M] You were…human, right? All of you, but especially you. Who were you before you were Yth’Wa?

[There is a moment of silence. Yth’Wa looked…momentarily annoyed, her thin lips turning down at the ends in a way that made my stomach churn. But after a moment, she seemed to reset, relax her posture.]

Y] Who I was is dead. The One Whose Sign Dances saw me for who I was, and made me into something…more. More real, more truthful. Who I was is…dead. Do you understand? 

M] I….I think I do. 

Y] Magnificent. If you had no further questions….

[She steps forward, and I flinch. She pauses, as if attempting not to spook an animal, reaching into her robes and slowly pulling free a single scallop shell. It shined like an oil spill in the dim light, runes and markings along the outside of the shell. They hurt to look at.]

Y] If you wish to see me again, throw this shell into the largest body of water you can reach in a day’s walk under the light of the moon. I will see you, I will reach you. And we can talk. 

M] …thank you, Yth’Wa.

Y] May the Shattered Lord keep you and guide you. 

M] Let the…the Keeper of Yellow—- oh, god, what…what was that? I can taste it. 

[Yth’Wa laughs, leaning in further, teeth gleaming in the odd light.]

Y] Truth. Oh, Ms Hendricks. You’ve tasted truth. 

(Buy the poster here!)

[nwarrior777]

thought to write cute post, turned out to be manifesto of Love to fat geek guys. another post of my "wait a minute, it's not weird to love fat people and be loud and proud about it, we just live in fucked up world where if you say you love fat people you are considered strange, and that's *exactly* why i will not shut up about it now" posts series

intimacy topics are involved

my "omg that's HOT 😍😍😍 guy other here.. top tier boyfriend material" type is very fat gamers (esp if they are good at some game, like, good at fightings or soulslikes, knowing all these complex mechanics and combinations etc) with special interest (esp building constructions: ships, lego) in glasses and beard (last two is optional bonus points). and i don't understand why it's not popular opinion. i mean i know why [capitalism + fatphobia] but i am shocked people still buying it

like. soft. its just literally nice and absolute heaven feeling to touch and hug and kiss fat boyfriend. they know interesting things and can tell interesting stories about it. if they make something - painting warhammer sculpts, lego, ships - they are artists, love it, very hot. whatever other special interest - hot brains, extra hot. glasses, beard - fucking beautiful

and its "not hot" by "society" "norms" cause... well, cause companies tell us. they are out of new ideas of what to sell and now they sell hate. and companies tell us that Hot Boyfriend Material (c) (trademark) (ai drawn) is..

fit rich guy.

like. em. what the hell people find hot about that.

don't get me wrong - *all* people are beautifull, no questions to muscular guys. but like. in social norm its like there is nothing more in that "hot guy norm" defined by society [capitalistic companies] *other* than "be rich and fit"

what to talk about with them? like, ok, you can go to whatever place on earth with him. but what to do with him there

intim? well, noone will be able to argue with me about that sx without fat person involved is better. it's literally feels more nice

i mean... idk, am i being autistic about it but?? its literally more nice *texture* feeling to touch fat. its soft. everyone like everything soft - plushies, pillows, matrasses, but then bodys its oh oh, no soft. okay, can get that everyone has their own thing and it can be nicer to touch muscles for someone, but, touching fat in intime and sexy ways considered as *something gross*. wtf? how can it be gross??? and its coexist with other "rule" - "oh fatty guys are nice to hug. as friends. haha they cute and funny :3". in which moment your nice to hug fat friend becomes ow ew gross to touch someone's boyfriend?

so yeah, people are caging themself out of absolute Eyphoria feeling of Love to people cause.. capitalists sold them idea about Love is smth cringe ew and not cool. selfhate 24/7 running in gym and eating water is eee cool, epic. god, it's so sad.

heaven is on earth and its to have soft boyfriend