#accidental hobby collector

[i-ship-everybody]

Leo Valdez headcannons - fluffy version

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Gender neutral reader

When dating Leo Valdez you are 100% his favourite person and biggest priority

He’s always looking for you and wanting to be with you

Leo will look to share everything with you, new snack? He needs to share with you, someone says something funny? He needs to tell you about it.

When anything funny or weird will happen he will always look to you and you to him

He loves when you play with his hair

Leo will play with your fingers/hands

Instead of buying you flowers, he will make you flowers out of scrap metal. Every anniversary, birthday, Christmas,etc you get a different type of flower

Leo acts all confident but this man cannot take a compliment

Call him pretty or say he did something well and he will blush and tell you to stop, to shut up if he has too

If you are a reader, painter, collector, music lover, baker/cook, or have any hobbies that involve certain objects, Leo will go out of his way to find you a little something to go with that

Leo always looks shocked when you get him anything

He will be in absolute shock if you get him flowers, he’ll play it off but will definitely keep them forever

He will watch Disney movies (the old ones) with you and he loves them

Leo is a diehard fan of cheesy rom-coms

You will find him doing things that he’s seen in the movies

He’ll run and hide if you point it out

If you are someone that’s quick with comebacks or just witty comments he will have fun just bantering with you

He tells you all about his time in foster care

You comfort him and make him feel loved

He is your #1 defender at all times

Anyone says anything about you and smokes coming out of Leo’s ears

He will however make the worst jokes about you and find them absolutely hilarious when they land horribly and you stare at him like:😑

He is surprisingly good at drawing

In his workshop doodles and sketches of you are everywhere, on sticky notes on the walls, scratched into tables, the corner of blueprints, just about painted everywhere with ink

He will get grease all over his face and arms and forget about it

Leo will then shove himself into your arms getting you both dirty

Once you two get closer and further into the relationship he is the most comfortable person ever, I mean saying every thought he’s ever thought to you comfortable

Like he’s comfortable enough to wake you up in the middle of the night just to tell you about some weird dream he had

He 100% pursued you

Leo saw you, knew he wanted you and went after that

He was nervous but he got Annabeth to help him come up with a way to start a conversation

If he needed to he definitely chased you

He grovelled for you, begged for just one chance

You might’ve just been entertaining him at first, then you realize that Leo is the most dedicated person ever

He is the definition of dedication and devotion

Leo won’t even think of another person if he’s with you

He will be your best friend

One thing about Leo is that he will do anything, and I mean ANYTHING with you

You want to go out? He’s down, you want to go get a snack then walk around? He’s already there, you want to go see a movie? Leo already bough the tickets.

Even activities less suited for him, like museums, library dates or spa days. Basically, any calm activity, he will still put the effort in to stay still and silent

And you do the more crazy, energetic ones, even when your not 100% for it

If your having a bad day, he will come in and do one simple act of kindness that will give you the strength to continue the day

For example, during lunch you will accidentally drop your bite of food from your fork and then put your head in your hands done with the day. He will laugh a bit, then get a napkin to clean it up

You’ll do the same for him

Leo is always dropping kisses onto you

Not specifically your lips or even face, if he’s leaving a room he’ll drop a kiss onto your shoulder than leave

Neither of you are big on PDA, hate it actually

But he will find a way to do casual touches that portray such emoting

He will drag his nails over your back and just give you nice rental scratches everywhere

You guys will listen to each other talk about your interest even when you have no idea what the other is talking about

He steals all the blankets and you will absolutely turn over at night to see him on your pillow

Makes your tea/coffee/any drink the best way ever

Casually drops the most beautiful, thoughtful sentences ever then just leaves

Like words that will stay with you forever

He’s always tapping “I love you” onto you

You learn Morse code and now you communicate through it when you’re around others

He has finally found someone that will put him first and whom he can share an intense, loving connection with

Leo is no longer a 7th wheel and will never be again

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Should I do a NSFW or angsty version? Let me know!

[fictionisthebetterreality]

Garrus "The rules at C-Sec annoyed me so I joined the first human Spectre on her mission to hunt down and murder my fellow Turian Saren" Vakarian. Garrus "if the dalatress had offered me the same genocidal deal for the safety of Palavan I probably would have taken it" Vakarian. Garrus "I'm gonna hunt this organ-stealer down and murder him in cold blood. You coming?" Vakarian. Garrus "calibrating weapons of mass destruction is my hobby" Vakarian. Garrus "I was so good at killing mercenaries I accidentally united them into a single, bigger mercenary group, then killed them too" Vakarian. Garrus "the Turians planting a secret bomb on Tuchanka was ingenious" Vakarian. Garrus "the collectors used this base to liquify hundreds of thousands of innocent people into a reaper, but waste not want not" Vakarian. Garrus "You've been hanging out with an anti-alien terrorist group after being dead for two years? Let me just sign up" Vakarian. Garrus "this guy is responsible for the death of my squad. Lure him into a crowded area so I can gun him down in the middle of the Citadel" Vakarian. Garrus -

[nanami-is-nanamean]

I wanna say that Gojo is deffo a collector but now that i think abt it... i still feel like he kinda IS but kinda not, yk??

Because like-- the Gojo clan is canonically uuuuuber rich and powerful right?? A single word and a shit ton of cash guarantees literally anything you could ever want under the sun. Deadass, Gojo could just say the word and he'd be able to purchase every weird and obscure thing he'd ever want ever

But i do still see him being a weird, neurotic collector of things-- so i now imagine him as like, a collector of things that... is near unthinkable to collect and keep. Like... every cigarette Shoko has smoked down to the butt that has an imprint of lipstick/gloss/lip product because Shoko's really good at not smearing her makeup on anything-- comes with being a doctor (probably) gotta keep super clean and neat. I can see him having a little sealed jar in his house full of cigarette butts on full display like its a flower vase LMAO-- or like, each pair of glasses that isnt his (theyre nanamis) that he manages to take (smuggle) home with him and accidentally break. Gojo wants to replace all the ones he takes himself but doesnt because he'lll inevitably and "accidentally" take a pair home with him, and if gojo was supplying his glasses-- they wouldn't have the nanami touch LMAOOOO

I can also see it becoming super weirdge (creepy) (positive(?)) (affectionate) too like-- he has a collection of the first teeth that gets knocked out of his students on missions. Has em all out on display and shit, going like "oh man! Harutas molar! She got punched in the face, and basically slammed on every single surface of a building-- but the hilarious thing is, it only fell out when the mission ended and some dust got into her nose! Practically shot outta her mouth like a bullet, ahaha!"

Im reminded of this one guy i found on yt shorts (i will not download tiktok, i would rather shove an onion into my eyes) gothorella, that has this creepily fascinating art wall thats just full of the weird and wild stuff that she makes like the foam brain and the teeth ornament, etc. And like-- i can genuinely see gojo displaying his weirdge collections similar to that. Just like-- a picture frame of teeth with names under each one, a jar of cigar butts, a display case of broken and bloodied dirted glasses, and on and on.

I dunno, i just think that he deserves to have a weird and freaky hobby (positive) (affectionate)

[apotodiplodocus]

CANON GYUTARO HEADCANONS

- I don't think Gyutaro would care about who he eats, I reckon he'd be open to eating anyone, man, woman or child, I don't think he'd get on with Akaza for this reason but there wouldn't be as much hatred as with Douma. I do think Gyutaro would avoid children, not for any sentimental reason though, just because there is so little of them

- I reckon he wouldn't spend too much time outside Ume's body only coming out to hunt or get the "ugly" humans from the store house belts. probably does this only occasionally to make more room for Ume's preference, and preferring the feeling of hunting a human down, prefers the pathetic struggle

- I don't think he's conscious when he's inside Ume otherwise he probably would have jumped out at earliest when she was attacked by Nezuko so he probably doesn't have a need for hobbies

- was probably around 7-10 when his mother died and left him with Ume, growth stunted by malnutrition and abuse, he would have needed to be at an age that would know a baby/toddler needs more care and how to care for them or old enough to be able to understand responsibility

- illiterate, but has a high IQ his ability to understand things quickly is insane he just hasn't had the chance to learn anything, I was surprised he knew how to do math to work out how many hashira he had killed, I doubt he went to school, this translates into his battle IQ

- probably had a growth spurt between 13-15, when he started his job as a debt collector and could afford more food than before, but didn't bulk up in musculature, stayed lean, there wouldn't be enough protein in his diet for visible muscle growth

- eats more than Ume, since she's a lot picker than he is, he'd eat anything

- when they were human they probably fought a lot because of Gyutaros harsh nature but they'd always immediately make up (think "fight ends, one of them storms off, 10 seconds pass and the other yells "wait im sorry, come back" and the other reappears "what took you so long?")

- gyutaro openly defends his sister, ume would have a different approach if anyone spoke bad about him shed act nice to their face but the second they're alone shed destroy whoever it was (self-esteem wise), until the samurai that is probably her first physical attack or attack that could have killed someone

- relationship wise you would have to be the luckiest bugger to exist, you'd probably have to have something that reminds him of himself like a younger sibling that you shield for him to not immediately kill or torture you, but he would also have to be attracted to you straight away to consider keeping you alive

- if you did somehow manage to worm your way into his heart be prepared he'll be very unpredictable, one second he'll degrade you, the next he'll be making you play with his hair

- mustn't forget the selfish personality Muzan liked so much, a selfish lover, takes more than he gives and God forbid you ever do anything to accidentally offend him or Ume, punishment would be swift and it wouldn't be the enjoyable kind

[live-laugh-love-the-archivists]

how does the archivists daily life look like?

Oh I love this ask! I am currently not able to draw at the moment due to some problems with the program I use. I really need to fix it asap because it's been afew weeks now since i posted something with a drawing. I will reblog this post with some doodles once I get the chance to and when my program wants to work for me.

While there is no set in stone order of activities and jobs to do, there are some that are required to be done each day to maintain an atleast satisfactory archive, you cannot just wait around for something to happen or let your archive fall apart.

What needs to be done in the archive really corresponds with each individuals jobs and those requirements for them, as well as the individual's set of skills to preform these jobs and amount of those individual's with those traits. Not just anyone can work as efficiently as an individual who has been trained in that spesific field. Of course, each of the members of the archive has a sufficient amount of knowledge on others' jobs, but far from enough to actually work in those fields. They stick to their own jobs and requirements, rarely interfering in others work unless it is desperately needed. All these roles directly help eachother to keep their archive thriving.

A demonstration of how these roles affect eachother: Huntsman and Archiver/Journalist, they both directly are tied to eachother. Huntsman are sent to collect material, organisms, or any other object of interest to bring back to the archive, where the archiver or journalist would correctly categorize the contents into the archive. Without one of the roles in this example, the other role would be greatly affected. The huntsman would be going to locations and bringing contents back to the archive but would fail to be able to keep up with the demands of organization and classification. Without a huntsman, the archiver or journalist would be deprived of contents to organize as they would not have the right skill set to perform a huntsman job. Both of these can lead to catastrophic damage to an archives order, leading to its collapse or even punishment from an Administrator.

In Archive 1, this is even more stressful because there is only a total of 3 working in the archive, along with a youngling still being taught. Luckily for them though, they are a well valued archive and, in turn, are assisted by other high power archives to keep order, as archive 1 runs a majority of the knowledge, history, defense and weapondary field in the present time and the only one to possess PITCH. Even with only 3 working individuals, the archive is considered fairly close to the top of the SPH scale. Without archive 1, all other archives would begin to collapse, and without other SPH archives, archive 1 would be affected greatly.

Now, for daily life within the archive, while there are stressful times because of the lack of members in archive 1, it runs smoothly most of the time with the help of other SPH archives to keep balance.

Ignoring all major matters and professional life. Outside of work related activities, they get along the majority of the time. Some childish banter here and there between Asrar and Orion and some scolding from The Operator for it. You have to expect some teasing between the two as they are brothers, and no amount of professionalism both inside and outside work is going to stop asrar from trying his hardest to get Orions attention XD. In this free time, the archivists indulge more into their hobbies and interests, additionally enjoy quailty time with eachother and their youngest sibling as they do not often get to the time to do so. Some of these activities can rang from playing dress up with their youngest and drawing, to attempting to cook for collector to satisfy his curiousity of different tastes and failing miserably because SOMEONE 'accidentally' ate it all before it was even done cooking.

Even though Orion and asrar get their breaks, the operator has no time for free time. Very rarely, she even gets a breather. So it is quite hard for her to find any hobbies, not like she's interested in having any anyways.

In summary: things can be alittle chaotic in and outside work, but they care for eachother and when they have the time, try to spend time with eachother that is not work related, while still keeping up with there requirements.

[see-arcane]

The Vampyres (PREVIEW)

Something is culling the dead.

Whether they imbibe blood, leech life, or merely traded mortality away to their devil of choice, the revenants of the world are disappearing. A phenomenon that has been carving its way through the undead like a belated necrosis moving steadily through the past century and more. One which the Vampyre, a possessor of many names and collector of many lives, has been fretting over for some time.

A laughable fear, for he is one of those canny cadaverous few who made a deal for perpetual resurrection. The bitten may crumble, but the bargainer may rise from death after death. So he reminds himself. So he worries is no longer the case.

Not when the old boyar in the Carpathians was one of the first to vanish. Still, the monster from the mountains may simply be in hiding, just as the rest must be. The Vampyre himself is surely jumping at shadows. So he convinces himself for a single night…

…before a Thing known only as ‘Quinn Morse’ makes itself and its work known.

Surprise! I accidentally finished a novella during what was supposed to be a short story break. Whoops. Updates to come.

Below is a preview of the opening chapters. A link to the Google Doc version is here.

Warnings for some grisly imagery. Keep an eye out for some familiar faces (such as they are).

 The Vampyres

 “Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it.

Think’st thou that I who saw the face of God

And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven

Am not tormented with ten thousand hells

In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

O Faustus, leave these frivolous demands

Which strikes a terror to my fainting soul!”

 —Mephistopheles, Doctor Faustus

 I

           The phone came alive at midnight. A fact he would mercifully only become aware of well after two in the morning. He followed at least one form of etiquette at the table by silencing the device from start to finish of each game. He broke no rules in any casino, however polished or derelict. It was what preserved his hobby. The gambling itself he could leave or take.

         But the players themselves were excellent sport.

         He beggared every starved and bloodshot player hoping to win funds enough to live off for a month, then played as if blind in order to lose it all to whichever moneyed tick needed it least. Considering how equal the misfortune spread across the board for any who played with him—rich or poor, Good Samaritan or giddy sinner—it was rarely too long before even the least credulous in his circles began to shiver when he showed his face. Or so it was in less congested metropolises where the cattle weren’t so bombarded with other distractions that they couldn’t recognize an ill omen when he took a seat at the felted table. It remained true now, as always, that whoever played against him wound up either penniless or slated for an avalanche of misery the moment they spent the money he’d lost to them. A fact that so many of them never bothered to notice even in this age of conspiracy and wildfire gossip living in their myriad screens.

         Bless their blunted little souls.

         That night he was feeling slightly more at ease than he had in some weeks. Even one of the cocktail girls, whose mind carried a pleasing well of empathy and whose fingernails were still lined with soil from a group tree planting, tickled at his peripheral senses and twitched his appetite half awake. If he wanted, he could talk her number out of her over a drink he would never choke down, perhaps keeping her pinned at a stool with his face and his wallet. He might dance her along for a date or three and then bite her throat out before they struck June. The same could be said for the svelte young man behind the bar who had almost fumbled his showman mixologist pour upon making eye contact with him. He had a tang of hope and action sweating from him, the kind that was destined either to make a hero or a martyr of him someday. It would almost be a mercy to put him down in his prime.

         The girl, then.

He flung a little mental nudge her way. Enough to make her turn her head. At the same time, he fished out the phone to play with. Just to have it ready should the exchange come quicker than anticipated. A small mountain of text messages sat fresh and unread there. This was surprising by its own merit, considering how scant his contacts were. Then he saw the name. Irritation broke out on his mood like a rash.

Taking himself to a private corner, he began to read. And read. And read. Irritation grew into something heavier. Sicker.

At the bottom of the reading, he tapped play so he might watch.

When all was seen and heard, his hand twitched, crunched in the phone’s sides, and sent spider web cracks flying across the screen. A ruddy gentleman stopped en route to the toilet in time to see this and mumble something about how he ought to invest in a device of higher quality. The man had this cousin working for a new startup, you see, and if he was so inclined—

The last mote of joy he took away that night was the look on that rubicund face as it met the eyes of something no longer bothering to pretend it was human. A grey eye might be ignored. Not so for a dead one. He left the man scrambling his way to the stalls.

On his way to the doors, he made sure to radiate every deathly ounce of his presence into the air as he could. A quelling cold that made the glee of the night’s winners crumble into a dread of things they could not name. Then he was out and under the moon. He nursed from that pale waxing wedge in a desperate reflex. It was a thin taste here, lost in the searing pollution of streetlights and neon, but he basked just the same. Still basking, he crushed the phone in his fist and dropped the remains down a sewer grate. Then he was gone, one of a thousand streaks of rolling light and metal on the asphalt.

 II

 He only ever carried phones as a prop.

In this age and those to follow, it would be imperative to keep one of the aggravating little slabs on hand for the purposes of adding the phone numbers of sundry quarries or engage in the back-and-forth patter that so many of them insisted on in those hours when they weren’t side by side. Fortunately, he’d found himself blessed enough to dodge one of the maladies which others indulging in a healthy unlife hadn’t. True, the form he had bartered for had only so many perks, but opting out of extravagant powers had trimmed down the amount of tells.

         Some poor bastards had to walk around without reflections or shadows while grumbling over the barriers of running water and uninvited thresholds. Others only discovered their drawbacks as the 20th century budded, revealing too late that their photographs came out either empty or hideously distorted. Even the audio of their voices came out muted or garbled into static. He’d avoided all of these caveats by trading for a more thinly arcane state of undeath rather than glutting himself on all the powerful options in reach. And why not? It still came with the most desired prize without any need for filigree.

         Given blood and moonlight enough, there was no iteration of death from which he could not rebound. Same as any of the self-made devils lurking about in the shadows. Such shadows as were left for things like them. In a lighter mood, he might have enjoyed the notion of picking at the wounds of those who’d not bothered with the foresight of arranging investments and back doors of identification for the centuries to come. Only fools could miss how tight the noose of bureaucracy was becoming. A body loitering among the mayfly mortals had to be prepared and he had once laughed to himself at how many times the sorcerous types had to gnash their fangs and scramble to cover themselves as time ticked on and their lounging hedonism softened into corrosion.

         But such amusing thoughts had iced over in recent decades.

         He had not gotten as far as he had alive or undead by resting on his laurels. Oh, he might enjoy playing with his food and sowing a bit of casual desolation where it could be nurtured, but he never gambled when it came to things that might inconvenience him. Things like other bloodsuckers, for instance. A few had been proper nuisances of old. The majority of the stray vampiric beauties wandering around crypts and lonely midnights luring gullible lovers into their teeth were invariably the result of irresponsible collecting by the usual harem hoarders. Such carelessness often led to sleeping cadavers staked and slaughtered in their boxes like oversized leeches. Not a concern for himself, naturally—he could enjoy a bed rather than graveyard dirt or casket walls—but the attention itself got too many hackles up.

         Enough of them raised about a certain type of person could lead to inconvenience. One of his older worries had been the notion of an outright arrest. A trial. A boxing away into a great stone cage of a prison where he would have no choice but to resort to his teeth rather than his daggers or risk being found out as a perpetually young and deathless inmate. A bloody break out, an escape, some secret place where he could lay under the moon and heal from the bullets, going on the run for a decades-long stint until all assumed he must be dead, all these he could picture…

         …but frankly would rather avoid. Hence the need for cannier sorts with this unique condition. Those who knew how to take their fun and their fodder between the lines of human living and laws.

It was not against the law that certain formerly-benign persons around you turned apoplectic with madness, horror, or rage after spending a few months in your company. Nor was it against the law to stamp someone’s empty little head with the alien impression of infatuation, lust, or that softly syrupy joke called romance so that they, like the insect drawn to the pitcher plant, would come within reach willingly; regardless of former commitments or fearful kin. There was no law against trances, against the mystic weight of locking an unwitting brain inside an oath with more power to it than hollow words, against having a seventh sense of awareness when it came to the makeup of a soul.

         And, apart from those silly backwards places where superstition still ruled, there was certainly no law against being an accused vampire. Or a vampyre, to go by his preferred spelling. Kate Northcott mocked him for this and other affectations on those sparse occasions when they met.

         Her name was not Kate Northcott any more than his was Gordon Williams, but it was the name she was the most attached to.

         “I turned into a proper ghost story with it in the 1880s. Back when the mesmerist fad was booming, you know. Popped one little stage magician’s blood vessel right there in the middle of his act.” A dainty finger waggled. “I take offense to people playing with my toys. It’s his own fault for trying to walk my poor John around.”

         Her poor John, who had, like every beau before him, been told the exact nature of both their lovely cruel Kate’s being and precisely what she intended to do with them should they go through with marriage and life thereafter. More, that she would see them dead if they abandoned her. Each man had run. Each had died. Perhaps they’d have lasted longer if she ever allowed a trip to the altar before laying out the truth post-honeymoon, but the rules of her own contract demanded the revelation come before any wedding bells. Not a terrible bargain, all things considered.

         This in mind, he had posited that she might have better luck keeping a paramour if she used her fine senses to detect one of those lot who would trip over their own aching members for the chance to be an eternal puppet to her psychic appetite and the twitch of her riding crop. Miss Northcott had batted her lashes. As always, the lambent shine of her eyes tried to work their magic on his own will. As always, they’d scrabbled for a grip on the frictionless wall that shielded his mind from all such parasites; dead drinkers of blood or soul or otherwise. Following the expected failure, she had huffed and tittered.

         “Now what’s the point if they want it? I don’t see you jumping at the sea of willing victims hoping for unlife eternal draped in your arms at the cost of a hickey and a liquid diet. You could have had a set of twins that one time, no? The brother and sister, whoever they were. The Audreys? The Ambers?”

         “The appetizers,” he said with all the pining recollection of an epicure mourning an especially pleasing steak. “They were a pleasant distraction. It’s the most any quarry can aspire to.” So saying, he made a point of revealing one of the daggers he still kept on his person. Antique and bejeweled, he took some small pride in keeping the whole set gleaming and up to the task whenever the latest game came to an end. He’d unsheathed his current pick, admiring the dead grey of his stare reflected in the steel. “I have no interest in collecting sycophants.”

         “Likewise.” She had sipped at her cup daintily. Perhaps purposefully, the better to show she was capable of consuming more than the spirit of a collared victim. Whether she could taste anything the café had to offer was not a topic he was interested enough to pry for. “But that begs the question of why you’re suddenly so concerned for your fellows that you would bother with the labors of social interaction to pass the warning on.”

         Gordon regarded her stonily over his untouched plate.

         “I’m not concerned for any of our ‘fellows’ any more than I’m concerned for you. I have every belief that I am one of the least endangered of our kind and all its branches by dint of having some amount of grey matter dedicated to not flaunting my reality like those idiots who decided to take Bowie and Deneuve as role models. At most, I give you credit for being canny enough to dwell within plausible deniability with your methods. More, you have senses enough to glean for yourself if this threat is in your midst and have enough intelligence to enlist others to help with culling it.”

         She muffled a laugh and picked at her croissant.

         “Even if I believed you would exert effort to come to my aid, I still fail to see what threat you’ve conjured to be afraid of. Your only evidence so far is that you haven’t been in touch with the others of the old guard in some time. Most have never been keen on letter-writing or trading numbers. The last I checked, the bulk of them prefer the sedentary life to our migratory lifestyle. Castles and manors and villages turned into necropolises and so on. Hermit types by nature.”

         “Hermits would be at home. All the places I’ve visited have been empty.” He was surprised at having to keep his throat from bobbing in anxious imitation of a tic from his living years; back when there was need to fret for his life. “And filled with dust.”

         Miss Northcott had frowned up at him.

         “Dust..?”

         “Dust and growth. There were flowers growing in the messes that were fresh enough in their conversions to have flesh leftover. Compost.” He thought back to the surreal gardens left behind in that sequestered corner of Munich that belonged to Dolingen. Then a Serbian village that had been swallowed by a ravenously loving pack of wurdulacs, stopped short of virulence by their rules of homeland borders. Among others. Dust in piles, dust wearing ancient clothes, dust in coffins. And scattered throughout, the bounty of younger fledglings. Meat and bone converted to soil from which wild roses, ash trees, and garlic sprouted in healthy crops. As for the nobler estates?

         “The chateaus and mansions are either abandoned, passed on to the wealthy living, or museum pieces now. Maybe their former masters left it all behind in the past hundred or so years to dodge modern eyes scrutinizing the family tree. I’d like to think so. Just as I’d like to think there was a less worrisome reason that all the pseudonyms and auxiliary domains I tried to follow up on had no recognizable owners when I checked in. But even if I were dense enough to convince myself of such, there’s at least one case that suggests—,”

         “The Carpathians.” She beamed at him and his stunted oration. “The castle in the mountains has been gutted since 1897, dear. Looted and halfway dismantled to the foundation by the locals. What’s left of it is there for the tourists.” Her slim hand patted his knuckles. “If you’re worried about the handsy old boyar, don’t be. He’s been mobbed and murdered before. A shame about his girlfriends in their boxes, but they were only born of a bite, poor things. No contractual resurrection to fall back on. The Count, if he is still bothering with being a Count, is doubtlessly off haunting some contemporary castle someplace. Probably a nice high rise for him to skitter down or make his batty flights from. Just as the other oldies have likely taken themselves to higher ground. And if their minions really have run afoul of some sterling sorts with hammer, stake, and axe?” Miss Northcott shrugged. “Well, there’s always more pretty chattel to choose from.”

         Now she did laugh aloud. A brittle crystalline sound.

         “Honestly, I’m shocked that you’d be the one to turn jumpy over such a thing. Supposing there was some active force in the world bumping the lower tier wraiths off, it would still be no more than an annoyance for us. We’ve both had our share of murders to prove as much. The dried-up old conqueror certainly had his fill in the warlord days, if I don’t mistake the legends.”

         “He did,” Gordon granted. “And he has reassembled himself plenty of times before. Which is my point. Supposing he is undead and active today, or was a hundred years prior, why would he let the peasants harvest his fortress down into a ruin?”

         “Well, he’s obviously left the place,” Miss Northcott shrugged without looking at him. Her attention had gravitated down to her phone. A manicured thumb tapped and scrolled. More appetite than apprehension lived in her gaze. “You can only pass yourself off as your own descendant so long before things start getting sticky. Everyone hits the point where you have to get on with setting up elsewhere. And really, the warlord days are ancient history. If he’d gone out with a flourish of a massacre on the neighboring towns squirming under his eye, it would only have gotten him more unwanted attention. I recommend you start trawling through top mogul names and see if you can’t spot his picture lurking in there, gone fat and happy slurping up interns.” Her lips pursed. “Supposing he was one of the lucky sorts who can have a photo taken.”

         With that, the topic was dead. Gordon managed to sit through another quarter of an hour in which she lamented the double-edged factor of her electronic allergy, woeful at never having a decent photo to spare for social media or dating apps, but likewise glad of the identity-baffling glamour it leant.

Chirpily, she reminded him that even those who grew suspicious of her would never be able to take a reliable photo or video of anything but a spectral horror with mist for eyes, unlike some. Better still, no one even spoke on the phone anymore. Bless texting.

He held on until she started regaling him with talk of her latest doomed darling—a Mr. Quinn Morse, the mortuary assistant who she had met in the before and after of her latest fiancé’s funeral—and what a scrumptious psychic treat he was to the palate. She was frankly surprised at herself! He had proven so pleasant a distraction she might not even bother goosing his mind into vomiting out a proposal. Not for a while anyway. Why, she may even take up two-timing the boy just to snack on a fiancé behind his back, ha ha.

         Gordon didn’t bother wishing her bon appétit. He picked out a young couple on his way back to the train. Mister and Missus would be found folded inside a dumpster later that evening, chests carved and throats torn. A rejuvenating bout of gluttony that only gave him new energy with which to curse the lack of answers he sat with. Worse still was the lack of competent allies to make up for the former’s deficit. For a while longer he strained to lower his suspicions to the level of Miss Northcott’s confidence.

         His main concern was so implausible as to border on impossible, after all.  

         The turned might be slain, it was true. But those who had commissioned their states from their devil or deity of choice were immune to total destruction by any of the cattle, no matter how endowed in strength or holy accoutrement.

Days and nights were spent rereading these facts in the volumes that still traveled with him to whatever land or identity he haunted. They remained preciously stored in enhanced safes as the centuries ticked on, now handled only with silk gloves and the most delicate turns of cover and page. He scoured the old tongues, some living, some dead, some entirely detached from human script, and took as much solace as he could from the facts laid there.

His contract was one of perpetual function. So long as he drank his dose of blood, he would go on forever. So long as his dead skin was grazed by moonlight, he would shed any injury or temporary death. So long as he was the thing he was, no act of man would have the power to unmake him.  

All these were still maintained. He was safe. As anyone else at his level or higher would be. The more grandiose warlocks and dealmakers who’d glutted themselves on fearsome add-ons available to other forms of revenant had simply moved on and were going about their business elsewhere, under new names. Of course. Of course.

“Of course,” he murmured to the yellowed pages. “They all just happened to do so within the last century. On a whim.”

It could be, couldn’t it? Technology and the microscopic examinations of increasingly thorough systems surrounding properties and owners thereof would make it necessary to move on from old roosts sooner or later.

“Without taking any measures to preserve their estates.”

But then what of the villages? The ones full of living peasantry gleefully peeling the properties down to floorboards. The dead spaces where only silence and specific warding flora bloomed. What sense was there to those, if not the fact that something had been and gone and torn the masters of the land out by their bloody roots?

Something.

That was the prospect that worried him most. Something coming to call, something culling the undead and undying, something roaming across borders of land and water to pick them off year by year, decade by decade. Something that may have been active since the boyar in the mountains disappeared. Something which was not human and so did not fall within the parameters of their sundry pacts’ protection.

Gordon grimaced. It would come down to a technicality, wouldn’t it? Be they gods or demons or Folk in-between, there was always some damned loophole built in to ensure a trade was never quite as advertised. Gordon had studied and sworn and dealt with a god wearing the aspect of one of those horrors that passed for divinities in the Mediterranean. One of tripled faces, of lunar light, of words stitched with power. After so many centuries, he had dared to become complacent enough to think he had gotten away with an impenetrable exchange.

But now came this worrisome century and a quarter in which all those dead who lived off the living were dropping out of sight. He might have dared to make an inquiry to Powers beyond mortal matter if he weren’t likewise concerned that this culling was the work of said Powers themselves. Terminating contracts, as it were. Even if this weren’t the case, what more did he have left to barter with for protection from…

From what?

He didn’t know. Still. The result left him twisting unhappily between throes of frustration at his ignorance and grimmer dread of knowledge that might come in the shape of the long-avoided coffin come to collect.

As always, the cure for his own despondency was to share it with others. Hence the casino. The brief high that had almost transfigured into relief.

And then had come the texts from ‘N.’

Even with the phone safely demolished and abandoned, its final bleak gift stayed branded behind his eyes, searing through his thoughts awake or asleep. The first came at ten past midnight:

R. Need help. My arm’s going black. The knife, it

A lull of minutes followed this. The next message came through at 12:15 AM:

It’s real. He’s here and he’s real. Quinn Morse was a cover. I can’t find any of his pictures in the album now. He replaced everything with their markers. All of them.

Another beat. 12:22 AM:

Pick up, damn it! This isn’t a joke! He’s got all the doors and windows cut off and the police won’t be here in time! I already tried to put him down, but he just keeps going. I can’t drink him. I can’t even hold him. He knew he knew the whole time he

Beat. 12:30 AM:

Pick up you bastard

12:31 AM:

Please, R, he’s outside. He’s got my arm. What’s left of my arm. The door’s breaking and h

The next message came at 12:41 AM. A video. Hitting play, the clearest thing throughout the few endless minutes was the background. Miss Northcott’s plush bedroom stood out in crisp relief compared to the two figures in the foreground. One was a vaguely female haze that Gordon recognized as what was left of Kate Northcott. She flickered in and out of the camera’s concept of her reality. One moment she was spectral fog made of hunger and venom. In the next, she was something far more tangible and suffering for it.

Each flicker revealed a new stage of decomposition twitching in a bloodied sundress. Only one arm was left to flail with as the right was missing, swinging only a necrotic stump at the shoulder. The rest of the body was following suit between spasms. Sometimes a glottal noise that could pass for a voice broke through the static. What had been crystal was now a shrill and dwindling rasp. Dimly, Gordon thought it was strange the noise was not wetter—his cuisine almost always gurgled when enduring the kind of wound he saw staining her breast.

A crimson slit, quickly drying to maroon, had opened where her heart would be. Her remaining hand alternated between scrabbling at the wound and trying to wave off the shape throwing its shadow over her from outside the borders of the screen. As she tried to kick herself back along the floor, the reason for her scuttling along the imported rug was made clear: a bullet hole had gone through one knee. The knee itself was now almost obliterated with decay while the calf and thigh on either side were going hideously spongy. Much like the rest of her.

The last noise she made was as close to a scream with dust for a throat could manage—

“Quin—,”

—before a flash of silver-white swept down. It flew in a shining arc from the upper corner of the screen and through the hazy shriveled stem that had been a neck. A moment later there was no haze left. Only the corpse of the thing known as Kate Northcott collapsing in two pieces. The bulk of it flopped to the floor with a gruesome rattle. Her head, the lush tresses now so much grizzled and flimsy white, tumbled away until it struck the nightstand. When it stilled, the sockets revealed that the eyes had dried away to nothing.

Then Quinn Morse stepped into frame.

If Miss Northcott was mist, her killer was a ghost. The impression of a man smeared just out of true. Really, it was the impression of a character; some escapee from a folk legend or a graphic novel. Such was the outline Gordon could make out in the blur of him. He was a strange medley of huntsman and mourner. Sheathed in black, Gordon could pick out suggestions of both the late Victorian and the fantasy of the American adventurer in his attire. Or perhaps he was assuming too much by the hints beneath the hanging duster and the broad brim of a hat dark as charcoal. The only things not some shade of ink were the white fall of hair growing from under the hat in wild drapes and the twin infernos of the eyes floating in the shadowed void where a face should be. Not red, but a sickening grey that might have matched Gordon’s own but for how they burned.

He thought of cats. He thought of foxes. He thought of carrion birds.

He thought of coins not unlike the pair Quinn Morse held up in his gloved fingers. Gold pinched in old leather. They shined just as bright as the long blade gripped in the opposite hand, its helping of blood dripping.

Gordon watched with the camera as Quinn Morse first held the coins up to be seen, then popped one apiece into each of the eye sockets. Finally, a bundle of familiar blossoms and sprigs appeared from the dark mass of the coat. This was tucked neatly into the head’s sagging maw as if arranging a bouquet. Quinn Morse stepped out of sight. The video ended.

A final text message appeared the instant the show finished:

My God, my God! Look not so fierce upon me! Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile! Ugly Hell, gape not! Come not Lucifer! I’ll burn my books!—O Mephistopheles!

He had wanted to laugh. To roll his eyes. To make himself tap out a reply in mocking returned verse. To inform Mr. Morse that he was lacking for proper material to parrot, especially in assuming his gods and devils brushed anywhere near something so young and gaudy as the Abrahamic.

He could. He would.

But somewhere in these plans he had found himself crumpling the phone to shrapnel and racing home to start clearing out his necessities for a trip to distant quarters. He kept more than one residence as a rule whenever he wasn’t taking one of his gourmand tours. A fact Miss Northcott may have known, but not well enough to have learned his other addresses. Or names.

Gordon Williams was thrown away that night.

Mason Darvell greeted the morning.

[starblitzy-started-a-fire]

hi !! wanted to say thank you for the asks you sent and i wanna know if you have any headcanons of your own, and/or whoever is your favorite?

Oh! Hello! Thank you for the ask! In fact, I do have a few headcanons! My favorite characters have to be Maxxx and Pump Quinn, so I’ll share some headcanons about them.

Maxxx can communicate with sign language, but his hands jerk a lot when doing so

Maxxx has sudden strokes because of how often his blood is cut off by his overdoses

Maxxx is a very awkwardly social person, and instead of trying to start a conversation, he uses physical contact to get attention. (Like poking, waving, pulling at someone’s hair/clothes, etc)

I feel like Maxxx is most comfortable around Death, and speaks to him the most, even though Death hardly understands what he says lol

Maxxx is a big collector, and likes to collect random trinkets and other items he finds around his department. He also accidentally steals things, since he thinks random things are just up for grabs if they’re left unattended (lol)

(Some projection here lol) He also isn’t good at recognizing verbal hints, and mistakes someone’s tone to mean something it doesn’t. His perception of people’s emotions is different, and doesn’t always understand what someone is trying to tell him.

Quinn time! Pump Quinn is a person who is happiest when they’re working, and will find many hobbies to fill up their time

Pump Quinn likes to crochet! They crocheted a small Death plush, which was supposed to be for Death, but they ended up never giving it to him (the plush is sitting somewhere in a drawer, and Quinn occasionally goes to look for it)

Quinn is a people pleaser, and always does their best to make sure everyone is happy before they are happy.

Pump Quinn’s form of love/friendship is gift giving! They love to give gifts to people they admire!

That’s all I have (for now, lol)! Thanks again for the ask, I really appreciate it!

[skullbowz]

General!Ticci Toby HCs. . .

This took longer than expected . . Read till the end for a lil blurb <3 reminder ! English isn’t my first language.

—Clothing;

It depends on how old Toby is.. at first he only wore the clothes Slenderman “found” him in and whatever other articles of clothing he was able to scavenge up. It wasn’t until a few years later he felt safe enough to venture out and buy some clothes from the thrift. (with stolen money cuz bitch don’t get paid to be a lumberjack,,, a human lumberjack that is.)

I’m so bad at describing; just think of Will Graham's season 1 outfit n shit. 😭 I feel like he’d probably dress like a grandpa. Oversized Grandpa sweaters, those button-ups/dress shirts under w collars that peep out, any baggy pants in general. Work/toe steel boots >> .

He just doesn’t bother much w dressing up! It’s also so he doesn���t stand out much whenever trying to go somewhere in public — sometimes he’d get lucky and find band tees of bands he likes or Jeff lets him borrow some of his own.

—music;

A firm believer that he loves metal. Something about the chaotic-icy helps him “soothe the voices.” his favorite bands would be Sevendust, Rammstein, and Lamb of god!

Once when he was on a mission he accidentally broke into the wrong house and lucky him it was a middle-aged white dad who had a thing for 2000s rock and metal. Killed that fucker and stole as many albums and CDs as he possibly could :p.

He’d DIY a bunch of studded leather bracelets and give a few away to Natalie and Jeffery. Gifting is his love language tbh

—interests;

Most residents of the manor (when he ‘lived’ there) don’t/didn’t know much about Toby since he doesn’t bother socializing much. He seems pretty disinterested to the rest but the dude really has some great hobbies and things he enjoys. For one he loves crafting, especially wood carving! He also has a habit of collecting animal bones/remains to clean and use them as decor. His favorites prob have to be fox skulls :). Very much a trinket collector as well. Just a odd man :3

Besides hobbies, oddly enough he enjoys Sanrio-related things—specifically cinnamon roll. (Since it’s the only character he knows,) he will convince you that the cinnamoroll is a bunny, not a dog. He refuses to accept that the little cartoon character is not a bunny as he first assumed. Of course he likes music music,, he’s given poetry a chance, isn’t the great at it but really enjoys it!

—Biography;

Toby is Dominican-German. His mom was Dominican while his dad was German! He’s fluent in Spanish and somewhat broken German. Around 5’9 to 6’0 foot tall. Late teens and early twenties he was more scrawny than anything but after 13 years of labor and trying to survive he obv grew some muscle mass and like… isn’t built like a 17-year-old boy idfk. Ofc, he was born on April 28th 1994. Toby grew up in more southern states (specifically Alabama) and has a slighht southern accent.

—Proxy experiences;

Toby is a runaway proxy; one of the very few that managed to escape Slendermans (or the operators, depending on which) grasp. Though he isn’t exactly safe cuz of this, If he gets too close to the terrority of Slenderman or the operator he starts developing symptoms and illness. Course the main being static n amnesia, waking up in random places covered in blood, etc. Toby can’t feel pain so the static doesn’t cause immense headaches but it’s dangerous for that exact reason; he can never tell when his nose starts to bleed or his ears rupture.

Toby only got involved with the operator in his later years (maybe around midish late 20’s) when he was in the minced of escaping Slenderman, and just so happened to meet Tim Wight. He spiraled into a REDACTED hell hole from there.

—Love interest(s) ?;

Oh boy, , it really depends on how quirky im feeling. Ticciwork and TicciJeff tbh. He loves ppl with no sanity 🫶🫶 Thankfully Jeff isn’t involved with Slender because he’s too much of a loose cannon to be controlled, much like EJ, the rake, seed, smile, grinny, etc. and Slenderman doesn’t take interest in Clockwork but since she has connections with some of slendermans valuable tyrants and or proxies, the entity leaves her be.

Jeff was the one to help Toby escape slenderman, and snapped him out of his “devotion” era. Clock is just amazing girlfriend and always there for him :p.

extra . . . .

[ REDACTED ! ! ]

This Deja vu feeling haunts him. He doesn’t understand why he’s being searched for. Why do the cops know who he is? Why is he? Who was he?

Childhood didn’t exist. Was he always grown ?

Why is it when he passes down that neighborhood, it feels so nostalgic . Nothing left but ashes and decaying foundations of homes, homes that were once were preoccupied by happy families. He call still smell the remains of the burnt buildings. Strange. It’s like he could never forget.

Jeff always went quiet whenever they were talking and the topic of this neighborhood was brought up, does he know something the EX proxy doesn’t?

What’s more confusing is that fateful night with Natalie, he found himself driving down a dark road that one night. It shared similar sentiment much like the abandoned neighborhood, only much more sinister. He was with Clocky, Pretty brunette with a clock for one eye,, the other an odd emerald green. Over time, the twitchy man taught himself to read clocks just so he wouldn’t have to check his phone for the time. Natalie’s eye always went tick tock, tick tock.

It was only him and Nat against the world at that moment,, so who was the mauled looking blonde in his rear view window? Sitting in the back of his car as well, it was strange. Jeff usually hoarded up the back seats. . He wouldn’t share it with a victim.

But it isn’t just a victim. Toby found himself struggling to catch his breath, who is she? Nat. It’s not Nat. It’s not Jeff. It’s just some blonde girl. A young adult that resembles someone he doesn’t know. Does he know ? ? ?

Who is she?

What was once a soft and familiar safe touch was now ghostly and evocative ? ?

Everything is blurry around him. He doesn’t hear her asking if he’s okay.

He doesn’t feel her cold touch, her hand covering his on the steering wheel.

One moment he’s on the road

The next he’s out cold

.

What caused him to swerve into that tree ?

Why did he put their lives at risk ?

.

Panting. He heard harsh panting. Was that him? Was that her? His hands were completely thrown off the steering wheel and replaced with paler, somewhat smaller ones. Not so gentle though. Something warm was dripping down from his nose. Metallic scent wafted and clogged his nostrils. He licked his lips and wasn’t surprised to be met with blood - he looked in the rear view mirror - NO BLONDIE IN SIGHT

He looked out the window. Did he just barely manage to swerve away from that tree? No. He didn’t save their lives. He looked to his right. A singular green eye met his. She’s unharmed, unlike REDACTED but shooken up. What brought him back to his senses was that familiar disoriented voice.

“Toby, what the fuck ??”

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Sorry, Wrong Comms! : Hunter x Medic!Reader [Chapter 7.5]

Warnings and Information: Intended audience is 13+ (18 if you squint.) **THIS IS PART TWO OF CHAPTER 7.** I needed to cut the chapter in “half” to avoid a massive word count! Should hopefully know the drill about my use of italics, Mando'a and headcanons by this point in the series. Couple of lines throughout both halves get suggestive.

Party shenanigans continue! The birthday presents are described in a vague, general manner to leave it up to your imagination and better fit all manner of hobbies/interests! Sorry Hunter, siblings will be siblings, and that means some teasing/plotting. Mostly Star Wars swearing. Medic!Reader (finally) meets the Captain. Rex being a proud older brother; bonus healthy emotional outlets for everyone! Some accidental eavesdropping leads to discovering how much our broody sergeant worries about getting involved with the Empire (and other things). Tech takes his turn at trickery. Local Man brags/rambles about his family in a confessional love letter like A Weirdo (Affectionate); the way to Hunter's heart is caring for his brothers and sister. Mild panic and awkwardness. Hints of the writer's thinly disguised current romantic fantasies? It's more likely than you think. Someone steps on glass, but no blood! Unintentional sibling "trickery" (Echo's, referenced from Chapter 3, if you can even call it that) and two counts of very intentional, suggestive teasing during one instance (ten credits if you guess both correctly, five if you guess one right) are also present amid other occurrences of sibling shenanigans.

Word-count: 8,540

"Start with the smallest present!" Omega called, clambering excitedly into Wrecker's lap as he barely got himself lowered on the floor after carrying all of the presents into the common area from Echo's room. 

The medic laughed with a curious brow quirking at the smallest Clone who was the big sister of the Batch, plucking the indicated item off the top of the pile at her feet. It was clearly just a small envelope that'd been swaddled in gift paper at the first feel of things. The gift-giver's name was a short, illegible smear of ink and all [____] could make out was the general markings of "cresh" of the Aurebesh alphabet somewhere in the middle of it. "Uh-oh, things got more than a little messy I see. I wanna see if I can guess who this is from. Ink smear is a little too short to be Crosshair at least." She teased, carefully removing the wrapping paper before working her nail under the edge of the seal flap to ease it open. 

"How sure are you about that?" Crosshair challenged all in good fun with a wicked grin over the rim of his fourth different mocktail combination, "While it's nothing like your's, I'll have you know that's my best handwriting yet, doc." The sniper's sarcastic nature was only further spurred on by the exaggerated eye roll and equally-sarcastic yeah-yeah-yeah murmuring of the medic and Hunter pinching the bridge of his nose with a muted sigh before flashing him two hand signals.

Knife. Stop. 

Crosshair smirked impishly, drawing out each word in a galactic language other than Basic in mock-challenge. "Why don't you make me cut it out? Just having a little fun, sarge. You should be having some fun, too." 

[____]'s head snapped up in confusion just before she finished opening the envelope, eyeing the marksman quizzically. "What was that, Cross?" 

"Oh nothing," Crosshair chuckled, flicking his free hand lazily in a dismissive gesture, "just reminding Hunter of something for later while I was thinking about it." To Hunter's relief the medic found it satisfactory enough of an answer to turn her attention back to the envelope in her hands and finish tearing it open rather than ask further questions. 

She knew immediately which brother this gift was from once the seal flap was pulled back. Tucked inside the envelope were two collector's foil tickets for her favorite intergalactic band; marked for the night they'd be on this planet and closest to the spaceport. The location she'd joked she'd have an easier time talking herself into abandoning her clinic for the night in favor of going and seeing the live performance on this leg of the band's touring route. "Aw, Tech…! Thank you, that's so sweet!" 

Tech smiled shyly before tugging his goggles back in place with an easygoing voice, eyes fixed on his knees. "You're quite welcome." He sharply ducked Crosshair's hand reaching out to mess with his hair as he teased his brother for looking slightly red in the face at the attention. "I would recommend Omega's gift be opened next. It will be in the larger envelope." 

The second envelope was made of more rigid material than the first, difficult to bend or flex without great effort. [____] smiled at the cheerfully written "Open HERE!" with a smile and the stern "DON'T open THIS end!" warning on the identical entry-points at the short edges of the rectangle. Heeding the notations, she opened the appropriate end and gently shook out the contents; a plastic gift-voucher card to a store just on the edge of the spaceport the medic frequented for one of her hobbies, and a few pieces of artwork carried out in painstaking detail to accurately depict [____]'s favorite species of flora and fauna from around the galaxy. She swore louder than intended, turning around the print of a large flower in particular to excitedly show the rest of them. "Holy kriff! Omega, you made these?" 

"Uh-huh!" Omega giggled, laughing and kicking her feet in half-hearted protest to Wrecker tickling her in-between the explanation she'd locked herself in her room immediately after breakfast this morning to work on the three illustrations, and didn't come out until lunch.  

"These are so beautiful," she swooned, eyes lingering over the attention to minute details for a moment longer before putting them back in the safety of the envelope, "thank you, sweetheart! I think I'll hang these in my bedroom… and put the voucher to good use. Who's present should I open next?" It seemed so far that the person who's present was opened last was choosing the next sibling's, and she didn't mind. (Maybe just a little curious why Tech's was specified to be first; perhaps it was because the literal big-ticket item was the most expensive and they were eager to see her reaction.) "You should open Crosshair's!" Omega decided. 

She now wondered if the remark from the Clone with the short crop of stark silver-gray hair about her handwriting was deliberate when she opened his gift next; a package of the writing pens she liked best for filling out the occasional old-school medical charts on paper. Trustworthy and reliable writing implements she'd recently run dry on. Of course Cross would have noticed and made note of when she'd thrown away that last pen with a sigh; and it didn't surprise her he'd have gone for a gift on the more practical side. The corner of his mouth twitched in a half-smile in response to her thanks. 

"Heh... Don't mention it, doc. Big guy's turn." 

Wrecker's gift was squished down into an old paper grocery sack that'd been stapled shut, and it popped out the moment the last staple had been freed. "Aw, Wreck, it's so cute!" [____] squeezed the stuffed rendition of her absolute favorite animal in all the galaxy to her chest, relishing the way the slightly chubby little body squished against her. Oh Maker, it was so soft! "I love it, thank you!" 

Wrecker grinned broadly at her, releasing Omega when the youngster made to get up from his lap, either restless or tired of sitting on the floor so she squeezed herself up by Hunter in his seat. "Yer welcome, kid! Hopefully the candy in the bottom of the bag didn't get too badly squished while I was tryna fit in the toy, heh." She quickly confirmed that wasn't the case, and was now eagerly looking forward to the particular treat she didn't get the chance to have as often as she liked. "'Kay, Echo next!" 

The gift from the ARC trooper was also in a paper bag, stapled much more neatly across the top thanks to a less bulky shape inside. Pulled open, [____] saw the tightly-tucked item and had to laugh softly as she pulled it out. "Ho boy. Of course there's a way to fold a blanket according to regulation-standards," It was so soft and comfortable to the touch, a welcome bonus to her favorite color and pattern. "old habits?" she asked, hoping to tease an answer out of him.

Echo just laughed, unlacing his arms and sitting up in his seat now that he was talking. He wasn't afraid to tease her in kind. "Be thankful for those old habits, burc'ya; it's the best way it'll fit in the bag when you have to carry everything home." 

"O-or have someone help with that," Hunter cut in suddenly with a nervous cough, proposing an offer, "It'll probably be late, so one of us would be more than happy to walk you home, by the time the party's over…" his hand started to climb back up towards the new gauze in a nervous movement before he caught himself and instead put the hand around Omega's shoulder in a tender gesture. Echo barked with laughter in response, eyes glinting with a unique hint of mischief. "Sounds like someone's trying to volunteer, kid: how nice of you, Hunter." 

[____] tucked the plush new blanket back into the paper bag, deciding it would replace the old, scratchy and threadbare blanket that was thrown over the cot in her back office and picked up the last gift, Hunter's, with a pleasant chuckle. "I'd be happy for the help, no matter who it is." she promised, cautiously breaking open the package. "Alright, last but not least, Hunter's gift-"

"And then it's dinner time!" Wrecker cheered, briefly forgetting his manners as he eyed his timer with glee. He wouldn't tell her what he'd been planning for her special dinner, adamant that it would be a surprise to her. Ended up being a good thing she'd been so absorbed in that holofilm and hadn't eaten anything yet, whatever it was waiting for them in the kitchen smelled delicious.

Methodically wrapped in clumps of thin tissue paper within the last birthday present were an assortment of accessories, each a beautiful and unique style. [____] gasped softly, marveling under her breath as she took a closer look at each little piece. Some rings, others a pair of earrings, or something to pin in her hair if she wanted. All were made a little differently, no two styles the same. It looked like they'd all come from different planets, if she had to guess based on some of the materials used to make them. "Oh stars… These are beautiful, Hunter. Oh kriff, I almost missed this one here at the bottom…" 

Omega stifled a gentle gasp at the sight of the necklace pendant the moment [____] had it unwrapped. She recognized that one in particular best out of all of the other accessories Hunter had been collecting in secret. She and her brothers had been on an assignment that they'd been promised a healthy windfall of credits for if they completed it successfully, dating back months ago now. It'd been the first mission they took once Omega was better after she'd been sick. 

Once they were done and set to return to the Havoc Marauder to return to their employer with proof of a completed contract, they'd passed through a small market where Hunter had been the first to stall the rest of them once something caught his eye. 

That Nabooian pendant [____] now held gingerly in her hands. 

The first hint that Hunter felt some kind of way about the medic was when Omega watched him ever-so-gingerly pick up that necklace from the tray out of everything else the jeweler had to sell and exchanged the appropriate amount of credits for it. After he'd walked some distance away, still holding the free gift box that came with every purchase from the vendor that now held the necklace inside it, Hunter had paused with a great, sudden look of uncertainty after showing it to Echo before it was finally put away for safekeeping. 

"What's the matter, sarge? Having second thoughts on if it's the kid's style after all?"

"N-no, I'm certain it'd look nice on her, that's not what I'm worried about. But… What if she thinks I'm weird for just… giving her this out of the blue?"

"Then, don't. Wait for like a - ohIdunno - special occasion or something. She'll like it either way, I'm sure." 

Omega realized these feelings Hunter had for [____] had been brewing much longer than initially thought. So she was right when she asked Hunter if he ever thought of someone special: the answer was sitting right there in his footlocker where he kept his armor kit for months along with everything else he'd been secretly collecting!

Of course. She should've realized that when she found everything neatly wrapped up in a pair of too-small blacks (probably Hunter's last set before his final growth spurt shortly before reaching full Clone-maturity) the time he'd asked her to grab something out of his footlocker.

In a flash, the medic had opened the clasp to the necklace and reached behind her neck to put on the accessory to try it on first out of everything. Five sets of eyes swung in Hunter's direction once she'd closed the mechanism and took a moment to admire the pendant as it hung from her neck and lay comfortably against her chest. "Oh I love this… Thank you, Hunter!" 

He was redder than one of Mustafar's lava fields even under all the cool-toned party lights as he barely stuttered out a you're welcome before his voice was overshadowed by the excited, whooping laugh as Wrecker ducked into the snug kitchenette to bring out the main course for everyone, making the effort to move in such a way that it concealed what he was carrying until he got it to the table in the breakfast nook. 

"Hope you're all hungry! Cause it's ready!" Tech, Echo, Crosshair and Omega were quick to claim their seats around the table, the joint effort once more seating [____] and Hunter next to one another, this time by force. Crosshair grinned lazily, leaning one elbow on the table once his brother and their collective friend had seated themselves. "Smells good, big guy. What is it?" 

Excited as he was, and this close to reminding Crosshair he'd helped him gather all the fresh ingredients just this morning, Wrecker did his best to stick to the script just like his sharp-eyed brother. "Thought we'd all have a taste of home tonight: [____]'s home, that is!" He lifted the lid to the tray to finally reveal what he'd cooked up, and he was sure that he looked a little pink after all the excited chatter from the medic as [____] explained to Omega (as she also pretended she had no idea what it was Wrecker had made) that this was one of her favorite things to eat where she grew up; that she hadn't eaten it since she'd moved from her home planet and came here. 

They were still on track, after all. If Hunter wasn't going to show that letter to her tonight, feeling it wasn't the right time for any reason, all he had to do was give Tech one little hand signal. 

Barricade. 

So far, there'd been no sign of it.

So, so far so good!

Following dinner, they had gotten at least one round into a short, modified game of Sabacc before everyone was interrupted by a loud GNK unit coming up the street. 

Bwonk! Honk, honk! 

Wrecker looked up from his current hand, both brows reaching for the ceiling. "Huh? Wha's Gonky doin' outside the door? He usually stays with the ship unless it's really important… Excuse me, ad'ika, I better go see what 'e wants. H-hold these for me, will ya?" 

She took the cards, careful to keep them face-down so they didn't become a spoiled hand. "Sure, no worries Wreck." [____] promised, holding Wrecker's current hand of Sabacc cards to her chest for further security. The front door whipped open, the hydraulics cracking sharply as the blastdoor opened and closed as Wrecker stepped out onto the stoop for a brief moment. 

Everyone playing at the tight table quickly abandoned the effort of guarding their current hands from spying eyes to see why there was suddenly shouting, fearing that there was some kind of trouble when they heard Wrecker and another man bellowing. 

"No-no-no, put me down!"

Everyone quickly jumped to their feet. Crosshair easily swept Omega off his lap and held her against his back with one long arm, and completely disregarding his injuries that he really should not be fighting with, Hunter stepped protectively in front of the confused medic; each veteran brother telling their prospective charge they were minding to "Get behind me!" in unison, swiping anything in reach that could be used as a makeshift weapon. Tech and Echo moved closest to the door, ready to act however necessary to buy Cross and Hunter time or to come to Wrecker's aid.

It proved to be an unnecessary measure by all, but no less sweet or so selflessly brave. There was no Imperial threat.

"GUYS! Hahaha! Look who it is!!" Wrecker was not alone when he came back inside, the door rocketing open to reveal the boyish giant with so much excitement in his mismatched eyes over this very familiar-looking man struggling in his arms, feet so far off the ground and kicking desperately for purchase on something, anything. Imperial threats didn't get carried into the house with a look of unfettered glee by someone trying to deal them secretive, critical blows.

"Wr-Wrecker! Every time?! Put me down!" the other Clone tried near-fruitlessly, still struggling in the arms of the explosive ordnance expert. 

Makeshift weapons were dropped. The five faces of the Clone brothers previously flooded with fear quickly fell and gave way to relief, Echo's gaunt face changing the most as he staggered against the wall, loosely clutching his chest, practically halfway to tears in a bittersweet blend of excitement and comfort. "Oh, Maker! It's the Captain, not a damn Imperial… oh Maker it's just the Captain." (Omega swiftly caught the attention of the medic and, happily, declared it's really okay, we know him; he's very nice! in a whispered voice.)

Echo didn't talk about just anyone like that; the Captain? [____] heard how much Echo respected, loved this particular older brother, always calling him "one of my brothers, Rex" and "the Captain" depending on the cybernetically enhanced soldier's mood or decided topic of the day when he swung by her clinic just to talk. 

So between Echo's painfully obvious relief, Omega's seal of approval, and a memory that the Batchers got along best with a select few of their "Reg" brothers in the GAR, [____] was nearly certain this must be Captain Rex, based on the whooping and crushing hug he was (still, unfortunately for him) receiving from Wrecker; and he was likely coming by to see how Hunter was recovering. "Oh, of course, of course; you must be wondering about Hunter! I'm personally not aware or sure that anyone had let you know that he was okay when Echo accidentally… hailed me but… he's, um… Echo? What's wrong?" she trailed off, seeing the ARC shrink further against the storm-blue wall with every word.

If the slight paleness in his skin could possibly go any paler, Echo had found a way, eyes enormous and both shoulders practically in his ears as he stammered through his explanation. "Uh… I'm not sure I'd call hailing you an accident… exactly. I did mean to hail the Captain, but I, uh, I-I-I also meant to contact you for medical help and I wasn't sure what communication frequency I dialed in when I started speaking and-!" 

"You boys are a real mess." The sigh from the captain was fond. Nostalgic. "Just like old times… Wrecker, mind finally setting me down so I can introduce myself?" On his feet, the Captain with closely-shaved blonde, curled hair could now properly greet the medic, offering a firm handshake. (Maker, the sheer strength in those fingers alone!) "The name's Rex. Thanks for taking care of these boys, and their sister, ma'am. I know it can't be easy." 

She knew what he was playfully alluding to, fully familiar with these siblings and their proclivity for danger in the almost-a-year she's known them by now. She firmed up her handshake and chuckled humbly. "Heh. Nonsense! I knew the job had its thorns when I went to school for it; easy would be out of the question. They just keep my job exciting for me, that's all. I'm [____]. Pleased to meet you, Rex!" 

"Likewise, [____]. Likewise." Rex pumped the handshake one last time before he was content to release the medic's hand and greet each of his brothers, starting with a warm, comforting chuckle for Echo once he was pulled to his feet. "Easy there, little brother; sorry for the scare. It's good to see you, Echo."

"I-I'm fine…" Echo sniffled, face buried into the Captain's shoulder. She'd never seen Echo cling to anyone so tightly before, not even the frightening occasion he was in the deep throes of hypothermia and Wrecker had volunteered himself to assist in raising Echo's core temperature. "M'fine, Captain… H-how'd you find us?" 

"I knew how to find your ship," Captain Rex confessed, thumb doing a few slow, circular laps where he held it against Echo's back. "Tracked it down here to this planet and docked myself a few shipyards over. The GNK-series droid aboard your ship led me here when I asked if he knew where I could find you boys. And Omega." he added, grinning at the youngster now hanging off Crosshair's wrist once it was made clear that she wasn't in any danger, waiting quietly and politely with a smile of her own. 

"And [____], too," Omega insisted, releasing herself once the Captain had let go of Echo and next offered the other curiously blonde Clone a hug in greeting, "it's her birth-day, so we're throwing her a party!"

"Ah, is that what all this is for? Wondered what Wrecker was doing wearing a party hat or what the place was so decked out for… Looks like you're all having fun! Even ol' Crosshair's managing to smile." 

The sniper laughed dryly and sarcastically, rolling his eyes and the toothpick from the last spicy snack sausage he'd plucked from the collection of snacks set out for the party as he spoke. "Very funny, Captain…" He allowed the Captain a brief hug before he started to wiggle out and stood within arm's reach, "Glad to see you made a clean get-away from the transport. It's good to see you." 

"You too, little brother," Rex agreed, patting Crosshair on the shoulder before turning his sights on the exceptionally-minded, "And good to see you too, Tech!" 

Tech backpedaled defensively, dodging a threat of close-quarters contact he wasn't always fond of. "A-ah-! Please don't hug me!" he blurted, knocking into Wrecker with a mild yelp. (Though it wasn't his fault, Wrecker apologized for getting in the way as his brother had tried to avoid undesired sensory input.) The Captain just chuckled agreeably, taking no offense. "Alright, alright. Then I won't. Won't force you to do anything you're not comfortable with." Tech nodded gratefully, not meeting Rex's eyes and allowed himself to take a singular and friendly clap on the shoulder before he sidestepped out of the Captain's reach. "Th-thank you, Captain..."

"Awh, s'okay Captain, I already gave ya a hug!" Wrecker scratched around the back of his neck in a self-soothing motion to go with the sheepish laughter, settling for a good handshake instead. "Thanks, though!"

"No, better not while I'm still healing… What brings you here again, Captain?" Hunter asked, waving off the offered hug and taking a shoulder-clap of his own on the right side instead.

"Came to make sure you especially were okay, like [____] guessed; but everyone else too, really, since I could track down your ship with the help of a friend in the network. I'm afraid I can't stay long…" Omega pouted at these words, and the unmistakable sense that Rex was a man who cared so damn deeply for his fellow Clone brothers (and sister) filled the medic's heart as she watched him comfort Omega with a curled finger and thumb pinching together to cup her chin and better meet her eye. "I don't want to put anyone in danger by lingering too long, Omega. I can probably stay for a little bit after I speak with Hunter about something, but I don't know for sure." Omega nodded, showing she understood. 

Captain Rex looked at [____] to seek approval before speaking again. "Mind if I borrow your friend here for a while? Promise I won't keep him forever so he can return to the first proper party this lot's had in ages. Good for them." 

She laughed softly, nodding at the two of them with a playful salute that made the Captain grin slightly wolfishly, and Hunter chuckled softly in relief after meeting Rex's eye. "No worries, I understand. We'll keep ourselves out of trouble and plenty entertained in the meantime!"

As Hunter suggested he and the captain retreat further into the house to speak, his bedroom perhaps, Wrecker carefully slugged [____]'s shoulder approvingly. "Haha, looks like the Cap'n likes ya kid!" 

Captain Rex just smiled humbly over his shoulder as he followed Hunter's lead. Though she'd scarcely met the man, she certainly didn't doubt it. She had the impression that this beloved, respected Captain was much like the Sergeant: the type who you earned their ire if you were unkind to their men, and the kind who regarded you with great respect if you got along well with the people they called their family.  

"Gotta say…" Rex's voice caught on [____]'s ear as she was stepping out of Omega's room to grab more snacks for herself and the girl as they worked together on a special piece of art. She'd gone in there initially because the youngster was excitedly showing off more drawings she'd done that morning while her brothers decorated the house once she'd finished making all the party hats to kill some time while Hunter and Captain Rex spoke, and [____] paused in the hallway. 

Hunter and the Captain were speaking in the smallest bedroom, the door open just a crack. Enough that she could hear the men without great effort. "Kid did a good job patching you up and removing those stitches, Hunter. Got a hell of a healer's touch; don't think anyone will be able to tell you got caught in that blast unless they looked at sealed medical records. Think she'd be willing to take on one more patient on the down-low if I ever got hurt that badly out there?" Both of them chuckled at the Captain's joke. Warmly, but also careful and guarded. 

(No, she wouldn't mind helping the Captain on the down-low at all and in fact would be happy to, she decided quickly.)

There was a long pause, the sound of resticking tape, then fabric sweeping over skin. Hunter had probably shed the top of his civvies for the Captain to inspect the healing injuries and get a sense of his little brother's recovery. "I'd ask her for yourself if you're serious. But I think she'd be willing. She's… got a good heart. Good head on her shoulders." 

"I can tell," was all Rex had to say initially before she decided she needed to move and go get those snacks before one of them caught her eavesdropping. [____] got some more of the snack-mix, and then watched while Echo held open the door as Wrecker lugged Gonky through the door and into the house with a laugh. "Felt bad for Gonky, goin' back an' being out on the ship by his lonesome when the rest'a us are havin' fun… So I brought him for the party too!" Gonky whomp!'d happily at the affectionate pat from the ARC once he was on his feet and could slowly shuffle through to the common area. 

"Here. He can have my party hat," Tech offered eagerly, "the elastic strap is beginning to prove a bothersome sensation." 

"Hey, if you need to take a moment to destimulate, take it, okay? I don't want you becoming miserable, Techie." Tech nodded softly in promise, looking touched by the concern for him coming from someone other than a vod as always. "I… think I will."

When [____] went back to the door of Omega's room after giving Gonky an affectionate pat of her own to say hi and welcome him to the party as well, she could tell the conversation between the Clone Captain and Sergeant had shifted.

"There's no rush, no pressure, Hunter, but I did want to ask if you were any closer to deciding on… y'know. Helping in the fight against the Empire as regular members of this little resistance I'm throwing together." Hunter sighed sharply and moved closer to his door, the darting shadow sending [____]'s heart into her stomach for just a second; he never opened or shut the door, instead grabbing something before he moved away.

"Right. That. I still don't know, Captain; I don't know how to balance what everyone wants along with keeping everyone safe… I can't. Help. Worrying. About the safety of my me- family." Hunter stopped and sucked in his teeth before he continued to the superior officer, and [____] risked lingering longer out in the hallway to listen. "I've tried. Maker, I've tried! I understand Echo's motivations behind wanting to help your cause, Captain. I do. It's important to him; it's an important cause. I guess I'm hesitant to involve myself… all of my family… because we nearly lost Crosshair less than a year ago and I haven't been talking about that as much as I should have with him." 

There was a long, long pause after some comment [____] could not understand from Captain Rex; it most definitely was not in Basic, at least. "… I don't know, Captain. When Echo's ready for it, I know our scrappy, resilient little ARC trooper will help with the next prisoner transport ship so more of our brothers are liberated. But after the… the karking mess I ended up in trying to make sure the way was clear for Omega to take more information from the bridge…" Hunter faltered here, a distressed, unhappy lilt in his voice that pinched her heart uncomfortably.

"I understand, Hunter. Just glad you're still with us, brother. Thanks to your… good friend." The pause in the Captain's words was almost unnoticed, and for a moment she worried she'd lingered too long and gave herself away to them. As she ducked into Omega's room, face burning and heart beating at a blistering pace, she managed to catch one last thing. 

"Thanks to [____]." Hunter agreed softly.

Her comlink began to chirp just as everyone was ready to start a round of Dejarik in teams, startling Wrecker just as he began to take a pull from his bottled beverage they'd gathered for the party. No spirits, but something fizzy and sweet [____] liked that Omega wouldn't be excluded from. "Oops. Think that's an old friend from back home. Excuse me, boys."

Tech looked at her with an imploring expression, one brow quirked in question as he blotted the front of Wrecker's now-sticky civvies, trying to be helpful. "Do you want us to wait for you until you are-"

She reached the back door and gave it a tug with her free hand so she could step out on the also decorated back patio, shaking her head. "Nah, it's okay, Tech. But thank you. You guys go ahead and start Dejarik without me. I'll join you in a few minutes." She shut the door behind her, the cool air a balm to her warm skin. The decorations in the house were lovely (wholly sweet and nothing short of lively), but some of them were covering some of the air vents and it was becoming a little hot inside with the reduction in airflow. 

She depressed the button of her comms and excitedly blurted out the name of her friend with a cheerful "Heeey! So glad you called, it's been a while!" fully expecting it to be them on the other end.

It was not her friend. Kriffing scam telemarketers on her birthday, just her luck. "Hel-lo! We've been trying to reach you about your speeder's extended-"

"Still think this part's a bit too unkind." Echo murmured, squirming in discomfort as the brothers huddled up around Tech and Hunter on the couch back inside the house, and soon Tech's datapad trilled, signifying she'd disconnected the call before there was a short string of soft cursing outside. If she had paid closer attention to the frequency, she would have seen Tech set it up so it was off by just one number from her friend's. "Finding an excuse to get her here and surprise her with the party is one thing because no one's feelings get hurt and there was truth to the stitches excuse, but she thought she was getting a call from a friend…" 

Though he was getting better used to it, bending rules and regulations still made the Corporal uneasy, even if being a part of a team with a 100% success rate during the lifetime of the GAR was admittedly a thrill in and of itself. 

Tricking their friend felt like a slight step too far, even if it was just a small part of the plan Tech put together so Hunter could have an opening to tell [____] how he felt with the letter, just the two of them. "As I've insisted, I don't think it will be of much consequence for long, if at all." He scooped up Hunter's datapad and tossed it at Hunter without so much as making sure he was paying attention. He knew Hunter would catch it. 

"What makes you so sure?" Crosshair hummed, chewing on another toothpick that had come with one of the spicy snack sausages in the party platter (he liked the way it made his gums and tongue tingle).

"I have a good feeling about this." was all the elaboration Tech was going to provide his vode. 

The sound of the door mechanism clicking caught [____]'s attention, finding Hunter hesitating just slightly when he realized he had been spotted in the doorway. "Oh, hey there; you can come out, it's okay. Guess it was just some lousy scammer calling to wish me a good birthday. Figures, right?" He smiled weakly at the joke before he made any further moves. 

Hunter joined [____] out on the little back patio, shutting the door to the housing before stepping closer with a hand outstretched, dark eyes boring into the wall, the ground, everywhere but her eyes as he held out the datapad to the medic. A funny expression she couldn't quite read crossed his face. Her curiosity was certainly piqued. 

"What's this? Found something funny on the Holonet?" 

"I'd like you to read something." Hunter wasn't acting quite like himself, looking at her with darting, fleeting seconds of eye contact. He'd never been so afraid or uncomfortable to hold her gaze in the past. Not even when she'd stepped into the barren and snug sleeping space Hunter called his bedroom and helped him remove the loose shirt and the gauze to free him of the irritation caused by the stitches in his shoulder.

What was going on? Why was he looking at her with such anxiety now?

"N-now? Heh, sure, just uh… here." She gave Hunter her drink she'd carried out here and plucked the datapad from his hands when she couldn't find a level spot to set down her beverage. "I'll trade with you so I can see what we're working with here. Is it this, on the screen?"

"Yes."

"Someone's chatty." [____] said teasingly, turning her attention to the screen after a slightly flirty wink, emboldened by a muffled, raucous whoop from Wrecker somewhere in the house. His giant, child-like nature was simply infectious tonight in particular and everyone was acting differently. Maker, she wished he'd been there for every party she'd ever had growing up, he could really liven things up when it came down to it. A shame that Captain Rex had to duck out just before they were ready to start a friendly game, she would have liked to talk with him some more. "Okay, let's see…" 

[____]

Guess I should cut the chatter: I've been made aware that you now have an idea of how I feel about you. Echo encouraged me to tell you the full truth myself. So that's what this letter is meant to do, [____]. It'll be easier to lay down a foundation for a later conversation in a letter first… if that's what you want.

She stole a little look from the datapad after the first few sentences, the confused feelings surging with the half-smile never budging. "Keep reading." Hunter simply pleaded, his smoky voice impossibly soft. 

If not, then maybe we can communicate this way for the time being. I'll leave that up to you. But it's important that you hear from me how I feel. How I am. Or, can be.

A second stolen look, the datapad falling half an inch from her face as she paused. This is exactly what she thought it was. Wrecker was too loose-lipped and his brothers probably put Hunter up to writing this out. 

This felt like a plot line from a steamy holonovel; a brooding, mysterious and troubled man with a murky past just trying to keep his family afloat falling for an unassuming nobody of a woman, giving such a strong emotional outpouring in the starlight on the night of a special occasion. 

Heh, this couldn't be real, right? She was dreaming. Had to be. But those dark eyes… those nervous, nervous eyes both fixed on her and flying to look at anything else out on this little back patio every time she tried to meet his gaze…  Was his heart already racing against his ribs like her's started to? 

You've known us a while now. Always seen the best in all of us as you came to know us and gave us all a soft place to land in this galaxy. Learned that Omega's (likely) the oldest out of all of us; observant, intelligent, highly aware. Eager to learn and try new things. She picked up the notion of giving art a try after seeing some of the pictures your pediatric patients had gifted you after you offered to keep her company so she wasn't home alone when the rest of us took that job out on Florrum. She's gotten so good at it.

She's likely watched all of us go through our enhancements and modifications, save for our older, scrappy and resilient ARC trooper Echo. Given time, he can adapt to most everything. He was one of the 'Regs', once; he's told you parts of his story before I offered him a place on my squad and took him into our fold of rowdy rule-breakers. You've been a tremendous help to him and I should've been explicitly stating my thanks a million times over, but I guess I just couldn't figure out how when I was just so relieved he was sleeping again.

Even in a romantic confession, Hunter's dedication to and pride in his family (these days they were only ever referred to one another as a "squad" when they hired themselves out for the odd jobs to put credits on the table) was so blatantly evident. She kept reading, wondering where Hunter was going with this. It was certainly odd and unconventional that he was bringing his vode into this, but there had to be a good reason when Maker, he cared so deeply for them. 

Parasite or no parasite, you've never once shied away or been put off by Crosshair's behavior or that sharp tongue to match the sharp eyesight that would leave your jaw on the floor if you ever get the chance to see him in action. He was a real menace against those Clankers in battle. (He'd be all too happy to show off, [____]; all you have to do is ask.) Wrecker shows off all the time; no denying his brawn, or his explosives expertise to give us a good explosion out on the battlefield, now is there? You've never once treated Wrecker like he's stupid and forgetful, and you're a good sport about all the times he's gotten over excited and given you one of those spine-tingling hugs of his.

 Warms my heart that you aren't threatened and are rather endeared by Tech's archive-worth of knowledge he's jammed in that brain of his to talk on and on for hours. That you'll engage with him instead of tuning him out, and actually ask him genuine questions in the hope of learning something rather than doing so just to be polite and shut him up for a while.

Tech retains just about everything he's ever learned, and it's gotten us out of so many jams I don't bother keeping count, because I'm certain he does.

All this to say "And then there's me". Probably know the least about me ever since Tech brought us to your clinic when we realized Cross was sick. 

That's right: they'd come to her because they were avoiding Imperial attention. Wrecker had carried Crosshair into the clinic just before closing as he writhed and thrashed in his discomfort, doing his best to fight against the biochemical response from the parasite. They'd probably have been kicked out of the other, larger health center had they tried going there anyway because he was so combative with his vode when the parasite got the best of him. 

Made him a danger to himself and those around him that it necessitated a very specific sedative she didn't like using on her patients because of the common side effects, but she couldn't leave him helpless and in pain. Not with the way a little girl with blonde hair tucked in the crooks of arms both cybernetic and flesh cried with a plea to help their sick brother surrounded by three other men as they got him strapped into a padded examination chair for the medic who anxiously agreed to help him. Something had been said between all of them in something beyond Galactic Basic as they came to an agreement that on a count of three, all four limbs were locked down and she was given the go-ahead by this band of then-strangers.

I was avoiding getting close in case we weren't staying long on this planet and went on the move again… playing it "safe" by being distant so yet another goodbye since the GAR's dissolvement would sting a little less. Thinking the less you knew about me the better, so this new Empire wouldn't do anything to hurt you… in case they heard about the "one off" of you helping one of our own. 

Yeah right… "One off". It's been nearly a standard year since the parasitic souvenir from Kashyyyk and there's been nearly a hundred injuries since. A hundred injuries since the collapse of the GAR and everything familiar about it… everything I was created for, [____]. My "desired genetic mutations" that made me useful to the GAR and the Jedi, my fellow soldiers, the experimental special forces 99 Unit: the enhanced senses, the ability to feel electromagnetic frequencies, expert navigating and more… What place do any of those desired defects have with all of that gone, now? 

I spend every day in discomfort due to the nature of my defects, but I made it work for the sake of my men. For the sake of all of my brothers in the GAR, even if I never fought alongside them much. There was a bigger picture I believed was worth fighting for, so I fought through the overwhelm and the onslaught on every unorthodox mission I'd been allowed to command. Nothing is familiar anymore. I have no larger safety net beyond the Batch and other deserters scattered in the galaxy. Every one of those hundred or so injuries since was another reminder of what I was trying to avoid in the vacuum of the GAR's absence. 

Reminders how alone I've become. 

Oh… stars. The datapad felt too heavy in her hands, her hands buzzing with nerves the same way they did before every dreaded medical school exam, the patio swayed and rocked under her feet for a brief moment and she had to lean back against the wall to find support. Poor Hunter… she had no idea how extensive these struggles were. How much he'd kept to himself. How much he said he was shouldering on his own. "Yo-you…" she swallowed down her stomach and sinking heart, mouth drier than the Dune Seas of Tatooine. She couldn't think straight, and Hunter was now standing so close she was beginning to feel like a cornered animal under the unblinking gaze of his warm eyes, glittering in the party lights like rich tourmalines. 

"... keep reading, cyare." It was soft. A request. Or maybe encouragement. She couldn't tell, her head was still swimming through a thousand emotions. Sadness. Confusion. Pity. Empathetic understanding. But she did as he said, eyes dropping where she had left off.

Somewhere in those hundred injuries, something changed, of course. The night Omega got sick. I couldn't avoid coming to your clinic. I couldn't avoid the discomfort. I hate clinics. (I'm sure you've been wondering that for a while now.)

But I don't hate the doctor. It's not their fault- it's not your fault - that these places are so karking uncomfortable for me. I think that was the night I realized I felt something for you, watching how sweetly you took care of my 'little' sister. I wasn't even your patient, and you still asked me how I was doing, if I was okay, if you could get me something while you were holding Omega in your arms. I think that was the night I finally saw things… differently.

Saw you differently. Authentically. Comfortably. I could start telling you more that I used to leave unsaid… something I still need to get better at and actually tell you that I trust you, that I had thought of you as a friend. That there were a million ways I wished I could have repaid you for your help and your kindness and the ways you treat my brothers and sister with such genuine care. The friendship and love that you've shown them…

And just two days ago. Maker, I'd never felt safer with a medic, or at your clinic. I still hate your clinic. 

But, oh, mesh'la… I could never hate you, [____]. 

Confessing my feelings for you on your birth-day has to be such a cliche if these Holofilms I've seen Omega watching are using this plotline a lot, so I apologize if the timing has made you uncomfortable, but I felt it was time to stop pining… and start doing something to say how I feel. Stop bottling up my feelings and be avoidant to all discomfort and unfamiliarity, and to be honest and open with you, starting with this:

I think I've loved you for a while now. But now I know for sure that I do.

-H.

Oh stars. Oh stars oh stars oh stars!

So it was real.

Springing away from the wall she'd backed herself into, something dropped and shattered near her feet. Hardly a flinch as large fragments of glass are stepped on in their collective hurry. She's acting without much thinking, and it's caught him by surprise when she's suddenly in his arms. Hunter's recovered from the initial shock of catching [____] so suddenly, the cloyingly sweet taste of the mocktail fresh on her lips spurring him on. He just hoped the spice of the party snacks he'd been helping himself to all night weren't bothersome to the medic as they feverishly, eagerly traded kiss after kiss after kiss. 

One of his brothers can be heard clear as day from inside the house once they had either finally noticed where the two of them had gone, or finally daring to break their silence after watching this whole time. "Awh yeah, Hunter! About damn time!" 

Another spoke up, first chiding the disturber, then proudly egging his brother on with a teasing question. "Oh k'uur, he'd have gotten out of his karking head eventually. Do we need to scram so you two can have some quality time, dear vod?"

Neither Hunter or [____] cared, or completely noticed. They were both so lost in one another's eyes once they pulled away to catch their breath that they didn't even seem to care that they'd been standing half-barefoot in the sticky puddle of the red, fruity mocktail this entire time since it had tumbled out of Hunter's grasp. They didn't notice when Tech shuttered the blinds in the house that looked outside after a long moment, or the faint klic! of his datapad.

"Hell'd you take a picture for?" Echo questioned, face bearing a grin to rival a nexu's that betrayed the accusatory tone. 

Goggles were adjusted before brother answered brother. "Well, since Crosshair seems to have started taking pictures with my datapad to capture our squad's happy, or dare I say… "cute" moments, I figured it would be the obvious thing to do to capture something to commemorate the occasion. I dare say Hunter's letter was… successful, and more importantly reciprocated." 

"Your datapad makes the most sense: you record everything." Crosshair countered simply, a wry smile forming around the current toothpick. 

"... Hm! I guess it does."

Omega was the last to leave the window that looked outside, straining to hear her little brother when he broke that silence swimming between him and the woman he'd fallen so hard for. "Kamino's rain… glad to finally have that off my chest…" 

"I had a feeling something was up; I kinda overheard you talking with Captain Rex tonight… and from the moment Wrecker let the Loth-cat out of the bag, of course." [____] admitted softly. 

When Omega dared to pinch the blinds apart to peak outside, she could see [____] smiling gently, kindly at Hunter as she gingerly tucked away a curling lock of his hair that had fallen out of place. Hunter finally looked truly relaxed, relieved that everything had gone well. "But I wasn't going to rush you. I'm sorry if you felt the need to rush your little letter, too… I certainly wasn't planning on going anywhere, handsome."

"I-I didn't feel rushed; I really did want to tell you sooner than later. If I wasn't going to do it tonight, it would have been soon enough after. Honest." Hunter promised her, closing that space between them once more. [____] flashed him a smile that suggested she would guess otherwise about Hunter rushing himself, but she said nothing before winding a hand around the back of his neck and head to bring him closer.

Omega dropped her hand from the blinds and joined her other brothers on the far side of the house, everyone quietly celebrating their brother's success for themselves, proud of themselves for helping everything come together tonight. 

"I give it 'til the end of next week before he's watching romance holos for ideas." came Cross's chuckle. "Going to have to set up Hunter's datapad with limited screen hours like Omega's after dinner." 

Omega sighed disapprovingly, "Don't make fun of Hunter now that he's told [____] how he feels," she said, wagging her head at her little brother, "And I don't have the limited screen hours anymore." Hunter had removed the setting from her personal device within a week after it'd been set because she proved she could be responsible. She would much rather spend time with her brothers than bury her nose into the screen for hours on end. The quality time with her brothers was something she cherished.

And now she'll probably get to spend more time with [____] very soon, doing the same thing.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @ladytano420 @the-hexfiles @ilovethosebrowneyes9904​

Note from Frost: Guess it didn’t end up as long as I initially planned after doing some last-minute trimming to fit material that was found to be better suited for other chapters with my editing-eyes on. :’) If you would like to be added to the taglist that is currently just specific for Sorry, Wrong Comms!, (I may start a taglist for all Star Wars related fanfiction projects that will be marked accordingly with #frostfics in the near future if there is interest) don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask or a comment loves. 🩷

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[nkn0va]

how would wagner, orie, and kaguya react to their s/o collecting video games and consoles? What if he gives them handhelds or consoles for them to play? What games would they be into?

I like this concept quite a lot! Unfortunately both fatigue from the event (I'll make a masterlist specifically for that later) and writer's block have stopped me from writing since it ended. I'll be getting back into it as best I can with the turn of the new month.

-Wagner really has no time for such base pleasures like a video game. As the heiress to her family fortune/reputation and the sword of the Licht Kreis she must devote her entire existence to preserving their honor.

-At least that's what she tells herself. Then she started dating you and when the topic of hobbies eventually came up she learned you were a collector. She had to admit, now that she knew you and accepted you, more so than anyone else alive, she'd at least check it out. She at least owed it to her S/O to entertain the things they enjoyed.

-She didn't particularly know what to expect, but she certainly didn't expect to see an entire room filled wall to wall with consoles and games. She was far from an expert on the matter (she didn't know the first god damn thing) but she was pretty impressed by the fact she could tell there were things in there from all eras of gaming, spanning pretty far back.

-She can kind of justify it in her head now if she thinks of it the same way someone would want to collect rocks or seashells. You'll probably never get to playing ALL of them, but just having them is pretty cool.

-Wagner becomes even more surprised when you offer to give her a little something from your collection. She didn't come off as the type to enjoy a video game, at least she didn't think she did...well, if you were the one offering, she wasn't in a position to say no. Besides, with the sheer amount of options she has\ here she reckons there's gotta be something that might appeal to her.

-After thinking it over for a bit you come to the conclusion that if you wanted to get Wagner to play a game, it needed to serve some kind of purpose other than fun. It needed to do something for her. You eventually came to one conclusion of the ideal game for her.

-Animal Crossing.

-You gave her an old spare 3DS you had on hand with Animal Crossing to go with it. You figured with her infamously fiery temper it'd help her to have a game to help calm down. That and you feared that if you gave her anything else she'd get frustrated and accidentally burn it to cinders.

-It works out surprisingly well, even you're surprised. She gets super into it and starts to rely on it for stress relief. Obviously she's not letting ANYONE else see her play it, it becomes a guilty pleasure of sorts.

-Orie is much more open to the idea of video games than Wagner is initially. She's really only never played any because she's never had the time and doesn't quite understand them. She at least a bit interested after starting to go to school in Kanzakai and overhears people talking about and playing them.

-This interest quickly shoots up after you start dating her and reveal you're an avid collector of games. When she asks, you seem pretty confident you have a far bigger than any of your peers could ever have. This prompts her to request you to show her, which you're more than happy to oblige.

-She's stunned standing there for a few seconds upon seeing the entire room you have dedicated to storing everything you've collected over the years. Even she could tell this was something special that not just anyone could say they had.

-You're quite eager to be able to show off your pride and joy to your girlfriend and it shows. You didn't have the chance to show such a collection to someone everyday. You even take the initiative and offer to let her borrow a little something.

-She...doesn't quite know where to start. She doesn't know anything about video games in general, and now here she is with nothing short of a treasure trove to pick from. You two spend quite a bit of time poking around finding something that caught her eye.

-Eventually she likely goes with a 3DS or some other handheld. Something she can play Pokemon on, seeing the familiar creature designs she recognizes from a lot of people having merch of them, she wanted to see what the hype was about.

-This turns out to be a pretty good choice. Pokemon's a pretty good jumping off point as it's easy enough to understand and pick up as well as the Pokemon themselves being very generally appealing and fun to collect. Orie gets into the rest of the games sooner than later and it ends up becoming a regular date for the two of you.

-Kaguya's...indifferent about video games. She doesn't hate them but doesn't really have an itch to get into them for any reason. Besides, it'd contrast with the image of herself she tries to maintain.

-This is however until you come around. You soon reveal you have a collection of games and consoles. It doesn't initially pique her interest at first since it seems pretty common, but she soon caves in after you insist it was different, pretending to be annoyed but curious at this point.

-You quickly prove yourself right, needing an entire room in your house to dedicate specifically to hold everything you've collected. Kaguya admits you've colored her quite impressed that you've been able to collect so many of everything, but does begin to ask questions like if you've really played every single game in here.

-Faced with so many games, she begins to wonder if any might potentially be her speed, the words escaping her lips before she can think to stop them. You immediately start walking her around the room, taking her through everything you have.

-This kinda thing wasn't her cup of tea, but the look on your face and the passion you show about your beloved hobby seems to strip her of any will she has to stop you. If you'd given her the chance to speak she'd call your enthusiasm adorable.

-Despite the way she's fawning over you right now, she does still have the composure to be honest in her opinions on the games you show her. She's just...not the gaming type, it's pretty hard to appeal to her tastes as you find out.

-Though of course since you have so many it's very much possible to find something, and eventually you do. She takes particular interest in JRPGs, in particular Fire Emblem and Dragon Quest, which you're more than happy to share with her.

-It doesn't take long for Kaguya to find herself immersed in the worlds and stories of these games far more than she ever expected to be, quickly becoming attached to the memorable characters and fascinated with the settings they find themselves in. Perhaps she could allow herself to have some fun every once in a while with these.

[oftlunarialmoon]

No Expiration Date on Fun!

originally posted to www.onlyfunthings.org on February 22, 2017

Ciao lovelies! Today I have an opinion piece for you about societal expectations, breaking the norm, and having fun!

This post was inspired by many anonymous comments criticizing my hobbies. Their main argument is that I am too old to enjoy things like dolls and Monster High.  So I’m here to explain my opinion on this matter! And, acknowledging that I am putting my opinion on the internet, I know that somehow, some anonymous person will find fault with it. So forewarning, I’m not answering any “trolling” comments, meaning if your only commentary is “lol ur lame for liking dolls” you’ll be respectfully ignored. Let’s get into it!

Part 1- Acknowledging Societal Influences

I’d like to begin by acknowledging the depth of influence that society has on the individual. To understand this, we must understand the different levels of society. Every country is a society, states inside that country are also societies within the main society, then counties and cities, etc, etc.. Where someone comes from will influence what societal norms they were affected by.

A common societal expectation in American society (and the one we’re focusing on in this piece) is the idea of what it means to be an adult, and that adults can’t enjoy “childish” things.

In the earlier days of American society, there were very rigid expectations and ideas on what it meant to be a bonafide adult. But around the 1960’s-1970’s, this rigid construct became a lot more flexible, and as time moved forward, different lifestyles became legitimized for the “American Adult.” Fun became not only allowed, but encouraged, and not just the boring kinds of fun either. The ideas for what was a legitimate recreational pursuit for the American Adult were wildly diverse and interesting.

But even though we have come so far in terms of these ideas, society has still maintained a talon grip on certain biases and ideals for “true adults.” The main  ideal that is still foolishly upheld by society that I want to open dialogue about today is this old-world notion that things marketed towards children can’t be enjoyed by adults.

Part 2- On a Personal Level

To bring things back to the point of the piece, let’s make it personal. I enjoy many “childish” hobbies. I unironically like Monster High, the show, movies, and merchandise. The message behind it is really great; celebrating diversity and being yourself, and being proud of your heritage. 

They even have an episode teaching viewers not to be patronizing towards people with disabilities.

Something like Monster High, with such a good message and great lessons, shouldn’t be limited to children! I think some adults need these lessons too.

Part 3- A Return to Generalization

To continue, let’s return to a general sense. There are many “Children-oriented” things that can be enjoyed by adults. One of these is the hobby of collecting dolls!

Despite how common it is for adults to collect dolls, there is still a social stigma attached to it. Many different media portray adult doll collectors as creepy, mentally unstable, possibly violent or predatory people. Just look at Criminal Minds, where they had an episode where a woman accidentally kills other women trying to make herself new dolls. (Not that I’m saying I dislike Criminal Minds, but they do perpetuate some mental illness and societal stereotypes.)

In reality, adult doll collectors are usually quite normal. Some may collect dolls for photography purposes, some are parents who collect dolls with their children, some repaint the doll’s faces to create beautiful works of art, some may just enjoy dolls.

Similarly, video game use by adults used to be heavily stigmatized, adults who played video games were seen as nerds, shut-ins, or losers: Now, there are many jobs in the video game industry, and a legitimate possibility of success via playing video games on platforms like YouTube or Twitch.

Thinking of changing standards brings me to…

Part 4- Breaking The Norms

To think about breaking a societal norm/expectation scares most people, and for good reasons. Society is very protective of its norms, and has developed methods to protect them, much like a mama bear with her cubs.

But we shouldn’t fear backlash from expressing ourselves! Society is crafted, controlled, and run by those within the society, meaning that WE, you reading this, your friends, your family, me: We have the power to change society, and we should.

What do you all think? Do you agree that adults shouldn’t be stigmatized for liking “childish” things? Do you think hobbies shouldn’t be labelled based on age? Let me know in the comments! I love hearing your opinions, or even if you have other ideas, links, articles, etc!

Thank you for reading!

 I have found that I really enjoy writing opinion pieces. Do you all enjoy reading them? Let me know!

[bliss-wily]

hcs about zarbon

Oh boy…where do I begin? Under the cut as some of these are likely stupid as all hell. Some make no sense and hell some might contradict each other. But this is my blog so hehe. I do have more but I swear I’m boring. But thank you for the ask anon!

Prefacing this by saying that these are likely more canon/headcanons. I understand there isn’t vast amounts of information out there but these ideas are pulled from a combination of the anime/manga/video games/merch. Now without further ado:

•Zarbon is part of a royal bloodline; most likely a Prince.

•An opportunist to his core. I think he could be very self serving. After all, many times in certain scenarios this man is willing to betray Frieza.

•Believes peace is achieved by ruling through fear - although with working under Cold and Frieza for so long it’s easy to see why he might think that.

•Unless his father was the same. Which I mean, it’s likely. Fair rulers aren’t exactly common.

•Tsundere. Need I say more?

•Until he opens up then he would be very PDA with his partner. Likely talks about them constantly.

•Learned to value beauty since a child - likely scolded by his parent(s) for using his transformation.

•A cat person. I imagine he’s snuck many little kittens from all different planets into his quarters. Small, cute and fluffy!

•I don’t think he’s sadistic - more pragmatic.

•Loves fruit, strawberries in particular. Why? Well, why not?

•As for actual food? Fresh, expensive, maybe into spicy foods too.

•Wine snob.

•Could also see him being a whiskey and rum consumer.

•Skincare is his hobby, I could imagine him being like those influencers who have hundreds of products.

•If Earthling social media were a think, like our platforms? He would be in Insta most I think.

•Dodoria is his closest friend, even if the two seem to detest each other. Zarbon is definitely the one who pretends more though. Dodoria more chill.

•Drama queen! Gossiping and complaining are definitely something to expect.

•Randomly gets stuck in his transformation sometimes, maybe just wakes up like that? He would not be caught dead wandering the halls of the ship like that so he just holes himself up in his quarters until it passes.

•Sleepy or fatigued after transforming for combat. I also imagine the way his bones and muscles shift and rearrange must leave him sore and bruised.

•I imagine he sticks to a schedule, and everything must flow to that. Disruption comes with a tantrum.

•An accidental flirt. Blame Xenoverse 2 for that one.

•Hydrophobic, baths, showers and spas are an exception.

•Cold blooded - loves warmer climates.

•Any free time or days off are spent at spas, nail bars or salons. This man loves self care.

•Highly intelligent.

•I think he knew he was going to die in his last fight against Vegeta. If Vegeta didn’t kill him I think he knew Frieza would. I understand that he asked Vegeta to team up but I think he already knew the answer.

•Scared of Frieza, and I think he might’ve been scared of Vegeta too.

•Introvert, he likes to be alone, he likes silence.

•So very easily jealous.

•Infrequently swears but he will do it if pushed.

•Would 100% join the Ginyu Force. What’s stopping him? The posing. This man is I’ll not drop his classiness for such ridiculousness.

•After every training session or fight/battle - he’s bathing. Germophobe possibly.

•Sensory issues: sounds, feelings, textures, light.

•Whilst very monotonous and serious, I think he’s deeply in touch with his emotions.

•Xenoverse 2: Laying a finger on his student (or rather ‘star subordinate’) is a death sentence.

•Xenoverse 2: Trust issues.

•Xenoverse 2: Scarf collector! Wanted to steal 17’s scarf after all.

•Xenoverse 2: I think he showers his student/subordinate in praise and gifts. Plenty of evidence to suggest this. Although the praise does come off very flirty at times. However, I doubt it’s intentional.

[n4stasia]

True Otaku

Okay, True Otaku documentary is easily the best assigned material in relation to exploring the otaku culture. Singlehandedly the most eye-opening and truly representative film about fandom communities and their gatherings, as the name True Otaku suggests. I seriously think this documentary should be in place of Genshiken, as it breaks down the stigma instead of creating more stereotypes.

pt. 1 : who is an otaku?

I finally got some answers, instead of more questions. Great! The first part of the docu-series explores a very important aspect. Who exactly is an otaku? Turns out, it's not a term to describe hardcore anime fans. It's a term describing a hardcore fan of anything. And as some interviewees have mentioned, this word has somewhat a negative reputation in Japan due to historical and cultural context. Some fans associate themselves with the term, while some don't. Nonetheless, otaku's are people deeply passionate in their area of interest, including anime of course. Often stereotyped as socially awkward or obsessive, the documentary challenges these preconceptions, presenting a diverse range of people united by their love for Japanese popular culture. From casual fans to dedicated collectors, the film demonstrates that otaku are not a homogenous group but a vibrant community with many hobbies and lifestyles.

pt. 2 : fan productivity

I won't stop mentioning how well the documentary covers everything we touched upon in our Otaku module. And the second part of the series perfectly shows what exactly is fan productivity and the way it manifests during conventions. Beyond consuming anime, manga, and video games, otaku are actively engaged in creating and sharing their passion. The documentary highlights the creativity and dedication of fans who produce fan art, write fanfiction, and create cosplay costumes. These activities go beyond mere consumption; they represent a form of self-expression and community building. True Otaku showcases how fans are not passive recipients of content but active participants in shaping the cultural economy, or, in other words: how fan productivity allows fans to possess fiction.

pt. 3 : cosplay universe

A significant portion of True Otaku is dedicated to the world of cosplay. The documentary explores the artistry and craftsmanship involved in creating elaborate costumes, as well as the transformative power of it. I like how it was emphasized that you can't just put on a costume, you have to have acting skills so that the transformation is successful. By embodying beloved characters, cosplayers not only express their admiration but also build connections with fellow fans, like a Lolita fashion community. The film captures the joy and camaraderie of cosplay events, demonstrating how these gatherings serve as a safe and inclusive space for people to celebrate their shared interests. As mentioned in part 3 of the documentary, otaku/anime conventions is a zero judgment zone, apart from panel cosplay contest judges, of course. And these contests allow creators to prove their skills and gain recognition for their hard work, which often goes unnoticed by people not involved into the fandoms.

my (dad's) experience

Yeah, I personally have never been to the anime convention, however now, I'm quite interested. And as you may have noticed by the name of the paragraph, I have a story to share about my dad's experience with true, hardcore, otaku conventions in Japan. To give some context, he has been to Japan eight times (so jealous) to take part in Japanese martial art Kyokushin Karate World Cups (and subsequently, became a champion). During his visits in early 2000's he accidentally ran into otaku's conventions and cosplayers, who were dying to take a picture with him for some reason, or at least that's what he told us lol. After he returned home he would tell us the stories about Japan, otaku culture, and as a little girl it seemed like he went to a parallel universe. Honestly, I still find it fascinating to this day.

upd: photo found! with my dad to the far right.

[hemulenish-hijinks]

Mr. Hemulen the Bug Collector

Originally from Comet in Moominland, he was a nervous old man who accidentally saved our main group of children and asked them about the Comet, mistaking it for a type of moth. He was later partially adapted as Mr. Hemulen in Mūmin and Shin Mūmin as part of the main cast, becoming a kindly old man who has multiple hobbies at once, simultaneously collecting stamps (though seemingly quitting that after the first episode), butterfly collecting, and horn playing.

Mr. Hemulen the Plant Collector

Originally from Comet in Moominland, then continuing his role in Finn Family Moomintroll (in fact, he's the only Hemulen to appear in more than one of the main book series!), he was a grumpy and oblivious old man who only ever focused on his stamps, but after he finished his collection and took up plant collecting, his character softened. He was later fully adapted into the 90s series, becoming a very often reoccurring character who offers his knowledge on plants and other fields of science.

[theprodigalpragmatist]

two body pillows, both of them yours

the other unfortunate installment of the worst AU where the Doctor is a collector (@thosco the fruits of your labor)

Donna’s not thrilled about the Doctor’s…collection. She calls them his toys, but he’ll fight against that term with his dying breath. They’re not toys. They’re merchandise, and if she’d listen to him for a single moment then she’d know that they’re actually quite valuable.  He dusts the shelf first thing every morning. He carefully removes boxes and blister packages from it, wipes them down with a short-fibre cloth and places them gently on the bed. He used to put them on the floor, but Rose has taken to joining him for his routine. She hasn’t quite grown into her legs yet and he doesn’t know what he’d do if she crushed his valuables on an accidental misstep, so they live on the bed while he buffs the polished wood shelf, and she sits quietly in the corner watching him fuss with an amusement well beyond her years.

The posters are next. They live behind thick glass specially crafted to reduce UV exposure, the fastenings nailed tightly into the studs in the wall. Earthquakes are rare in France, but in his life, alien invasions are not. The posters will stay firmly in place even through the shocks of a spaceship crashing down with an atmospheric boom, he’s made sure of it. The glass gets a fine coating of streak-free foaming cleaner, noxious and sharp in the lungs, and he scrubs it off with a faraway look in his eyes. Which might be from the fumes, but he’s not too worried about it. There’s not much to do about the books. He keeps them locked in a temperature controlled cabinet, a large ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sign sellotaped to the front. He’s never read them, they’re too priceless for that, but he’s run gloved fingers over the jackets so often he knows their dimensions from memory. He thinks he probably knows what’s in the books, and resolved long ago never to crack open the cover of ‘Kiss Me, Kill Me.’ He likes to spend a good few minutes looking at them every day. That way they don’t feel left out, and he avoids thinking about what it says about him that he’s anthropomorphising paper. He kicks Rose out for the next part, but she’s seen enough to know exactly what he’s doing. It’s just a bit too…personal, perhaps. Not that he’s doing anything weird, and he’ll maintain that with the same dying breath that protests the label of toys, but he knows how it looks. He’s self aware enough to be ashamed of this hobby, just not enough to give it up.  The body pillows smell like the detergent Donna ships over from England, thoroughly unimpressed with French brands. He imagines he can smell something else on them, something more familiar than the choking sweetness of artificial flowers, something that wafts into the air when he guiltily pulls the pillows out from under his duvet and resettles the stuffing they’re filled with. He has more than two, he’s honestly afraid to rifle through his closet to count them all, but he holds these particular pillows near and dear to his hearts — and his self, cuddling them close every night and hiding his tears in the starched cotton. It’s hard to tell how they ended up in a flea market a few galaxies over, but stumbling upon them lit a fire inside him that’s been driving this obsession. He makes his bed, tucking the caricatures of his worst-friend-best-enemy under the covers so his face peeks out behind the flannel comforter. The Doctor smiles, small and sad and bittersweet, and he pulls up SpaceEbay on his laptop. He’s the universe’s premier owner of Saxon merch, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t collect every last to— object.

[princesscolumbia]

Depends on the platform, generally, but my 100% for sure most popular is Fission, if only because it's been on FF.net since 2015 and gained readers by sheer inertia.

Star Trek: Strike Team Valkyrie, though I suspect that's more due to the different fandoms this megacrossover has touched so far not having much crossover...yet. 😉

The Accidental Librarian - A crossover between The Accidentally Paranormal series of books and The Librarians TV show. Bookstore owner Jane Fairfax somehow managed to buy a premium office space in downtown New York for a song to live her dream of owning a bookstore. She's excited to have her first book signing with the up-and-coming author Wanda Jefferson. After they've wrapped up the event and Jane is getting ready to close, she's surprised to discover one customer got lost in the stacks. It's too bad this dreamboat has no reason to stay in the store, you know, since it's closing...wait, are those ninjas?! Why are they invading her store?! Wanda Jefferson has just finished a successful book signing and is enjoying the amusing romcom playing out in front of her in the form of her hostess and an apparently random customer that needed help escaping the store's labyrinthine stacks. Suddenly ninjas crash their way into the store and are demanding a specific book that Jane has no hope of knowing what they're talking about. Wanda's keeping her particular skills on the DL until one of the ninjas pulls out a medallion that is just radiating magic! She wasn't planning on using her hybrid werewolf/vampire form tonight, but when the paranormal was afoot, one of the founding members of OOPS--Out in the Open Paranormal Support was on the job! Nathan Park was mostly looking for activities to fill his day. Medically discharged from the Marines after being exposed some radiation the government won't quite explain, he's been mostly getting caught up on reading and (his squadmates always made fun of him for this) his crochet hobby. Then he got lost in a bookstore and some ninjas attacked, and then the author who had just been signing books turns into a freaking werewolf, but somehow the creature of myth and horror isn't the bad guy! Eve, Jacob, Cassandra, and "The" Ezekiel Jones are shocked when Jenkins informs them that somehow The Library is losing books and artifacts! The library records say that the books are being redirected to the New York annex, but that, of course, is impossible; they lost the connection to that annex years ago. But that's their only clue, so they take portal back to where their careers with The Library all started, only to find a bookstore where the annex should be, it's filled with ninjas, there's a guy who Jacob worked with back in the day, and there's a weird werewolf-vampire hybrid defending the owner of the bookstore.

Multichap

Mature? Adult? The not porn variety that happens to be completely okay venturing into some topics that aren't sex but still give purity cultists the vapors. (but I do write some smut, too)

Mostly characters that need to fill gaps in the world where there would be a person (CEO of a company, trash collector, kid in an arcade, that sort of thing) but the canon media never accounted for.

Found family

Word

"Nabiki was watching the aquatransexual with an incredulous eye. The shit-eating grin from yesterday hadn't made a return, but Ranma had no doubt that it and a school of its shark-like cousins were swimming in the depths of Nabiki's ocean of plans and schemes."

By Kudos 1-Return to Recipient 2-Deviation 3-And at This Point I'm Afraid to Ask 4-My Empire of Dirt 5-Double Isekai

740,245

I respond to as many comments as I can. People honored me with a comment, it takes only a little effort to reply and is a nice reciprocation on the care they showed me.

Yes. My most problematic fic ("BAMF" or "Ranma is Fucked") got me blocked by half of a discord server. None of the people who blocked me bothered to read the fic, which was all about the problem with the central plot point.

Nope, unless you consider a forum RP post a story, in which case, yes.

"Indeed" pops up alot, sometimes my protags get too wordy, and nearly every female protag I write is Sapphic to one degree or another.

130,627 words, though that's complete and the next five longest are all WIPs that are likely going to be much longer than that by the time they're finished.

Gosh, name some of the legends of the Ranma 1/2 fandom and they've influenced me at some point, but I think the biggest influence was due to Rebecca "BurgerBecky" Heineman's work on the Sailor Sun saga. It directly influenced a lot of how I write Fission and some of the plot points I've got planned out for it.

Oh, gosh, there's several! I love most of @jaquik's stuff (and what I don't love I haven't gotten around to reading yet 😋), and Dear Diary directly inspired Return to Recipient ThrashJazz's The Girl Behind the Mirror got me rethinking a lot about the nekoken for Ranma and inspired me to start writing more fics with systems as a protag. @n7punk...just, like, ALL of n7punk's body of work. AnneOminous is a freaking drama powerhouse with her Phoenix saga @thestargayzingetherian - Just, like, unapologetically all the SPOP fluff ClassicalGal - Helped me understand my own gender journey back in the day...and we connected again recently. They did promise that someday they'd finish Notes from Julliard, but until then I still love their Genma's Daughter series, even if it's incomplete. 😁 AEM - The other author of a neurodivergent Isekai'd Ranma Saotome in Taming Shrews (seriously, PHENOMENAL worldbuilding!) NobleHeroine - Life is Not Built with Dreams (But Dreams are Upon which Life is Built) is a regular re-read for me and was basically the final puzzel piece to being able to properly build a polyamory Ranmafic. All my poly fics? Yeah, NobleHeroine was the one that built the template for me. 💖

...

...what are they gonna say...?! 😰

(Yet Another) Fanfic Writer Ask Game!

What is your most popular fic?

What fanfic do you wish you got more response on?

What’s a fic idea that you have but haven’t written yet?

Do you prefer writing multi-chapter or oneshot fanfictions?

What rating do most of your fics fall under?

Have you written any fanfictions featuring OCs? If so, elaborate!

What’s a troupe you love to write?

What kind of document do you use to you write? Microsoft Word? Google Docs? Straight in the AO3 text box?

What’s your favorite line(s) or scene(s) that you have written?

What are your top five fics by kudos or by reads

How many words do you have on AO3 (if you use that platform)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Have you ever co-written a fic?

Are there words, phrases, mannerisms or scenes you tend to use a lot?

How long is your longest fic?

Are there any writers and/of stories that you consider an influence?

Recommend someone else fic! (And tag them if they have a tumblr!)

For the readers: send in your favorite fanfic, scene, title, phrase, etc. by the person who reblogged this!