#and it could be a little 20th anniversary treat

[roukabi]

it's for real this time you guys trust me it's really gonna happen

[berestweys]

just finished watching jaesu's JX Identity 20th Anniversary concert (day 3), and am deeply in my feels as we used to say.

i got almost all the things i was hoping for with this show:

full versions of old db5k standards: AND HOW. i did not anticipate that the bulk of the concert would be old songs! what a gift. they killed it. (jae stomping around with all the choreography is simply the delight of my year. my little dance machine, he didn't fall down once!!! thank you junsu for making him do it!)

they sang so many of the old songs it was really stunning actually. opening with rising sun? hug AND balloons??? is purple line a noisy monstrosity of a song? yes. do i love it with every fiber of my being? also yes. did i get emotional watching jaejoong and junsu sing it as a duet in 2024??? GUESS.

and don't even get me started on the ballads. they were many and i was overwhelmed. proud, stand by u, and i believe. begin, why did i fall in love with you, & whatever they say. love in the ice of course. the list goes on.

no, it is not the same as listening to the original db5k versions. but i tell you what. jj & su take their versions just as far as two voices possibly could, and if i hadn't already been unwell for years about the five-part ballads i would not have noticed anything missing. they're that good at their craft. they are SINGERS.

i know it's become a tired refrain, but with my whole chest: fuck sm for silencing them for so many years. we should have had this all along.

jyj songs reworked as duets: only got one? but it's not nothing. empty sure was a choice though. i was hoping for in heaven, so so, or creation, but i'll take what i can get. (for real jx should re-record the entirety of Just Us (minus back seat, thirty, and dad you there) for my happiness and well being.)

tarantallegra or oeo: junsu did not leave me hanging and i got tarantallegra! probably in my top 5 kpop choreos, though i have not sat down and really thought about it to rank them.

both of them showcasing their solo work: they haven't gotten to sing their own songs at the same concert in so long. it was wonderful. wish junsu had sung some of his more recent songs like hana, and wish jae had given us at least one of his older rock songs instead of keeping to the most recent album. but these are quibbles and i loved all the songs they did choose.

crybabies: mixed results. ok this one came as a bit of a shock because jae lost it but junsu didn't? i would have predicted the opposite. jae is not actually much of a crier, but when he cries he CRIES. this was one of those times and honestly thank goodness su kept himself together because jaejoong needed to be shuffled around the stage with someone else's steady hand in support. he was just gone. bless.

things i wanted but did not get:

a new single prepared for the concert: i just want so much more duo music from them after the treat that was 六等星 in 2022. i want an album!!!

intoxication as a slutty duet: i knew it was a long shot. but i wanted it very badly, on behalf of 2012 jamie who was about 75% more unhinged than 2024 jamie pretends not to be.

incredible as a goofy happy good time duet: what can i say, i really want to see jaejoong blundering his awkward baby horse limbs through that choreo. i really thought i might get this one! alas.

any of either of their solo power ballads as a duet: this is the only thing i'm kinda disappointed about. imagine if they'd sung flower or breathing in love or all that glitters or, god, life support together??? i guess it's best they didn't because i would be dead right now.

it was a great concert, 3 hours well spent. feeling like my old school fangirl self right now, very nostalgic. i do love them.

*

[isabel3710]

Some random Feral! Branch and Clays thoughs/ideas because I am mentally ill and I felt silly:

- Some years after settling down in the forest, Clay learns how to make paper and now spends most of his time journaling and writing;

- At first, he tried to rewrite some of his old books from memory but found it too hard and emotionally painful to remember, but he will sometimes write some self-made sad stories as a little treat for himself;

- Branch takes the longest out of them to take on a hobby, the forever self-sacrificing and self-hating troll he is. But when he does, he tries almost anything he can think of;

- He paints, sculpts, does leather-work, baking and more. He can't and won't be stopped;

- Clay helps, food-wise, mostly by gathering and trap-making (also gardening, once they make some good progress on the building of the burrow/hideout). Branch, when he gets older, does most of the hunting and fishing (Clay is slightly embarrassed, but learns to live with it);

- The burrow or the nest (how they call their version of the bunker) is less survivalist and mechanical than canon, due this Branch being less paranoid and not having access to more advanced resources (Troll village). But this version is also way more cozy and home-like, so it balances out lol;

- They try to explore and venture out on the hopes of finding their other brothers (especially Floyd and Bruce), but think that it's way too dangerous to go far away from the burrow (and they never go in the direction of Burgentown, which is in the middle of them and Vacay Island);

- After some really long years of healing and bounding, Branch slightly regains his colours and hums/softly sings with Clay, but only in the safety of their burrow;

- Clay also rarely sings, especially before Branch does it as well, and has muted colours himself (by the 20th anniversary of the escape , they are roughly the same amount of greyish blue/green);

- To finish this ask with some angst, they have came close to reuniting John Dody many times. But because they only see Rhonda, which to them is an unknown and unpredictable animal, they always turn around or go to another direction. Jd also has spotted them once or twice, but thinks they are hallucinations at first and later, dangerous wild trolls who he rather not mess with (since by then, they stopped looking like their younger-selfs). He rarely goes close to their area, so he never made the association of those specific "hallucinations" (he had a lot of real ones during that time period) and the mysterious wild trolls.

I love all of these! Here are some of my own.

-Their burrow would only be a couple of rooms because the two spend most of their time outside.

-There isn't much in the way of furniture in their burrow, like instead of beds it's just a nest of anything comfy they kind find.

-They practically hibernate during the winter, they stay inside the whole time and sleep a lot. When Branch was younger they went out a few times so he could experience a snow day but due to lack of supplies and the cold weather they don't do this very often.

-Clay is less feral than Branch because he's older and socialized and spent time with other trolls more.

-They communicate a lot using animal sounds, for safety reasons, but Clay does his best to help Branch learn to read, write, and practice talking.

[gascon-en-exil]

Working Out Octopath Traveler III's Potential Character Types

I was asked a few days ago about recurring Octopath archetypes and what I'd like to see in a future game, which eventually got me to thinking about whole cast layouts should Square Enix surprise us by shadow-dropping an Octopath Traveler III in 2028 or whenever. As I already have two projects in the works for Octopath Traveler II's second anniversary that's one two too many next month, I decided to throw this one out there first so I can focus on those in February.

Pattern identification narrows the field a fair bit, assuming the developers don't stray too far from the original concept, ex. same base jobs, a setting that can advance historically but still uses the same six weapon types, etc. There's the common expectation that a third game would include gender/job combos not seen in the first two: a male hunter and dancer and a female warrior and scholar. Also, thinking more on those archetypes it's not difficult to identify certain character traits that got carried over from the first game into the second, albeit into characters with different jobs. For the women:

The kindhearted but naïve one, has a sister who figures into her story at one point (Ophilia and Agnea)

The plucky little kid who's technically an adult though the writing rarely treats her as such (Tressa and Ochette)

The snarky one with a dark storyline and connections to sex work (Primrose and Throné)

The serious and somewhat aloof one, oldest of the female travelers (H'annit and Castti)

And for the men:

The country boy with a relatively light story (Alfyn and Partitio)

The Sherlock Holmes-esque detective (Cyrus and Temenos)

The buff, fatherly "old" man (Olberic and Osvald)

The one tied to nobility/royalty whose story is about the importance of friendship in the face of betrayal (Therion and Hikari)

That last one is easily the weakest association. Hikari breaks the mold more than other OT2 travelers, with Hinoeuma's Wutai elements and the devs' intention of making him a slender Easter warrior to contrast Olberic's beefy Western one. I could get away with calling that slot a wild card, almost.

Now let's get into handing out character types, starting with the ones that "have" to be of a particular gender.

Warrior - the aloof, serious woman

Not a difficult choice. The hard part about the warrior concept instead comes from if the settings of these games continue to advance in time. Solistia's already knocking against the turn of the 20th century with some of its tech, so envisioning characters still fighting with swords and bows and such in an environment that takes inspiration from a time around the world wars can become silly very quickly. If it is I'd expect no large-scale battle sequences like in the first two games, with the warrior instead being on a more personal journey for affirmation or actualization. This one could also play on the sexism of the period, although that's a serious topic Octopath has never really tackled outside the context of sex work.

Scholar - the plucky little kid

Cyrus and Osvald are both established professionals...and they're also both socially inept. This character type allows for a sharp contrast that maintains a few connecting threads, something like a prodigy who's new in her field but extremely well-read and capable. Her childishness relative to the other travelers could be explained by her being a bookworm who hasn't taken the time to experience much of the world outside her studies. Befitting the character type, and pivoting hard away from OT2 blindsiding us with a vengeful prisoner scholar, hers could be the lightest of her job seen so far.

Hunter - the buff "old" man

I made this point in that earlier post, but if the setting does move forward in time then logically the hunter character would have to shift more toward being a survivalist loner type, distrusting of modernity and preferring the company of his animal companion to other people. This would make him the least approachable Team Dad - and Osvald already isn't very approachable in that role - but that would make his gradually befriending the other travelers that much more impactful. Both characters of this type also come with notes of queer subtext, so it'd be good to see those too. Possibly with -

Dancer - the wild card

Given the implications of the job in a lot of RPGs, I think there's always going to be a certain discomfort surrounding the characterization of male dancers. How honest is the writing about the importance of sex appeal to the role? Is it implied that "dancer" is in fact a euphemism for sex worker? The first question pops up even with the otherwise innocent Agnea, and the second is explicit with Primrose. And then with male dancers, how pronounced is the homoerotic element? I could see a character like this spun as something like an insincere flirt who's more serious than he appears. Possibly he can still have some ties to nobility/royalty, or have suffered the betrayal of someone close to him, as a way of calling back to characters in previous games.

And then the other four.

Apothecary - the detective

There are only a handful of jobs that can readily accommodate such a specific archetype, and apothecary is one of them. This is one where a time jump would actually be beneficial, bringing the medical practices of the setting closer to modern toxicology, forensics, etc. Story tone can be just about anything here, as both the detective role and the apothecary job have a decent range already in just the first two games.

Merchant - the snarky woman with the dark storyline

This is the other one I've mentioned before. The merchants of the existing games both have fairly light, fluffy storylines, so a hard turn into the complete opposite of that would be very novel. The sex work connection is self-evident with the job that runs off capitalism; maybe she's fallen on hard times and has had to involve herself with that kind of business, and her story is about pulling herself out of that lifestyle. While I dislike it when fiction represents sex work as inherently negative and something to be escaped, this wouldn't annoy me if it appeared alongside the aforementioned dancer depicting the trade more positively.

Thief - the kindhearted but naïve woman

And on the opposite end, we've never had a low stakes thief storyline. She can be an honorable Robin Hood type with a big family and lots of friends to contrast the loner thieves of the first game, and the criminal element inherent to the job can be part of her eventual character development as she learns that "honorable" thieving can become a grey area pretty quickly.

Cleric - the country boy

The clerics of the first two games are high-ranking members of their churches who live in the town at the center of their faiths. So how about a humble country preacher setting out to make his modest mark on the world instead? Maybe the headquarters of his church is in a big city this time, and he gets to visit it for the first time as part of his story.

Now if we do by some wild chance get an OT3 and any one of these is similar to the new characters, I can pat myself on the back for getting a prediction or two right.

[levy120]

What I know now (Rayman OC Story)

Genre, Themes: Journey to the Past Prominent Characters: Poisen (OC), Mr. Dark, R1 characters get mentioned Words: 6,000 Warnings: Anxiety, Implied Child Abuse One Line Summary: Looking for a specific Spellbook from the Candy Chateau, Poisen is allowed access to a painting from back when the place still existed. Funfact: The story was written with just one song on the loop

Happy 20th Anniversary to this little dork!

This story can also be found on dA

What I know now

Poisen doesn't deserve this chance. He's sure of it.

But Rayman has already gone out of his way to ask the Bubble Dreamer of all beings for access to his old gallery, and at this point, it would be sacrilege to refute.

He'd explained to him that the paintings are moments in time, not actual time travel, and that there was no risk that Poisen could change events from the past by visiting them - to ease his mind. And to be fair… if all Poisen wanted to do was check out the lost libraries of the Candy Chateau (to hone his spells, as Ales had suggested) it did seem an easy enough option.

All the signs were pointing in this direction, it would be foolish not to take this quest.

And yet, Poisen feels his stomach sink as he lurks the gall looking for the right painting. 

Barely any people stand front and center in the drawings, and yet he feels watched. It's like he's passing by ghosts or a gravesite. Most of these places no longer exist, leveled from Polokus’s grand revision. 

More often than not he finds himself distracted, some draw him in, other paintings he rushes by fast, and just one he shields from view - but the mere glimpse of the cottage in the swamp is enough to make him want to turn back. It's not worth it.

Until he sees the familiar shade of pink glinting before him and makes a beeline for it.

The Castle itself looks unassuming in the picture, but that doesn't mean much. Poison cannot tell if it's from before or after the takeover as Mr. Dark had treated it with care - but right now, this is his best bet for finding the lost book Poisen seeks.

---

The hallway is too familiar, it scares him how easily he can navigate the place, how he knows exactly where to go and how not to run into people. For the longest time being invisible has been his safest bet.

The smell of sugar clogs his nose like a bad dream. It makes him nauseous and yearn for something bitter to cleanse his palette later.

In his mind, there are two destinations to investigate: Mr. Dark's study… and the library.

He's not on a time crunch, but he has yet to learn of the schedule within the painting. The guard rotation gives him a vague idea, but he's not daring enough to bump into the study first in case it is occupied. The library is going to be a safe enough start for his journey - and if he's in luck, it will be the only place he'll have to visit.

The sooner he gets out of here, the better.

---

“What are you doing in here?” a voice catches his ear. Young, and familiar in a way that rattles his core.

“Who are you?!” the voice insists, "No one is supposed to be here."

Poisen halts his every move. He doesn't dare turn around to look. There are shelves in the way and by the shuffling noises, it appears he has not yet been seen.

But it's not going to be for long.

"I'm a librarian," he lies, as he rakes his mind for a memory that rings at least a little bit familiar - but he comes up with nothing. "I'm putting the books back in the right order."

"We don't have a… I've never seen you before!" the little one accuses, still out of view. Poisen hears suspicion in the voice, but no hostility. He's trying to determine which timeframe he is stuck in. A lot of his youth was spent like this.

“I'm new,” Poisen decides. Ever cautious he cantrips up a simple disguise. 

It's his least favorite spell, it had taken him so long to feel comfortable in his own skin.

The dust settles on his skin to change the hue into something else, unassuming; his form shifts, ever slightly, to deter from his natural shape. 

It's advanced magic to disguise as another species - but honing his skills and researching his spells is what he has come here for.

He picks the shape of a Lividstone, out of place enough for him to be new here, but familiar enough for the kid to recognize him as one of Mr. Dark's goons.

Once that is done, Poisen steps into the aisle to reveal himself.

“What's your name?”

The little one furrows his brow and clutches the book in his hands closer to his chest. 

It looks old and heavy, is almost the size of the little limbles. A dark purple leather binding contrasts with the youngster’s green.

Maybe this one is what he came looking for.

“I haven't decided yet,” the boy answers reluctantly.

That narrows it down.

Poisen lets his gaze stray across the shelves, then catches another glimpse of the book his younger self is clinging onto.

With a thoughtful hum his hand scours the bindings until he finds a familiar bind. It's in a better condition than he last remembers it in.

“Try this one,” he says as he plucks the book out from its spot, “It might give you some inspiration.”

The little tyke looks at it critically before hesitantly taking it. Books don't bite - he learned soon to find comfort in worn pages.

“Plants?” he questions as he observes the cover. Poisen shrugs his hands.

“Because I'm green?” he spouts and Poisen can't help but laugh. The little one doesn't think it funny so he stifles his laughter behind a fist. 

“Maybe?” he edges. It's not been on the forefront of his mind, but he can't deny the coincidence now that it's slapping him in the face like that.

“I don't wanna be called like a stupid plant,” the boy murmurs, and Poisen thinks himself amused.

“You're green!” the boy accuses and it takes Poisen a moment to remember that he's referring to the Lividstone disguise, “I bet you're name isn't spinach either.”

Poisen shakes his head with a chuckled “No.”

In hindsight, the disguise was probably unnecessary. Poisen had been worried about the kid recognizing his own mirror image, but they look nothing alike.

The little one looks both paler than him, and yet more vibrant. There's an excitement about the kid, a farseek for seeing the world he's only ever finds described in books.

That's what being cooped up does to you. 

But Poisen, in his years, has seen too much; he wishes he could just retreat to a safe space and spend his time reading again.

But then again, the Candy Chateau is not much of a safe space either. 

Never was.

“What have you got there?” he asks as the little one puts the book he'd been harboring aside in favor of flipping through the herbology book.

“Don't put it back,” the kid warns him, “It doesn't belong on a shelf.”

Ah. Then it must be from Mr. Dark's study.

“You're gonna get in trouble for that,” Poisen warns him in a hushed tone. The kid glances back over his shoulder and pulls the book close again.

“Only if he finds out.”

“Fair enough,” Poisen whispers back and hunkers down to be on eye-level with the kid.

“I won't tattle,” he promises, “But you should bring it back soon.”

The kid gives him a look of apprehension and guilt.

“Can I have a look?” Poisen asks, “I won't move it, I'll keep it here where you can see it.”

The kid seems to think hard about it, looks like he's going to deny him for a moment - then he snaps the book about the herbs shut.

“Can you read it to me?” he asks suddenly, “There's words in it I don't understand.”

It jolts something in Poisen, like he remembers the moment. He'd taught himself to read, mostly, he remembers the Lady from Picture City coming by for the basics…

- but reading comprehension and Mr. Dark's spellbooks were a different beast entirely.

“I…” Poisen hesitates. What was he doing? But this could very well be what he came here for. 

“Yes. Of course.”

Rayman said he couldn't break things here - yet the situation tugs at his mind like a distant memory. But there is no face attached. The only thing he thinks to remember is the safe haven of the library… and ever present loneliness.

He lets the kid keep hold of the book to not start an argument, hastily scans the pages as the little one turns them over. There's a chance that what he's going to be shown is what he's looking for anyway. He readies the little notebook he brought along to take notes of anything that might seem relevant.

“What's this?” the little one stops on a page that Poisen doesn't recognize. It looks like a recipe for alchemy, handling of magical artifacts. Nothing he ever bothered to learn about.

“What about this page?” Poisen asks. He is not familiar with it. He would be if it were of any relevance.

The kid turns another page that shows illustrations of various artifacts, one of them… oh.

“Dark had it open when I borrowed the book. It needs to be open on this page when I put it back.” 

Poisen casts a worried look at the small one. There's a sense of trepidation.

“What does it say? What was he looking at? I wanna help if I can!”

Poisen sighs, flips the page back to the previous one. He starts jotting down notes. It's not what he came here for, but if this is what Mr. Dark had been using, then anything he knows might help to circumvent another harvesting or reverse lingering effects on the Protoon.

“Hey!” the kid tugs the book away from him.

“You said you were gonna read this to me!”

“Kid,” Poisen says and watches the face of his counterpart turn into a disapproving frown.

“You don't want to know.”

The kid shuts the book but Poisen's hand still lingers on the page. He's not letting the kid pull it back and he knows the tyke is too afraid of tearing a page.

“I'll call a guard!” he exclaims, “We don't have a bibrai- lib- you're a stranger!” Poisen hands the book back, trying to shush him. “You were gonna steal this!” “No, I wasn't,” Poisen hushes back. “Then tell me what it says or you're not seeing it!”

What a little-

“Fine,” Poisen grits through his teeth.  Maybe he can make something up.

He doesn't like lying to the kid. But he will if he must.

---

It is tedious to keep the good grace. It's ironic, he supposes, that he's always been this way; and as he's actively lying to his younger self he can't help but wonder what that says about himself. Trust has been something rarely extended. 

Apparently he's been like that all his life.

How do other people deal with it?

He wants to change for the better - he just doesn't know how to yet.

His notes fill up with information both useful and concerning.

All the while, the little one eagerly peppers him with questions. Some Poisen has an answer for, others he is just as lost on.

“What about this?” his past self asks as he taps an illustration on the page.

“That's the Scepter of Leptys,” Poisen tells him. “That artifact is from a different continent. From a different deity even.”

“What's a deity?” the little one asks, eyes full of wonder.

“Higher beings, that shape the world around us,” Poisen explains simply and allows himself to turn the page while the kid is still awestruck.

“Is Dark a deity?” 

The question stops Poisen in his track and he gapes down at the kind.

“Wha- No.” he says, “No, he's not.”

The boy hums and rocks back and forth on the spot as he tries to process the new info.

“He says he wants to shape the world. Can he become a deity?”

Poisen hopes to the gods not.

He stands suddenly, starts pacing. His gut churns at the very idea.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Poisen doesn't know!

Mr. Dark is powerful. He is ambitious. 

Can Mr. Dark become a deity? Is that at all possible? 

“Mister!”

“The book doesn't say,” Poisen jolts. His hands have buried in his hair.

He doesn't want to insist on anything that might spark a conversation of the like between little Poi and the mage. That could only end badly.

His younger self seems to accept the non-answer well enough, but Poisen feels devastated regardless. 

He realizes then that he has to do something. He can't just… leave and let history repeat itself. This one still holds Mr. Dark in such high regards… it makes him sick to know where it's coming from. 

…

Rayman frees Teensies from the paintings all the time, right? Maybe he could…

Cam would love that? Having a son? An actual one?

He knows he shouldn't, but the possibility is tantalizing. But… would it enable Mr. Dark if the kid weren’t here? Distracting him? Stealing his books?

…

Poisen turns around and rips the book from the kid's hands to a protesting “Hey!” but he is bigger, stronger, keeps the kid at bay with one of his feet. His hands cannot reach this far.

Poisen tears out the relevant pages to vehement protests. There's a risk the little one will be on the receiving end of Mr. Dark's wrath… but only if he claims to know about it. And Poisen knows the kid is smarter than that.

“Thief!” he starts wailing, “Help! Stop! Thief.”

…or not.

Poisen rolls his eyes and bends down to pick the kid up and muffle his shouting with an angry hush. With a snap of his finger they find themselves at the top of a bookshelf just as one of Mr. Dark's minions peers into the library. 

The kid wails and kicks in the air, but Poisen keeps his snout pressed shut and the rest of him dangling. Below a second guard slips into the library.

When Poisen lets his disguise fall the little one goes still and turns even paler if at all possible.

Poisen watches the guard roam the library, the other one having already left with the tattered book.

“Will you shut up?!” Poisen hisses through his teeth when the goon is far away rummaging in another isle.

He feels the kid nod and after a moment of doubt, drops him at the top of the shelf, next to him.

“You do magic?!? And you… you look like-”

“Yes. And yes.” 

“Whoah…”

The kiddo stumbles backwards and Poisen catches him from falling off the shelves.

He pulls the kid back on the shelf, gives him a moment to process. He slowly watches that little brown begin to furrow.

“Who are you?” he asks cautiously and shifts away from Poisen. The older one already prepares for speculations, the fantastical wild tale of that weird truth he found himself in, only enhanced by the vivid imagination of a kid-

“Are you… are you my Dad?”

Poisen’s own heart breaks at the question.

That sounds more plausible than ‘I'm you, from the future,’ doesn't it? It would feel nice to think someone had been looking for him, wouldn't it?

But he takes too long to answer, sees the excited expectation shrivel into disappointment in the little one. When his own vision starts to blur all he can see is the kid turning away from him again, rejected (again), and hurting (still). It cuts himself to the bone to find these hopes dashed, to be the one to do it.

“I'm…” Poisen chokes out but his voice feels raw.

He tries to breath and inches closer.

He doesn't want to keep lying, but he can't exactly tell him the truth either now, can he?

“I'm not your dad, sorry.” he says, and in the hopes it might bring some comfort tags on “But I'm a friend. I know your Mom.”

“Proof it!” the kid demands; the heartbreak makes him lash out, “Why should I believe this is what you REALLY look like?!” 

…Fair point. 

The little one is keeping his distance; Poisen would be surprised if he wasn't. He wouldn't trust himself either. (Wait…)

With a sigh Poisen slouches next to the kid, lets his feet dangle from the shelf.

“Mr. Dark fished you from the Swamp of Forgetting.”

And just like that, the tension seems to leave the kid to be replaced with curious suspicion. Poisen knows, that he never told anybody until years after, it should be everything that needs to be said - but he keeps going.

“You don't remember anything from before that.” And if the kid not having decided on a name yet was anything to go by, “You only moved here recently. You secretly love to break off the mints from the wall in your room-.”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop-” the kid is shushing him in a weird turn of events. He looks spooked - but excited. 

“How do you- No way!” 

Poisen lets him process all the new information and chances another glance across the library. He’d made sure to talk quietly, but the kiddo is not exactly following in his stride. To his relief it seems that at some point the other minion left as well.

"Whoa, so you're like... me? From the future?” Now he's caught on. “And you came back to prevent, like, a big bad from happening or something?"

“No,” Poisen replies courtly. But he’s very much starting to want to. 

'I came to read books' feels kind of boring in the given light, but he also hadn't really expected to run into his past self either. 

“Tell me your name!” the kid demands.

“Not before you decided on one,” Poisen teases him.

“You’re very chatty,” he comments and ruffles the little one's hair. 

“And you’re not!” the kid protests as if insulted as he slinks away from Poisen’s hand, “What’s up with that?!” 

It’s like taking the wind out of Poisen’s sails. History has taught him well that some things are better kept to yourself… but he doesn’t want to put that burden on the little one, when he can barely remember a time during which he was so… outgoing. 

“Hey,” he tries to divert instead, “I know Mr. Dark says you can't learn magic… but I'd teach you. I want to!” he offers before he can think better of it - and the kid's eyes become huge.

“Really?” he asks.

“If that’ll help prove him wrong?” 

And the little one looks positively excited. 

He doesn't want the little one to stick around and face Mr. Dark’s wrath. He doesn't want to keep lying to the kid - or, essentially, himself. 

He wants for things to be better. He wants to tell him that nothing bad is gonna happen to him. He wants to promise. But he can't rightfully know if he can keep it.

Rayman said that while in the painting Poisen could neither change nor break anything… and he wants to put that claim to the test. 

The longer he stays, the more certain of it he is. 

He just cannot walk away from here, knowing things are as they are… and… not at least try.

“Yes,” he says, “Let's get you out of here first.”

Back to the gateway. Away from Mr. Dark's impending return.

---

The coated sugar crunches beneath his feet like snow. He's leaving traces that he hopes this world won't remember. It only occurs to him now what a bad idea it would be to lead Mr. Dark straight to his world, into the arms of Polokus…

So the next chance he gets he breaks off a candy cane and starts swiping their footsteps to the confusion of the little kid.

“What are you doing?” he asks. The little one sounds nervous. Poisen doesn't answer immediately, so he kicks him.

“Hey!”

“I asked what you're doing!”

Poisen remains silent. He looks back at the trail of… seemingly undisturbed glaze, but is sure if someone found the path, they'd still be able to track them.

“I don't want Mr. Dark to follow us,” he says, purposely simple. The kid doesn't seem to have the same level of dread just yet, but by the way that he's not digging deeper, Poisen is certain he understands why.

“But I wanna find my way back when we’re done.”

Poisen straightens his back and feels the way his grip tightens on the improvised tool.

“Don't worry,” Poisen tries to calm him, “It should be right around the corner.”

He passes the kid to walk around an oversized Candy Corn and-

“There it is!”

Poisen breathes a sigh of relief once he sees the gate that's supposed to lead them back to the gallery.

…But the kiddo by his side is looking increasingly nervous.

“I'm going back,” he says.

“Why?” Poisen asks.

“Dark will be looking for me.”

The little one is so upset, Poisen almost feels guilty. Almost.

"Not in the way you think," he says and hunkers down to be on eye-level with the kid. The little tyke is full on glaring at him now, but the tears don't make it as threatening as it could be.

"He's only looking for you to punish you for the state his book is in."

"But YOU'RE the one who broke it!" the kiddo immediately protests and Poisen shakes his head.

"He. won't. care."

Poisen reaches out a hand to comfort the kid, but he flinches away before Poisen can touch him.

"You're lying!"

"Kid," Poisen insists, "You'll thank me in 20 years."

Instead of heeding his words, the boy backs off.

He's gotten him so far…

“But the gate… it's right here.”

“There's nothing there!” the kid insists angrily and Poisen feels his stomach drop.

“But-” He reaches his hand through, the one clutching the torn out pages- and it goes through just find - but where he passes the treshold the pages he'd torn out earlier flutter to the ground no longer held by anything.

Poisen’s eyes blow wide and he retrieves his hand from the void to gather his evidence.

“No,” he breathes, “No. No. Nononono…”

He sticks his head through the gate to find that absolutely nothing wound up on the other side.

When he pulls back into the painting, he comes face to face with his younger self looking more anxious than ever.

The kid backs off further and Poisen realizes with horror the shit he's just gotten the little one into. He needs to fix this. 

He needs to!

The kid is stepping in a wide arch around him to pick up the pages - but Poisen retrieves his hand from the gate and snatches them away before the boy can reach them.

“Don't go back,” he warns, crinkling the paper in his grasp.

The kid shakes his head.

“If I bring these back, it will be fine.”

But his voice is thin and… he is crying now - he must already know that this won't be the case.

…

Poisen can't let that happen.

The objection is loud and the wailing imminent when Poisen summons another orb of light and the pages go up in flames.

“Don't go back,” Poisen presses, “You can't.”

“No!” the kid cries out as he's trying to catch the lit up pages. He's not listening to what Poisen is saying, too distraught in seeing the one plan he had go up in flames.

“We need to get you out of here,” Poisen insists, “I know a place-”

But when he reaches for the kid the boy backs off with a vehement “Go away!”

Tears are staining the little one's cheeks and Poisen's guilt pinches ten fold.

He drops in front of the kid.

“I'm sorry,” he bawls, too, “This is for your best.”

“Shut up!” the kid screeches and hauls a handful of glaze at Poisen. 

Yeah… he deserved that…

“You leave me no choice,” he says as he reaches for the kid. Who knew that his younger self could be so difficult.

But when Poisen tries to port them to a safe place inside this timeline, he finds his spell disrupted midway and them freefalling from midair, hurling towards a field of spiky crocant.

Both of them scream, Poisen flings the kid at a cream-puff before crashing into the hard candy himself. When he emerges from the brittle, he sees the boy bound back for the castle in hurried steps.

“Wait! Don't!” he calls after him and ports out of the splintered candy. So that works just fine. It stops him momentarily, as Poisen brushes the leftover crumbles from him (they're so sticky).

As the kid runs off, Poisen channels his magic to port after him. He materializes in front of the kid to cut off his path and make him steer in another direction, but Poisen lunges after him and is quicker.

The kid is screaming and shouting in his hold (again) and kicks Poisen in the chest, knocking the wind from him. He doubles over coughing and heaving and the kid slips free of his grasp.

That's his chance to make a break for it, but… 

He'd feel kinda bad about that. 

As Poisen remains keeled over, the sound of coughing mixed with something else that sounds like… sobbing, the younger one cautiously inches closer.

“Are you alright?” he apologizes, “I… didn’t kick you that hard.” 

Poisen coughs again before sitting upright, winded. His hand clutches the spot that the kid kicked earlier.

He looks at the kid, then avoids his gaze as he’s slowly catching his breath.

“Lesson Number One,” he wheezes, “Your magic supply is finite.” 

The kid looks surprised at that… and - now that Poisen is talking - sits down, at a safe distance.

“Thanks for not running,” he huffs. 

“Thanks for finally teaching,” the kid retorts dryly, and Poisen can’t help but give a winded chuckle. 

“Sorry about that. I’m just…” What little levity there was fades as his expression turns grim.

“You can't go back…” Poisen pleads. “You can't. I won't allow it.” The kid tilts his head at him.

“Why are you like that?” the kid inquires, almost offended, and Poisen leans back so he can breathe easier. He feels his chest strain from using so much magic, all of his muscles feel weak, but the uncontrolled quivering might be from something else still.

“I know you think you owe Mr. Dark because he saved your life,” Poisen says.

The kid is quiet for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“But…?” he inquires.

But Poisen can't put it into words. He doesn't know where to start. He doesn't know how to tell in a way the little one would believe.

He feels so lost.

Before he knows it, he's pulled the kid into a hug.

Apologies whirl in his mind but don't make it to his tongue. The moment he tries to put this warning into words… he bawls. 

The kid is spooked… but he no longer tries to run.

He tries again, his voice thin, like he's letting the kid in on a secret, his hands cling protectively.

“When Mr. Dark finds the book,” the one they left atop the shelves in the library - it will be a while, but it will happen, “I want you to be as far away from him as possible.”

The little one looks nervous now.

“If I can't escort you through the gate, then I'd at least would have wanted you with a confidant.”

When it comes to hypothetical options, Poisen truly isn't spoilt for choice by now.

He hopes Cam will be happy to be the first he considered and not hurt to be the first to be dismissed, but Poisen doesn't know where his mother is staying in this timeline. Is the aheart of the Ancients still save? Are they looking for him in the village at the blue mountains where he was supposed to go? The Swamps where he got lost? Is the Risen Peak a thing yet? He doesn't know.

And neither option is in any way close enough for them to just get there on foot, or with what little remains of his magic, even without the barrier innplace.

He would even have considered Betilla - although that might be weird with her already mentoring Rayman.

“I wanted to take you Space Mama. You know her, right?”

Picture City simply feels like the best choice. It's closer, and Space Mama would at least be a familiar face. As it is, he has spooked the kid enough already. 

“But I don't wanna go to Picture City,” the kid protests. Poisen almost finds it in himself to laugh out of sheer desperation. The irony that despite trying he wasn't able to take him there anyway.

After the little one had already not been able to see the gate, Poisen shouldn't be surprised that he wouldn't be able to escort the kid away from the Chateau when the painting itself doesn't extend so far… 

His range in this time-capsule is limited, the barrier that cut off his spell won't let Poisen pass beyond a certain range, and he doesn't trust the kid enough to send him off without an escort. With his track record he'd wander off a cliff or drown in a pool of ink…

…

So he needs to be sure the kid sticks with him, at least for the time being.

Cautiously, Poisen releases his hold from the kid, waits if he tries to run again and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't.

“I can't teach you magic when I'm completely drained,” he says and shifts away, assuming his favorite meditation pose.

“Your magic is not fairy given,” he says, tapping his own chest “It comes from in here.”

The little one is clearly confused by the sudden change in topic, but as long as it's what he'd been pestering him about relentlessly Poisen knows he wouldn't dare interrupt or walk off on his own.

“Before we try any spell, you need to find the connection with your core and tap into that.”

“How do I do that?”

To the best of his abilities, Poisen tries to put into words what took him months to get an understanding for. He doesn't expect it to click for the little one right away; he's expecting failure.

But he's also expecting stubborn tenacity.

Poisen tries to lead by example. With eyes closed, and his breathing deep, he tries to clear his mind and shake the lingering panic. If his skin quivers regardless he acknowledges the crisp air of the surrounding mountainside. The smell of sugar lies heavy in the air. He's never been a fan… but it holds something familiar, something - despite everything - comforting.

He hears the shuffling of feet and chances a glance at the source. The kid has bound next to his side and is trying to mimic his posture.

“How do you float?”

Poisen finds it in himself to smile after everything.

“That's just what happens when you do it right. You need to focus.”

“I'm gonna focus so hard!” the kid exclaims and proceeds with a face like pushing a boulder.

Yeah, that's not gonna work.

“If it's any consolation, I didn't figure it out until at least-” 

The Protoon. And his guard duty on Betilla. And Mr. Dark's defeat at Rayman's hands…

Yeah… Best not to bring that up.

He chances a cautious glance at the kid. He's trying so hard. 

“I mean… you're further ahead than I was your age. You'll figure it out,” Poisen chuckles, and resumes his own meditation.

The dwindling questions are a good sign he thinks, of the little one slowly getting the hang of it.

---

When he next wants to check in on the kid, he is gone. Poisen flings from refreshed into alarm in seconds.

“Kid?” he calls to no answer, “Kid?!”

The glaze surrounding him looks entirely undisturbed, there are no signs or footprints or any other indication of them having been here.

“Kid!” he calls out again. His feet land on the glaze with a soft crunch.

But of course if he's not here - there's only one place he could have gone back to!

Cautiously Poisen tracks back to the Chateau. It seems… peaceful enough. He has a hunch.

His feet lead Poisen back to the library. Books that he remembers pulling from the shelves are still in pristine order where he first found them.

When a familiar “What are you doing in here?” catches his ears - more curious than it is alarmed, Poisen wants to cry with relief.

“Mr. Dark is looking for a book,” he replies before the kid can come close enough to see him, “I thought it might be here.”

“He is?!?” the young voice replies with a sense of fear.

“Uuuh… which book? I'll help!” the voice piques up, and Poisen can't help but smile to himself.

“Some kind of spellbook. He insists that he's last seen it in his study, but that it's no longer there.”

When he checks, Poisen finds that his notes from earlier are still there. They’re rough, but better than nothing. Surely Betilla or Ales might be able to scour out the right book from those notes alone. 

The sound of little feet puttering away is music to his ears and even if he can’t get the young one out of this place entirely… it helps to know that things will be alright for him… for now. 

And maybe this time around, Poisen can find the book he’s actually looking for. 

But first… he just needs to be sure of one more thing.

When Poisen skulks the halls again, he's not trailing after the kid, but following another familiar route… until he finds what he's looking for and climbs out of the adjacent window. 

He ports the small distance up and lingers at the steep of an upper window, where he can easily cling to the roof and get a clear view from above right into Mr. Dark's study. 

The sorcerer himself is there, busying himself with the crystal ball in the corner of the room. It's easy to spot its glow in the dimly lit room.

To his relief he doesn't yet seem agitated about the missing book. 

He seems to have beaten the little one though as the stand where Mr. Dark likes to keep his books is still suspiciously empty.

When the door to the study creeks open, the room is flooded with light from the hallway. The kid treads with careful steps, but when he spots Mr. Dark in the corner, he forgoes putting the book back to its spot and instead trots over to the sorcerer.

Poisen feels his breath seize and his muscles tense as his fingers almost break the candid rim of the windowsill.

From up here he can't understand what the little one is says. But he tugs at Mr. Dark's coat, interrupts what he's doing and has the sorcerer turn around.

Beneath the rim of his large hat Poisen can't see his expression, but his younger self is holding out the book with a nervous smile. Mr. Dark raises his head and Poisen readies himself to intervene -

When Mr. Dark takes the book and ruffles the kid's hair. 

It's like time stops and Poisen forgets how to breathe. Below, Mr. Dark carries the book back to its spot and dismisses the kid who nods his head with a proud smile as he shimmies off…

And Poisen feels a pang of jealousy that topples his world upside down.

Relief muddles into betrayal and doubt.

He knows better. He knows he does. He knows that this is wrong. That it's not gonna last. That… that….

He pushes away from the window and leans against the roof. His fingers brush over the gingerbread tiles in an attempt to ground himself, but the effort feels mute. 

He should not have come here. He should have stayed in the library and committed to his research.

He feels foolish… but he knows better. He knows that he knows better. It's just…

It's too early yet. 

When he returns to the library there's no joy when he finds the familiar volume he's looking for. His hand feels cold and shaky when he transcribes the pages of his spells and possible enhancements. When he slides the book back into it's place on the shelf it's with a grounding sigh.

His gaze drops to his scraggled notes. The ones he'd just made, and the rough transcripts from Mr. Dark’s book, and he finds new resolve. 

Betilla will want to see this. 

With this, he's sure they can heal the Protoon.

He knows where his place in the world is. He's learned it the hard way, found it painstakingly.

He knows it's not here. As much as the voices in his head would like to differ.

[deasbanker]

Weekend treat: join an event of Disney Channel 20th anniversary in Japan and feel ever so connected to participants by appreciating their cute outfits themed on their favorite programs in that we're still into the channel!

3/8/2024

By the way, I recently noticed that merchandise including capsule toys started to feature what my generation（millennials, so to speak） used to be crazy about in our childhood, such as Love and Berry, an arcade/collectible card game, targeted at girls, or the kids' clothing brand ANGEL BLUE. I mean, this should be a new marketing trend, because we've been already adult enough to make ends meet.

Like that, I was about to lose control in front of my cherish stuff at the event to celebrate Disney Channel Japan 20th anniversary in Shinjuku. I was so lucky to take part in it and have an opportunity to see valuable items in person. That was the ultimate reward for a huge fan of the channel, I would say.

It was crowded with winners for the event even in a smaller venue than I expected, but the space was totally dedicated to shows from animations to live-actions, which aroused a pure sentiment I'd forgotten for nearly decade due to mental illnesses in no time; firstly, I got so amazed at such a fact. I must admit that childhood obsessions could help adults out of depression even for a little while; those have so much power.

We looked around each exhibit to our hearts' content, took lots of pictures, did（rubber）stamp rally, and drew pictures of shows for some prize listening to DC songs resonating throughout the hall. There were limited/rare goods of Gravity Falls, Phineas and Ferb, or Fish Hooks, all of which I really wanted to bring home with me. Also, there were posters of some series with autographs of Japanese voice casts on and the scripts used by the voice actors on display. Last but not least, I was being excited about the guitar which Ross Lynch did use in a show and has his autograph on. In fact, Austin and Ally was my very first memory of DC, and it actually started at the same time.

Plus, I do appreciate a narrator of commercials on Disney Channel named Hiroshi Isobe, because his voice is still deeply connected with this channel to the point where I can feel really relieved even at the thought of his voice.

[raw-law]

rahhhhhhhgghhgg ive been less active since the servers creation bc now i just talk to you directly more often. but, i still like to send asks because its fun. its like mail, i send a little message, you guyz read it. then i get a notification with a reply like a day or so later and its so thrilling to me. i love mail so much. i love buying thingz online and then getting a little treat in the mail. it makes me lowkey ecstatic! i actually just bought an mcr shirt because they released merch for the 20th anniversary of their sophomore album, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. i'll forget i ordered it and then in a few weeks, a little treat for moi!!!! j'adore les petits cadeaux pour moi!!!!

what is your opinion on the shift from sending letters to just calling or texting people instead? do you think instant forms of communication are a betterment for society or do they ruin the fun?

-🦌

Light:

Good to see you again, Deer Anon!

And I'm glad you like sending asks; I like reading them as well, even though sometimes I mightn't have time to answer. It's good you got a little treat for yourself, you deserve it.

Anyways, to answer your question.

I think instant forms of communication is wonderful. Without it, after all, we wouldn't have the chance to be running this blog, and I wouldn't be able to meet Ryuzaki. It's also convenient when people want to get in touch with us, and without it, we wouldn't be so developed and safe.

However, it is rather regretful that not a lot of people write letters any longer because of this. Letters are a sincere, heartfelt form of communication, and in my opinion, so much more worth treasuring than messages on a phone screen. Through a handwritten, decorated letter, you can find out so much more about the letter's writer, and I find that a very beautiful thing. I still write letters to my ex-teachers, though not as often as I used to when I was a kid and not yet with a phone. And that's a little sad.

Honestly, both have their pros and cons. But my view is that, at the same time when texting friends and calling family, we could write a simple letter to them, asking about their day, and maybe draw little doodles on it. I'm sure that'll make their day, and maybe also the days after that. :]

Thanks for the question, Deer Anon. I loved answering this one.

L:

ahh... i had a feeling that might happen with the addition of a discord server.. eh, what can you do. the server's fun anyways.

but i am glad you enjoy the asks so much. i'm also glad there's people who still have an appreciation for mail in general. i too quite enjoy the simple act of getting a box i've forgotten about and tearing it open, though it is a little ironic considering i'm not really fond of physical gifts, unless they're practical or edible. i just like the unboxing bit. i hope you have fun opening up that mcr shirt of yours. it certainly sounds special. rock on, you hopelessly reactive romantic.

as for my opinion on instant communication... it's all rather conflicting..

i appreciate the advancement of technology. it's played a large part in improving our daily lives, and like light has said, it's given me the opportunity to meet him, along with other people close to me and the askers on this blog.

... but it all feels a bit much to me, at times.

people having the capability to simply.. question me whenever they please feels too weirdly personal.. i know it's irrational, but i just don't like it. i don't like that pressure. nor do i like the way the formatting of words has changed because of it. it's just not something for me. i'm only really alright with it when it comes to people i consider special, but even then i feel like i'd enjoy it more if we communicated through things like letters or even emails. have you seen Simon VS. The Homo Sapiens Agenda? it's a favorite of mine. sometimes i catch myself yearning to be somebody's blue. it really is irrational..

thank you for the ask, it was a pleasure to ponder. always fun to see the tidbits you share. :)

[winderlylandchime]

I still cannot believe someone from Europe cares about my brother watching a tv show. Actually I still can’t believe anyone including you cares about him. But to explain how we/he watches the episodes: at the beginning i was in full control of the dvd cases because there are episode descriptions on them. And when you click on the episodes to play it also shows descriptions. So the way we at first did it for him to avoid any spoilers (his wishes bc he absolutely hates spoilers) was that he would close his eyes until the episode started. BUT then he started to care a lot more than he expected and tbh he was less high from his meds so I couldn’t win fights anymore so he wanted to control the dvd cases and the cds and all that. So he made me tape a piece of paper over the descriptions on the cases and then, like a fucking child, after I/he puts the cd in, he selects the ep number and then closes his eyes and either makes me press play or he hopes for the best and does it himself. One time he pressed play and one of the bts interview videos started playing and he covered his ears and screamed like a child until i turned it off. Anyway all he’s seen so far is the dvd intro with the episode numbers and nothing else. He hates spoilers of any kind so he’s treating this like his life depends on it. Few years ago when the Avengers movie came out (the one with iron man’s death) he didn’t leave the house for 2 days because he was scared of spoilers and he even deleted his entire social media cause of it l so this is not even the top 20 most dramatic things he’s done when it comes to shows/movies. So what I’m saying is, he has no fucking clue about episode titles or anything, so all will be news to him. And tbh I’m very happy about that because 1) in the ep descriptions Vic’s death is also revealed in a description later on so he’d for sure see it and 2) I completely forgot the 10th episode title and when I saw your response with the screenshot I actually felt relieved that he’s such a drama queen because I cannot wait for him to see that little moment so if itd be spoiled for him, id riot.

OH your brother has fandom blood running in his veins. His commitment to avoiding spoilers for his media is commendable. I had to do the same thing when I was traveling for the end of last season of RPDR (btw I adore Jinkx! Good taste brother anon!). (And then I realized that because I was abroad the WoW app would actually show the American franchise episodes and I could watch it.)

There are fans from Europe here on tumblr and the person I text with was on tumblr but deactivated while making me promise to keep them appraised of your brother’s reactions. We’re all invested because this is the most exciting thing to happen in the fandom since 2020 20th anniversary YouTube thing. And Gale didn’t show up so this is even better because your brother is wholly focused on Britin (sorry Scott ILY but no one cares about Ted). (Also remember the early days of the pandemic when we could just watch hours of our favs from an ancient tv show catch up?)

I promise that every single person is holding their breath for your brother to watch 510. His reaction is going to be everything.

[pokemonxhyperfixation]

Happy (Pretty damn late) 20th Anniversary PCB!

In honor of thus occasion (and because I've been really into Touhou 19) I made...

RAN!!!!!!

Ninetales is here as a self representation. and that's about it.

Delcatty represents chen! It was originally going to be an espeon because espeon and chen are kinda based off the same sorta thing I think, but I prefered the idea of chen as a delcatty because I love the image of motherly Ran, and Delcatty feels like this pampered, spoiled cat. Also the shiny is red like chen's outfit =}

Metagross is an artificial intelligence that allegedly has 4 brains, and is here in reference to the fact that Ran was kinda just treated as "not really a person, and more of a machine" for a long ass time. Also something about Ran just having a whole ass metagross feels right.

Reunicles is more representative of current Ran (and my perfered Ran), where she's kinda just a super genius. Alakazam could also work here, but something about Alakazam feels more "intelligent in a pertentious way", and that's just not how I see Ran lol.

Pyukumuku and Pachirisu are really odd picks, but I can explain! Both of these are little weird things that take some clever usuage to make work in a competetive setting, and it kinda feels good to give Ran these kinda weird niche pokemon! Pyukumuku comes from personal experience, since I actually quite like using Pyukumuku in gen 7 competetive on Showdown. Pachirisu is in reference to the famous moment from VGC 2014 (I think) where a guy won worlds with a Pachirisu as his core support mon! Both are the kinda weird niche support mons I could TOTALLY see Ran having around. (Also one of the IE changes I really like is giving Pachirisu Fur Coat, and it works since Ran is cannonically really fluffy =)

[nomsfaultau]

Daily ask №28 (3 WEEK ANNIVERSARY WOO)

Writing edition!

1. Do you have a writing routine? And by that I mean, do you have a separate time to write in the day? Do you just do it when the inspiration strikes?

2. Where do you usually write? And by that I mean, if you're not at work so you get the chance to choose where to write, where do you do it? So places like bed, the desk, the garden maybe, etc. etc.

3. How do you find the inspiration to write? Pinterest, music, other art, talking to friends, etc.

4. What does your writing process usually look like? I've heard you mention that you don't write linearly, but what about besides that? How do you immerse yourself back into the story? Basically this is a place to ramble about anything and everything about how you write.

5. If you had an opportunity to say something to all of the beginner writers, what would it be? Advice, I mean. Do not ponder on how exactly would you be able to say something to every single writer at once and what the qualifications of a beginner writer are. I'm sure you could find a way to conquer the world with this if I don't tell you not to.

+ a bonus question

6. How the hell do you manage to stay consistent while writing non-linearly

5. Don't make writing not fun.

I see this so much! Memes about how writers hate writing, or people beating themselves up over not writing 'enough'. And I think the moment you introduce shame and guilt into a hobby, you're not really going to want to do it anymore. That's not to say that controlling your emotions is easy, it's hard as hell, but I often see writers beating themselves up over writing in a way that's only going to discourage them from writing, from improving, from finding joy in the act of creation. Stuff like guilt over failing to meet self imposed writing schedules. Staring down blank docs and blinking cursors because they're trying to force an idea that hasn't had time to germinate. So much of writing is SUPPOSED to be thinking about writing since that's how you refine thoughts into sentences, and yet I so often see people angry with themselves about it! Feeling guilty for the dozens of ideas they start and the zero they finish, or the zero they even write down. As if they weren't constantly learning through trial and error, and chasing passion and creativity, and having fun daydreaming new stories. Often writing is treated as this herculean task, painful and miserable and you're a stupid awful person if you're not writing masterpieces every single day on the first go (or on the 20th, or ever at all).

And just...if it's not bringing you joy, why are you forcing yourself to do it?

Legitimately, there tons of valid reasons to write, like wanting validation or connection to others or wrestling with ideas or needing money or whatever. But forcing yourself to write is only going to make writing seem hard, make you feel bad, make it harder to want to write. It's a cycle that fuels itself. I don't care if you write a million or zero words, if you write the story that changes the world or a story that's bad and cringe and trashy; I care if you're happy.

Again, it's purely my perspective as a hobby writer. I'm sure it's very different for people trying to pay the bills who do have those deadlines and commitments. But writing is a very slow process mostly about thinking, and running through a scene over and over, and writing 1 word for every 100 you daydream. And I see so many new writers make the mistake of assuming writing is only the exact moment they're putting words on a page. It's utterly tragic how many beat themselves up for natural parts of the process and burnout their passion by entertaining shame and guilt about not writing 'enough'.

Also don't delete anything ever. Toss that bad boy in a separate file called 'deleted (story name)' or whatever. You don't have to kill your darlings, just put them in a retirement home.

1.I kinda just go for it when I feel like it, though occasionally might set little times out for it, like twenty minutes before I get ready in the morning, or to do a little bit on lunch break/on the clock. But I don’t put pressure on maintaining a schedule like that, because I feel like your best writing will always be when you’re excited to do it, and forcing a schedule and likely failing to commit to it seems like an easy way to introduce shame and guilt about writing when life inevitably gets in the way. Sometimes this means I don’t write much some weeks, but I’m at peace with that because hey maybe I was busy or didn’t feel well. And other times this means writing while I’m walking places or scribbling ideas and dialogue into the margins of notes.

2.I write most frequently in my bed bc comfyyy. Pile up a bunch of pillows, put on some music, eat some candy, etc. I usually find it a bit harder when other people are around.

3.Uh. Hm. Sometimes it’s another piece of art, like one picture of someone else’s scp clingy duo snow balling into Fault, or the first chapter of CleanLennin’s fic Cribbed (and a week of insomnia) kickstarting Mandatory Family Reunion. Little sparks that get out of hand. Some of them are from dreams, like Lighting Lanterns.. and I think Lord what fools.. started as dreams. Golden Apples.. was from a transition smear frame for an animatic I never made for a song I don’t remember. And the rest I have genuinely no idea. A story doesn’t come all at once, but develops over time with millions of inspirations all woven together.

4. Often my stories starts with a scene. Maybe a dialogue between two nebulous people, or an action unfolding. With Fault it was them breaching the Foundation, with Mandatory Family Reunion a small scene wherein Techno wakes up chained to a bed and swears to Phil he’ll stay if his parents are let go. And then I ask two very simple questions: how did we get here? And what happens next? I go back first, try to figure out what explains the dynamics between characters, what their goals are, why this scene played out the way it did, what context gives the full weight of the emotions in the scene. With Fault this meant I went back ~150k words from that scene in order to fully answer the question. And that scene will change! It will bend and it will break, and it may not even be important in the grand scheme of the piece! It is simply the starting point from which my imagination will stretch both forward and backward in the time line, plotting out chains of cause and effect. I jot that all down into a proper outline (re: shoddy awful one). Then just pick whatever sounds fun to write at that moment and eventually link together all the little points by pushing both forward and backwards until they all link up.

Since the plot is generated from character responses, usually on a more granular level it's a question of how they get to that response. It's all rather flexible, because at times once fully fleshed out there might be motivations not initially planned for or old dynamics that don't account for events that were added. As for an individual scene, I rotate it in my head for awhile, figure out the tone, think through how the characters are acting and reacting in a way that upholds the over all direction that the bigger timeline is pulling towards. I try to imagine what surrounds characters, what their facial reactions are, how I would draw it.

Next I want to be in the head of the POV. Which is honestly why I head hop so much, because when deciding a character's reaction I'm asking what they're thinking, and often I feel like the reader might want to know that too. I tend to get very deep into character's emotions, to the point I get physical symptoms of those emotions (tightening throat, chills, twisting gut etc). Which while it helps for descriptions and understanding how those emotions shape the character's thoughts and actions, it can at times be very hard emotionally and means I have to take a break on a scene. I'm not here to be a tortured artist, only to torture blorbos!

6. It helps that I have an extremely good memory. Plus a planned out yet flexible timeline, which I understand not all writers go for. I've usually imagined the chain of character responses/actions months or years ago which is then updated for new details that developed. And yeah, sometimes this does mean discarding scenes or heavily re writing them to account for unexpected elements/themes that developed.

Also rereading sections to keep consistent details/motivations/tone is a great way to edit. Kinda a 2 birds with one stone thing.

[echoofmidnight]

Vanitas might be the KH1 mysterious voice

at least in the Sora’s station.

(Look, I know Nomura said once that it’s Mickey, but that’s boring and Sora didn’t have a keyblade yet or know Mickey. Also there’s no way Mickey could speak into his mind, so I choose to ignore that comment from Nomura.) 

I was just rereading Vanitas’ character file from KH3 and at the beginning he thinks, “But darkness is in everything. Look, it's there right by your feet, isn't it? Your shadow. The stronger the light, the deeper the shadow it casts.”

This phrase may sound familiar, because it is almost the same as what the mysterious voice tells Sora at the beginning of KH1 when he first wakes up during the Dive to the Heart sequence. And it got me thinking about a lot of stuff in regards to everyone’s favourite dark-haired void gear wielding boy. 

I’ve always liked to think that the voice was Ventus, because I thought it would be cute and make sense for him to subconsciously prepare Sora in case he ever inherited a keyblade one day. 

But upon reflection, this may actually make more sense in some ways if it is Vanitas. 

Oh Vanitas… you wonderfully confusing character. I love you so dearly yet like many of your other fans, also always have such a hard time placing you among the other KH characters. You originate from Darkness in KHUX and killed Strelitzia, yet are half of Ventus. You helped Xehanort and are a nort, yet clearly show distain towards him. You almost killed Aqua, Ven, and Mickey multiple times, yet seem to care in your own way for certain individuals, like Sora by constantly lending your power to him when he needs it. 

My favourite Vanitas quote is the one near the end of KH3, when he says to Sora, “Because I am darkness. And I do stand by your side. I'm the shadow that you cast. How much closer could I be?”

I remember being so excited post-KH3 when we all realized that in Anti and Rage Form Sora doesn’t have a shadow and is therefore not only drawing on his own powers but also Vanitas’. This also has the fun little added fact that when Xehanort forces Sora into Rage Form during their final fight at the end of KH3, this means Vanitas gets a little Xehanort murder as a treat. AND this provides us with the added excitement of the possibility that Vanitas is still inside Sora’s heart since we never saw him leave in KH3 and the Vanitas that faded was him from the past. Present day Vanitas is still missing. Could be in Ven, but more fun if he’s in Sora imo.

Vanitas’ theme is in the Heroes and Heroines Medley, he was heavily promoted in merch for KH3 (more so than any other villain-associated character), he was grouped with the traitors in the 20th anniversary artwork, he has been lending Sora his power and protection in ways we have evidence of in gameplay since KH2. Taking into account his willingness to protect Sora, I don’t think it’s too much of a reach to argue that he had been protecting Sora pre-KH2 also.

So I don’t actually think it would be too unbelievable to think that Vanitas may have been the mysterious voice at the very beginning of KH1. This literal baby on the Destiny Islands not only gave Vanitas an appearance and voice, but also a repaired heart and a home, albeit not because Vanitas asked for those things. But hey, Vanitas is the type of guy who’s never really been given anything good, so I don’t think he would necessarily hate this. Vanitas “opens the door” too at the beginning of BBS. You can hear his voice when Sora first connects with Ven. Plus Sora as a baby, as a four-year old, and as a teenager in KH3 always gives Vanitas chances and help when he thinks Vanitas needs it. He wants Vanitas on his side. 

Even though it is kinda mocking in KH3, he is one of the only KH villains to actually help Sora by telling him about his past and origins in a way that is actually helpful towards Sora’s mission in saving everyone. Whenever Sora is trying to place Ven’s location later in the game, he or someone else always bring up what Vanitas said for reference. 

What I’m trying to get at is that Vanitas is so closely entwined with Sora, and seems to want to protect him most of the time, and hey those lent powers and keyblade and heartless tips could be just because Vanitas has the smallest sense of self-preservation and Sora is his host, or it could be like I said, because he’s come to actually care in a way for Sora. And hey, from what we’ve seen Sora cares about him too.

Anyway, Sora and Vanitas Quadratum adventures please, Nomura

[justathoughtfulangel]

What Could Have Been ~ Kai Parker One Shot

*not my gif

This piece was meant to be posted on June 26th, but I realized June 20th is the anniversary of the date I started writing for Malachai Parker! I figured it was worth a mini celebration :)

Word Count: 1,577

Description: They'd known each other their whole lives and were always meant to be. Unfortunately, not everything which is meant to gets to be. Some things are just left as what could have been.

This IS a reader insert fic; I just don’t like writing with Y/N in the place of names. Use Rosalie/Rosie/Rose as a placeholder for Y/N :)

Requested: No

Note: The structure of this piece will be a bit different. I'll be writing snapshots of Kai and the Reader character's (Rosalie's) life.

'~' denotes a switch between Kai and the Reader's POV and '~~~' denotes a change in scene. Kai's portion of the story will be written chronologically while the Reader's side of the story will be presented in reverse chronological order. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it :)

A 5-year-old Kai hoisted his blue Mickey Mouse backpack over his shoulder and waved goodbye to his mom. Hand-in-hand with his twin sister, he skipped into the classroom, excited for his first day of kindergarten. He was a little anxious when Josette was sent into a different classroom. His lower lip had just begun to quiver when a little girl came up to him, holding out her box of crayons. “Hi! My name’s Rosie. Do you want to color with me?”

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie stood with shaking legs as Kai’s spell ended. The Coven gathered around him, chanting the same spell that cast him into the prison world. He was almost amused, and she was heartbroken. Long gone was the happy, young boy she’d met. They had turned Kai into this, and they’d brought this misery upon themselves. She felt her consciousness escape her, and the last of her life floated from her…

~~~

A 9-year-old Kai fell to the ground as his cousin shoved him. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have magic, but everyone in the Coven treated him like he was vermin. Even his parents called him an abomination. The only person he liked playing with was Rosie. Her family was in the Coven, too, and they were the only ones who treated him with love. He wanted to go live with them. Rosie stomped over, pushing his cousin to the ground right back. “Don’t treat Kai that way!”

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie took the chart from the charge nurse, thanking her absentmindedly as she reviewed the symptoms. 22-year-old­ John Doe – complains of nausea, vomiting, and insomnia. CT scans clear. Knocking on the door, Rose stepped in. She couldn’t even bring herself to greet him. “Rosalie?” It was him. He looked just as he had the last time she saw him. “Malachai…” There were questions spinning through her mind at a mile a minute. For now, all she could focus on was the relief of knowing that he was here.

~~~

A 14-year-old Kai held a single flower behind his back. It was one he plucked from the hidden cove where he’d escape with Rose. He saw her walking toward him, dressed in ripped jeans and an old t-shirt with her hair in a carefree ponytail. He’d seen her at Coven dinners and jogging at the gym; Kai’s young heart fluttered all the same. Rosalie stood in front of him, leaning in for a quick kiss on his cheek. Before her lips brushed against his cheek, Kai turned his head and stole her first kiss.

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie shrugged her white coat off, folding it up neatly before placing it in her closet. She’d spent most of her life studying, and now she was teaching. She was surrounded by people during the day but completely alone at night – alone with her thoughts. There was always a thought that showed up without warning, like a plague she couldn’t escape. She thought of Malachai every day without fail. Rosalie had no idea that, many miles away, Kai had returned.

~~~

A 19-year-old Kai snuggled his girl as she slept, watching the sunrise from her bedroom window. Her parents were out of town, and they’d just spent their first night together. A strand of her hair was covering her beautiful face; he gingerly brushed it aside. As he did, Rosalie opened her beautiful eyes. The smile on her face was gentle and content. “I love you, Malachai.” He’d heard the name said so many times in so many tones. Hearing it from her was special, unmatched by any other. “I love you, too, Rosalie.”

~

A 30-year-old Rosalie glanced around her childhood bedroom. She was moving away forever. She couldn’t bring herself to come back, even to visit. Kai’s memory was around every corner, and it was too painful to remember him. She had faith he wasn’t dead, but what difference did it make? He was trapped in a prison for all of eternity, and she’d never be able to see him again. He’d never know how much she loved him.

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai screamed as he fell to the ground. He had snapped, killing his siblings without a thought or care in the world. The Coven chanted around him, and the sky seemed to open up, sucking him upwards and to his death. At that moment, Kai felt many things: despair, anger, grief… most of all, he felt pain. He’d never see her again, and it was a punishment he’d brought upon himself.

~

A 22-year-old Rosalie ran to the site of the merge. She felt a deep sense of dread and anxiety. Something was going to go very, very wrong. She ran as fast as she could, but it was too late. Rose got to see one final glimpse of Kai before he vanished in a cold, harsh flash of light. The scream she let out rivaled the one he had released. She would never see him again, and it was a punishment she could never have imagined.

~~~

A frozen Kai lay in Rosalie’s bed. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the town, not when he could still somewhat feel her here. Kai had a few years to ponder what he had done, and he couldn’t truly regret it. Of course, if he had Rose, he would have learned to repent. But he didn’t. Kai wasn’t always a monster, but they had turned him into one. Now, nothing could stop him from finding his way out and killing them all – taking the Coven Leadership that was his birthright.

~

A 19-year-old Rosalie felt a loving hand brush away a strand of her hair, waking her up. There were just a few rays of sunshine in her bedroom, warming her just as the memories of their first time did. “I love you, Malachai.” She truly did. Every bone in her body felt love unimaginable for this erratic, crazy, beautiful boy. “I love you, too, Rosalie.” Taking a deep breath, she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, feeling his heartbeat chime in sync with hers.

~~~

A 22-year-old Kai exhaled as he felt his feet on the ground. He was back. After eighteen years of exile, he had returned to the real world. Malachai was changed now. He was hardened, unable to feel anything. Despite his sociopathic tendencies, his mind flashed to Rosalie. She was much older now. He was certain that for her, he’d been reduced to a childhood memory. Nothing or no one could heal him. Kai had one goal, and he would succeed no matter the cost. 

~

A 14-year-old Rosalie dashed out the door, eager to meet Kai. They were going to head to the hidden cove where Kai could find some reprieve from his tough family life. She saw him waiting down the street, dressed in his grey sweatpants and a ratty black sweatshirt. She couldn’t help but smile, her young heart fluttering at her little crush. She stood in front of him, then, leaning in for a quick kiss on his cheek. Before she could, she found Kai’s lips against hers.

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai waited for the doctor. He had been severely ill, and now, if he went down, the Coven would go down with him. It was strange. They’d destroyed any goodness left in him, but when he absorbed Luke’s personality, he wanted to try again. The doctor walked in, and his heart leaped, somehow simultaneously shattering into a million pieces. “Rosalie?” She was eighteen years older now, but he could never forget those eyes. Kai had remembered them no matter how the days blurred into each other, and with her here now, he didn’t know how to feel.

~

A 9-year-old Rosalie rushed out of the classroom, looking for her best friend. She always got very upset when people hurt Kai. Not having magic didn’t make him any less of a person. Her mommy and daddy made sure Kai felt accepted, too. Rosie glanced around the playground, seeing Kai’s bully of a cousin shove him to the ground. She rushed over, standing in front of her hurt friend, and pushed him away. “Don’t treat Kai that way!”

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai took great pleasure in crashing his twin sister’s wedding. Tonight marked the end of the Gemini Coven – and the last night of Kai Parker’s life. He had a vial of Lily Salvatore’s blood tucked into his suit jacket, but he didn’t drink it. This would be his revenge, and then there would be nothing to live for. His last selfish act would be taking Rosalie with him in death. As the glass shard plunged into his neck, Kai’s gaze fell on Rose. She fell to the ground, her life leaving her. They were always meant to be, but now they would always be what could have been….

~

A 5-year-old Rosalie chose a Scooby-Do coloring page. She shuffled the crayons around, searching for the purple. It would’ve been so silly to give Scooby purple fur! Before she could start, a little boy sat beside her. He looked sad, and she wanted to help. Scooting over to the seat beside him, Rosalie held out the crayons to him and put the coloring book in front of him. “Hi! My name’s Rosie. Do you want to color with me?” The little boy sniffled, and his green eyes met hers – now twinkling with excitement.

~~~

Thank you very much for reading my new Kai Parker One-Shot! I hope the structure wasn't too difficult to follow. Through this piece, I wanted to give myself a structural writing challenge and also hoped to illustrate how darkness is never born, it is created.

Please feel free to send any thoughts/comments/constructive criticisms my way. I always welcome them :) If you'd like to be tagged in my future Kai Parker works, leave a comment here or shoot me a message!

If you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my other works from my Malachai Parker Masterlist <3 It's pinned to the top of my profile.

Until next time, JustAThoughtfulAngel :)

Taglist: @socio-kai-path1972, @bluelicious, @genevivetaylor, @prettybitchfatwitch

[iamthemain-character]

Oneshot Request: Being Captain Picard’s wife and dealing with silly space shenanigans on the Enterprise-D!

hi, thank you for requesting! full disclosure, everything i know comes from the Captain Picard compilations i just watched on YouTube, so hopefully this turns out okay. anywho, i hope you enjoy! :)

Never A Boring Moment

captain jean-luc picard x wife! reader

she/her pronouns

TW: legit none

requested by @resplendentlady

Star Trek Masterlist

To say that your life was a boring one was an absolute lie; living on the star ship Enterprise ensured that all never had a dull moment. It didn’t help that your husband was Captain Jean-Luc Picard, and his station had him constantly facing unique problems and situations. Still, you loved him, and together you always managed to find a way to make it through together.

Today, however, you hoped that your typically strange life would find some normalcy. It was your 20th anniversary, and you had hoped it would be special. And Picard didn’t disappoint; you awoke to the sensation of kisses being peppered all over your face. Smiling, you opened your eyes to see your loving husband smiling back at you. 

“Ah, there you are my love.”

“Good morning Jean-Luc; now what do I owe the pleasure of this wake up to?”

Carefully Picard brought over a bed tray, with the plates arranged just so; a vase of flowers sat in the front center, brightening up the entire room. You had no idea how your husband managed to get the flowers, but you loved knowing that he had gone through the trouble to make you smile.

“This my dear, is for you, to celebrate 20 years of you being my lovely wife, and for putting up with all of my shenanigans.”

“My dear, this is far too much-“

“Uh uh, don’t say another word. Nothing is ‘too much’ for celebrating our marriage; and this is only the start.”

———————————————————————

While you showered up and got ready for the day, Picard carefully went over the itinerary to ensure that everything was set. But nothing could ever go smoothly; soon enough his communicator was beeping at him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Picard reluctantly answered.

“Please tell me this is just a ‘happy anniversary’ message.”

“I’m afraid not sir, we have a slight problem. I-I can’t really explain it over the comms, you might want to come to the research bay to see this yourself.”

Throwing a glance back towards the bathroom, Picard saw that his wife was still getting ready for the day.

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

———————————————————————

The “slight problem” turned out to be a little more than slight; one of the flora samples from a recent planet appeared to be growing, vine like tendrils breaking free from its containment and wrapping around every possible surface. Large, bright, pink/orange flowers burst out along the edges and ends. The flower petals slowly opened and closed, creating a very menacing look to the pant. 

“No matter what we’ve tried, we can’t seem to-” Here the Lieutenant paused as he smacked away a creeping vine attempting to curl around him, “ we can’t seem to keep them contained.”

Picard pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to consider the situation. Of all days for a semi-sentient vine plant to try to take over the Enterprise, it had to be the day of his anniversary. Very typical.

“Alright, get as much help as you need and try to keep this plant as contained as possible. I need to treat my wife to one normal day, and then I can put all of my attention into this.”

The Lieutenant nodded his head in affirmation and turned his attention back to the ever increasing amount of vines. As Picard made his way back to his room, he prepared himself to be calm and act as if nothing was wrong. The last he wanted was for his wife to be panicking on their anniversary.  

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

Surprisingly, the day went fairly smoothly; Jean-Luc and Y/n did all of their favorite things together. There was no expense spared as Picard tried to give the perfect day to his wife; she had been through so much with him, and he wanted to give her one perfect day. Y/n’s smiling face was all that mattered, and the usually stoic man found himself feeling fuzzy and loved inside. 

Everything started going downhill when it was time for the dinner; Picard had set aside a room for the two of them, with pretty little lights and Y/n’s favorite foods. He even got his hands on some roses to sit on the table and around the room.  Both were dressed up, and it was reminiscent of the night the couple got engaged.  

“Jean-Luc, this is so beautiful, thank you.” Y/n smiled lovingly at her husband across the table, and Picard knew in his heart he would do anything for her. 

“Of course, my love I-” Suddenly the words stuck in Picard’s throat as his eyes glanced to the centerpiece: where roses were supposed to be, there were bright pink flowers slowly creeping around the vase. 

Y/n followed her husband’s gaze to the centerpiece, and she smiled at the unusual flowers. “Oh, they’re so beautiful!”

“Oh, uh, yes. Very nice.” 

Y/n noticed Picard’s hesitation. “What, do you not like them?

Breaking his gaze from the dreadful plant, Picard forced himself to smile so as not to raise alarm. “No it’s- they were just supposed to be roses.” 

Y/n put her hand over Jean-Luc’s in an attempt to reassure him. “We are in the middle of space, I just think it’s amazing there are even flowers on the table.” 

Picard wanted to respond, but his eyes once again were drawn down as he watched a tendril creep out and wrap around Y/n’s wrist. Before he could even say anything, the flowers suddenly burst, vines flying out and crashing down onto the table and floor. The vines started to curl around the table and chairs legs, and the couple watched in horror as the vines creeped around their legs. 

Acting quickly, Picard jumped up and over the vines on the floor; holding tight to Y/n’s hand, together they ran over to the viewing window. Together they curled up on the ledge, their backs pressed against the glass. Both watched as the vines spread like fire around the room, wrapping around every surface. More flowers bloomed and burst into vines, like a never ending cycle of growth. The vines crawled towards the window, wrapping around the huddled bodies of Picard and Y/n. Picard wrapped his arms tightly around Y/n, trying to hold her close to him as the were consumed by vines. 

Just before they were totally wrapped, however, the doors burst open. Multiple crew members rushed in, strange objects in their hands. From the objects a mist shot out, and as it settled over the vines the writhed and shriveled up. The Lieutenant got to Picard and Y/n and sprayed them. He then grabbed their hands and helped them step out and onto the floor, anxiously brushing the stray, now dry vines off of them. 

“I am so sorry Captain, they found their way through the vents and we thought we found all of the bud’s but then-”

Suddenly the sound of laughter interrupted the Lieutenant’s sentence. Turning around, Picard saw his wife doubled over with laughter. For a moment she just laughed and laughed, and when she finally calmed and stoop back up she had tears in her eyes. 

“There was a wild plant on the loose this whole time? is that why you’ve been acting so nervous? Why didn’t you say something?” Smiling, she wiped her eyes to clear the tears away. 

“I just didn’t want to ruin our anniversary; you’ve put up with so much and I just wanted to allow you to have one perfect, normal day.” 

Shaking her head and smiling, Y/n wrapped her arms around Picard and kissed him. He was surprised, but returned the kiss and pulled her in by the waist. When Y/n pulled back, she lovingly cupped his face in her hands. 

“Jean-Luc, I did not marry you for perfect or normal; I married you because I love you and I can’t imagine a day without you. I don’t care how crazy the day is or if we are almost consumed by a wild plant, I just care that you’re here with me. That’s all I ever wanted.” 

Blinking back tears, Picard smiled down at the woman before him. Seeing her in her messy state, with stray tears staining her face and dried flower petals stuck in her hair, he fell even more in love. They didn’t need perfect, they just needed each other. Picard couldn’t wait to spend many more anniversaries together. 

There wouldn’t be flowers next time though. 

[abyssal-memories-and-dreams]

Headcanons! - KH Protagonists in TWST Dorms

Hi, Luvs!

I hope you've been doing good. In light of both the 2nd Anniversary of Twisted Wonderland and the 20th Anniversary of Kingdom Hearts being just yesterday by the time that I write this, I wanted to do a little fun headcannon and place the KH protagonists into TWST dorms. This is only going to be with all the trios, but let me know if you want me to do more characters! With that said, I do hope that you enjoy!

Warning: This will go into slight spoiler territory for Kingdom Hearts, so if you want try go and catch up with the story, feel free to skip this. Otherwise, enjoy!

Destiny Islands Trio!

Sora (Savanaclaw)

Sora has an unrelenting hold on the friendships that he has with nearly everyone in the franchise. His morals never differ away from his goals in a way that he’s able to stay consistent in his efforts. No matter what situation he’s in, Sora will always try and find a way to make things right.

Riku (Diasomnia)

Yes, I am indeed aware of the irony behind putting Riku in Diasomnia, but please here me out. I believe that Riku’s maturity, combined with the fact that he’s the only one of the original trio to successfully become a keyblade master, makes him a very eligible candidate for NRC’s strongest leading dorm, especially considering how much he learns to use his strengths to his advantage.

Kairi (Pomefiore)

Despite being a rather conflicted character for the fandom, I think that Pomefiore would reflect a lot of what she has for her goals. Even if they don’t reflect well in KH’s main story, Kairi cares a lot about her friends and is willing to be more active in order to help them. Despite her attempts not going as planned, she never gives up on her goals, always thinking about what she can do to help.

Sea Salt Trio!

Roxas (Heartslabyul)

Roxas was probably the hardest character to sort into, but after some thinking, I believe that Heartlyabyul would be the best choice. Given that he would rather takes things into his own hands than to let situations occur around him, I believe that combined with his sometimes short-tempered nature he could be a nice reflection to that of the Queen of Hearts' stern nature.

Axel (Scarabia)

Despite being a wiser older brother figure to both Roxas and Xion, Axel can be coniving and deliberate in his actions. Since this is someone who has brutally betrayed multiple people in his own organization to help his friends, Axel is good at getting the situation to work in his favor, even if he has to make hard decisions.

Xion (Ignihyde)

Compared to all of the other characters, Xion is most known for how much she gets treated like a puppet, even more so than Roxas. Nonetheless, I still put her into Ignihyde due to her more timid nature making her more compatible with other dorm members. At least when considering the beginning of her story, she really only opens up more to people that she’s close to, which is something that’s reminiscent of Idia specifically.

Wayfinder Trio!

Ventus (Octavinelle)

While Ventus shares a lot of common traits between both Sora and Roxas, I don’t think Ven would fit with either Heartslabyul or Savanaclaw. I’m putting him into Octavinelle because I think about all, his desire to help his friends is something that would be beneficial as a student for that dorm. Like Aqua, I’d be able to see him providing help for students when they need him the most.

Aqua (Octavinelle)

With Aqua, her generosity and kindness makes it easy for those to approach her. In the case of Twisted Wonderland, it’d be easy to get people to trust her and for her to help them out if she’s able to. And no matter what, I feel like she’d always make sure that whoever comes to her for help always gets something positive out of her actions.

Terra (Savanaclaw)

Terra’s history is not a pleasant one, but above all else, he does remain loyal to his closest friends and allies. Even as he’s been swayed to the dark side, he still holds his friendships with Aqua and Ventus on a pedastal, something that I believe holds value as a Savanaclaw student.

[meadow-dusk]

Taking a moment to write what I’m sure will be one of many tributes to George Harrison today, on the 20th anniversary of his passing. Unlike John’s death, a senseless and tragic act of violence, I always felt that we as a community treated today a little differently. Of course, it’s no celebration, but it’s a kind of relief, the long-awaited release from rapidly declining health of an earthly body and all the imperfections that come with it. It’s an opportunity to reflect on George’s view of the cycle of life and death, formed by an acute awareness of the God-shaped hole in his heart, an amalgamation of religious influences he viewed as variations on a theme, and the realization that all love flowing through the universe comes from and returns to this central source.

There was a time a few years ago when George's words, music, and lessons meant the world to me. I remember thinking “all things must pass” could even be applied to my love for him, that it too was impermanent and might fade one day (so yes, he literally told me that this would happen). Lately, a series of very random but related events seem to be bringing George back into my life. Among them, watching “Get Back” with my family made me feel obligated to explain his background and what I (the resident Beatle expert in the family 🤓) understood his motivations and aspirations to be. In that setting and others, describing him to friends and family in a relatively personal context reminded me of why I first connected with him.

I feel very fortunate to count George among the few artists that have touched my life so deeply with their message. He’s a model for growth and self-actualization, creatively as well as spiritually. He was certainly more of a prophet than a saint: even though he fell short and wandered back and forth throughout his 58 years here, overall he truly exemplified God-consciousness, detachment, and love. He made me begin to understand what those ideals actually meant and how they looked in practice. I shared the planet with him for such a short time, but he’s one of the reasons I’m not scared to leave it. There’s absolutely no question that this is the song of his that best encapsulates that tension between the longing to go back home and the trust that we are here to do something and will be called back when it’s finished. And two decades ago today, George finished it.

Wherever you are, thank you George. God bless and Hare Krishna.

[therenlover]

Heartsick (A James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again

Tags: Fluff, Sickfic, Cuddling, Marriage Proposal

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Language, Potentially Triggering Mentions of the Reader Being Ill for a Long Time/Almost Dying of an Unnamed Illness, Planning Your Own Death

Word Count: 3700~

This was crossposted to my AO3 under the same title!

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

James Patrick March considered himself a fairly patient man. He had to be, in his line of work. Some things didn’t deserve his patience, like lazy workers or angry hotel guests, but when it came to things that did matter, he was willing to go to extremes. Murder, for example, deserved his patience. Once upon a time, the Countess did too. Yes, patience was a rare virtue Mr. March had possessed all his life.

When it came to you, though, he found his patience running short.

You had been a revelation all your own when you first walked through the doors of the Hotel Cortez with not even a suitcase to your name, radiating purity with every shallow breath. James had been excited to find you in some dark corner of the hotel and rip the life from your body. That is until you found his little nook at the Blue Parrot Lounge and seduced him with your charming personality and sweet smile. From that moment on the Countess didn’t matter anymore. The whole world was just him, you, and all of the deliciously naughty ways he wanted to debauch you.

James had insisted on moving you into your own suite on the seventh floor that very night, just a few short hallways away from his own, and given every luxury he could offer. He was nothing if not a gentleman. It just wouldn’t be right to move the one he intended to court directly into his bedroom, especially while he was still married to his previous wide. Despite the distance, things between the two of you went swimmingly. Even the murder, which James initially worried could drive you apart, was now a delightful shared activity when you chose to grace him with your presence during a kill.

That’s where the problems started.

Mr. March was a man stuck in his own time. That’s why, after 5 splendid years with you at his side, you still weren’t moved into room 78. This also meant your suite was a place he wouldn’t enter unless he was invited. Sure, you had a healthy sex life, but the Countess still had the March family engagement ring tucked away somewhere. He wouldn’t move you into his quarters or impose himself on yours until the two of you were at the very least engaged. The plans for his and the Countess’ divorce were moving, albeit slowly, when you stopped opening the door for James.

The first day he thought perhaps you were simply elsewhere, but after a week of nothing, he began to get angry. It was one thing to deny him your company, but to ignore him while he made a fool of himself banging on your door? That was a punishable offense in the March family playbook. So, he decided if you wanted to play hard to get, he would too. In his mind, James could practically envision you rushing back into his arms once you got over whatever was souring your mood. It wouldn’t be long until the whole nasty affair was behind the both of you once and for all, right?

Wrong.

A month since he last dined with you, James sat at his table in the Blue Parrot lounge alone nursing the remains of his 4th glass of scotch.

Liz was slow to walk out from her place behind the bar. “You want another?” she asked, holding out a crystal decanter, “or should I fish out the absinthe fountain a little early this year,”

“No, no I do believe I’ve had quite enough. Besides, it’s not as if I can actually get drunk anymore,” he huffed. Whether it was the drinks or his growing rage, Mr. March found his collar feeling a bit tighter. He reached up to pull at his cravat but paused when thinking about the ghastly wound it hid. In the end, he let his hand return to its place on his glass.

“Suit yourself,” Liz quickly returned the decanter to its place and began polishing glasses.

Somewhere in the distance, Iris picked up a phone and began to take an order for room service. James had an epiphany.

“Liz!” he shouted, getting her attention, “has Y/N been ordering much room service lately?”

Liz shrugged. “Only once a day for the past month. Why do you ask?”

“I find myself in a bit of a predicament. You see, Y/N began ignoring me about a month ago. I’ve been giving her a taste of her own medicine for quite some time now, and yet she has made no attempts to seek me out. Do you think, perhaps, there could be something wrong?”

The energy in the room began to still.

“Wait, Y/N hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

The dirty glasses were abandoned as Liz let out a humorless laugh.

“Damn you, woman!” James rose with a shout, slamming his glass down on the table, “what is she hiding!?”

“She’s sick,”

James’ heart would have stopped if it were still beating. He sat down again, bewildered. “What?”

“She’s sick. Fever, puking, tremors; the whole shebang,” As she spoke, Liz came back to the table and sat down on the plush booth across from him.

“But it’s been a month! Influenza shouldn’t last that long…”

“Well, it’s definitely not the flu, I can tell you that. Last time I brought down her dinner she nearly choked on her toast. She was so weak that I had to sit there feeding her soup because she couldn’t lift up the spoon long enough to feed herself,”

It was as if James’ whole world had come collapsing down on him all at once. Mortified, he let his head drop into his hands. “Why didn’t she inform me? Am I that pathetic a lover that she would rather suffer in silence than tell me she was ill?”

“Well, to her credit, you don’t exactly look like the most comforting type. When did she move in again?”

“Almost five years ago, it’ll be the anniversary of her first entering the Cortez on the 20th,”

“And how many times in the past five years have you, I don’t know, cuddled with Y/N,”

“You insolent-”

Liz lifted her arms, offering up a white flag. “I’m just asking a question,”

James opened his mouth to offer up a rebuttal but found he had no way to defend himself.

It was true that his relationship with Y/N tended to fluctuate between chaste and lecherous at the drop of a hat. Once they had made love, it was the only habit for him to leave her in bed and return to whatever was keeping him busy at the moment. Post-coital intimacy was simply something he had never experienced or needed. Unfortunately, seeing that the only time he spent with Y/N outside of their trysts were formal meetings or dinners, there had been no time for gentility or softness between just the two of them. If ghosts could blanch, he would have.

Noticing his sudden shift in mood, Liz rose, backing off. “Now, usually I like to stay out of your business, but because your little relationship makes Y/N happy I’ll give you some advice. Go down to the kitchen, have Ms. Evers heat some broth, and give Y/N her dinner personally, maybe even give her some extra attention as a little treat. That should fix the bulk of your issues. Got it?”

He was never one to take orders, but surprisingly James nodded. He stood quickly, smoothing his suit. “Thank you for your advice, Ms. Taylor, but I must depart. My paramour needs me,”

She nodded. “Any time,” James began to hurry down the stairs, but suddenly Liz shouted. “Wait a second,”

James paused. “Yes?”

“Only the living get sick, Mr. March. Maybe, after five years, it’s time for Y/N to extend her stay at the Cortez... permanently. Just something to think about,”

He gave her a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs to the kitchen. 15 minutes later he was waiting outside your door with a rolling cart in hard. He had already been stalling there for 5 minutes when he finally, with a deep, steadying breath, unlocked the door.

The room was dark and silent, almost like a tomb.

Your voice rang out like a bell as James pushed the cart forward. “Iris?” you called weakly, “is that you?”

“No, darling,” he responded, closing the door behind him. Slowly, he bent down at turned on a small lamp. “You won’t need Iris to bring you your dinner any longer,”

“James,” You whispered, half reverent and half shocked.

He was far too taken aback by the severity of your condition to form an immediate response.

You were curled up in bed, folded in on yourself as you wheezed for breath. As Liz had mentioned your body was weak and wracked with near-constant tremors while you tried your best to prop yourself up on the headboard. James had to abandon the cart with your dinner on it in favor of rushing over and helping you sit up. As he took in your gaunt face, his heart broke.

Your soft voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

James shook his head. “No my love, not yet,”

Tears began to spill from your eyes. “I thought you’d left me, James. I thought I was going to have to rot in this awful, dark room for eternity, that maybe ‘cause I died while I was sick my ghost was too damn weak to get up,” As you spoke, you tried to grip the back of his suit, but found you were far too weak to actually hold the fabric. Your inability to even do the simplest of tasks only made you cry harder.

Mr. March was quick to pull out his handkerchief and wipe your eyes. “Oh, my dearest, that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but none of that matters now. I cannot apologize enough for my abhorrent behavior as of late,”

“Will you stay?” your words were laced with desperation, “just for a little bit?”

“Of course, my dearest. I think you’ll find it very difficult to get rid of me from now on. Besides, I couldn’t leave my beloved paramour without doing what it is that I set out to do,”

“Which is?”

James stood and quickly returned with the room service cart. As he removed the silver tray-topper, you found he had brought you a bowl of soup, a small plate of crackers, and a tall glass of ice water.

“I intend to make sure you are well-fed and taken care of,”

“James, you don’t-” you tried to argue, but he cut you off.

“Nonsense! There is, unfortunately, no way to sugar coat this, but I will try my best,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you, “I have neglected you, darling, not just for the past month when I found my pride and ego keeping me away from you, but also for the past five years. I ignored your needs out of a false sense of propriety by bending to rules that are long dead and considered inconsequential. For that, I fear I may never forgive myself. Things will be different from now on, though. I hope to win back your heart properly now that I have realized the severity of my mistakes. Would you…” he paused, gulping, “would you be willing to humor me?”

You offered him a soft smile. “Oh, my beloved Mr. March, there’s no need. My heart has always been yours,”

Your words soothed him, and he offered you one of his debonair grins, the kind where his little mustache scrunched before his lips parted that never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Now where were we!” he exclaimed.

“Dinner,” you responded.

“Ah, yes! Soup!” He was quick to get a spoonful of the warm broth and bring it to your lips. “You needn’t worry, my sweetling, I watched Ms. Evers prepare this herself. Nothing but the best for you,”

It was easy to accept the spoon into your mouth. Something inside of you knew that James would be taking care of you from now on.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence, but you didn’t mind, far too tired to take part in any meaningful conversation. Instead, you simply enjoyed the attention. James had never been shy about his affection, but that affection always tended to come in the form of gifts or sex instead of close, intimate touch. It hadn’t bothered you enough to tell him. You always just assumed he didn’t enjoy that kind of love. Now that you’d had a taste, though, of his gentle yet constant affection, you knew you could never get enough.

Too soon the bowl was empty.

James stood, returning to the door with the cart as you relaxed and rolled onto your side. “When will you be back?”

He chuckled, opening the door. “Did you think you could be rid of me so soon, darling?” The cart was quickly pushed out into the hallway as James turned back towards you.

Your face flushed. “I just assumed…”

“Assumptions, assumptions,” he tutted, “It hurts that you have such little faith in me, but I admit I haven’t given you much reason to. As I said, things will be different now,” James perched himself on the edge of the bed with a smile as he untied his shoes and slipped them off.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes, darling, so I can join you in bed,”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been imagining the first time James would actually stay in your bed to cuddle since the beginning of your relationship, but it had been years since you had given any thought to that silly fantasy. Could it really be happening?

Apparently, your surprise was evident on your face because Mr. March paused once both his shoes were settled neatly on the floor. “Is something wrong, my dearest?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing at all,” you were quick to explain, “we’ve just never done this before,”

James smirked like a predator who had just found his prey. “Such an innocent gesture from such a naughty little minx. I don’t recall you being so… flustered the night we met when I took you up to my suite and-”

“James!”

“Alright! Alright, my love, no more vulgarity from me until you’re fully healed and back on your feet. Well, hypothetically on your feet,” he emphasized his words with a dirty wink. Then he crawled into bed beside you as if he belonged there, scootching over until he was resting pressed against your side. You slotted into place, with your face resting in his neck and your leg thrown haphazardly across his hips as if you were made to fit his body. Holding James was like coming home.

You let out a soft, pleased sound at just how good it felt to be held.

James took this as positive feedback. As he settled in, he began running his fingers through your bedhead, combing through the loosest of the knots. Sensing something strange, he paused to put his hand on your forehead. It was uncomfortably hot. “You’re still feverish. Do you need anything? A cold compress? A wet washcloth? Some water?”

It was funny to hear him fussing over you, but it also warmed the deepest parts of your heart.

You made a negative huff against his neck. “No! You’d better not move. Your skin feels too good. It’s nice… cold. The only thing I could possibly want right now is for you to dim the lights and take your damn shirt off so you can cool more of me off,”

“I would, darling, believe me, but there’s just the small issue of the wound on my neck,”

“James,” you glared up at him, “I have literally ripped a dying man’s dick off in front of you. We have dinner with Jeffery Dahmer on your birthday every year, where I have to eat my salad as he zombifies whatever poor sap wandered into Sally’s clutches across the table. Hell, just a few months ago we fucked in that bathtub filled with some businessman’s blood. Your neck is just another part of you, James, it doesn’t bother me. Shirt. Off.”

“Have I ever told you that I adore when you take charge?”

You grinned as he undid his cravat and the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Once or twice,” The thrill only lasted a moment, though, because before he finished unbuttoning his shirt he pulled away from your arms and got off the bed. A high-pitched whine escaped from your lips. “I thought you said you were staying?”

“I may be a ghost, dear heart, but my clothes can’t just disappear,” Always one for the dramatics, he shed his shirt and suit jacket to the floor with gusto. The sight of his bare torso made your heart beat faster. You had to remind yourself that you were sick and it would probably kill you to go for even a gentle round with Mr. March. Ah, but what a way to die…

James dimmed the lamp before returning, undoing his pants, and stripping down to his boxers. “Is this better for you darling?”

You nodded and reached your trembling arms out to your lover. “Much. Now come back to bed. You have five years’ worth of cuddling to make up for Mr. March, and I don’t intend on letting you wheedle your way out of even a second of it,”

He gave you a gentle smile as he found his way beneath the covers again. “I wouldn’t dream of it,”

Your face quickly found its way back into the crook of James’ neck. It was inhumanly cool, easing the constant burn of your fever and soothing your sore skin. The slit across his throat truly didn’t bother you. As you said, it was just another part of him for you to love, nothing more than a cosmetic imperfection.

Nuzzling closer, you took a deep inhale of his intoxicating scent. Perhaps it was the cologne he wore at the time of his death or even just what he naturally smelled like, but his pulse point radiated notes of sage and bergamot. God, how you loved him.

The pair of you were quiet for a moment with only the sound of your ragged breathing breaking through the air, but something urged you to speak your mind.

“You know, James, when you walked into my room tonight I assumed you were here to kill me,”

He chuckled. “I can’t say I didn’t think about it, my pearl,”

“Of course you did…” you went silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t have minded. This sickness is hell. I’m wasting away by the day and the pain never stops. I don’t mind dying, not when it means I get to spend the rest of time here in the hotel with you, but I don’t want to go out like somebody normal. My death needs to be special… I want to be the crowning glory of your murders, the most fantastic piece of art you’ve ever created,”

Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your hair, James sighed. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but the moment I thought of you, wasting away in the darkness and succumbing to some common germ, I knew I couldn’t kill you. Not yet. I refuse to have my bride accompany me through eternity bearing a constant reminder of my failure,”

Your breath hitched. “Bride?”

Slowly, his hand made its way to your throat. There was no threat in it, he wasn’t using even an ounce of pressure. It was more of a gentle reminder of his presence; a physical conduit of his passion.

“Yes, bride. I don’t mind if you can only become Mrs. March posthumously, though I would prefer to wed you alive and enjoy your last moments of warmth in the throes of carnal delight on our wedding bed, it all depends on where your illness takes you next. Until then I will be glued to your side. No more harm will come to you. I shall nurse you back to health with my own hand so that you glow with life long after your death. Yes, Y/N, your death will come, but not until I have done my best to atone for my mistakes in your life,”

“Was that a proposal?” You gazed up at James with wide, misty eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. “I suppose it was, and a poor one at that! To think I stalled for years in the hopes of finding the perfect moment to present you with my mother’s ring only to pop the question in bed with no ring in sight. I do hope you’ll say yes. I’d be rather crushed if you rejected me after all this time,”

You nodded, small tears escaping as you pressed your face into his soft skin. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I would’ve married you if you were the poorest man in the world and proposed with a ring-pop,”

“Then it’s settled. You shall be my wife as soon as you are well enough for me to fuck you again! I quite hate that Will Drake, but I believe he’s our best, quickest option if we wish to get you a dress commissioned. I have a few ideas drawn up already waiting in my office… perhaps I should call Ms. Evers and have her take them to him,”

“Shhhh,” you smiled into his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “we can figure out the details later. For right now, though, your fiancée is sick and she needs some TLC. What are you gonna do about it, Mr. March,”

He growled. “Well, I suppose ravishing you is off the table. Hmmm... what to do to my darling girl to make her feel better?” With a gentle nudge, he tilted your head up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s a start,”

-------

a/n: I hope you liked it! I’m really leaning towards writing a second part of this where the reader actually dies, so let me know if you’re interested. Also, my requests are open if you want to see any of Evan’s other characters! 

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thank you <3