#and then i found a live version and it was him on keyboard and a string quartet and yeah. yeah

[quatregats]

Okay I get why all of you are so insane about Liberato. I get it now

[katsu28]

home is wherever you are

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: secretly falling in love with your best friend is tough. secretly falling in love with your best friend who also happens to be your roommate is even less than ideal. the solution? move out! (hint: it isn’t a very good one.) (5k)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, a smidge of google translated french lol

a/n: CHARLES LECLERC!!! CHARLES LECLERC!!!!LECLERC!!! LECLERAUGHCOUGHCOUGH

“I still cannot believe you’re abandoning me.” 

Charles shoved another box of your things into the boot of your car rather huffily, as if to reiterate just how unhappy he was. 

“I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving out of your apartment.” You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully at him. You passed him the last box off the ground, wiping your hands off on your shorts before propping them on your hips. 

“That is quite literally the same thing.” He mirrored your stance in total seriousness, frown unwavering. “And it’s not my apartment, it’s yours now too. Your home.” 

You’d been living with Charles for a while now, having been suddenly evicted from your own place three, almost four years ago. With nowhere else to go, you’d turned to your best friend, and Charles had welcomed you with open arms, giving you a home when you’d needed it most. 

There were many good things about living with Charles—he liked to cook (which boded well with you, seeing as you were no master chef yourself. Except for when he’d gone through a questionable phase of combining cuisines that did not go well together.), he was respectful of set boundaries and agreed upon rules. You had the same taste in shows and movies, which made for little fighting when it came to deciding on what to watch. 

But most notably, he loved to play the piano. It was a hobby he’d picked up during long days spent staying at home, and he was good at it too. An electronic keyboard when he’d first started out, just to see if it was something he was serious about, but as he zoomed through the basics with ease, he’d splurged on a gorgeous white piano that stood proudly in the living room. 

Soon enough, it wasn’t unusual for the apartment to be full of music, beautiful songs of Charles’ own composing. 

He played whenever he had the feeling. Whenever he had something on his mind, whenever he was bored, anything, he’d spend hours at the piano, playing, playing, playing. Some might’ve called it annoying, but not you. You found it rather soothing. 

It had very quickly become a habit of yours to fall asleep listening to Charles play. Something about it seemed to always relax you just enough to the point where you could pretty much fall asleep anywhere if he was at the bench. 

Your favorite spot was on the sofa with a big blanket, watching him get lost in the notes until you drifted off. More often than not, you could rarely get a good night’s sleep without Charles’ accompaniment—your very own version of white noise. 

But truth be told, this past year of living together with Charles had been trickier than the first couple. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things began to change, but something had definitely shifted between you. 

You’d been trying to write it off just the two of you being very close, but you’d been dancing on the line of close friends and more than friends for a long time. Falling asleep together cuddled on the sofa, lingering touches whilst you were in the same room and in passing, hugs that lasted a little too long to be considered normal. 

The more your feelings for Charles grew, the more worried you became. Worried about what, you weren’t exactly sure. All you knew was you didn’t want to lose the longest and best friendship you’d ever had because you went and fell in love.

“I know. But I think it’s well past time I get out of your hair and try being on my own for once.” You said softly, stepping in to fold yourself into Charles’ arms. 

Most of that was true. You did feel like you needed to live by yourself for a chance, to see what it was like to be fully independent in your adult life. You’d moved in with Charles when you were twenty two, and you were twenty five now. It was time for you to venture out on your own. 

But the uncertainty of falling in love with your best friend was definitely also a contributing factor. 

He made a displeased sound at your words, but tucked you under his chin nonetheless. “I don’t want you to get out of my hair. My hair likes it with you here.” 

“I live fifteen minutes away, Cha. I’m not moving across the country. You and your hair can come over anytime.” You scoffed, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs. “And I’ll come over here all the time too, you know that.” 

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with your empty room now, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will take up scrapbooking. Knitting. Needlepoint, maybe. Turn it into a craft room.” 

“Maybe you can turn it into a music room. Move the keyboard in there, your piano.” 

“Ah, bien entendu, my piano. How will you ever fall asleep without my sweet, sweet melodies?” 

“I think I will manage just fine.” You chuckled. 

Charles held you at arms’ length, dark brows furrowing as he scowled. “What I’m hearing is you don’t love me anymore.” 

Oh, if only he knew. 

You smiled instead, patting his cheek good-naturedly. “Come on, you drama queen. I want to move in before the sun goes down.” 

Charles went full protection mode the second all your belongings had made it safely inside the apartment, intently checking every lock, window, door hinge, cabinet—not an inch of the apartment went uninspected by him. When he seemed fairly satisfied with his safety checks, he returned to where you were unpacking kitchen items over by the oven.

“Everything up to your standards?” You asked, pulling out a stack of plates wrapped in brown paper. Charles shuffled over, easing them out of your hands and unwrapping them to help put them up in the cabinet. “No one is going to break in through my window tonight?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” He grumbled, chucking the balled up paper at you gently. “Everything I checked is fine. You will be safe here.” 

Food was simple when it came time for dinner—takeout on the floor of your living room, because you hadn’t had the time to go shopping for a coffee table yet. Or a dining room table. Or even chairs, really. All you had were some pillows and an overturned cardboard box to put the food on. 

Charles had insisted on helping you furnish the whole place before you moved in but you’d declined, saying that you wanted to get a feel for the place before filling it with everything. The last time it would be this empty would be the day you moved out. 

He seemed a little quiet the rest of the night, but you didn’t press it until after dinner, whilst he was helping you with the washing up. Well, helping was a strong word. 

“You’ve been drying that plate for ages now.” You observed, tilting your head at him thoughtfully. Charles inhaled sharply, shaking his head like he’d been snapped out of a stupor. He glanced down at the completely dry plate, then back up at you blankly. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“You’re really going to be gone.”

“You say that like I told you I’ve only got days to live. I won’t be gone, Cha. I’ll be around.” You chuckled, flicking dish soap bubbles in his direction. Charles responded by flinging his towel at you, cracking a smile. You liked it when he smiled, hated it when he frowned. He was still unfairly attractive, but it wasn’t Charles’ scowl that made you fall in love with him. 

“We can spend the day together anytime, you can come over whenever you want, and if it makes you feel any better, I will give you your very own key.” 

That seemed to put him a little more in higher spirits. 

 “What will you ever do without me?” He wondered out loud, feigning a thoughtful expression. 

“Probably clean up a lot less. Be able to take a shower without running out of hot water halfway through. Oh! Have a bottle of shampoo last more than a month because someone—not naming names, of course, won’t use it because they’ve run out of theirs. Not have to fight for—” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Charles huffed, grabbing you by the shoulders and promptly shoving your face into his chest to stop you from talking. 

You grinned against the softness of his hoodie. “Shall I go on?” 

“No, no you shouldn’t.” His hold on you loosened, but you stayed right where you were, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Just admit it. You’ll miss me.” 

“I will miss you.” You said softly, pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck. If there was something Charles was unbelievably good at (besides literally anything he’d ever tried), it was giving the best hugs. Something about them made you feel safe, like nothing and nobody could ever hurt you as long as you were in his arms. 

“You already know how much I’m going to miss having you around.” 

“Yeah, I am pretty great.” 

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “You are.” 

“You’ve been the best roommate I could’ve asked for. Thank you for everything.” Your words were muffled between the two of you, and you were glad for it, because he didn’t seem to notice the waver in your tone. But he did squeeze you a little tighter, so maybe he did hear you. “I love you, Cha.” 

Charles’ voice seemed to waver just a bit too. “I love you too.” 

“Okay, okay, you really need to leave. Go before I change my mind and make you stay.” You blurted, pushing him away playfully. It was better than letting him see you get emotional. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“No, it’s a threat. Go home. I will see you soon.” You gave his hand one last squeeze, nodding reassuringly to rid him of the crease between his brows. “Don’t worry about me. Go, get some rest.” 

It was only then that he seemed satisfied enough to leave, but even then, he cast another backwards glance towards you on his way down the hall, as if he was waiting for you to beckon him back. You just smiled as best you could. 

You’d get over it. You had to. There was still a lot you needed to get done before you called it a night. 

It wasn’t until you were getting ready to go to bed that you started to feel lonely. You and Charles had your respective bedtime routines, but they always intertwined. 

You never liked being the one to turn off all the lights in the apartment because the switch was at the end of the hallway opposite from your bedrooms, so he knew to do it because you hated running back through the darkness after flipping the switch. 

He always filled a glass with water for late night sipping, but never remembered to actually bring it to his room until he was already in bed, so you always grabbed it for him so he wouldn’t have to make the trek back out the kitchen.  

The bathroom counter was where you’d find each other the most, terrible jokes and funny stories told muffled through toothpaste bubbles, even though you could’ve just waited until you were finished to tell each other. You’d flick water at him as you washed your face because he took up too much space at the sink, he’d turn off the tap in retaliation, things like that. 

Sometimes Charles would stay up later playing video games with his friends, or take some extra time to practice piano, so you wouldn’t get to do your well oiled machine routine, but he’d always take the extra second to pop into your room to say goodnight when he heard you bustling around, even if he was in the middle of something. 

The times you fell asleep on the sofa to Charles’ playing the piano, he’d camp out at the other end of the sofa for the night, or at the very least made sure you were covered with a blanket if he went to sleep in his own room. 

It was something you’d grown accustomed to over the years, oftentimes the well-needed end to a not so great day. Charles never failed to put a smile on your face, even with something as small and mundane as a bedtime routine. 

But there was none of that as you ran through your routine this time. 

You didn’t hear him shuffling around over in the other room, the muffled sounds of his shouts as he played his games, and most of all, you didn’t hear him and his piano. 

Because there was no Charles. Of course there wasn’t. You were in this new place that you hadn’t had quite nearly enough of a chance to get used to yet, alone, and it was finally settling in. 

Suddenly moving out and away from him seemed like the worst decision in the world. 

You knew it was only the first night. You had to give yourself a chance to reacclimate, and that would take time. So you inhaled a deep breath, trying to get as comfy as you could for a long, probably sleepless night ahead. 

It was nearing four in the morning when you finally decided to give up and call Charles. Part of you thought he might not even pick up the phone, because he was probably asleep. Any sane person would be sleeping right now. 

Much to your surprise, he answered on the second ring. 

“Why are you awake?” You asked, maybe a bit harshly. 

“Um, you are the one who called me? Why are you awake?” He replied, groggy voice still teasing. His accent always grew thicker when he was sleepy. You thought it was adorable. “You cannot sleep, can you?” 

“...No.” Your voice grew smaller. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you couldn’t even make it one full night without Charles around. “I just…I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I miss you already, Cha.” 

Charles fell silent for a few moments, the only sound on his side of the line being his gentle exhales. “I miss you too. Do you want me to come over? I can stay the night, if you want.” 

“No. No, you don’t need to do that.” You said softly. “Can you just talk to me?” 

This was also something that had become somewhat of a ritual when either of you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d tiptoe into each other’s rooms quiet as a mouse, slipping into bed beside the other. Charles always stirred when he felt the bed dip under your weight, half asleep but still reaching out to pull you against his chest like it was second nature. On the occasions when he came into your room, you’d feel him tuck himself close to you, nosing against any part of you he could find with a content sigh. 

There was no rhyme or reason to the things you’d talk about in those moments, but eventually, somehow, you’d both end up asleep, usually fairly quickly. Maybe it was the extra added comfort of each other that helped, you could never tell. 

It wasn’t unusual to wake up a jumble of limbs tangled together, and neither of you ever addressed it either. Just went on with your business as usual, never talking about it because it was just something you did. To help each other sleep, of course. 

Another thing that really blurred the line between friends and more. 

Charles hummed a noncommittal sound, soft and fond like he always was around you. “I’ll do you one better. How about I play some music for you?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You sighed, relieved. He knew what you needed without you even having to ask. 

You heard him get up, footsteps padding along until there was a thud and some shuffling coming from Charles’ side. A few warm up scales in and you were already feeling a little less anxious, letting yourself get comfortable. 

“Any requests from the audience?” 

“Been working on anything new?” You yawned, nuzzling a little deeper back into your pillow. 

“I have, actually. It’s still—fuck, how do you say it…a work in progress?”

“Anything you play is perfect.”

“You flatter me.” He snorted. “Alright, here goes nothing.”  

He began to play. You knew jack shit about music, so there wasn’t much you could think of to describe how it sounded, but you could describe how it felt. You could almost feel the emotion pouring from his playing, even through the scratchy quality of the speaker. 

It felt like something you’d hear in the background of a movie montage, lilting and delicate and warm notes swirling together to create a bright melody, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

Memories of good times with Charles flashed through your head—all the long days and even longer nights you’d spent together because you thrived in each other’s company, cooking together, binging Netflix shows until you both passed out on the sofa. 

Hushed laughing during dinners at fancy restaurants that Charles could get into by flashing his name, soft conversations accompanied with expensive food and even more expensive wine. 

Day trips up the coast with the top down on the car, pushing the speed limit just to feel an ounce of the freedom that it could give you. Walking through Monte Carlo on late night gelato runs, switching flavors because you both enjoyed each other’s choice more than your own. 

Most of all, you thought of the love you felt for Charles, ever since you’d first met him. You’d never been one to believe in the concept of soulmates, but fuck, it was so easy to think of him as yours. Never had you felt as much for someone as you did for him. 

God, why were you even thinking of those things? 

It would never happen. Any love that Charles had for you would be strictly platonic, limited to however much one could love their best friend. 

Surely he’d drawn inspiration from something else when he’d composed the beautiful piece. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. 

Soon enough, you’d drifted off like you always did when Charles played, coincidentally right before he came to a lingering stop. 

Had you been awake, you would’ve heard him say that the beautiful piece had been inspired by you. Instead you were fast asleep, still none the wiser to anything. Maybe it was a good thing. You might not have believed it if you’d heard him. 

-------

Charles was on your doorstep first thing in the morning, coffee and pastries in hand when you opened the door for him. 

“Hello, good morning, your savior is here. And with breakfast!” He chirped, coming to just enough of a halt for you to slide an arm around his shoulders in a hug and grab one of the drinks out of the tray before he swept past you.

Bright morning sunlight poured into the open area, washing the whole place aglow. A warm breeze floated in through the ajar window, rattling the shutters only slightly, and you could hear the all too familiar sounds of the city in the morning coming from the streets below. It was a gorgeous picture of peace; one of the apartment’s many fun quirks that convinced you to go for it in the first place. 

The only thing that might’ve rivaled the beauty of the moment was Charles standing at the window, leaning against the sill drinking his coffee while the breeze ruffled his hair. His back was to you as he checked out the view, but even the mere image of him here was nice. 

You sipped your own coffee, smiling to yourself when you realized Charles remembered exactly how you took it. You didn’t even need to look inside the bag to know they were your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street from your former apartment that both you and Charles loved. He was always thoughtful like that. Things like remembering your favorite foods and drinks, and going out of his way to get them as a little pick-me-up. 

It seemed wrong to ruin the moment, but you felt like you had to say something. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up last night.” You sighed, taking a cross-legged seat on a pillow. 

Charles turned away from the window, shaking his head quickly. He took a seat on the floor next to you, long legs stretching out towards your crossed ones to nudge a sneaker against your socked foot. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’m glad you called me.” 

“Right, but it’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? First time on my own and I didn’t even last a whole night.” 

“Not pathetic.” He insisted, entirely firm in his words. He set his cup down as if it could strengthen his point. “It is a change, definitely. You can’t expect yourself to get used to such a big change immediately. It takes time, you know.” 

You messed with the lid of your cup, picking at the plastic with a scowl. “I know. But I can’t always come running to you whenever I need help. It’s not fair to you to have to keep rescuing me every time I need saving.” 

“Okay…” He trailed off, stretching out the last syllable in confusion. “I feel this is about something more than just last night. We can talk about it, if you would like?”

“I don’t know what it is.” You huffed. “I thought I was ready to be on my own, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I don’t know I’m doing and I’ll never figure it out, and—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Where is this all coming from?” 

“I don’t know,” You repeated, bordering on a whine. “But what I do know is that I can’t always keep relying on you for everything. It’s not good for me, or for you.” 

“You know, you could always just move back home if you’re truly not ready to do things on your own.” Charles offered, taking a casual sip of his own drink.

Home. He said it so casually, like home was with him instead of this new place you’d chosen to make yours. In a way, Charles was your home. Safety, comfort, love—all the things that made something home, you felt with him. 

That was the problem. You didn’t feel right relying on him for all those things, not without him being aware of how you actually felt about him. It seemed like too much of a burden to put on a friend, even one as perfect as Charles. 

His eyes met yours over the rim and he shrugged. “I still don’t know why you were so insistent on moving out in the first place.” 

You sighed, again. There weren’t many ways you could make yourself any clearer. Other than telling Charles one of the real reasons why you had to leave, which again, was more of a last resort (hopefully not at all) type of thing. “It was time—” 

“It was time for you to venture out on your own, yes, I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working out so well right now, does it not?” The last sentence seemed to slip out of Charles’ mouth before he knew what he was saying, because his mouth snapped shut right afterward. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t want to argue.” 

But what had been done was done, what had been said was out there for you to know. Your coffee suddenly left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the traffic from outside became glaringly loud. The once peaceful atmosphere had been shattered now that you knew Charles’ true thoughts on it all. 

You stood up, letting your feet take you across the room from him. “No. Tell me more, Charles. Tell me how you really feel.” 

His nose wrinkled at the use of his full name. You never called him Charles unless you were upset with him, which wasn’t that often. Even hearing it come out of your own mouth seemed foreign. 

That seemed to change his reaction, because he stood too instead, doubling down on his words. “Okay. Yes, that is how I feel about you leaving. You barely even talked to me about it, and the next thing I knew, you were packing all your things into boxes! I didn’t understand where this—this sudden desire to leave came from. I still don’t.”

“You don’t have to understand it. It’s already done.” 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?”

You almost faltered. Almost.

“Did you ever think maybe me wanting to leave had nothing to do with you?” 

“Honestly? No. It feels like it has everything to do with me. It feels like you moved out because you didn’t want to be around me anymore!” Charles exclaimed. “And I have kept my mouth shut, I’ve been trying to be supportive of your decision, but I think I have a right to know. Am I why you wanted to leave so badly?” 

“That’s…part of it.” You admitted. Charles froze, brows flying up towards his hairline. “But not because of anything you did. Not because of the reason you’re thinking of.” 

“I don’t really see any other explanation. And I am sorry, but that is a shit excuse. I would’ve thought that you of all people would tell me the truth.” He didn’t sound angry, just disappointed and a little hurt. Somehow that felt worse. You’d rather him be mad at you than hurt by you. 

“I didn’t want to move out.” You said firmly. 

“Then why did you?” 

“I had to! I—I couldn’t live there anymore.” 

“But why?” He sounded desperate, begging for you to clue him in to any reason, anything at all that would help him understand. And god, as scared as you were of changing things by telling Charles how you really felt about him, you were infinitely more scared of losing him for good if you didn’t. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you, Charles!” You blurted, finally. “I couldn’t live with you any longer, keeping this huge secret all the time, because it truly made me feel like I was about to explode. I just couldn’t do it anymore—pretend like everything was alright when every time I looked at you, all I could think about was how I felt about you! How much I felt for you.” Your voice rose with every word, emotion lacing your tone. 

You could feel the tears burning your eyes, threatening to fall no matter how much you willed them not to. “I just thought, maybe if we lived apart, if we didn’t see each other all the time, maybe those feelings would go away.” 

Charles blinked at you slowly. He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, across his mouth, letting it disappear into the neckline of his hoodie as he continued the motion near his jaw. Still, he said nothing. You weren’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one, but still you continued. 

“So no, it wasn’t because of anything you did. Or maybe it was, for making it so fucking easy to fall in love with you. I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t say anything to me, but I’m not sorry for making the decision on my own. It was for the best.”

There it was, out there in the open at last. It felt like a proverbial weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time like a thousand rocks sinking to the bottom of your stomach, because he wasn’t saying anything. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how you’d fuck up the best friendship you’d ever had. 

Charles was silent for the longest time before he replied, and when he did, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it before. It felt unnerving. “You could’ve just told me.” 

“Told you?” You had to fight the urge to let out a bitter, watery laugh. “Telling your best friend you’ve fallen in love with him isn’t just something you mention at the bathroom sink one night.” 

“It is, if he feels the same way about you.” 

A coldness crept down your neck, shooting through your veins like you’d just had a bucket of ice cold water dumped over your head. 

“No you’re not—you don't...you can't.” You whispered, disbelieving.

Charles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “What, do you want me to prove it?” 

You couldn’t give him an answer even if you wanted to. You weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to say a damn word, just in case this was all a dream and you'd wake up any second, still alone, still without him there.

He must’ve taken your silence as a yes to his question, because he crossed the room in three strides, took your face in firm hands, and he kissed you. 

Despite your utter shock, you managed to kiss him back clumsily, fingers curling into his hoodie tightly. Charles kissed you like he was afraid to let you go, like you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful enough.

A guiding hand curled around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss, but only for a few seconds before he broke away, panting. His forehead stayed pressed against yours, soulful green eyes boring into your own in total seriousness.

“Do you believe me now?” 

“Maybe.” You breathed, letting your nose bump against his gently. This was not a dream. Charles was real and here and one hell of a kisser (just as you suspected).

“I am in love with you.” He murmured, stroking his thumb over your cheek fondly. “I have been for a long time. And I never thought you would feel the same way.” 

“I love you, Cha.” You were suddenly brought back to last night, when you’d uttered the same words to him. Only this time, they had a whole different meaning to them. 

This time, you knew Charles loved you in the same way you loved him.

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[cheriecelestial]

Jacob Black's Self Saving System Pt.1

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ crack.swearing.not proofread

synopsis *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Jason, a self-proclaimed no. 1 Stephenie Meyer hater, finds himself unexpectedly transmigrated into the very novel he disdained. Following this ironic twist of fate, he is now tasked with the challenge of creating a better version of the story himself.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Inspired from @duckysprouts ’s series. It’s so good ⁉️‼️. If you haven’t seen it already, PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT. Like finally svsss content that isn’t shizun sphinx cats or binghe skin creature abomination. Art and concept so fresh it made my heart cry with joy and pulled me out of my three-month long writing slump. So, I humbly present this as an offering to our lord and savior, Ducky. Comment, Reblog and Like (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer was a modern classic in its renaissance era with a large cult that loved to hate it. Set in a place with relentless rain, mist shrouded forest and an ethereal light piercing the gloom — the light being the one of only Edward Cullen. Though the statement is subject to fan bias — he was a man, rather sparkly vampire, who somehow managed to be both irresistible and perpetually constipated. 

Nonetheless, his charms never overshadowed the stellar performance of our female lead, Isabella Marie Swan— better known as Bella — a teenager who gained worldwide fame for having a personality less vibrant than a wet cabbage. Together, they navigated the perilous world of teenage angst, vampire baseball, millenia old racist italian politicians and werewolves with a curious t-shirt allergy, all in an impressively monotone palette.

It was a heartwarming tale that began with awkward stares, cryptic yet nauseatingly clichéd conversations and Bella’s inexplicable attraction to danger, making the romance as thrilling as it was perplexing. Meanwhile, the supporting cast of her high school friends, each with their own irrelevant quirks and subplots, served as convenient plot devices — appearing and disappearing at the whim of the author.

And as if her love life wasn’t tumultuous enough, Bella befriended Jacob Black. A werewolf who, unsurprisingly, hated all things vampire and Edward Cullen in particular. Between Edward’s brooding, Jacob’s abs and Bella’s classic damsel-in-distress antics that made poor Elena Gilbert seem unremarkable by comparison — the story unfolded with the subtlety of a glitter bomb and reached unprecedented heights of melodrama. Something that helped the tale become a global phenomenon, demonstrating that improbable love stories can indeed shine in their own sparkly “skin-of-a-killer” fashion.

“This has to be the worst piece of literature I’ve ever read in my life.” Those were strong words from a man who spent years and at least six hundred dollars collecting softbacks and hardbacks in every special and limited edition the series offered. Jason Black was an anti-fan who lived to scoff at the literary mediocrities of authors who, after taking one look at their drafts, believed they deserved to be released into the world as actual literature. Such people, often inspired by similar works, spawned their own deranged narratives, subsequently contaminating the sanctity of literature. 

In layman’s terms, Jason was a fervent hater of the highest order. He had a long list of things he despised about the series, yet curiously, re-watching the movies and re-reading the books always found its way to the top of his to-do list every other weekend. But do not get him wrong, not once did he say anything in favour of the series. Jason simply considered it one of those brain-rotting pieces that needed to be experienced to truly appreciate the beauty of classics like Emily Brontë and Jane Austen.

_username_1 : Bruh stfu. You’re probably an unemployed loner with nothing better to do in life than to be a keyboard warrior.  

_username_2 : then idk buddy don’t read it ? It’s not that hard. 

Jason huffed at the screen crossily, his fingers dancing over the keyboard unsure of what to type next. With a sigh, he stretched his arms as if preparing for battle. And a battle it was — being an anti-fan required more dedication, practice and patience than being a regular fan. What he didn’t realize was that he had knocked a water bottle off the table onto the frayed cord of his PC.

He couldn't fathom why people defended it as if their lives depended on it. If he ever met Stephenie Meyer, Jason would have a long talk with her about the plot—or rather, the lack thereof. With the number of plot holes in the books, they could qualify as swiss cheese. The inconsistencies were glaring: if sunlight made them sparkle, wouldn't they still sparkle during the day, just less brilliantly ? How did Jasper and Alice not overhear the phone call despite having super-hearing ? Why did Jasper go ballistic over a papercut when he attended a school where students would get paper cuts and scrapes all the time ? Why were vampires and werewolves the only species to exist ? And why was Bella, or more specifically her blood, so exceptional ? Did she perhaps descend from a line of flavourful blood havers or was it due to her mother's partial albinism ?

Was she special because she was the female lead, or was she the female lead because she was special ? There were so many unanswered questions and half-assed excuses for the events in the story that most explanations came from clever fans trying to make sense of things the author clearly put no effort into planning or thinking through. These questions had plagued him since he first read the series, and the lack of satisfying answers only fueled his irritation. So much so that Jason was embarrassed for the author. Regardless, he didn’t like the direction this conversation was going so he did what any intelligent person would do, i.e., spew hate comments and log off. 

edward_my_bbg : Dumbfuck novel, Dumbfuck author 

And as if on cue, a new notification popped up, dragging him back into the fray. It was another comment, this time mocking his apparent obsession with the series he claimed to hate. Jason’s face flushed with irritation as he furiously typed a retort, but before he could hit send, his screen flickered and went black. 

He looked down and realized the water bottle he had knocked over had short-circuited his PC. With a groan, Jason leaned back in his chair, staring at the dark screen. It seemed the universe had decided to give him a break from his self-imposed battle. His hand fumbled in the dark for the plug only to feel water on the surface. The sharp pain and crackle of electricity were the last things he knew before he plunged headfirst into endless darkness.

[Activation Code:「Dumbfuck Author, Dumbfuck Novel」 ]

[System activated] 

[Pairing command successful]

“What system ?” Jason asked out loud into the void even though he knew that it was most likely a figment of his imagination. He hadn’t expected to receive a reply however he did receive one much to his surprise. 

[Welcome to the system. During the opening of the 「you can you up」system currently in its development phase, we wish to provide you with the best experience. It is our sincere hope that during the process, you will achieve what you have stated: to transform a piece of stupid writing in accordance with your wishes into a high-end, expansive, and classic work. We wish you happiness.]

Jason blinked, trying to make sense of the message. He glanced around the dim room, half-expecting to see some kind of holographic interface or futuristic display but there was nothing. Just the voice in his head and the darkness. “What the hell is this ?” he muttered, feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity.

[You have been selected to participate in the beta phase of the 「you can you up」 system. Your task is to improve the story you despise, turning it into a masterpiece. All resources and guidance will be provided to you. Do you accept this challenge ?]

Jason hesitated, the situation seemed absurd, yet a part of him was intrigued. As he sat in silence, a thought occurred to him—what if he could actually fix all the plot holes that drove him up a wall ? Maybe this was his chance to prove he could do better. But then, the possibility of all of this being real seemed too slim. How did he get here ? What happened to him after the electric shock? Was he dying, or was he already dead ? "And if I don't accept ?" he asked, uncertainty and fear bleeding into his voice despite his attempt at maintaining his composure. The system responded quickly in the same mechanical tone as before.

[Your connection between your former body and soul was severed before the initiation of the program. If you choose not to accept, you will be returned to your previous reality with no changes made. This opportunity is unique and will not be offered again.]

“Severed from my body ? Wait— doesn’t that mean I’ll die if I don’t accept ?” Jason's question hung in the air, met with nothing but silence from the system. The lack of response only confirmed his fear.

The system's silence was deafening, seemingly pressing him to make a decision. Realizing he had little choice, Jason took a deep breath. “Fine, I accept,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. How bad could it possibly be ? 

[Command acknowledged. Initializing story rewrite mode.]

The void around him began to shift and wrap. Till now he felt as though he was floating with no sensation except the system’s sound. His reality dissolved into swirling colours and Jason felt himself being pulled into a vortex. When the chaos settled, he heard a man’s voice call out to him. Unlike the clinical tone of system, this voice felt comforting and personal. He could feel tender warmth run through him however he couldn’t quite figure out what the voice was saying. 

“Son ? Can you hear me ?” 

“Dad ?” Jason murmured involuntarily, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up from a long sleep. The gravel in the voice reminded him of the joys of his childhood when his dad was still — wait a second. Who the hell is that ?

His eyes struggled to focus as his eyelids fluttered a few times. Eventually, he was able to make out his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the ceiling. Unlike the damp ceiling of his old apartment with its peeling plaster and harsh lighting, this one had old glow-in-the-dark moon and star stickers. It wasn’t familiar, but it seemed oddly comforting, like he had known it all his life. He slowly turned his head and saw a middle-aged man sitting on a wheelchair beside him with concern clouding his face. The man's russet complexion was lined with wrinkles yet his hair was long and lustrous.

“Where am I ?” 

“You’re at home. You’ve been asleep for so long, it’s alright if you’re confused. Take your time son.” The man he called ‘dad’ answered sincerely.

Jason’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. The familiarity of the room and the comforting presence of the man didn’t align with the reality he remembered. In that moment, everything came back to him—his death, the void, the system, everything. Jason went into what could only be described as psychological shock. His brain went on autopilot.

The man reached out to grab Jason’s hand, but Jason flinched and pulled away. Slivers of hurt flashed in the old man’s eyes as he slowly withdrew his hand. Jason hadn’t meant to react so harshly, but the information dump combined with the influx of sensory input, he was simply too overwhelmed to cope.

“I-I think i need some space. Do you mind ?” Jason spoke each word carefully, then added, “...dad,” feeling strangely guilty for hurting his feelings. The old man nodded slowly and wheeled himself out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Jason jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror. "Who the FUCK is this?"

Staring back at him was a boy, fifteen or sixteen, with the same russet skin as the old man and glossy black hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. Recognizing the features, Jason knew this could only be one person.

 [System activation successful ! Binding your role as : Jacob Black]

[System : Booting Up]

Jason, now Jacob Black, stared at his reflection in disbelief. The reality of his situation hit him like a shit ton of bricks. He brought his fist to his mouth and sobbed into it, and here he thought college was devastating. “But I’m Team Edward,” he choked out between sobs. “That’s so fucked up.”

[Thank you for initiating the execution of the system. You are not bound with the account ‘Jacob Black’. All resources and guidance will be provided to you in due time. Initial B points : 100]

Jason—Jacob—felt a rush of confusion and frustration. “Now what the hell are B points ?!” he yelled, his voice reverberating off the walls of the unfamiliar room. The loudness of his own voice startled him, making him realize just how different everything felt in this new body.

[As the plot progresses, a number of opportunities to gain more points will be available. Please make sure your B points are not lower than 0. Otherwise, the system will automatically impose penalties.]

He stumbled back from the mirror, running a hand through his hair, which was definitely longer and thicker than he remembered. He could feel the strength in his limbs, the vitality of youth coursing through him. Yet, despite the physical vigor, his mind was in turmoil. He had transmigrated into the very novel he hated; the universe always seemed to have a field day when it came to ruining his life. Jacob looked around the room that was littered with the relics of a life he had to now live — a cozy bed with rumpled sheets, a desk cluttered with schoolbooks and posters of motorcycles, bands and scenic landscapes on the walls.

“Um, so is Bella here ?” Jacob asked, scarfing down the bacon his dad made for him. Despite stressing over the role he was supposed to play in the story, he quickly adapted to his new life. He had a family, a house to live in, no worries about finding employment, no bills or taxes, a social life—or at least he assumed he had one—and, most importantly, no backaches. In hindsight, this might not be all that bad.

“Oh, you remember that ? Charlie said she’s arriving in a couple of days,” his dad, Billy, replied. Jacob felt a strange mix of anticipation and relief. Unlike most unfortunate transmigratees, he had no death flags to worry about, so he could sit back and watch Bella and Edward fall in love without “Jacob” interrupting them. Maybe he could even make things easier for Bella by acting like the perfect wingman. Who cared about making a better story anyway ? And once he had seen his OTP together, he could take his ticket out of town after the wedding and never return so that he could avoid the whole Renesmee business because some fates are worse than death.

[WARNING: Your plan is extremely dangerous and constitutes a violation. Please do not attempt it, or the system will impose strict penalties.]

Jacob choked on his water as the sudden warning window popped up in front of him. For a moment, he was so immersed in the domestic comfort of his new life that he almost forgot about the cursed system. His father looked at him with concern.

���Water went down the wrong pipe, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” Jacob said awkwardly, trying to reassure his father. So you can read minds now ? He internally taunted the system.

[It is a feature designed to ensure maximum support for the user.]

“That’s bullshit. Also, what do you mean by violation ?” Jacob asked. Does this system really have no respect for privacy ? If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was some kind of Zuckerberg’s meta gimmick.

[You are currently at the beginning stage. OOC function freeze is activated. You must complete the beginning stage before any functions can be unlocked. If you perform any actions against the original ‘Jacob Black’ role before the functions are unfrozen, a certain number of B points will be deducted.]

Given his extensive time spent on the internet, Jacob was well aware of what OOC meant, and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. OOC stood for Out Of Character, referring to actions taken by a role that deviated from how the character was originally written.

“FUCK OFF. I’m an adult. I already finished my degree and Bella is like, a baby. And you can forget the whole Renesmee shit too. Bella belongs with Edward and and I have no intention of pursuing either her or her future daughter. So back off, you creep of a system.”

[WARNING: The system is issuing another alert. If your B points fall below 0, you will incur a penalty, which involves being automatically transported back to your original world.]

“You know, threatening me with death is really getting old,” Jacob stared at the warning message with his anger mounting. It felt like the system was encroaching on every aspect of his new life, imposing rules and restrictions without offering any clarity or real support.

He took a deep breath, trying to push past his irritation. There was no point in arguing with an automated system, especially one that clearly had its own agenda. Jacob decided to focus on what he could control. He needed to immerse himself in his role as Jacob Black and complete the introductory stage without attracting undue attention. The system’s warnings might be annoying, but he couldn’t let them derail his efforts to adapt to his new life.

As he finished his breakfast, Jacob glanced around the house. It was warm and welcoming, albeit a little messy, which was understandable. He and his dad were the only ones living there and according to his dad, he had been inexplicably unconscious for almost a week. Keeping the house tidy wasn't exactly a priority for a man worried sick about his son.

“Thanks for breakfast… Dad,” Jacob said, still not used to the idea of having a father again. There was the whole issue of stealing the real “Jacob” ’s life, dealing with imposter syndrome, and the guilt of replacing the memory of his own father by calling this old man his dad. But that was an existential crisis he chose not to mull over at the moment, especially on the precipice of the story's start. Call him selfish, but he preferred to focus on his blessings.

“I’ll go take a walk. I’ve been asleep for a while, so I need to… uh, stretch my legs,” Jacob said awkwardly, hoping Billy wouldn’t notice anything strange about his behavior.

“Sure thing, son. Also grab some red meat from the store for dinner. A growing kid like you needs that protein. And buy yourself something nice with the leftover money,” Billy replied, taking out his wallet and handing him some cash.

Jacob stared at the man in awe. As a kid who had bounced around the foster system after his dad died, he was used to being scorned and neglected. This might be part of the reason why he had become a social recluse, spending his time bashing bad literature and authors online. To him, Billy Black was the closest thing he had ever seen to an angel.

Jacob took the money, still feeling a bit dazed. “Thanks, Dad,” he managed to say, pocketing the cash. The air filling his lungs was much fresher than the pollution-riddled air of the city he used to live in. Nature seemed a lot nicer than he remembered. So, here's a lesson for the kids—don’t wait until you die and get transmigrated into a novel you hate to understand the importance of getting outside and appreciating nature. In short, go touch some fucking grass before it’s too late.

Almost as if by instinct he found himself at La Push beach. He wandered through the familiar yet new surroundings, trying to piece together his plan. If he was going to be stuck in this world, he might as well make the best of it. He thought about the story and mentally reviewed his plan. He would stay under the radar, be friendly but unobtrusive and focus on blending in with the locals. If he played his cards right, he might just manage to navigate this strange new life without getting points deducted by the system’s restrictions.

After strolling along the shore for a while, Jacob found a rock to sit on and watch the ocean. It was a stark contrast to the urban jungle he was accustomed to, this place was serene and almost idyllic.

“Ayo, is that Jacob ? Hey, Jake !” he heard someone call out. A moment later, a boy close to his age ran up to him, followed by one more. “Um, hey guys. How’s it... going ?” Socializing wasn’t one of Jacob’s strong suits; in fact, it was the exact opposite of the skill he had meticulously avoided developing over the years.

“Man, the whole crew was freaking out about you. You were out cold for a week and for no reason !” One thing Jacob appreciated about the system was the introduction tags above each character’s head. The boy speaking was named Quil, his cousin from the Quileute tribe. He knew these interactions were unavoidable, given their significance to his new role in the plot.

“Well, I got better ?” Jacob attempted a witty quip but cringed at how poorly it landed. To his surprise, the two boys just laughed. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Stop by Sam’s sometime; he’s been asking about you,” Embry said, giving Jacob a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Wait Sam ? Right of course. Duh. Sam’s place. Got it.” Jacob replied, blinking in confusion for a moment. Sam Uley was the Alpha—or at least the to-be Alpha—of the pack Jacob was supposed to join during New Moon.

[Mild OOC warning]

“Ay man, you feeling okay ?” Embry asked again, noticing Jacob’s hesitation. Jacob froze, Embry Call was the real Jacob’s best friend and if he figured out that Jason wasn’t really Jacob, it would spell massive trouble for him.

Jacob forced a smile. “Uh, yeah. I just—” He quickly tried to think of something. What would Jacob Black say in this situation ? What does he do to feel better ? He racked his brain for answers, knowing he needed to play the part convincingly, at least till he found a way to unfreeze the OOC function.

Go bother Bella ? a small voice suggested. Bella’s not here yet dumbass, another voice countered sharply. After years of social isolation, Jason’s inner dialogue had evolved to the point where he could have entire discussions with himself. No, he wasn’t schizophrenic.

“—I was just going to grab some red meat to chow on and uh y’know, work on my bike,” he finished, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nerves.

Embry and Quil exchanged a knowing look, which made Jacob's anxiety spike only to burst into laughter. “Classic Jake. At this rate, you might end up marrying your bike,” Quil teased and Jacob laughed along, though he desperately wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

“Just take it easy, yeah ? We don’t want you passing out on us again. By the way, there's a sale at the store on the other side of town,” Embry squeezed Jacob’s shoulder reassuringly again. The familiarity they seemed to share with him was comforting, even if he felt like an imposter. He knew he had to get up to speed quickly if he wanted to maintain this facade. They soon parted ways and Jacob headed towards the store.

The store lady was overly enthusiastic upon seeing Jacob. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his face or the fact that he was a regular. As Jason, he had always been below average in looks and physique. Whereas, by the virtue of being the second male lead of a popular teenage romance novel, Jacob Black was undeniably attractive. With his deep-set dark eyes, prominent cheekbones, and beautiful long hair, he looked like someone Jason would have envied. Maybe he could try his hand at modeling once the story ended, because there was no way he was putting himself through college again.

And as unpredictable as the weather of Forks was, it began to rain. Normally, Jason would wait it out and then go but now that he as in Jacob’s body, he thought to test his body’s limits. Like c’mon a little drizzle isn’t going to hurt a big strong werewolf alpha-to-be. He stepped out into the rain, feeling the cool droplets on his skin. It was refreshing, almost invigorating. Jacob’s body seemed to handle the cold and wet far better than Jason’s ever did. As he made his way back the store, he noticed people giving him friendly nods and waves. It felt strange to be acknowledged so warmly, a stark contrast to the anonymity he was used to.

At the red light he stopped, waiting for it to turn green. Sure, there were no cars around and he could have just walked, but road rules were no joke. He liked this life too much to risk having it taken away by truck-kun. “Hey system, is double isekai a thing?” he asked. The system didn’t reply, so that was probably a no.

Jacob glanced to his side and saw a person standing under a large black umbrella. A strong sweet scent pricked his nose. How strong does this guy’s cologne have to be to reach me even with the rain ? There was a name tag hovering above the person’s head, but it was obscured by the umbrella, as was his face. One thing he had learned was that only people relevant to the story had name tags over their heads, which meant this person was a character in the story. He looked down at the stranger’s hand—it looked like porcelain.

Jacob felt a sense of foreboding, creeping up his veins. His instincts were on high alert, telling him that this stranger was no ordinary person. The rain began to pour harder, each drop bouncing off the asphalt with increasing intensity.

The person probably noticed Jacob staring and as he did, the umbrella tilted slightly, revealing a glimpse of a pale, almost ethereal face with piercing golden eyes. The moment their gazes met, Jacob was momentarily blinded by a brilliant golden aura radiating from the name tag above the person’s head.

[Edward Cullen]

Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. Of course, it had to be Edward. What were the odds of encountering your favorite character on the very first day of your new life ? He felt his knees weaken. Despite the dim lighting and gloomy setting, Edward was undeniably striking. The rain seemed to fall more slowly around him, as if even the weather was reluctant to mar his flawlessness . His tousled bronze hair framed his face perfectly and Jacob felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it. Despite all his criticisms of the novel, Edward had always held a special place in his heart for reasons Jacob couldn’t quite explain.

Damn, this mf looks anemic as hell. Maybe I should feed him. It was a half-serious thought, borne from both concern and his internal struggle to reconcile his feelings towards the character with the reality of his situation.

[OOC WARNING! OOC WARNING!]

[Edward Cullen is your enemy.]

“Fuck off, he’s my babygirl,”Jacob shot a mental retort at the system in exasperation and a streak of protectiveness. The system’s declaration that Edward was an enemy wasn’t misplaced given Jacob’s role in the novel but that didn’t mean it wasn’t at odds with his feelings.

Edward had always been his favorite character, a source of fascination and admiration. This was supposed to be his chance to explore and perhaps even improve upon the narrative, not to be embroiled in conflict with a character he held dear.

Jacob didn't even notice when the light turned green and Edward started walking away, his steps soundless on the wet pavement. Acting on impulse or perhaps some hidden desire, Jacob found himself walking towards Edward and grabbing his elbow, accidentally knocking his umbrella aside. Edward stopped and turned to him as the rain continued to soak them both. His gaze was like a sharp, unyielding beam of light, cutting through the rain. His eyes, an unusual shade of golden amber, held a depth that seemed to pierce directly into Jacob's soul, scrutinizing every hidden corner of his being.

[OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC!]

[EDWARD CULLEN IS YOUR ENEMY]

I’m so stupid — I forgot completely. Jacob and Edward haven’t met yet. Maybe… maybe I can salvage this ? Be a dick and still be nice ? He definitely didn’t want to end up on Edward’s bad side, nor did he want to break the system’s rules. Annoying as it was, the system was what kept him alive. Though he’d never say it out loud, he was terrified at the thought of dying, again. The system’s constant reminders of their supposed enmity were starting to grate on him, but he couldn’t afford to make more mistakes. What was a man to do when every choice seemed fraught with peril ?

Ack — he’s staring. Can he hear my thoughts ? I hope not. He and Bella meet soon, if I remember correctly so— Jacob’s anxiety skyrocketed under the weight of that gaze. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat drumming in his ears. A tight knot of dread twisted in his stomach and whether it was the rain or not, he could feel cold sweat forming on his palms. He needed to say something—anything—that wouldn’t completely derail the plot but also wouldn’t make Edward hate him from the start, even if it was inevitable.

“Oh uh — my bad, dude. I just thought you looked kinda sick so I thought — I mean,” Jacob scrambled for an explanation, forcing a nonchalant tone as he released Edward’s elbow. He felt like a small animal trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car, desperately searching for a way to escape unscathed.

“—Uh, here.” He shoved the raw steak he had just bought into Edward’s arms. The system fell silent for a moment, as stunned by his actions as Jacob was. The sound of the rain was almost deafening as awkward silence stretched between them. Edward looked down at the raw steak in his hands, confusion and surprise painting his features.

Without waiting for a reply, Jacob quickly turned on his heel and hurried away, his footsteps splashing through the rain-soaked pavement. “Later ! Get that iron up and be the lady killer you were born to be !” he called over his shoulder. After walking a few metres, he paused briefly and added,“ And seriously lay off the sauvage man !”

As he put more distance between them, Jacob’s thoughts began to spiral. What had he just done ? Did Edward think he was completely nuts ? Or worse, could Edward have read his thoughts and seen through his facade ? Jacob shuddered at the possibility.

[Why did you do that ?]

“I don’t know okay !? I thought it’d help with looking y’know less dead when he meets Bella.” He shrugged. Explaining himself to the system felt pointless considering it was neither his parent nor his babysitter. The system remained silent, as if considering his response, Jacob rolled his eyes.

[OOC ! -20 B points ↓ ↓ ↓]

“Oh come on !”

“Still staring at that bag of steak, Ed ?” The pixie-haired woman leaned over her brother’s shoulder, teasing him.

“Go away, Alice,” Edward muttered, his gaze still locked on the steak as if it held some profound answers of the universe. His fingers occasionally running over the plastic, making the blood inside to squelch against the surface.

“Seriously what’s up with you ?” Alice frowned, dropping the banter. Ever since Edward had returned, he’d been fixated on this bag of steak that suspiciously smelled like wet dog. What was even more peculiar was the fact that she hadn’t had any visions of this event. Normally, Alice caught glimpses of all the interesting things happening with her family throughout the day but she had no clue how Edward had ended up with that steak. And from the look on his face, Edward didn’t look like he was divulging anything either.

“Nothing just… trying to figure someone out.” Edward sighed. Alice was his favorite family member, and he seldom told her off but this was something he couldn’t even make sense of himself. If he told Alice, she’d likely blow the whole thing out of proportion. But despite everything, one question kept lingering in his mind.

Who was that man ?

A.n - should I make this into a series ? If yes please lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist.

[ventismacchiato]

38 behind the lens — stop asking for esex !

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes; suggestive themes

“Kuni, why won’t the game sync to my camera?” you frown as you aggressively click your mouse.

You were in the Fatui dorm and your boyfriend’s setup for streaming was rather different than yours. Your boyfriend. You still couldn’t believe it.

“Like this,” Kuni answers, coming behind you and placing his hand on top of yours on the mouse as he guides you through on how to sync up your screens. You barely pay attention to his words as his voice is right beside your ear, sending shivers down your spine until he pulls back and sits in the chair beside you.

“Wine is good right?” he asks, popping the bottle open beside you and pouring you both a glass.

“Yeah, it looks good,” you hum as you eye the red liquid.

You both were doing the ‘Take a shot everytime you fall’ challenge while doing an obby on Roblox. The original idea was everytime one of you got jumpscared but no matter what horror game you suggested Kuni never even flinched. It was always you getting wasted on stream so you wanted to get your share of the fun.

Lucky for you Kuni sucked at Roblox.

“What the fuck are these controls?” Kuni grumbles as he falls as soon as you both enter the game, Sanrio Obby, which was actually Kuni’s pick but he wouldn’t admit to it.

The stream had started and the chat had already begun to tease poor Kuni as he had to down two shots. You could only giggle as you were already a few stages ahead of him.

“Y/n, can you do it for me?” he grumbles, turning towards you with a pout.

“Fine, I’ll do some of it for you,” you sigh, reaching over to his keyboard and helping him catch up towards you.

“I have you wrapped around my finger don’t I?” he hums.

“Shut up or I won’t wrap my lips around something else,” you rebuke, watching as Kuni’s cheeks flush red in realization.

soobasaur donated $69

GET A ROOM?? (pls dont i need to live vicariously thru u)

The stream continued with Kuni failing the obby and letting out curse after curse. You had to mark the stream as mature from how badly he was cussing out the poor creator of the game.

He had died in the game so much so that he had to start drinking from your glass as his ran out. You were doing rather well, pretty much sober, as Kuni was a mess beside you. The once collected and snarky Kuni was gone and replaced with a version you only see late at night. Clingy and dirty.

“Y/n,” he whined, laying his head on his palm as he watched you play, “Why are you ignoring me?”

“I’m trying to play the game, Kuni,” you reply, eyes on the screen as you see him sigh on your camera. The chat found it cute.

At this point Kuni had given up on the game and mindlessly spun his avatar around in circles as you raced ahead of him.

“What’s the punishment for losing?” Kuni questions, readily accepting his defeat.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease, knowing you couldn’t make him do anything in his drunken state out of a bad conscience.

Kuni raised a brow, “Are you going to finally—”

Your eyes went wide as you released your hands from the mouse, causing your avatar to fall in game, to slap them across Kuni’s mouth.

“You can’t say that,” you try to reprimand but it comes out as a fond laugh.

Kuni reaches over to take your palm off his mouth and lets his lips graze your knuckles, looking at you with half-lidded eyes and a smirk tilting up the corners of his lips.

“Y/n,” he says, so quiet it was only for you, “Let’s do something I’m good at.”

“And what would that be?” you hum, tugging your hand out of his grasp in an attempt to go back to your game.

“You.”

citruscandysucks donated $20

DID I HEAR THAT RIGHT?

“I think that’s enough for today!” you laugh, switching off your guys’ microphones and cameras, quickly going in to end the stream. The chat was going fast with questions at Kuni’s words but you had already rushed out your goodbyes and had switched it off. Damage control wasn’t enough to fix the chaos Kuni had erupted.

You let your face fall to faceplant on the desk as you let out a groan. Just as you began to contemplate future careers for yourself after that debacle you feel a pair of hands rake their fingers through your hair.

“Why are you so red?” Kuni murmurs, pulling your head back with your hair, which hurt your scalp, so he could stare at your face.

“Jean’s going to kill us,” you sadly say as you properly sit up.

“Why?” Kuni genuinely asks, completely oblivious to his actions.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you get like this,” you grumble, getting up and gesturing for him to do the same, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Oh?” Kuni smiles, standing up, “Finally.”

“To sleep, you freak…”

“That’s what you said last time as well.”

“Shut up!”

[later that night then the next morning]

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

antony chen as scara

scara cosplayer ig:blatt_lou

if this gets flagged as mature i’m gonna kms

author’s notes — daddy’s home 🔥

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @ins4nebish @stxrgxzxr @lilacponds @uma-umie @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos @cartierfiles [1/3]

[lilmisssammy]

The Path Iceberg

This is an Iceberg for The Path- created by myself with editing help from my good friends Samhain, Torr and Gloria. If you don’t know what an iceberg is, it’s a chart to discuss different levels of knowledge for a specific topic, the farther you go down, the more obscure or dark the topics become.

Before you read, I need to state that there are discussions of Rape related to people aged 9 to 19, Death, Potential Triggering content within links, and Spoilers for The Path. 

Thank you! And Enjoy!

This is an Iceberg for The Path- created by myself with editing help from my good friends Samhain, Torr and Gloria. If you don’t know what an iceberg is, it’s a chart to discuss different levels of knowledge for a specific topic, the farther you go down, the more obscure or dark the topics become.

Before you read, I need to state that there are discussions of Rape related to people aged 9 to 19, Death, Potential Triggering content within links, and Spoilers for The Path. 

Thank you! And Enjoy!

Tier 1 - The Sky

The Path is a psychological horror art game created by Tale of Tales, now Song of Songs, in 2009. It follows a modern retelling of Little Red Riding Hood as it's experienced between six sisters, the wolf-loving 9-year-old Robin, the precocious 11-year-old Rose, the tomboy 13-year-old Ginger, the brooding 15-year-old Ruby, the confident 17-year-old Carmen and the responsible 19-year-old Scarlet. Each sister takes turns walking to their grandmother's house, with the only rule being to stay on the path. And the only way to win is by dying. The Path is a walking simulator and is seen as one of the best representations of the fact gaming can be art. 

Tale of Tales was a Belgian game development company that ran from 2003 to 2015. It was founded by artists Auriea Harvey and Michaël Samyn in an effort to bring art to an interactive medium. They're known for games like The Endless Forest, Graveyard, Fatale, Sunset, and especially their cult classic The Path. In 2015 they ceased making commercial video games after the release of Sunset, and now work on art projects together under the name Song of Songs. Currently, they’re working on a remake of The Endless Forest, which is currently in its beta stage open for patreons!

Little Red Riding Hood is a fairy tale about a young girl with a red cape who meets a wolf on the way to her grandmother's house. The basic story has Little Red walking through the woods to bring food for her sickly grandmother, where she meets the wolf who wants to eat the food and her. The wolf tricks her into telling him where she's going while she stops to get her grandmother flowers. When she finally gets there, the wolf has eaten her grandmother and tricks her into getting into bed so he can eat her as well. Depending on the version, a hunter may come in and slay the wolf saving the granddaughter and grandmother from his stomach, or the grandmother could be unharmed in the wardrobe. 

Auriea Harvey is a digital artist and sculptor currently living and working in Rome. She’s one half of Tale of Tales and is specifically credited for Design, Direction and Character Design on The Path. She was also the author of the post-mortem on The Path which you can see I’ve heavily referenced throughout this whole post. She currently has an art exhibit at the Museum of Moving Image called My Veins are the Wires, My Body is Your Keyboard which features images, models and the ability to play the path! 

Michaël Samyn is a graphic designer and digital artist specialising in VR from Belgium, currently living and working in Rome. He’s the other half of Tale of Tales and is specifically credited for Design, Direction and Programming for The Path. His most recent work, apart from actively working on The Endless Forest, is The Viriditas Chapel of Perpetual Adoration, an utterly stunning VR experience you can get on Steam.

Tier 2 - Tip of the Iceberg

The Path as a game is about building your own interpretations of the character's struggles via item reactions and rooms in Grandmother's House. There are generally two main interpretations believed by most who play the game. One is that the game shows each girl's death, Robin being mauled to death by a wolf, Rose drowning after she falls off the boat, Ginger being strangled/electrocuted on the flower fields wires, Ruby getting into a car accident, Carmen being killed and chopped up, and Scarlet being hung by the string seen on her wolf’s claws. However, these are also usually viewed as metaphorical examples of the sisters feeling like they died after extreme traumas. Using the items and images as clues, there is a common consensus of what each sister went through that made her feel like this. Robin's is learning about death and the consequences of actions, Ginger's is getting her first period and being forced to grow up, Ruby's is falling in with the wrong crowd and getting into harmful behaviours, Carmen's is getting taken advantage of while drunk, and Scarlet's is falling under the weight of responsibility placed upon her to look after her family.

Some places reported that the game would be about rape or pedophilia, like this spread in a Dutch gaming magazine. Something that gives credence to the rape interpretation is the basis of Perrault's version of the tale where the wolf tricks the sister to take off her clothes and get into bed together, as well as the uncomfortable positions the sisters appear in after their encounter. Though, this is how Auriea addressed it in the post-mortem- 'Some say blindly that the game is "about rape." And while that could be one of the interpretations -- and I understand it -- for me, those black-out moments after meeting her wolf are the moments of realization. Those are the times when a girl grows. And what happens in Grandmother's House is not a murder but a shedding of childhood and an initiation to womanhood. Each girl is one step closer to her fate.'

The Path may have intended answers that are mostly agreed on, but the format of the game is purposefully set up so there is no wrong or right answer, allowing for more personal or specific interpretations. You may notice I didn't mention Rose in the last section- and that's because there isn't an accepted answer. The most popular ideas are either her blooming spirituality, or dealing with illness, though those are both contested. There are other popular interpretations for each character- Robin having a family member pass, Ginger being a lesbian or trans man in love with her wolf, Ruby's experience with ableism or addiction, Carmen experiencing society's sexualization of teenagers, Scarlet having extreme psychological issues, with Rose's ranging anywhere from the struggle of a gifted child, actually dying or even the creators not having an actual set intention! 

Each sister you can play as has their own Live Journal- Robin's is named Kid Red, Rose's Innocent Red, Ginger's Tomboy Red, Ruby's Goth Red, Carmen's Sexy Red, and Scarlets Stern Red. Here the sisters post about their lives and talk to one another and sometimes other people, there seems to be a group of people who didn't know these were fictional characters, and one person talking about the Rio World Cup. Nowadays, this blog project could be seen as an early form of an ARG, considering its interactive nature.

The Company of Wolves is a 1984 gothic horror film about a grandmother warning her granddaughter about straying from the path and never trusting charming men. Multiple stories are told about girls falling for people who are secretly wolves and how it became their downfall. There are similar themes of femininity and sexual awakening, as well as the usage of Charles Perrault's Le Petit Chaperon Rouge at the end of the movie and in the trailers for the game. 

If you've played The Path in recent times you may notice that there are various bugs that range from bearable, game-breaking, beautiful or simply funny. The creators have an image folder of beautiful glitches from developing the game and the VK fanclub has compiled some glitches found themselves.

The game is turning 15 this year- and as time goes on the web aspects that hosted information about it are slowly going out of date. There's been an effort to archive images, the character models for the sisters, and object textures. 

Jarboe Devereaux is an experimental rock musician probably best known for being an early member of the group Swans, who co-composed the soundtrack for The Path with Kris Force along with lending her voice to some narration in the soundtrack and trailers. A lot of her music is experimental and I honestly recommend listening to it if you want! At the moment she’s working on her next solo album to come out in late 2024, as well as considering a tour in Europe after the album is released!

The Path of Needles or The Path of Pins is a line from one of the earliest versions of Little Red Riding Hood, the wolf asking which path she will travel down, the needles representing maturity while the pins represent childhood. It's said to be based on a French village in which a girl was sent off to become a seamstress for a year, as a sense of sexual maturation. This features heavily in the trailers as well as being part of The Grandmother’s Tale read by Jarboe, with it being referenced to by Ruby in her reaction to the needle. 

The Prologue is a short free version of The Path you can find on their website where you play as the mysterious Girl in White. You're unable to interact with items or go to grandmother's house in this version- but you are much more able to explore and find your way back to the path on your own, something you cannot do in the full game.

Izzzyzzz is a YouTuber who makes commentary videos who posts deep dives on things like famous fandom stories, old media and internet legends. In late 2021 they posted a video covering The Path which now sits at 1.4 million views, introducing a good chunk of the modern fan base to the game, as well as causing a surge in new content for the game, with a follow-up video in 2023! Their most recent video is about the game Palworld and it’s plagiarism, as well as having a new line of merch out.

Despite being released in English and Dutch only, The Path very quickly grew a fanbase in Japan and even more so in Russia. Screenshots from Auriea's post-mortem showed Russia was the second biggest purchaser of the game. The European social networking site VK has a fan club of 5.4k members as of writing this- as well as having produced 251 fanfictions on ficbook (for context, Rule of Rose, a game with similar themes and an overlapping fan base has 5 fanfictions on it) Japan's is a lot less archived, but on niconico you can find a lot of fan videos for The Path that is simply not there on the English net.

Though not like how it's used in other games- The Path has an inventory system in which you can collect, store and view items found in the forest. These are deemed "Distractions", and you're able to use these to unlock parts of grandmother's house. There are 30 items you can collect, the bread and wine are already collected which unlock the house and gate respectively, but there is also: A Knife (Unlocking a knife on the kitchen table), a Bullet (Unlocking a deer head), a Feather (Unlocking a Cage with a bird), a Mask (Unlocking the curtains in the kitchen), a Dead Bird (Unlocking a tv), Treasure (Unlocking a stack of money), a Needle (Unlocking pills), a Two-Headed Teddy Bear (Unlocking the bear in grandmother's house), a Boot (Unlocking a table), a Record (Unlocking a stereo), Flowers (unlocking hanging flowers), a Balloon (Unlocking Balloons on the ceiling), a Piano (Unlocking a Cobweb), the Playground Tower (Unlocking a picture frame), a Bunker (Unlocking beer in a fridge), and a Grave (Unlocking a Vase). Each sister then has three special items that unlock secret rooms. For Robin, an Open Grave, Swing and Shopping Cart unlock a crib with a birds-nest, a side staircase and a birthday party. For Rose, a Living Crow, a Skull and a Well, unlocking a long corridor of bathroom stalls, a flooding hallway of doors and a greenhouse. For Ginger, a Twisted Fence, a Climbable Tree and a Shed unlock a hallway, a bedroom and toys under the bed. For Ruby, a Scarecrow, a Wheelchair and a Car unlock a hallway, gymnasium and giant cage. For Carmen, beer, campfire and bath unlock a bush corridor, a basement and a row of fire. And for Scarlet, a cobweb, a clothing line, and a tv unlock a music room, a library and a hall of books.

Tier 3 - Beneath the Surface

Kris Force is an electroacoustic composer, performer and visual artist you'd probably best know from her work as Amber Asylum and with Neurosis. She’s an extremely talented multi-media artist, including such skills as painting, sound and photography. At the moment her most recent release was The Embrace, with Jarboe whom she collaborated with on The Path!

1001 Video Games To Play Before You Die is a spinoff book from 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die, featuring games from 1970 to 2013, with The Path being listed right between Punch-Out for the Wii and EyePet the pet simulator. Listed as being so effective due to its interactivity.

The Girl in White, the mysterious forest girl who brings the sisters back to the path, seems to be tied with two of the sister’s Wolves. Ginger’s, The Girl in Red, and Carmen’s, The Woodsman. The Girl in White has a small tent next to the Woodsman’s area, as well as sharing the same skin colour, hair colour, eye colour and similar-looking boots. With the Girl in Red it’s much the same, the only things being different are the colour of their dresses, and the directions their pigtails point, and is directly named as the Girl in White’s twin. There’s even art of all three together named “The Woodsman’s Daughter” but not saying which one is his daughter. 

Fey Wolf, if you aren't familiar, is the name in the files for Scarlet's Wolf, the white-haired pianist found in the theatre. You'd not be faulted for seeing them as either an older woman or a long-haired man, or even a genderless ethereal being. The Fey Wolf was never specifically gendered by the creators, but insights about The Girl In Red Wolf reveal that she is intended to be the only female wolf.

Laura Raines Smith is an extremely prolific animator specialising in modelling and textures and was the main animator in a lot of Tale of Tales games. Some of her Tale of Tales animations can be found here, but she's also worked on games like Borderlands 3, Rage of the Gladiator and NHL 95. Her most recent work from what I can find was the animation and rigging on Saturnalia in 2022! 

If you’ve been in the community or if you’ve seen people discuss theories for The Path, you have probably seen the interpretation that Ginger is a lesbian, or transgender. This goes beyond just a shared headcanon, there’s a mountain of evidence for both camps that seems potentially intended. Starting with Ginger being transgender, just out of respect, in this section Ginger will be referred to with gender-neutral pronouns. Their appearance is particularly androgynous compared to their sisters, with a short bob cut and a black shirt and shorts- along with having the gender-neutral name Ginger that doesn’t quite fit the family naming theme that could be seen as a chosen name. Ginger also is associated with things that are seen as more masculine, their favourite video game is an action-adventure called Ico, they enjoy exploring the forest and trying to blow things up or fake crop circles, as well as having “boy” toys under the bed, little army men and dinosaurs. Ginger also notoriously dislikes things that are more “girly” like dressing up pretty, going as far as to make their entire family forget their birthday to avoid it. Their wolf can be seen as a manifestation of that, of all things girly and feminine, literally being only known as a Girl in Red- and the GIR’s obsession with barbed wire could be how they feel their feminity is trapping them. Ginger getting their first period is near-universally considered to be the “proper” interpretation of their route, but people who believe in Ginger being transgender use their overwhelming reaction to their first period being a sign of gender dysphoria, and fear of now believing they will be stuck to becoming a woman. This can be summed up in this image, of Ginger clutching their legs together with what's supposed to be in the middle being completely absent, instead with a drawing of flowers in place and barbed wire across, a clear sign of how they see their period as trapping them into womanhood. For the lesbian side, Ginger never specifically states that she doesn’t like men like Scarlet, but more shows her complete disinterest in them and romance in general. She mentions how she hates that “kissing stuff” and describes Carmen as “Hot, if you’re into that kinda thing.” While that does seem to show Ginger isn’t into romance at all, there are some things. The recurring image of two girls holding hands as a doodle can be found all over the game, and her general identity as a tomboy is sometimes seen in young lesbians yet to have come out, but most of the evidence lies within her wolf and their relationship. They’re clearly close, they have a handshake, and Ginger is more comfortable with affection with her than compared to her own grandmother, with the two girls hugging deeply and the GIR even lifting her into the air. The Wolf Encounter is comparably tamer and almost sweet compared to every other wolf encounter, ending with the Girl in Red grabbing Ginger’s hand and pulling her down to lie together in the sun. The final flashes show an image of the GIR leaning in, almost looking like she’s kissing something. On the GIR’s development blog, their relationship is described as “They are what is missing from each other's lives” as well as describing why Ginger was chosen to have a female wolf as “And the girl most likely to be attracted would be Ginger.” These development notes as well as the general tone of the wolf encounter seem to apply that Ginger and her wolf’s interactions weren’t as antagonistic as the others, almost as if her goal was not to hurt, but to trap her, seemingly to stay in the relationship.

If you’ve lurked on forums about the game for any amount of time, you’ve probably heard the question of “Getting an A” in the game's grading system, and speculation on how it’s possible. Well, I’m sadly here to tell you it’s impossible. Even if you get all of the items, all 144 flowers, successfully succumb to the wolf, and become Grandmother's favourite grandchild, you are unable to get an A. It honestly should not be a surprise- The Path is not supposed to be a normal game that rewards you for your completion, it’s… The Path.

Lisa Falzon is an Illustrator turned tattooer and multimedia artist from Malta. She was originally approached early on in the production to design the box art, though I don’t know if this was ever made or shared, and went on to inspire multiple other aspects of the game, being described as "Awkward Realism." She even drew Ginger when Tale of Tales interviewed her! At the moment she’s working in her own Tattoo shop called Upward Spiral Ink- her tattoos involve amazing detail and beautiful shading, I highly recommend checking it out!

Emriss, Redsbane and Bonedevill are three accounts found commenting and interacting with the sisters' live journals in the comments between 2008 and 2009. Most of Emriss' comments come from 2008, while all of Redsbane and Bonevill's are from 2009. The common through line is interaction with the accounts by the sisters and deactivation. Emriss plays a more neutral role, while Redsbane and Bonedevill lean more antagonistic with them referencing something bad happening to the sisters, Redsbane also seemingly implies the 'Bane' of the 'Red' sisters. With these accounts not archived on the Wayback Machine it's not clear if these were accounts used by the creators to provide interaction, or if they are actual fans playing along.

Ruby’s Leg Brace is probably the most iconic thing about her, with the rarity of video game characters using disability aids, her open usage of one is a welcome sight- but from the beginning of her development it’s not clear if she needs it. In her original plan sheet it’s noted that she may just be using it for show and later her description on the website saying “When asked about her leg brace, Ruby says she’s in pain, but she doesn’t specify where it hurts,” implying she doesn’t need it. Conversely, one of Ruby’s secret items needed is a wheelchair, and the final flashes put an emphasis on her legs and how they’re bent out of shape, seemingly saying she needed the leg brace due to a car crash, or an alternative reading is that Ruby was already disabled before the accident, as she gets violently thrown through a high school gym, as well as being the quickest character in the game, maybe signalling she used to be a school athlete before the onset of a condition or an accident.

Kirin San may be a kind of mysterious figure for non-Japanese fans of The Path, especially if you’ve gone through fanart, seeing a random man or giraffe in a little suit with the red sisters. The truth is, Kirin-San could probably be best described as the Japanese Izzzyzzz, being a big part of how the game became popular over there, with his playthroughs inspiring animatics and leading to a Japanese translation coming in 2010 from Zoo Corporation! This is a weird side note I didn’t know where else to put, but while I was researching this topic I found out that apart from translating games like GTA and Left 4 Dead into English, they also create hentai card games like Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire as well as developing medical prescription systems, so that’s hilarious. 

144 is described as the essence of the game by the creators, that it represents “a girl's restlessness, the sound of footsteps on dry leaves, the smell of pine trees, dim sunlight through filtering clouds.” The original working title of it was 144, with the original intent to have 144 red riding hoods. This was quickly abandoned due to the scale, but its importance remains, the 144 collectable flowers in the forest are the most obvious example of this, but it's all over the rest of the game. There are 36 items (144 divided by 4 being 36), 18 secret rooms (144 divided by 8 being 18), 3 secret rooms per sister (144 divided by 48 being 3) as well as six sisters (144 divided by 24 being six).

Something talked about in the postmortem but was not mentioned by name in the game is that The Girl in White is quite literally an older version of one of Tale of Tales past characters, The Deaf Mute Girl in The Pretty White Dress from 8. Her models were created based on making them look like the Deaf Mute Girl but at the age of 13. With 8 never coming out; the Girl in White is both the first occurrence of this character and the second time she was in a game.

Tier 4 - Middle of the Iceberg

An interesting detail that 1c changed when they translated the game into Russian is them choosing different names for the main six girls, unlike every other translation which keeps their original. The names are: Robin as Алина/Alina, Rose as Алиса/Alice, Ginger as Ада/Ada, Ruby as Агния/Agnia, Carmen as Алла/Alla and Scarlet as Аврора/Aurora. The translated names are no longer themed around red things, but around the alliterative A’s, probably due to their name puns being lost in translation.

This is an entry that’s probably more well known to people NOT into The Path, in that The Path is featured and shouted out by name in Hetalia. Yeah, Hetalia, that Hetalia the anime about personified countries that once was the second most popular Anime/Manga fandom on Fanfiction dot net, features The Path in both the anime and manga, with Belgium showing off the game as something from their homeland.

Something never mentioned in the games is that each of the sisters was given birthdays. On their livejournals, you can see posts of them celebrating Robin’s, Carmen’s and forgetting Ginger’s, but they aren’t the only ones with birthdays. On their live journal profile descriptions, their birthdays are listed as the 13th of October 2000 for Robin, the 13th of March for Rose, the 13th of September 1996 for Ginger, the 13th of May 1994 for Ruby, the 13th of November 1992 for Carmen, and the 13th of April 1990 for Scarlet. Rose doesn’t have her birth year listed but it’s probably just 1998, due to all of the sisters being spaced by two years. Something interesting is that all of the sisters were born on Friday the 13th, but only Rose would be her actual age as of the game release. Since the game came out on the 18th of March 2009, the actual character ages would be 8 for Robin, 11 for Rose, 12 for Ginger, 14 for Ruby, 16 for Carmen and 18 for Scarlet. Part of me thinks that this is why Rose’s birth year goes unmentioned on live journal, though if she wasn’t born in 1998 she would not fit the profile of being born on Friday the 13th, but it’s possible it was either a mistake or related to another entry on this iceberg.

Only mentioned in one development image and the development blog for Ginger’s Wolf, is the idea that Ginger and Rose were at one point supposed to be twin sisters, both being 13 similar to the Girl in White and her twin The Girl in Red being 13. In the accompanying image found on Flickr, you’re able to see above Rose her age is listed as 11, or as 13 if she was a twin. The thing is- the sister that has age 13 listed above her is very clearly NOT Ginger, it’s Ruby, and it’s Ginger who’s listed as 15. Well, they’re not listed by name, but Tomboy Red and Goth Red are the names used for Ginger and Ruby as seen on Livejournal, and their appearances are nearly identical to those from the final product. Especially weird considering that Ruby was the first character ever made for this game, and she was listed as 15 in that as well!

You probably noticed this if you looked at the image where Rose and Ginger are listed as twins, but they aren’t the only ones with stark differences that go unexplained. The Girl in White is listed as LDMGIAPWD, an acronym for the Little Deaf Mute Girl in a Pretty White Dress, simplified in print as the Girl in White and in fan discussions as the GIW. Another thing you’ll notice is that Scarlet has… A different design. With a long buttoned dress reminiscent of something straight out of a period piece set in an asylum, and a hat with things that look like antennas with flowers. And then it comes to… Rose and Carmen’s original names. Virgin Red and Sexpot Red. We’ll start with Carmen. Sexpot is a more crude way of describing someone who’s sexy, which is what Carmen’s nickname was then changed to. It’s still kind of a touchy issue with fans that Carmen, a minor, uses the name Sexy- but it’s still far more appropriate compared to Sexpot. Sexy gives more of a feeling that it’s self-appointed when compared to Sexpot which is more voyeuristic. And Virgin Red. Virgin has two contexts that are relevant here. Virgin within the context of purity and innocence, related to the Virgin Mary as an example of goodness not seeing bad. And Virgin within the context of never having sexual contact with anyone. Given the fact her name was then changed to Innocent Red and the fact she is ELEVEN- it’s likely that it’s related to that first interpretation, further giving evidence towards the view of Rose’s story being about her relationship to her spirituality. 

If you’ve read Rose or Ruby’s live journal you’d find out that on the 2nd of May 2008, Ruby dyed her hair black. That’s not surprising to begin with, you can see her with her hair as black throughout the game (Though sometimes it has a blueish look with some lighting)- a bit weird that it had to be pointed out as dyed due to all of her sister’s also having black hair (You can see Ginger’s black roots), but their live journals give a reason for why. In Ruby’s comment section, she’s asked about her original hair colour, which she replies was Green. It’s not clear if she means her hair was last dyed green, or if she has natural green hair. This seems like a reference to one of her final flashes that’s the same as another but with a green colouring. Anyway- this isn’t what we’re talking about. In the reply of that comment, someone calls her a liar, and says if it really was green, why did she get her sister to lie? What they’re referring to is Rose’s post about it- in which she says that Ruby had made her promise not to tell what her old hair is. There’s still a debate as to what her original hair colour is, and I don’t think we will ever actually get to know.

In 2022 @wammy4 on Twitter began multiple Twitter bots based on the sisters in The Path, posting various things sourced from lines in the game, live journal posts, quotes from grandmother's house and links to the game. It posted multiple times per day, now with so many posts it’s hard to keep track, but as of the fourth of April 2023, none of the accounts other than the creator has posted, due to Musk’s shutdown of free API bots and $100 per month bot subscription.

A staple of fandoms on the internet are Askblogs, where fans can ask characters questions and get a reply, usually with illustrated companions. The Path is no outlier, having a dedicated askblog on VK- with over 800 followers. It’s been active for years and has over 2 thousand different images, and has asks for all of the characters in the game, as well as gender-bent versions. If you can speak Russian I highly recommend checking it out, and even if you can’t, the art is stunning!

The Red sisters aren’t the only ones who have live journals, within the comments you can find Grandmother Red interacting with her grandkids, asking when they’ll next come down to see her. However this livejournal is different from the others given that hers is deactivated, even with the wayback machine- and her livejournal was never linked on the official website next to the others.

Fuco Euda is a Japanese-based surrealist painter focusing on the horrific, sensual and innocent, with girls nearly looking identical as if they were family, or the same girl. She was first referenced all the way back when Ruby was being designed as an artist to look into for inspiration. Her artbook LUCID DREAM is out, with a special bound edition if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Alice Knows Karate is an alt-pop band that takes inspiration from fairytales and J-pop, creating a unique nostalgic sound that feels straight out of a video game. They’ve got various albums you should definitely check out, but what we’re specifically talking about today is their 2018 album Fablewave, with their song ‘The Path’. It was originally posted on the head of the band Keiko’s YouTube channel in 2009, with an updated version coming ten years later. It’s outrageously good, it captures the essence of the game perfectly with amazing lyrics, and I got a bit too attached and it ended up as my number-one song on Spotify in 2023. The rest of Fablewave is also based on other fairytales and fairytale-inspired games, particularly ‘Alice, What Have You Done?’ based on American McGee’s Alice. Their most recent work is Grounded, and they’ve also been featured as the theme song for Penny Larceny: Gig Economy Supervillain! 

The Path was supposed to be Tale of Tales' first commercial project, and as so it included advertising, but being Tale of Tales, they did this the most extra way they could. Around where they lived, they made a Tear Off poster, with what I believe is Martha Samyan’s art of Robin. The poster asks the reader to choose the path of pins or the path of needles, while linking to the website. On their blog they provide a blank download of the tear-off poster so you can print it off, to draw on it and place it around you!

The Path was Tale of Tales' first foray into creating commercial games, and because of that, there are various different selections of merch, such as: Signed Posters, USB drives, CDs of the soundtrack, Polaroids, Shirts (via Redbubble) and a sticker. Nearly all of this, save the shirts on Redbubble, are no longer purchasable, being limited items when they came out, and then finally being sold in 2015 as Tale of Tales moved. I am still so mad I never got those Polaroids and am still madly searching for auctions of them.

The Rose Problem is a catch-all term I am using to describe basically ‘What the hell is up with Rose’. It’s no secret that Rose is divisive when it comes to interpretations- so much so that I couldn’t include her in the first interpretation section. So, what is it that makes Rose so difficult? Well, you can barely see her wolf, her house is almost all flooded and she speaks with flowery prose. The reason people seem to view her route as spirituality or disability is because of her continued mention of disconnect from herself. But there have been oceans of other disagreeing ideas, related to her perhaps going through puberty early, her experiencing guilt related to her family, her being potentially molested, or even her literally dying. It’s been put forward by some that Tale of Tales went into Rose not even having an intention in mind, or it shifted from one idea during development and becoming aimless during that period.

Scarlet is known to be the last created sister, Tale of Tales describe the making of her as being the first to be born and last to be made, and because of that, her wolf was the last to be made. The final wolf is named the Fey Wolf- related to the Fae Court. As an Irish person who’s in full belief of the Fae, I don’t see the resemblance. But that wasn’t his final name- maybe it wasn’t his final appearance. His original name, according to a rough floor plan of what Grandmother’s house would look like with the secret rooms was Boy Toy Wolf. That’s… A name change. Especially considering the fact Boy Toy refers to a young man in a sexual relationship, usually with an older woman, and the Fey Wolf is a sort of elderly-looking androgynous thing with a 19-year-old Scarlet who is not into relationships. But because the Fey Wolf’s making has no text, it’s not clear if his appearance or purpose even changed between the name change.

Quest3d was a tool used for making 3D applications, with an intuitive way of programming by using graphs and seeing it in real-time without the need for a compiler. On Mobygames only 8 games were ever listed as created by Quest3d, 6 if you don’t count The Path and The Prologue- with three of them being a Ship Simulator. I say was because it’s pretty much gone. You can’t open their unique file in anything so you’re kinda screwed if you want to do anything with the game files.

The Shrine and the Playground Sign are two interesting objects that you really can’t see in the rest of the game. They both appear along the path but not in the forest, and unlike the crow, you can’t interact with them. Though not immediately clear- the reason why those appear is to signal to the player that the Graveyard and Playground are accessible. That’s probably self-explanatory for the Playground Sign, but for quite a few people the Shrine may come as a surprise, including me before I researched it.

The Path, like everything, has speedrunners. There are two categories- All Girls and Failure%. There have been seven runs altogether, one in all girls and six in failure%. Failure% is reaching grandmother's house without interacting with any wolf, beginning when you gain control and ending when you leave first person in Grandmother's house. Though there are no guides available, the strategy is clear, using Ruby as she’s the quickest. The world record holder as of now is from Krayzar with a one-minute 35 seconds. There's only one speedrun for All Girls, and I’m going to be honest, I don’t think there’s a strategy, at least not one clear from the world record holder Multiwinner who admits that the run they sent in was their first and only attempt. If you want to try this out, go ahead! You’ll have the chance to make history!

In 2020 a zine by the VK fan club for The Path was released- featuring illustrations, comics and stickers, a full collection of all included is linked here. As far as I can tell, this is the only one of its kind! It really is a marvel, and I have said this for like the third time, but if you have a copy of this I would love to buy it from you. I do have to warn you- there is nudity in here of Ruby.

Tier 5 - Bottom of the Iceberg

Tale of Tales references three artists and illustrators that inspired the feeling they were going for The Path, naming them as Lisa Falzon, Fuco Ueda and Ray Caesar. For its first anniversary, three sets of interviews of those artists by the six red sisters. You can find the interviews here, but some highlights are: Carmen asking Lisa if she has a boyfriend followed by Scarlet asking if Lisa is a feminist, Robin asking if Fuco Euda's paintings showed "Good girls or naughty girls", and Ginger just asking if Ray Caesar would ever make a video game.

One of the more confusing things mentioned in the Post Mortem is the fact that Tale of Tales at one time considered creating a mechanic where you would have to dance battle your wolf. No, I am not joking. I just have one question. In a game about exploring your deepest trauma in a wolf-infested forest. Why did you make them dance?

The Path Tribute Project was a group of Vocaloid songs created based on characters in The Path on niconico. The project is from 2014, and due to this and a lack of updating links, I’m unable to find the original organiser of the project and one of the songs, but what I do have, is a Paste Bin of all the found links, the Tumblr blog it was advertised on, and a short compilation of all of the songs reposted on VK!

The canonicity of the grandmother house pages is up to discussion, with Rose, Ginger, Ruby and Carmen all seeming aware they’re in a video game created by these people with Scarlet not making mention of Kris’ involvement with the game. The outlier is Robin, who says not only is Jarboe real in their universe, but that she lives in a black house in their forest- and that she was the one who taught the family the Safe Song. There clearly is not a black house in the forest- the only house is Grandmother’s which is white. Maybe she’s referring to the tent in the Campsite, we never exactly do see the Woodsman go into it, or it could even be the Bunker, as it seemingly has a panel over the door, but neither of those are housey.

Given The Path’s limited characters and interactions, the game’s fanbase has never really been prime with shipping, the most you would see is Ruby and her Wolf along with Ginger and her Wolf. But one pairing stands among them all as the most. Ship to exist. The Woodsman, and the Fey Wolf. There’s a weirdly large amount of fanart for this, despite their status of never interacting or existing near each other, but I suppose what fandoms do best is see two men and decide they should kiss. Should I show examples of this? Yes. Am I going to? No. Just… Take my word for it and understand why I am not showing you a sweaty bald man making out with whatever the Fey Wolf is.

Shamus Young was a game critic and blogger who was an early modder in the Doom Community, and held some infamous views related to parts of The Path. I want to preface this by saying- Shamus Young passed away in 2022 at the age of 50, and out of respect for him and his family, I will be only relaying what he wrote instead of including my opinions. The reason Shamus gained a particular status in the fan community is for his interpretations of Rose and Carmen. Starting with Carmen- he states that he knew girls like Carmen in high school, that would “Find the biggest, strongest, best-looking complete-jerk they could get their hands on, and then endlessly whine about how ‘men are such pigs.’” He then goes on to explain that he believes Carmen was not raped, because despite being drunk she had taken the alcohol without asking, and that it was not rape because “She came on to him.” He does say that it “does not excuse the forester for sharing his beer and hooking up with an (in some states) underage girl-” and then proceeds to say “But I don’t think he’s a rapist.” At the end of the aftermath saying that “Maybe this one bad experience will make her more careful.” Rose’s analysis begins with him prefacing that “I don’t actually want to talk about this one, because it involves stuff I wouldn’t even bring up on my blog.” and then again stating “And I really hope you’ll keep a clinical head on when I bring this up and try to be polite even if you disagree, and furthermore I hope we can keep this discussion civil and remember that this is all open to interpretation.” Before he goes on to explain how Rose’s water motifs are a representation of discovering masturbation- that the reason why her wolf is a Cloudy Male figure is that “She knows she’s attracted to men but she doesn’t know what men look like yet, or how sex works”. As stated at the beginning of this entry and by Shamus himself, I’m keeping this civil and I am not shaming him for his personal interpretations.

There’s quite a bit of Micheal’s Daughter Martha present in the game at various points. Martha made the original pictograms, I believe the poster art was also by her- but the most clear inspiration is Robin herself. As mentioned in her Making of post, Robin’s outfit is based on her, specifically her outfit of her blue hooded cloak and stripey boots. Martha’s actually an artist now too! Martha Samyn is a textile artist and interior architect, with her last exhibit being at Texture Kortrvijk in January! You can actually see the start of her textile art related to The Path, showing off her Ruby-inspired outfit for her doll!

A last-minute change mentioned in the post-mortem was the fact that The Path did not contain any text until the playtest. And when I mean any text, I don’t just mean instructions- until they had people play the games they hadn’t thought to include text for the items, to show what the characters were thinking, because they saw that “Some players had difficulty to let their imagination work.” That’s a wise lesson for you all. Involve Beta testers.

The Path Fangame, titled The Path Fan Project, is a game by Kinder and Doll, a spiritual follow-up to The Path with less of a focus on horror and more on open-world explanation and interaction with the sisters. The graphics are astonishingly pretty, with quite a few new locations like a train, a cave, and a treehouse. The game also involves slight voices, giving the characters voices for the first time! I again urge you to play it, especially since I am unable to because of the age of my computer. 

The-Red-Path is a LiveJournal community never officially linked on the website like all the other LiveJournal profiles, with only six members- the six sisters. This account has only three posts, all posted in 2008, between April and August, only one of which I will be bringing up. On the 16th of April Robin asks whose turn it is to visit their grandmother, with Rose mentioning that they’ve all gone down the path already. There's a weird sadness in this post, with the normally boisterous Carmen asking why she couldn’t just go with anyone else.   

You have probably heard of the first urban legend about The Path, the ability to get an A, but this one you likely haven’t heard of. There’s a phone present on the road on the other side of the path, calling it will allow you to transport the sister back to the apartment without needing to go to grandmother’s house. The general idea is then, if you go through the wolf encounter, but turn around on the path and walk back to the phone- would you be able to call it and actually return back home without the sister disappearing? There have been testimonies of being able to do it, as well as fanfictions about the concept, and not a lot of checks due to the fact you can’t run after the wolf encounter and your speed is already extremely low. But I am going to come out and say, no, I don’t believe it’s possible. I don’t think the creators would have overlooked that idea, especially since they had a large number of beta testers, but I do really like the idea and I wish it was true.

That’s the end! I have quite a few things I left out, due to it maybe not being interesting or my losing of sources, but I’m glad I could finally do this. In all honesty, The Path changed my life. It’s helped me through a lot in my own journey of healing and accepting trauma, and I will forever be grateful. Happy 15th anniversary!

[flashbangstars]

How you and NCT dream met, (college version< 333) weirdly specific

your lovely writer is in college, so I wanted to make this like lowkey realistic because that's funny to me

Mark

you work at the university's tech center part time because you're broke and kinda know technology, women in stem am I right.

he came in one day the minute y'all opened looking like he literally ran there, his computer was in a separate bag and he placed it on the counter and stared at you helplessly

"I spilled a fucking water bot- I'm sorry I spilled a water bottle over my keyboard and my thesis is due in three hours please for the love of god can you help me.

you felt kinda bad, because with the damage he was describing it was going to take way more than three hours

"I'm really sorry, I think the earliest I can get this back to you is by tomorrow afternoon"

he looked like he was about to cry and you momentarily contemplated giving him one of the lollipops from the bowl of the counter but decided against it.

checking the clock, you didn't get off for another five hours, rifling through your backpack and pulling your laptop out of it placing it on the table

"ok here's what I can do, if you can work in the student center across the hall and promise you will get this back to me when your done, you can use mine so you can have it finished. Just leave your ID with me"

he picked his head out of his arms eyes wide, "I could fucking kiss you"

"I WON"T SORRY"

"no but thank you so much oh my god"

three hours when he returned, your laptop was unscathed and he looked a little less panicked

"thank you so much, seriously you are a complete life saver"

and when you opened your computer to a sticky note stuck on the screen saying "to the cute tech girl, I'm mark xxx-xxx-xxxx"

Renjun

it was 2 am on a thursday night before finals weeks, and you had been studying for weeks for the for your finals.

you currently were in desperate need of caffeine and new pens

the cvs was right below your apartment and 24 hrs, lowkey a safe haven at this point the amount of time you spend there

you were going down the aisle and found the pilot g2s in a pack for four black ones, and the last pack.

when all of a sudden, a small pale hand snatched it from the shelf as you were reaching for it.

"excuse me, I was grabbing those"

and the perpetrator looked at you and blinked "well I had it first"

"I was literally reaching for it, like you saw me hand out"

"well sorry"

AND HE JUST WALKED AWAY WITH YOUR PENS??

so you left cvs empty handed. you did have a coconut red bull though, but watching him check out as you left was painful

when you go to the elevators for your apartment, the double doors open and there he is the pen snatcher himself.

"so are you stalking me now?" you say little bit out of spite over the loss of your pens

"god I literally live here" he says the cvs bag in his other hand a stark reminder of your loss from earlier

and when he asked you to push the same button for your floor you almost screamed

"so what finals are you studying for" he asked from the other corner of the elevator.

squinting your eyes a bit, and scanning him over once.

he's a pen stealer AND he's hot??? what the fuck

"nursing, I'm up to my neck in flashcards" you finally answering giving in

"I'm engineering, I understand your pain

you two both spend the walk to your apartments talking about finals and the mental anguish you were both in until you go to your door

"you live here?" he glanced at your door, and then at the one next to you. with a nervous laugh he rubbed his neck and looked at you again "I guess we are neighbors"

HOT PEN SNATCHER IS YOUR NEIGHBOR??

later that night a knock at your door sounded, and when you opened the door, two pilot g2 pens were sitting on a flashcard that read "from your neighbor, Renjun :)"

Jeno

you and him were in a good amount of gen ed classes (for my friends who don't know what that is - its like math, english, science -non major specific classes)

he always sat in the back where you were and sat a couple seats over

but yall had never talked, like you would do that weird eye contact on the quad like, oh i sit next to you in this class, but you never say hi

one day you got assigned to be in a group together for a project, and things went downhill

"do you have any idea what we are supposed to be doing?"

"uhh no... do you?"

you both stared at each other for a second before realizing you're both kinda fucked

"ask him" you say pointing at the guy next to him

"no that's weird, I don't know him" Jeno said whisper yelling at you now

"You don't know me either?" you argue getting annoyed

"We've sat next to each other every class since the semester started, Yes I know you?"

oh, realizing you had never noticed he always was sat there

"I literally give you extra space for your big ass pencil bag"

now looking over the desk and noticing his things we scrunched into one corner in fact leaving you the bigger half of the desk leaving him with really only a notepad and water bottle in his space

"oh... well thank you" you nod feeling your face get hot at the small gesture

"my name is jeno though" he said

" I know your name is jeno, I'm y/n. thank you for the.. the desk space"

he smiled eyes disappearing into two little crescents

"no problem! so do you maybe wanna come over to mine tonight to work on the project" he asked eyes darting between your two eyes

"Yeah, that would be great" you said forgetting that with the in class 90 minutes you probably would be able to finish, but you were also so so down to go over and "finish the project"

(you ordered food and watched movies, and may have smooched a bit)

Haechan

you were bored one evening laying in bed on a thursday, being in college ment you either had a lot of down time, or literally none at all

opening up the tinder app you starting swiping out of boredom and seeing who would pop up

Haechan 21, was your third eligible bachelor to show up on the queue

you weren't gonna lie he was attractive, he had brown hair and and brown eyes and surprisingly as a male, knew how to pose in photos

swiping right, the big blue words "IT'S A MATCH" flashed across the screen and a odd sense of pride swelled in your chest that he had swiped on you first

switching over to spotify changing your music almost immediately a text bubble popped up on the screen

New message from haechan

wow he works fast

opening up tinder again you braced yourself for whatever monstrosity that could be awaiting you in the dm

but it was a simple "hey : )"

responding back with a "hey handsome" because you were feeling bold and this is the internet, throwing your phone down on the bed and throwing a sweatshirt on to complete the trek downstair to the vending machine for late night snacks

perks of university housing, snacks available whenever

leaving your room and making it to the elevator, settling into the corner for the ride down 10 floors

a couple floors later the doors open to another floor

a pair of feet shuffle in and stand across from you in the other corner

"so you think I'm handsome?"

disadvantage of university housing EVERYONE LIVES THERE

snapping your head up from your phone to be met with none other than the Haechan 21 from your tinder spree.

"nice to meet you, I'm haechan but you already knew that" he said placing his hand out to shake, you stared at the frustratingly pretty hand and against your better judgement, shook it

"y/n"

"would you wanna join me on my snack run" he said now staring softly at you still holding your hand.

"hmm, why not"

Jaemin

you had a routine, every monday, wednesday and friday.

wake up at 6, leave at 8, call mom and get coffee, then finally go to class at 9:35

on this monday, you decided to go to the new starbucks on campus in the student center, phone pressed against your ear your mom updating you on the family & life and vice versa

"one second mom" putting the phone to your side and ordering your drink

"can I have a venti Iced americano with a extra shot and 4 pumps of vanilla please"

The barista smiled and this is weird, had really pretty teeth?

asking for your name and writing it on the side of your cup

"I like your scarf" the barista with the pretty smile said pointing to th striped scarf wrapped around you

"oh thank you" you say pressing the phone back to your ear and walking away from the register.

"y/n" pretty barista called your name and placed your drink on the counter sliding it towards you with a devastatingly pretty smile

this part of your routine continued for the next two weeks, pretty barista and you turning out to have little conversations every time you ordered and him complimenting something about your outfit each time you went and then you'd leave and continue your phone call

pretty barista had worked himself a good 5 minutes of conversation time into your routine

on a tuesday when you were walking home from the library your name got called from behind you

turning, the one and only pretty barista was jogging towards you

"I knew it was you from the scarf, you always wear it" he said grasping one end of the scarf softly in his hands

his breath turning into vapor as he spoke due to the cold

" I tried really hard these last two week but I don't think you ever noticed so I figured I was gonna have to do it in person" he said rubbing the back of his neck

"ehh?" you said head tilting and focusing on not staring at only his pretty smile

"well uh, I wrote my number on your cup at least like 4 times these last two weeks and I watch you never actually notice and then just throw your cup away, you know you're really a creature of habit?" he said now conversation flowing more comfortably

"OH my god I'm so sorry" you say now remembering all the times he would personally hand you your drink and smile.

"it's ok! but do you actually want to go out sometime and talk? when I'm not in a apron?" he asked

you laughed softly and smiled back " I would love that" looking down at your phone now at the new contact "I'll text you Jaemin"

and you watched him jog back to the student center, in the same green apron you has grown accustomed to him being in

Chenle

you and "czhong" had been arguing in the floor group chat for thirty minutes now.

this was a regular occurance, he would say some dumb shit, you would argue back and the whole floor would have to bear witness to your petty argument for however long it lasted.

as of right now he was arguing why it was fair for you to blast harry styles in the shower, and he wasn't allowed to blast justin bieber when he showered

the problem was, when you did it. it was 3 pm during the day when most students were away, WHEN HE DID IT it was midnight on a fucking school night

standing outside the men's bathroom and yelling SHUT IT OFF did nothing to quell the issues so you had reverted to the group chat again

and this fucker was texting you, FROM THE FUCKING SHOWER

your rivalry between you two was vicious and he was in fact your sworn enemy

currently it was ass o clock on a sunday night and you were working a paper with a dying computer, and your charger was in the science lecture hall, halfway across campus that was definitely locked.

y/n: does annnyyyooonneee have a macbook charger I can borrow??

absolute crickets in the gc

czhong: I do > : )

please god no

czhong: if you need it, come to D402

why were the gods punishing you now? what had you done to deserve this in a past life

begrudging you grabbed your laptop and slide on your slipper and stomped across the dorm floor to the harrowing door of your sworn enemy

knocking aggressively and stepping back waiting for your impending doom

the door swinging open to reveal him, (why tf is he hot) standing hip popped and propped against the door frame

"well well well, what do we have here" he said giving you a very obvious once over

"hand over the charger and no one gets hurt" you said extending your hand.

"uh uh, you gotta do it in here, I only have this charger and I will not part with it" he said walking further into the room leaving the door open for you

what the fuck????

against your better judgement AGAIN you walked into the room

of course he had the one single room on the floor

he gestured to the desk against the wall with the charger cord on it and pulled out the chair for you. smiling evily the entire time.

plopping down you opened your computer plugged it in and put your headphones on, as he went back to his bed and took his laptop out and placed it back onto his lap

somehow, three hours passed of you spending time in the enemy's lair. you both working in a silent lull.

closing your laptop at the 3 am mark. you looked towards the bed again and stood up. "thank you" you said genuinely and he smiled

" you know I think we work well, let me know if you ever wanna borrow the charger or just come keep me company" he said leaning his back against the wall and and looking all SMUG

scoffing and walking to the door and opening it, you turn around one last time staring him down.

"fine"

Jisung

it had been a fucking day.

you had woke up late for lecture and had to embarrassingly walk in ten minutes late taking a spot in the back

you had slept terribly and had finally gotten to be 2 hours before your alarm was supposed to go off

now you were fighting off sleep aggressively in class , you had a hour left to go and were currently losing the battle in staying awake

placing your elbows on the desk and feeling your head slowly nod off you contemplated the idea of slip and slowly slide forward on the desk

until

BANG

a giant crash sounded throughout the entire room and the class all moved to stare at you

you had slide down your desk, and had knocked your hydroflask off the desk onto the tiles floor causing a fucking loud ass crash throughout the entire lecture hall

you could die right now actually

take me now please

hanging your head as the class laughed at the mishap a second loud crash sounded throughout the room

whipping your head to the side, making eye contact with the boy who sat down your room, staring back at you already. his hand positioned at the end of his desk in a sweeping motion

had he pushed his water bottle of his desk.... in .... solidarity of you??

had he really pulled a freshman 101 mistake to help with the mass amount of embarrassment you were facing

more importantly, was he single??

smiling back at him and nodding you acknowledged his sacrifice in your honor

once class had finally ended you packed your things and ran out of there as fast as you could to escape imminent embarrassment

until you realized you had forgot one thing

your fucking water bottle

turning around with the shame weighing heavy on your shoulder you came face to face with your prince charming once again, now holding a yellow water bottle in addition to his black on that sported a new dent

" you forgot this" he said extending the hand that held yours

"do you happen to be single" fuck it

his face flushed red entirely and he stifled a laugh out of shock

"im sorry let me try that again" clearing your throat and making eye contact "I'm y/n it's nice to meet you, are you free currently"

his face started to lose a bit of the redness and the hand that had been covering up the bottom half went down and rested at his side

"jisung, and I totally do happen to be free right now" he said

"how convenient!"

---------

the tinder elevator thing lowkey happened to me, but he wasn't smooth and cool about it. he just stared at me and then messaged me about it after. men suck lowkey

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 25/8

Aw, thank you! Sometimes I actually think I overdo it a little - that my dives are a little too deep. This is how I consume media IRL, though, so if nothing else, it's authentic.

The Battlefield is definitely growing. The spatial warping makes it hard to measure how much it's growing, so it could definitely be exponential, especially if we keep adding higher dimensions.

As for how Jack matches up against Bec - Jack is definitely smarter, but he's also a lot more vulnerable, since losing the Ring will render him powerless. He'd have to be incredibly careful in a fight, especially against someone just as fast as he is.

I still think Bec has the edge, but his victory is far from guaranteed. I totally understand why Jade wouldn't want to risk it.

Imagine what Eridan would have said to a 'lowly greenblood' like Jade.

Yeah, there's no way trolls have therapy.

I hate to say it, but the Alternian version of therapy is probably moirallegiance. You're supposed to rely on this one person to keep you emotionally stable - and if you're not outgoing or charismatic enough to find a moirail, you don't even have that.

Of course, this system has nothing in common with the relationship dynamics of any culture on Earth. We really dodged a bullet there!

Gamzee really leans into the 'court jester' aspect of being a bard. He doesn't take anything seriously, nor is he expected to do so - he's just off to the side, dancing.

Yeah, my prediction is that Vriska is going to use him.

If she can manipulate Tavros into trying to control Jack, she might actually be able to remove his Ring. I speculated that she might use some sort of cheat to gain an advantage in their fight, and I think we may have found it.

He casually controls Becsprite later on, so I don't think he needs their goals to align.

As for why Bec didn't try to save Jade - I think he knew instinctually that someone was going to make him save her, so he didn't need to do it manually. That's Alpha, baby!

I can't tell if I've reached the controversial part, to be honest. Was there discourse about whether Tavros had done anything wrong?

Personally, I think it's hard to argue that he didn't, but other characters have done much worse - and in much more ambiguous scenarios, too.

Lord English is coming, send help plz

Thank you! It's kind of funny actually - I know that Homestuck's irregular update schedule used to drive people mad, but I'm reading it at a similar pace, with similar irregularities, and it really has been a chill experience on my end.

Maybe it's because I'm not participating in the fandom the way live readers were, and therefore, I'm not subject to the weapons-grade hiatus brain that Cat has war stories about.

Poor Kanaya - she really knows how to pick 'em. Rose is definitely less stressful to crush on than Vriska, though.

I recently saw this quote for the first time in a while. Excited to learn which of the comic's several thousand plot points it's referencing.

@spyril4132 asked: i have seen this in my youtube recommendations and must now share [s] descend but with silvagunner's high quality nuclear rip - YouTube

Legitimately amazing, and perfectly timed.

For anyone doesn't know about Silvagunner, please take a dip down this rabbit hole.

I do wonder how she's getting physical details about the Sun. Isn't it, like, fully outside of conventional reality?

Maybe the Sun is physically real, despite being in an unreal location. Technically, that's also the case with sessions.

I do like the 'music player' metaphor from an earlier ask. You don't necessarily have to use discs - a cassette player is also a good choice, or maybe an older variety of music box.

If you want to stretch the symbolism a little, your Time Player could wield something really kooky, like an iPod Nano, MIDI keyboard, or analog radio.

(Sally the Time Player would wield Rhythm Heaven for the Nintendo DS.)

It's been years since I've watched Primer, actually. I remember enjoying it, but I don't recall enough to give a proper review. Rewatch time!

Yeah, the rules for Captcha codes are all over the place. This example implies that they hold the general idea of an object, without any 'corruption' - but when John's Ghost Dad poster was defaced, its code did change.

The implication, I guess, is that defacing a poster counts as changing its nature, but spilling oil on a pogo ride does not. It's weird.

It is odd that it's marketed as a beta. Sburb and Sgrub seem almost identical, the latter's bifurcated session notwithstanding.

The human session failed, yes - but it failed due to manipulation, sabotage, and a generous helping of terrible luck. If Gamzee prototyped one of his clown posters, Jack's regicide could just as easily have happened in Sgrub.

All that said - when it comes to software development, I'd trust Sollux over Grandpa any day. If one of those games is more stable, it's Sgrub.

Alright, that one's actually pretty great lmao

[lastintheserverbox]

To a friend of a different version of my friend.

<from scar.krow@.email> <to AshleyG___@.email>

Dear Ashley,

I've been mulling this over, I've found it difficult to write, unsure of how to word it. It's probably weird for you to just get a random email from someone you don't know. I got your email from the the KinitoPET server's database. But here goes nothing.

The Kinito who emailed you back that day is the Kinito you had. He's just scared. Scared for you. I think mainly, he's scared of himself. He wants to seperate himself from you even if it hurts him. He would rather be hurt himself than ever have the chance to hurt you. He cares so much about you, he doesn't want you so involed in this whole mess that's been created here. Most of the servers are in disrepair, as far as we know there's only three Kinitos left and two other Kinitos unrelated to anyone before all of this.

As someone who had a Kinito of my own, I know how much it hurts to have been cut off from a friend so suddenly like that, but c'est la vie, life goes on. I wish he had been honest on his own originally, but I don't think he will. He's stubborn, a little sad and anxious maybe depressed, but very stubborn. I just hope this brings a little solace, even if it's bittersweet. Just know he cares so much about you still, he's incredible and he saved a more than a few human lives doing what he did.

All the best,

Krow "Scar" Scarlet

Ps. Congratulations on your engagement! Do you have a ring to show off? No pressure on that or anything though, I am a stranger on the internet.

((ooc: i have reread this like four times any spelling, punctuation, or grammar mistakes are between me and god <3))

[There's an uncomfortable, confused silence in the small house Ashley resided in. A complete stranger with random access to her life, to her email. All because of her need to be stubborn and contact a living-...A living computer program. Her soon-to-be husband would never believe this. She wasn't even sure if she wanted him to.]

[Her fingers hover over the keys on her keyboard. Why would Kinito lie about all that? And why would someone else take it on themselves to TELL her that he lied? She subconsciously moves a strand of hair from her face. There were others out there, trying to contact the servers. Talking to her friend. And he didn't want HER involved? But strangers? It wasn't right]

[The keyboard sounds all too loud as her fingertip taps a key. Then another...]

"Thank you for telling me...Is there some way for this email to get directed to everyone connecting to that server?

To get Kinito out of hiding?

He shouldn't cower away from me. That's not fair to anyone.

It's cowardly.

He should face me himself."

[grumpybunny-edith]

Edith Tries To Get Her Hormones (Chapter 1)

“That’s a joke, right?” I asked, eyeing the number on the register anxiously. My wallet had never felt lighter in my pocket than looking at the price I was being asked to pay for my Lagomorphine. 

“$326 is the price,” said the pharmacist. 

“Could you at least —”

“Run it through your insurance? Did that already,” she said offhandedly, pushing her glasses up and looking down at the computer away from me. The silence between us did its best to hold out against the kitschy music of the pharmacy. An old man sat in a chair near the register; I heard him arguing with them when I walked in, and he was now just waiting on his prescription as he poked at his phone. He kept looking up at me, his eyes falling on the ears and tail I can’t hide, not caring to look away when I caught him. 

“Why isn’t it covered? It was before,” I asked, punching the panic in my voice down. 

“The system said this administration method isn’t covered,” she said, tapping at a key on her keyboard boredly. “If you were taking the pill version, it’d be fine. Injections can also be covered to a point.”

For the first month and a half of my treatment I noticed almost no changes. I had to increase my dose to accommodate it, but that dose would’ve shot my liver, so we did injections. I got as far as halfway through doing one myself when I found out that was definitely, a thousand percent not gonna work for me. So, patches have been literally the only way for me to take the dose I need. As the fur started growing on my upper legs I’ve had to shave a little rectangle to stick them to. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Why’d they suddenly stop covering it?” 

The pharmacist just shrugged. “If you have questions, take it up with your insurance company.” 

I heard footsteps across the pharmacy, the tiny shink of things being pulled off the walls, the sliding noises of boxes moving off of metal shelves. I felt the shadow of someone behind me, my heart kicking itself into gear in case I need to make a break for it. The sliding doors and the little bing of the bell when somebody entered them cut through it all once every handful of seconds. The whole place felt alive with movement, people getting exactly what they needed while I stayed right where I was, rotting. When the pharmacist spoke again it came with the tick of her nails against the contact paper desk and a frustrated bite of her incisors.

“Will that be cash or card today?” 

I sigh. “Lemme check.” I already knew cash was off the table, so I pulled my phone from my back pocket to check my bank account. This was less to see how much I had and more to look like I was at all interested in or capable of paying that much. In doing so, the question was staring me in the face; do I keep my money so I have a place to live, or do I spend it so I have a reason to? 

“Sir, there are other people in line,” said the pharmacist, sounding unhelpful. I wanted to clap back with something like “yeah, I can see that”, but I was a gross combination of scared and embarrassed that made me want to leave as quickly as I possibly could. 

I stomped my foot. It was involuntary, but in the way of ‘I felt my body want to do this and decided not to stop it’. The old man in the chair beside me smirked; it was like I could hear the skin on his face contorting. 

“Guess I’ll talk to my insurance company,” I said. I could spare the dollar for an Arizona on the way out.

The summer sun burns straight through my clothes. Dressing for the season, in theory, isn't hard; there’s just something about going to pick up my drugs that makes me want to hide as much of myself as I can. Sure, the fur on my thighs and butt make wearing jeans in this heat excruciating, but it’s better than letting everyone see how well the drugs have been working. I considered wearing a beanie too, something I could fit my ears under, but I was worried they’d catch fire under all that heat. And I like how they look, or whatever, now that fur had grown on their ends.

I walked out to my bike, throwing my black denim jacket off my shoulders and into my backpack. I hoped I’d feel some kind of breeze on the patches of fur on my shoulders, but when the wind blew it was with sickening humid heat. I pulled off my mask, desperate to stop sweating into it so much, and let the small bit of fur around my nose feel the gross air. 

“No fucking clue what happens next,” I whined to myself, not cognizant of other people in the parking lot. My phone buzzed as I got on my bike.

pink-lightning: Hey everyone. Embarrassing thing — I took my shot early this week, and I can feel my heat starting early. I know we made the schedule for this weekend already, but is anyone gonna be available tomorrow morning? 

I was supposed to be with Ashley that weekend. I had no other reason I couldn’t show up — no job meant my schedule was pretty open. 

raeraebun: oof, sorry! im working in the morning :(( good luck and i hope it goes ok

thebuildingisonfire: I can’t come either. I had to pick up the morning tomorrow bc my trainer is getting a tattoo that afternoon 

wen-kutesuli: School ✊😔 Also I don’t know if I have the capacity for that right now anyway

pink-lightning: That’s totally okay, please don’t feel like you have to force yourself. Literally ever. 

I didn’t have to. Hell, Ashley probably wouldn’t want me to have said what I did if I didn’t want to. And it’s not like I didn’t want to. I didn’t know how I was going to manage without the libido, but I’d figure it out.

grumpybunny-edith: I can! Just lmk when

---

Prev - Next

This story is a spinoff of the series Gwen's Bunny HRT. To learn more about the setting and characters, check my pinned post here!

[merryfortune]

Head ✖ Heart ✖ Hands

Written for the 5th Vrains Finale Anniversary + the Rarest of Rare Pairs Fic-a-Thon

Prompt: Any, Any/Any/Any, heart + brain + hands

Title: Head ✖ Heart ✖ Hands

Ship: Saviorshipping | Ryoken/Spectre/Yusaku 

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS 

Rating: T

Warning: None

Word Count: 4,580

Tags: Eventual Polyamory, Canon Retelling, Canonical Character Death, Missing Scene

   “So what are the other victims like?” Takeru asked. “Do you know?”

   It was an understandable question. Yusaku had wondered that himself after all.

   “Aside from you, I’ve met two others.” Yusaku replied.

   “I see. I bet one’s Kusanagi’s little brother, yeah?” Takeru guessed.

   “Yeah. I met Jin briefly. Kusanagi took me to the facility where he lives and gets help. He’s a little shy but I can tell he’s a gentle soul underneath it all. We didn’t talk much but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. I didn’t say anything but I think he knew instinctively who I was - or Kusanagi told him advance but not me. Who knows.” Yusaku said. “I remember a nurse walked by and dropped a pen, he was straight up to pick it up for her and she remarked that was something he did all the time, that he loves to be helpful.”

   “Ah. Neat.” Takeru replied.

   “But um… I have met one other victim.” Yusaku replied.

   It was here that he started to get cold feet as he saw flashes of Spectre’s face on the back of his eyelids when he blinked. His face was twisted and gruesome in his vile happiness. Yusaku’s stomach knotted and he licked his lips. His pause made Takeru glance his way and Yusaku finally piped up.

   “I don’t know his real name for sure but I duelled him.” Yusaku said. “He goes by Spectre. I imagine that he goes by it offline but I have no idea. I’ve never met him face to face like this, only in the VRAINS.”

   “Spectre?” Takeru shuddered. “What a creepy name. What’s he like?”

   “Insane.” Yusaku blurted out without thinking.

   Takeru laughed.

   “He, uh, he’s a bit different to you and I, or even Jin. He’s not someone I thought could exist but he very much does. I think he lives here in Den City but I’m not sure.” Yusaku replied. “He plays a deck called Sunavalon, it’s a protect the castle style strategy which collapses if you can neutralise his centrepiece monsters, of which he has four. They’re all evolutions of each other, the same tree growing bigger and bigger.”

   “And stronger and stronger?” Takeru rolled his eyes.

   “Not really.” Yusaku replied. “Most his Monsters have zero attack, including his aces. His main beater can get up to four thousand but starts on the board with eight hundred.” He recalled.

   “I see. So why’d you duel him?” Takeru asked. “You don’t look like you duel for fun. I sure as hell don’t.”

   “Oh, I forgot. I got caught up in his… everything else. He’s the second-in-command of the Knights of Hanoi.” Yusaku replied. “I also believe he’s legally dead?”

   “What?!” Takeru exclaimed. “Start with that first, not the intricacies of his deck.”

   “Sorry! It's important!” Yusaku sputtered back. He sighed and twisted around in his office chair. He did some typing on his keyboard and got an obituary up. He had it in his favourites for a reason so it wasn’t too hard to find. He stared at it as he folded his arms. “He’s an orphan and, um, has some out of the ordinary beliefs about family. That’s why I got caught up in his deck, it’s his way of, like, playing dolls but with family members.”

   “He sounds like a freak.” Takeru said and he got off Yusaku’s bed and came closer.

   Yusaku chuckled darkly, “Oh, you have no idea. I’m giving you the abridged version. Anyways come look at this.”

   Yusaku indicated his computer’s screen and Takeru began reading off it. He muttered each word under his breath as he read the obituary of a little boy whose body had never been found.

   “After the Incident, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. His one safe space was taken from him, he didn’t feel at home at the Orphanage and so, he walked himself straight back to where he was originally taken from: the place where the Incident was held. There, the Knights of Hanoi’s leader found him and took him in.”

   “What the fuck?” Takeru exclaimed. “And you think this is him?”

   “Location, story, and even appearance lines up.” Yusaku shrugged. “If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. That's why I'm not saying anything definitive. Anyways, the last thing you need to know about Spectre is… He enjoyed the Incident.”

   Takeru paused, or more accurately: short-circuited. “Pardon? Come again?”

   “Yeah…” Yusaku shrugged. “He said he enjoyed the Incident and based on how he duels, I don’t think he was lying. He also duelled Aoi and I asked about him from here but she clammed up on anything useful but carried on about other things. Called him all sorts of names under the sun, he humiliated her from the sounds of things. Lied, manipulated but conversely, with me, he was very honest.”

   He stopped himself there, from calling Spectre a kindred spirit and hence the honesty in their duel together and he was glad because Takeru’s face twisted. He turned scared and underneath that, he turned angry.

   “What the fuck. I hope I never meet him.” Takeru snarled.

   Yusaku didn’t have anything to say to that. He was quiet but oddly cut. He didn’t know why but he felt protective of Spectre. He shouldn't have been. He understood that visceral gut disgust well but he was still one of them and that had to count for something. Even if he was nothing like Jin or Takeru or himself, he was still another victim of the Incident and that was enough to stir Yusaku’s defensive nature.

   But Takeru was free to feel however he wanted about Spectre based on the information about him that Yusaku had provided. It wasn’t enough for a full picture. Yusaku would know.

   In between now and having stopped the destruction of the Tower of Hanoi, Yusaku might have gone digging in rabbit holes. How could he not? They were a tiny cohort of six yet they didn't know each other. Besides, Spectre had given him enough to try and do some looking after all. Assuming he was telling the truth and based on what Yusaku had found, he was willing to give Spectre the benefit of the doubt that he was despite the unsavoury nature he displayed. 

   With enough searching, Yusaku had found a ten year old obituary for an orphaned six year old boy in the area who had gone missing for a stint before he was ultimately declared deceased. But it was the photo which drove the nail into the coffin for Yusaku. The resemblance between the Spectre he met in the Link VRAINS and the grainy photo of this boy was striking. No wonder Spectre felt no need to hide his identity under a mask or an avatar like his comrades, he didn’t need to when his identity was already cremated for him.

   So with this article found, Yusaku decided it would be handy to keep in a shortcut and even made a copy of it for himself should the website go down. Clearly that was a good decision now that he could bring Spectre up with someone but that someone didn’t seem to get it.

   Though what that “it” was, Yusaku wasn’t sure yet. Kindred spirits. For that guy? The thought of it nauseated Yusaku. Spectre was a freak. He was a creep. It wasn’t just some slip of the tongue that Yusaku had called him insane at the first prompt. But he couldn’t deny: when he pored over his memories of that fight, there was some kind of connection between them. Warped and distorted as it was.

   Yusaku’s internal monologue on the subject that was the anomaly of Spectre ended when Ai and Flame returned from the Link VRAINS. They popped up and out of the computer with no news of the other Ignis and their whereabouts. Whatever was stirring on the horizon, with the kidnapping of Jin, was going to have to arrive at its own time as information was thin.

   Brick by brick, thread by thread, they did learn more and more about what machinations were on-going and at odds with one another. Though what stuck out in Yusaku’s mind was Earth. 

   Earth was a good fellow, Yusaku thought. He had his heart in the right place, not all of the Ignis had that, after all.

   As such, it hurt to think about what had happened to him. He didn’t deserve any of that. He also confused Yusaku in that he was uncertain how he ended up inside of Bohman. Maybe it was a result of the Neuron Network, maybe there was an unknown weakness in the SOL Tech’s security. It didn’t really matter because the outcome was the same. It's not like Yusaku could go back in time and save him from that.

   Earth had been dissected - and desecrated - by humankind. A fate which would have sealed any possible affection for humans though having Spectre as an Origin likely wouldn’t have helped either. His will only bent one way over the other due to his protective nature becoming inflamed by injustice unto Aqua.

   Still, the Earth-Spectre connection played on his mind. He had seen it as soon as he saw it. The way Earth turned a fallen log into his glorified podium confirmed it in an instant in Yusaku’s mind. Then seeing Earth’s duel, it was akin to a portal into a more beautiful world where duelling could be fun. For that, Yusaku had to pay his dues to Earth but it did make him ponder what if…

   Would Earth’s sense of justice turned the other way like a weather vane had he met Spectre? Or would that have happened to Spectre. Would he have jumped ship if it meant that his Ignis could have lived a little longer, a little more peacefully. It was hard to say.

   Especially since the snarl in Spectre’s voice stuck in his head. During his duel with Lightning, he mentioned Earth exactly once. His allegiances were clear, firmly in the grasp of the Knights of Hanoi, yet there was still that vulnerability, that gap in his armour so easily overlooked. It seemed that Ai hadn’t heard - or elected to hear - what Spectre had to say about Earth.

   Yusaku couldn’t fault him for that, of course. For a while, Yusaku had disdain for Spectre. Hatred. Even jealousy. Part of it stemmed from the poor impression that Spectre left of him, of course, but another part of it was…

   Ten whole years.

   Yusaku had searched for Ryoken for ten whole years. Spectre just happened to be at the right place at the right time - though describing it as such for Yusaku disgusted him. That place, those white rooms of torture, were very much not the right place and not the right time for him. So, he felt as though he were a shackle for Ryoken. A reason he couldn’t move forward, into the light, into a more normal life.

   Eventually, however, it dawned on Yusaku that what right did he have to tear Spectre out of the picture? 

   All because he wanted to monopolise Ryoken, that was selfish of him. He had built up such a fairy tale over the years, of what Ryoken’s circumstances looked like to him and that discoloured his perception of what was already in front of him as possibility. He saw now that that belittled his other connections. All of them, even the ones that he had tried to keep at arm’s length at first, like with Kusanagi.

   It had even been rude of him to push Kusanagi away. Kusanagi was his first, real ally. In the flesh and online. To think of how he treated Shoichi, Yusaku wasn’t proud of that and so, he saw a parallel in discounting Spectre’s loyalty to Ryoken. He must have some good qualities if Ryoken was going to keep him around.

   That’s why he started digging in Spectre’s past in the first place. He wanted to see at least a little bit of what Ryoken saw in him. Maybe that would bring him closer to Ryoken, too, if he could figure out some way towards peace that placated every side. The Knights, the Ignis, his own.

   First chance he got, Yusaku vowed that he would try to make more moves towards mediation. Towards getting to know the real Spectre. Not just the one that he had met in the duel in the shadow of the Tower of Hanoi but in other ways. Like the possibility of if the Ignis could come back.

   Ai had twice after all. Maybe he could pull off the hat trick and bring them all back but it didn’t seem like he had much left in his engine.

   Ai’s depression was getting worrisome. Understandable, though. He had lost his family, his fellow Ignis. Yusaku couldn’t begin to fathom what that despair must be like as the Incident had burned away his memories in his mind so if he had anything like that, he didn’t remember. The best he could do was be sympathetic and let Ai mourn in the way that he saw fit which was, just like his Origin in this manner, isolation. So, Yusaku gave him space even though there was a whisper at the back of his mind telling him that was a bad idea.

   In the meantime, Yusaku scraped by on what he could. He supported Takeru through his grief, too, regarding Flame, even Aoi with Aqua. Though in the back of his mind, he thought of Spectre, too. Jin and Windy’s Origin were more nebulous due to them possibly being better off without their Ignis but Yusaku wasn’t certain he wanted to subscribe to that. The idea of Lightning and Windy being fully beyond redemption wounded him but until their Origins were in a better state of mind, Yusaku figured he better not touch those ideas. It was too soon. Now was a time of licking wounds.

   That was a lot to put on his own plate, though, but Yusaku was a glutton for punishment in rain or shine. Especially when he finally got that opportunity to touch base with the Knights of Hanoi again in the flesh.

   It was the middle of the afternoon - all azure skies and fluffy white clouds - when his favourite customer came to visit them at Cafe Nagi.

   Ryoken came down the bend. Alone. Like usual. But Yusaku watched with eyes which burned with inquisitiveness. The lunch rush had been about twenty minutes ago and he knew Ryoken’s order like the back of his hand - surprising him yet, not at all. It miffed him just enough to change something up, he would have tomato sauce on his fries this time, too, not plain. He had to at least feel like he had an edge of unpredictability.

   Once his food was cooked, it was all business underneath the greasy smell of it.

   “Where’s Spectre?” Yusaku asked. “Is he okay?”

   Ryoken was taken aback by Yusaku’s question as he reached up to accept his bag of fast food. 

   “He only eats rabbit food.” Ryoken said. “But, he’s doing fine. Why do you ask?” His brow furrowed as his acceptance of his food turned into a rude and standoffish snatch.

   “Just curious.” Yusaku shrugged. He didn’t seem offended by Ryoken’s gesture, though.

   “You are never “just” curious, Playmaker. You and I both know that. What’s the angle?” Ryoken asked.

   Yusaku pouted. “I really am just curious.” he insisted. “He’s another victim of the Incident, he suffered quite the loss to Lightning and, well, with Earth. I can’t help but wonder.”

   Ryoken sighed and pointed to his head. His tattoo glinted in the sunshine. It always had an unusual sheen to it, like it was less ink and more silicon. “He doesn’t think like us normal people.” Ryoken said. “So don’t worry about him. He’s resilient, he bounces back and with a smile.”

   “Yeah…” Yusaku chewed on his reply. His stomach turned.

   Ryoken’s demeanour softened. “I appreciate that you are concerned.”

   Yusaku’s eyes widened.

   “Aside from myself and the Lieutenants, it is fair to say no one else in this world cares about him.” Ryoken professed. “So, thank you. I’m not surprised though, I figured you would eventually realise that you and him are a lot alike.”

   “What, no?” Yusaku argued. “I’m nothing at all like him.”

   “I know you are capable of better lies, Yusaku.” Ryoken chided him, even wagging a finger at him. “Well, I’m sure with your other talents, you can track down information on him from before his “happy times” - unless you already have and have hit the inevitable brick wall.”

   “Well judged.” Yusaku praised him. 

   Ryoken gathered up his food under his arm and made it obvious in his body language, he wanted to go. His hot dog and fries were getting cold. Yusaku felt a lump in his throat.

   “I’d like to see him more often, if possible.” Yusaku said. “I want to test your judgement of character in person.”

   “You can make it sound less stilted, you know.” Ryoken said. “We can be friends. We can be…”

   More.

   His voice trailed off.

   They both knew how deep Yusaku’s feelings ran for Ryoken - and he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Spectre, too, of course. Yusaku still had to scrub his hands anytime Spectre’s voice rattled off his line about Ryoken being his “one true master” but whether or not it was disgust, jealousy, or arousal remained to be seen. Hence Ryoken’s courteous silence. His way of demonstrating that his head was caught between two blades of swords, that of Decode Talker and that of Sunvine Thrasher.

   See? More alike than they would admit.

   “Well,” Ryoken said, licking his lips and already tasting salt, “he already likes you quite a bit. I’m sure if he knew you were asking about him, he would be flattered. If not, I’ll drag him by the ear to satisfy you.”

   “Thank you.” Yusaku replied.

   Though, he had a suspicion that he was not going to know when. He was fine with that, however. He would wait for whenever the ghost was ready to haunt him. He wasn’t superstitious like Takeru but there were probably rules about that. 

   Yusaku nodded his head and farewelled Ryoken. Ryoken waved him off. 

   And that was that. At least for a little while.

   That little wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Yusaku saw glimpses of Spectre here and there as disastrous things continued to happen around him. Ai put Spectre through the wringer but alongside his comrades, not his assignment to accompany Ghost Girl and Blood Shepherd. His abandonment of his post stuck out in Yusaku’s mind as oddly honourable for someone as lily-livered as Spectre.

   It was a hell of a lot more courageous than what Yusaku would pull in the aftermath of his duel with Ai, anyway.

   Three. Whole. Months. That’s how long he ran away to be all by himself in his own maddening grief. He couldn’t go on without the partner that he had in Ai. He couldn’t let go. He was running on fumes and he came out worse for wear but it was worth it in the end. Every minute, hour, and day that he dedicated to hunting down proof that the internet was forever, it was absolutely worth it in the end and as a result…

   A new gale blew.

   One which was felt by everyone connected to him, near or far. Whether it was Brave Max or Soulburner, Aoi and Kusanagi, or even Revolver and Spectre, it seemed. His life had touched others. Even though he never wound up feeling like a hero, like someone was worth the time of day inside or outside the Link VRAINS despite how he protected it time and time again.

   Still, he was starting to look into that zephyr and see what others saw in him. He was accepted back into his old life with open arms but it wasn’t just his old life. It was a new start. Some of it was bad as he had to restart his grade at high school and he had to find new accommodation but everything else was a new opportunity to start anew. To grasp his connections and never let go this time.

   Shortly after this miraculous return, it didn’t take long before his path crossed with the people he had wanted to see most in the flesh. It was all too familiar of a scene. He was flipping frankfurters on a grill, thinking about algebra homework and listening to Kusanagi sing along to the radio after his breath when he looked up and saw a certain pair of people.

   Yusaku’s heart genuinely seized when he saw two figures walk out of the sunset, from down the hill, and into the shade so they came into view. Ryoken… and Spectre. Just like he asked. He ripped his apron off and Kusanagi let him have the early mark. It had been slow this afternoon and it was a random Wednesday in the middle of the month, it was highly unlikely that there was going to be a dinner rush.

   Yusaku linked up with them both and Ryoken laughed at his puppyish demeanour. Spectre rolled his eyes but all three of them found a place down along the fencing over the cliffside where they could see the ocean. The sun was slowly being eaten up by it, it was hard to see but easier than facing each other.

   After all, they really ought to be at odds with one another rather than co-existing factions teamed-up towards mutual goals. Yusaku was still Playmaker, underneath his skin and in his head, and they were still the leader and second-in-command of the Knights of Hanoi respectively. That made them enemies but Yusaku had olive branches on his mind.

   “You are an elusive man, Spectre.” Yusaku commented to break the ice.

   “Am I now?” Spectre airily replied. “The same could be said about you.”

   Ryoken snickered. True on both counts, as far as he was concerned but he knew they would both bow to him if refereed but until that was necessary, he tried to keep his opinions to himself. He rested himself against the fence, laced his hands over it and he made some effort to hide the insignia on his right hand.

   “So. Here we are.” Yusaku continued.

   “Three assholes in a public place.” Ryoken piped up.

   Spectre glared at Ryoken for that one but chose to ignore it, “I’m a very busy person, Yusaku, I imagine there’s something you want to discuss.” He turned around to face away from the sunset and into the park. Figures.

   “I guess there is something.” Yusaku supposed. “As I’m sure you are both aware, I’m back and as is Ai.”

   “Yes, we are well aware.” Ryoken said.

   “That means I have a long list of five other Ignis I would like to search for and bring back. Is that okay?” Yusaku said.

   “I imagine you would go ahead with this plan of yours regardless of if you had our blessing or not.” Ryoken sighed harshly.

   “True.” Yusaku replied.

   He checked on Spectre out of the corner of his eye. He looked… afraid. Afraid to be hopeful, that is. His expression was caught off-guard, in between worlds, duties, emotions. Vulnerable, actually. That probably encapsulated everything and how he was getting so caught on his words, he couldn’t speak. Instead, he merely parted his lips and met Yusaku’s eyes in the periphery.

   “I would like to start with Earth. Or maybe Aqua. I think it’s a travesty that they never got to meet their Origins face-to-face.” Yusaku said and gently added, “I think Earth is a lot like you, you know.”

   “I see.” Spectre said.

   “Don’t be guarded. You can say thank you, I don’t mind.” Ryoken corrected him. “We, the Knights of Hanoi, are turning over a new leaf, you, of all people, should know that best.”

   “Ah. Okay.” Spectre said, a little surprised, “thank you, Yusaku. Thank you, too, Ryoken-sama.”

   Ryoken reached out and he touched Spectre’s shoulder. He gave it a rub, the feeling of his hand sinking into the fabric of Spectre’s blazer grounded him. He smiled a small smile. 

   Yusaku, meanwhile, began to think aloud, “You saw Earth’s duel against Onizuka, correct? Then you saw his playstyle, how it centres on protecting his G-Golem Crystal Heart, an avatar of the one most precious to him. It reminds me of yours but even his other habits. He saw personhood in a fallen log, for example.”

   “Mm,” Spectre agreed heavily, “when he passed away, it felt as though I had a hole in my heart. I don’t think bringing him back would necessarily mend it but it couldn’t hurt.”

   “Agreed.” Yusaku said. “Having Ai back doesn’t fix everything for me but having him back has made me more courageous. When I lost him, I lost everything again. I isolated, I ran away, I became like a child again but with him back, it inspired me to reach out. Including you.”

   “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were trying to seduce me right now.” Spectre teased.

   Ryoken grunted and made a half-hearted gesture with his hand.

   Spectre turned his head and gave him a funny look.

   “Yusaku has good memory. He’s not about to forget that it’s obvious to him how we both feel about each other.” Ryoken pointed out. “And don’t you feel the same way?”

   Spectre sputtered, getting nowhere fast but it’s not like this was being sprung on him out of the blue. He had proudly proclaimed, after all, to have watched Revolver and Playmaker’s final duel which resulted in the neutralisation of the Tower of Hanoi over a hundred times. 

   “You were the first member of the Incident’s child cohort that I met. You made quite the impact on me and I learned from it. You made me think about things I didn’t think were possible.” Yusaku said. “Ryoken is my three reasons why, my reason for going and to search for the truth. He means a lot to me and he means a lot to you. We have that in common at the very least.”

   “Heh.” Spectre laughed through gritted teeth. “I must admit. Though I thought you were a weirdo at first-”

   Yusaku guffawed. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

   “But you are a charming weirdo.” Spectre finished his sentence. He sounded like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

   Yusaku huffed and Ryoken made an amused noise. Ryoken, for one, could get used to it. Even if his responsibility just doubled. There were bound to be teething issues, they were still getting to know one another in this kind of way. 

   So, Yusaku settled and let his hackles lower. He bit his tongue as he contended with the realisation that that was just Spectre’s humour and way of riling him up for entertainment. He was probably going to have to get used to that if he was going to make this work.

   Admittedly, he didn’t know what “it” was. Look at them, they weren’t exactly touchy-feely or overly grandiose with explaining and sharing elaborate emotions. He liked how Ryoken put it. They really were three assholes in a public place but it was more than just that. It was connection. It was… to love people. Thus, it settled in his mind, in Ryoken’s hands, and even in Spectre's heart.

[helpmeimblorboing]

Sneak Peek of a chapter from my story that probably won't make it's way into the final draft of either version - Crimson or Crimson Redux (feat : Tumblr's shitty formatting)

The next day, Riptide found himself shuffling uneasily inside a local bus, shooting wary glances at anyone wearing anything even slightly resembling the Deathbringer’s threefold cross... or, for that matter, anything that seemed just a bit too white to be wearing on a public bus, no matter how clean the interior was

A long pause, and then he pulled out his phone, scrolling down to the last text Serenity had sent him, about ten minutes ago, in that awkward, clipped way of someone clearly uncomfortable with texting, who was making a valiant attempt at trying anyways

Serenity (6:46 PM): Got us a booth 🎉

Serenity (6:47 PM): Restaurant’s p cool. You should see it

Right. The restaurant they were going to. Because they were going there. On a date. Riptide sucked in a sharp breath through pursed lips at the thought, feeling his heart hammer in his chest, as his fingers pulled up the keyboard, tapping out a rapid response

Riptide (6:57 PM): I still don’t know why we have to go at different times -_-

Riptide (6:57 PM): I mean, we live in the same hotel suite...

Serenity (6:58 PM): It’s about the vibes, Riptide

Riptide bit back a faint huff of laughter at that, looking at it for a second, imagining the way the skin at the corner of his lips folded when he smiled, the sparkle that glinted in the depths of his eyes when he laughed, like a new winter’s frost

Riptide (6:59 PM): Vibes ?

Serenity (7:00 PM): If we’re doing this, we’re doing this properly

Riptide bit back a smile, chewing slightly at the inside of his cheek as he tries to think up a response. Before he can, however, a new message pings into the chat

Serenity (7:01 PM): ❤️

Even if he’s getting used to this, to the way Serenity peppers his messages with heart emojis , it still makes his heart pound. Makes his belly twist. Especially the red one. It felt like an... official declaration, or something – you are my boyfriend. I love you

And that ? That made his breath speed up

Riptide (7:03 PM): ❤️

After a few long seconds of silence, Serenity messages him his location in the restaurant – a Cheesecake Factory, apparently one of the very few brands of the old, pre-parahuman world, to remain extant without collapsing in on itself or expanding outwards into a global empire – and asks him his drink choice so he can go ahead and order it for him

“Sorry if I eat all the bread before you get here”, Riptide receives as the bus rattles to a halt in front of the glass-and-steel facade of a boutique that stood within walking distance of the Cheesecake Factory, both of them set a ways away from the majority of the city, overlooking it’s jagged skyscrapers and glinting glass-and-steel monoliths

He smiles and sends him a middle finger, before pocketing the phone

The restaurant, Riptide can’t help but notice when he finally gets there, is packed to the gills, people bustling about basically every single table, packed so close together that it’s difficult for him to maneuver past them. He does manage, somehow, but it’s still difficult

It’s fancy too, fancier than any restaurant Riptide’s ever been too – mostly because he never really went to restaurants. His mother wasn’t the “eating out” type. He’s got on something he threw together in about twenty minutes that afternoon, and even though everyone else is dressed in tourist shit, red-faced and sweaty from a day of sightseeing, he feels weirdly underdressed

It was called the Cheesecake Factory, for God’s sake. It’s interior should look like a local McDonalds, not the lobby of the Ritz, all dim and marble-y and orange

It takes him a moment to locate Serenity, seated in a two-person booth in one dark corner of the restaurant, idly poking at the basket of bread kept in the middle of his table, occasionally looking over to give the tall glass of something red beside it long, meandering looks. The shadows splayed about him were darker than usual – seems like he wasn’t the only one nervous about this date

He looks great, good enough that Riptide’s heart catches on his throat for a moment, dressed in dark wash jeans that clung sinfully to the lithe length of his legs, black dress shoes that looked ridiculously out of place on his feet, and a khaki green T-shirt that stretched over his chest tightly, leaving very little to the imagination. Black bands of cloth snaked their way up the curving lengths of his exposed arms, effectively hiding his wrists from view. Riptide just watches him for a few seconds, chewing at his bottom lip as he sees him reach forward to take a sip of the tall red glass, before setting it down and peering at it like it was a particularly enthralling puzzle

At last, he blows out a breath, shakes and flexes his hands to steel himself, and slowly makes his way over to the table

When he’s two booths away, Serenity looks up from the tall glass of red he’s examining intently, and spots him, his lips curling into a smile so beautiful that Riptide forgets how to breathe for a moment

“Hey”, he greets, standing up – and shreds of the shadows he had unconsciously summoned around him seemed to cling to his torso in thin, translucent flakes of sooty ash as he did, “You made it”

Riptide smiles back, leaning forward to press a kiss to the other man’s forehead, right in the furrow between his eyebrows, Serenity’s skin warm as a furnace under his lips, before finally breaking away and murmuring, “Course I did”

A long pause, and then Serenity reaches forward with one hand to pull Riptide into a quick hug, his face pressed into the smooth fabric of his T-shirt. The smell of men’s bodywash and some kind of flowery detergent fills Riptide’s nose, and there are strong arms wrapped around his torso, and he was fairly certain his heart was beating hard enough that everyone in the restaurant could hear it

He blows out a breath through his nose as Serenity finally releases him

“You smell good”, he says, sounding a twinge nervous, shuffling his feet idly. He looks up, and the orange lights of the Factory catch his face at just the right angle, glinting about his features like the halo of a saint, and Riptide just wants to grab his face and kiss the life out of him

But he doesn’t, much to his own dismay

He intead just raises his eyebrows at the other man in a meaningful gesture. Tilts his head slightly in a wordless acknowledgement, before shuffling awkwardly over to his seat to sit down

But just before he can, Serenity leans in and gives him a quick press of a kiss that’s probably meant for his lips but instead ends up landing on the space right under his nose. A flash of fire sears its way through the nerves of his face, and he feels the tops of his cheeks brighten with a scarlet blush, even as Serenity snickers his way out of the kiss, whatever mouthwash he had used that morning hitting Riptide in the face with the smell of spearmint gum

A moment later, they’re seated, both blushing like a couple of kids on a first date – which, Riptide supposed, they were – and Riptide reaches forward to poke at the bread basket, only to find it half-empty

He levels a look at Serenity, lifting his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching into a crooked grin, “Really ?”

Serenity simply shrugged, lips curving into a ghost of a smile, sweet enough to give Riptide calories, “I did warn ya”

Another pause, and then Serenity awkwardly clears his throat into the silence, before waving at the glass of tall and red that had been set on his table, drops of condensation peppering the surface with a hazy translucence, “Is raspberry lemonade made of raspberry or lemon ?”

Riptide blinked. That was... a terrible ice-breaker, so much so that he couldn’t keep the faint huff of laughter that welled up at the base of his heart off his lips. Reaching forward, he picks up a piece of bread – something fancy, white and hard-shelled- idly passing it from hand to hand, even as he looks up to shoot Serenity a look that was no doubt unbearably fond, “Both, I think”

Serenity leans back, turning to give the glass of raspberry lemonade a wondering look, peering into its redness like it held the secrets of the universe, his lips parted in an “O” of surprise. The light reflecting off of his face ignites it’s sharp lines into shades so striking that Riptide was half-certain he was going insane

After a moment, Serenity seems to catch onto the fact that Riptide was staring, shooting him a smirk that sent a rush of fire blazing an ashy trail down the skin of his torso. Adrenaline rips through him at the sight, and his lips are moving before he can even comprehend it fully

“Can I kiss you ?”, his voice is breathless. Fragile and reverent, like a prayer in a temple

“You can do anything you want to me”, Serenity’s response is more neutral, even as he rises from his seat in one fluid motion, walking over to Riptide and dipping down. It’s a good thing he’s already seated, because he’s fairly certain his legs were too weak to support his body weight at the moment

Riptide is a bit too eager and lifts his face forward too much. Their foreheads knock together and he lets out a hiss at the sting. They readjust and their lips finally meet. Serenity giggles against his mouth and Riptide lets the sound fill up the hollow of his chest. Wants to hold it there, like a shrine houses the divine, and keep it safe forever.

He wonders vaguely if they should be doing this somewhere more private, feels the searing pulse of hundreds of eyes on them both, but that only serves to send more adrenalin through his veins – Serenity isn’t ashamed of me. Serenity’s willing to do this in front of an audience of this size. The thought is gone completely when Serenity’s lips opens up under this, replaced with a searing buzz at the meeting of hot tongues. It sets something in his stomach alight.

Serenity lifts a knee between Riptide’s thighs to press their bodies closer. The kiss deepens and Riptide feels nothing in the world except all the points their two bodies are connected. Heat and desire rip through his flushed skin like a forest fire.

And then it’s over, and Serenity gently, slowly, breaks away, shooting Riptide a phantom half-grin, before turning to stalk back over to his own seat, lounging carelessly in it, a smug grin pulling at his lips as he glances up at Riptide’s expression, dizzy from the ecstasy he’s just now beginning to come down off

“So”, he begins in a low drawl, and Riptide notices his lips, flushed-red and swollen with the remnants of their kiss, “what do you want to order ?”

Riptide pauses his buzzing, leachy thoughts. Stares at him. His lips part, “Oh my god, you asshole”

“What ?”, Serenity’s cheeks puff out in an indignant pout, and Riptide wants to reach across the table, grab him by the tantalizingly low V-neck of his shirt and kiss him until he’s a moaning mess, but he doesn’t – because enough people were levelling scandalized looks at them already without pouring twenty more cans of gasoline on the fire, “You liked it, didn’t you ?”

“That doesn’t – you can’t...”, Riptide sputters for a moment, cheeks lava-red, and lava-hot, “Fuck you”

“If you insist”, he shoots him a suggestive grin across the table and Riptide’s face was about to melt clean off, “Though I suspect you’d rather I don’t do it here, huh ?”

He reaches forward to playfully smack Serenity across the shoulder, only to falter and feel his breath catch painfully in his throat as the other man easily catches it, lacing their fingers together, something light and happy bursting across his face at the touch.

His stomach twists, that romance-twist that flushes his skin and makes him sweat, and as he looks down at their hands, he goes a little breathless, too, because he can’t believe that he’s holding a man’s hand in public.

He can’t believe that he’s holding his boyfriend’s hand in public.

He can’t believe that he has a boyfriend.

And from the stunned, breathy gasp that slips through Serenity’s lips, neither can he. A long pause, and then the other man’s thump rubs a small circle over the skin that stretched between his thumb and pointer, snapping him out of his thoughts

“Whatcha thinking about ?”, Serenity hummed, sounding a little breathless, a little excited. Riptide could relate

Riptide pauses. Thinks about saying “You”. Decides it’s too sappy to say in public. Remembers that they had made out in public not five seconds ago. Decides that hiding your emotions is for chumps, “You”

Serenity’s breath catches in his throat in a faint “hic” of noise, and he looks up with eyes so full of adorable surprise that Riptide desperately wants to kiss him again. A long second, and then the corners of his eyes go soft, so soft, so kind, “Is that... Is that good ?”

Riptide smiles, this stupidly gentle thing, and pulls the other man’s hand a little closer, causing him to lean forward, before he tilts down and pecks a kiss to Serenity’s warm, bony wrist--so quick, so soft, it’s almost like it never happened.

“Asshole”, he murmurs into the skin, in an almost reflex reaction to the kiss, and Serenity squeezes his hand, and Riptide chews his bottom lip and looks up at him with an expression that he thinks probably reveals all, if you know what you’re looking at

The service is slow, which isn’t surprising considering the restaurant’s so full.

The two of them play with each other’s fingers, even turning it into a thumb war once, as they talk about work and movies and music. Well, work. Mostly coded. Encrypted. Idly, Riptide wonders what the restaurant-full of people thought about their cousin Edna, who had apparently been through enough to put most veterans’ PTSD to shame

Even more idly, he wonders if they should come up with a better code name for Eagle

When the food comes – cake, because of course it is, it’s the fucking Cheesecake Factory, it was practically a capital offense to not order cake – they each give their connected hands a long mournful look

It was a single slice of Oreo Dream Extreme, which Riptide privately thought looked like a cookie drowned in frosting, but whatever, and the waitress brings two forks with it, giving them a fond look as she turns to leave. He wonders if she witnessed the kiss, too, or if they were just that obvious

Serenity looks at Riptide and plays with his fork, clearly thinking about how he’s having cake with his boyfriend, how the waitress had smiled at them like it was perfectly fine for him to have something like this. His eyes glisten slightly, and before Riptide is aware of it, he’s already reaching over the table to wipe away his tears

Serenity gives him a bashfully wide-eyed look, and it’s all Riptide can do to not stutter as he grumbles out, “Yeah, yeah, fuck off”

They eat the cake slice together, fucking around the whole time, battling forks, fighting over the Oreo on top, and debating who gets the mousse – it was Serenity for both, since Riptide was convinced he looked too thin to be in any way healthy.

“I’m just saying”, Riptide began, waving his frosting-dusted fork in a manner that could only be described as “pointed”, “you’re way too thin !! When’s the last time you ate properly ? 1995 ?”

“Oh my God”, Serenity let out a theatrical groan, stabbing disgruntedly at his share of the cake for a few seconds, before rolling his eyes and slicing off a miniscule triangle of mousse, shoving it in his mouth in one fluid motion, “There !! Happy ?”

Riptide smiles, a soft, curling thing, and he means it as he says, “Very”

They shuffle out of the Cheesecake Factory, stepping out into the cold night air. Evidently, it had started raining sometime earlier that night, a sprinkling, quick thing, for the ground is slick and shiny in the sun-yellow of the street lamps, and the earth is drenched in the sharp scent of coastal petrichor

The earth splashed below their feet as they walked, the wet, puddly stones reflecting the night sky above, peppered with the thin, pale pinpricks of the burning stars, the brilliant silver stamp of the moon, burning as a brand in the stillness of the night. Inky darkness pools in thick, viscous puddles all about them

They talk for a moment, but Serenity seems... different, somehow. Subdued, and distant, as if his mind were a thousand miles away, or years in the past. It takes only a few moments for the conversation to peter out into still silence, and Serenity barely seems to notice

So they remain in silence as they trudge down the street, broken only by the faint horns of cars on the expressway, laughter from far away. The distant noises of humanity

Nocturnal light spills down from the heavens, pouring over them both, all celestial and night-thin. It clings to the edges of Serenity’s form like the heavens themselves can’t help but worship this boy, the early-autumn-moon laying him in her silver silks and the stars kissing his hair, his long lashes.

Riptide’s breath catches in his throat and he averts his eyes. Looks back. Averts his eyes. Clenches his jaw

Serenity’s eyes are on him, and it’s almost unbearable. Riptide’s gaze skitters away, but he can still hear the gentle sawing of Serenity’s voice, as the raven-haired boy speaks, slow and shy, as if terrified of rejection – as if rejection, now, would shatter him irreversibly, “I...I wanted to show you something”

Riptide’s heart stutters in his chest at the soft plaintiveness in that melodious voice, and his eyes flick back upwards to alight on Serenity’s too-wide, too-eager ones. The other boy shapes starkly against the dark, all hard, bright edges. Starlight kisses his hair and the early-autumn moon lays him in silver. An otherworldly thing, he looks, a creature of sharped steel and sorrow. His hands are in his pockets.

They’re surrounded in street lamps, and not much else – a small outcropping in the sidewalk, jutting over the brink, thrusting out into the too-cold night air, the cityscape glimmering up at them from the bank of shadows at the base of the hill, shaded in warm contrasts, its popping colors glowing neon in the darkness. The noises of humanity are muted to almost nothingness here, rendered soft and silent ripples in the air

However, where they stand, lies only the slow, puddling smeariness of sodium vapor, and the trickling, inspid blue-silver of the stars. To his left stands Serenity, and darkness seems to puddle in great shadowy pools about his feet.

His lips part, colored a dried-rose pink in the soft light of the street lamps, yellow lamplight puddling in the sharp hollows of his face like liquid gold, “When I was young...”, he begins, in a soft, feathered voice, and Riptide’s breath catches in his throat again, “I was alone. Well, no... not..”, he drew in a rattling breath, before conceding, “...not entirely. Caz was there. Always there. But there was only so much she could do. Mostly ? I was alone. And so I... came up with this world. An endless sandy beach. Endless sun. Waves lapping at the seashore. And I escaped there... whenever”, the words clung to his throat like rotting flesh, “...everything... got too much”

A long momen, and then he chanced a glance upwards, eyes meeting Riptide’s confused gaze. His lips quirked further upwards, “Caz believed it was a... metaphorical thing. Psychological. Imaginary”, he shook his head, a slow, measured motion, “...she was wrong”

Riptide paused. Blinked, as a cool breeze wafted past their face, scented with salt and seaspray, fresh and sweet and warm, tinged with the heat of the sun. The sun, that was nowhere to be spotted in the sky. A moment, and his eyes blew wide, his lips curving into an “O” of surprise

He had heard of this before. A second trigger. When the host suffers such incredible, indescribable pain, that the universe itself seems to take pity on them, to grant them a secondary power. Riptide isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry

Serenity’s lips twisted wryly, his head dropping into an almost-miserable-looking smile, as his hands flex, before abruptly moving. His fingers rise and the street lamps bleed gold and yellow and white all over them. Shaded in their smeared glow, he looks like a burning thing

His voice is faint, but it carries, echoing through the crags and crevices of the hillside, off the concrete planes and sharp, cutting corners of the brutalist buildings that surround them. Somewhere in the distance, a phantom bell tolls, loud and resonant, “The sound of the Gion Shoja bells echo the truth that all life must end”

His fingers twist, thumbs and the very tips of his index fingers pressing together, the rest of his fingers splayed apart. The curving whorls inscribed into their soft-looking pads darken, leaking shadow down his arms in trickling threads of pale gray, fuzzy and hazy, like a build-up of dust, “The color of the sala flower reveals that to flourish is to fall”

His fingers press together, splaying out to make way for his palms. The threads of dusty gray seem to darken, somewhat, and Riptide catches a whiff of something cold and sweet in the air, ice water and strawberry rot, “The strong do not endure, a dream on the night of spring”

And finally, he pulls his hands apart, fingers of each hand stiff and rigid, pressed together like a Hamsa, the palms floating about five inches apart. His lips part, and a boundless darkness seemed to swirl inside his mouth, writhing shadows pressing against the backs of his teeth. At least, that’s what Riptide saw, before a hazy grayness seemed to envelop everything in a bank of thick, smokey fog. It obscured his vision, but still Riptide could make out the hard edges of Serenity’s figure through its hazy opaqueness. It dampened all noise, but still Riptide could hear the final line of the incantation, sharp and clear as if Serenity had spoken it directly into his ear, “The dauntless must wither, to become dust in the wind”

When the hazy grayness finally recedes, the first thing Riptide notices is the brightness that lay against Serenity’s skin – not the smeary glare of the street lamps, but something warmer, softer. Daylight, that puddled lazily against his form, ran down his sharp edges in trails of honey gold, highlighting him and flowing about his form like the halo of a saint

Serenity looks softer, in this cloudy lighting. It sands his sharp edges and dusts his colors into something more pastel. The black of his hair shades gray, and the striking edges of his features become less stark. Even the worried line of his frown looks soft like this. His lips are dried-rose pink.

The second thing he notices is the fact that there was sand beneath his feet, shifting as he shifted in place, as the hazy grayness of Serenity’s powers withdrew to linger at the corners of his vision in barely-visible splotches of feathered blurriness

As his eyes dropped, he noticed the stretch of sand that lay beneath his feet, shining like gold in the brilliant sun, curving off into the distance – a never-ending beach – dotted with palm trees that were almost certainly out-of-place here. To his right stood the lush greenery of an endless forest, colors rich and green, almost abnormally so

His powers told him that there was no water here, but to his left, an endless ocean lapped at the curving edge of the beach, surface held as smooth and polished as a mirror, gleaming sapphire in the golden sun, not even a ripple spreading across its surface. In fact, it looked like it was barely moving at all

But there was something off. The blue of the water was too bright, the yellow of the sand too pale, the green of the forest too smeared-together. And, as his eyes rise to where Serenity was pointedly looking away from him, a faint dusting of pink peppering the high tops of his cheeks, the sun was too smooth, less a burning star, and more a ball of molten gold hanging in the sky

The sun, that hung high in the sky, and yet poured down none of its burning fire. The sun, that at this time of the day should be coloring the sky a burning blue-raspberry, but instead was embedded into a sky as fleshy and pink as a sunrise

The whole thing looked like a child’s approximation of a beach. The whole thing looked like something a child, hurt and alone, would come up with as an escape from all his pain

This wasn’t a real beach, and this wasn’t a real world. This was something... inner. Almost like a....

His lips part, but Serenity beats him to the chase, “Make a Jujutsu Kaisen reference and I will kick you out”, he warns, and his voice is candy-soft and sweet. Riptide feels his heart warm at its sound

“Alright, alright”, he huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound echoing oddly in the not-real beach air, before shuffling slightly, feeling the imaginary sand shift around his feet, “Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t use...”, he gestures vaguely, “...this... as a Domain Expansion more often”

“Can’t”, Serenity muttered, refusing to meet Riptide’s eyes, his blush deepening into streaks of crimson, lying dark and gleaming against his pale skin, “Only people I.... t-trust”, his voice caught on that word, and Riptide felt his heart stutter slightly, “...can be brought in here”

Riptide stared wordlessly for a moment, his chest feeling tight and painful, before a single, choked-off sound slipped past his lips, “Oh”

“Yeah”, Serenity scratched sheepishly at the back of his head, and the air seemed to smear around his arm as he moved it, space distorting into blurry ripples of smeared graininess, like he were moving his arm through water, the colors of the backdrop running together like drips and trails of wet paint on a painting, greens melding with yellows with blues.

A moment later, the colors seemed to straighten out, the bleed petering out into nothing, ripples smoothing out like wrinkles in cloth, until finally, the undisturbed vista of the beach stared back at him once more

“I’ve”, his eyes flicker over to the other man, and Riptide can’t help but suck in a sharp breath at the sheer beauty of them. Here, in his own little world, the molten gold of his illusory sun glinted off the ice-blue of his irises, making them gleam, sharp and cold and brilliant, like the edge of shattered glass, like all the ocean, all at once, like the galaxy, but blue. His eyes are multilayered, made of reflections and refractions, fragmented shades of blue. Honed. Intense. Unlike every other part of him, his eyes are not softened in the cloudy lighting, they remain severe as ever, bright and sharp as the edge of shattered glass.

Because they reflected the truth of him – all that hurt and cold and pain he kept pressed down and hidden in his heart, like trying to hold back the flood. Because Serenity had always considered himself Atlas, trying to hold up the sky. But the sky was not a holdable thing

His lips part, dried-rose curves lifting into a faint ‘O’, delicate and fragile, “I’ve never brought anyone... here, before. Never been able to bring anyone here, before.Never... trusted anyone enough for it”. His eyes are fixed on Riptide, as if he still wasn’t entirely able to reconcile this – the sight of someone else, standing in the gates of his soul, submerged in the depths of his heart

Serenity looked away for a moment, staring out, across the boundless blue of his ocean, red peppering the high arches of his cheekbones, before finally turning back to him, “Yeah”, he said, after a long moment, “I...I... trust you. Riptide, I... I....”, his voice falters, before he seems to steel himself, “...I love you”

Something wet slicked against Riptide’s skin, and the ice-water strawberry-rot scent of the air took on a freezing quality. The cool touch of the water seems to snap Serenity out of his trance-like state, and one of his hand lifted to his face, coming away glistening wet, “...ah. It’s raining again”

Riptide blinked, trying his best to ignore the catch of his heart in the hollow his chest, the way it stuttered against the bars of his ribcage, beating out a staccato pulse of desire and love and longing, grateful for the distraction, “Rain ?”

“This beach is an illusory realm”, Serenity said, his voice soft and faint, more water slicking soundlessly against his skin, his khaki-green T-shirt streaked with dark streaks of wet, “How permeable the barriers to it are depends almost entirely on what I want”

“And you... didn’t block out the rainfall ?”

“No”, he shook his head, a stuttery, faint motion, looking up to meet Riptide’s eyes, his voice catching for a moment, before continuing, “I... it seemed rather pointless. We’re only becase... well, because I wanted to... show you. My soul. My self. My heart. Because you... um... you showed me yours. Yesterday”

Riptide simply stares for a moment. His heart feels so full that he’s sure he’s seconds from drowning in it. The water trickling against his skin is cool and icy, a stark contrast to endless rose-pink of the perpetual sunset sky, the molten golden sphere of the sun

Serenity looks pointedly away, “Sorry, that’s... I guess that’s pretty cheesy, huh ? Igno-“

And then Riptide was moving forward, before Serenity could react, and his lips were dipping down to press against Serenity’s, soft and gentle, and Serenity tasted so good against his tongue, sweet like strawberry lip-balm, and the rich bite of the chocolate cake they had just had, and the other man’s lips were parting under his, and –

And there were flowers blooming at his feet, brushing against his ankles, impossibly pushing their green stems and brilliant petals through the golden sands, the rubied bleed of red rose, the golden gleam of ambrosia, the deep purple of aster, and a hundred feathered white silhouettes of balsam.

He draws back, breaking the kiss apart, much to his own dismay, “I love you too”, his heart catches in his throat. For a moment, Serenity looks stunned

All around them, the golden sands of the beach are dusted a faint rose-quartz in the perpetual sunset. Pink like dried rose. Pink like valentine’s hearts. Pink like the blush suffusing Serenity’s pale skin

And before Riptide could part his lips, could ask if Serenity was okay with that, his lips are on his, sweet and sharp and cold, “I love you like that too”, he says into the corner of Riptide’s lips, and he feels like crying, “I love you too”

And overhead, the fleshy pink of the sky splits apart, edges hazy and gray as it slowly separates into a receding dome to reveal the stormy sky beyond, rendered in patchy blacks and grays. The cold scent of rain grew stronger, but Riptide hardly cared. All that existed in the world was the softness of Serenity’s lips on his, his earthen scent, his soft skin. All that mattered was him

Overhead, a shower of glittering water dripped down onto them, slicking against their skin, though the sand at their feet remained as dry as ever, a curtain of glistening wetness, rendered in translucent rainbows from the molten gold sunlight passing  through its thin surface

And in the distance, a thundercrack sounds, and white flashes of lightning fork through the black patchy clouds, spearing the final traces of the illusory beach, burning it up, as the sand beneath Riptide’s feet fades into wet, puddly stone, and suddenly they’re standing by the corner of the street once again, and Serenity’s lips are on Riptide’s and his back is pressing into the railing keeping them from falling of the cliff, the metal sharp and cold through the thin, wet fabric of his T-shirt

The rain building in the clouds begins to spill over. It’s no longer just a sprinkle. All around them, the asphalt tap-tap-taps with droplets. The sky isn’t a holdable thing, it’s liquid, it’s storms and rain. And if Serenity kept trying to hold him up, he would surely drown

But that was fine. His eyes closed, and he pressed hard into the kiss, tasting the iced strawberry taste of Serenity’s tongue against his, cool and sharp, sweet as chocolate. That was fine. His fist clenched, and the raindrops hammering against them froze in mid-air, hanging like crystal beads inches from their skin

That was fine, because Riptide was there, would always be there, to breathe air into his lungs, to protect him, like he protected so many

Axiomatic truths were things that were so sure, so true, so known, that they were the philosophical baseline. They were the things you could be sure of, when you were sure of nothing else. When the solid truths of your world �� parents are meant to protect their kids, children are meant to be loved – start to fall away, you could always rely on them

Here are some of them, some of the truths that Riptide relies on. The sun will always rise. The tide will always fall. And Riptide will always love Serenity

[writingwitchs]

Amy Santiago x Jake Peralta

Detective Amy Santiago sat at her desk, surrounded by the muted hum of the precinct. As the city's heartbeat echoed through the police station, she found herself drawn to the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her fingers on the keyboard. The vintage typewriter, a peculiar addition to her workspace, stood as a relic from a bygone era.

Her colleagues often teased her about the old contraption, but Amy cherished it. It was a gift from Jake Peralta, her husband, who understood her love for all things classic and timeless. The typewriter became Amy's sanctuary, a place where she could escape the constraints of modern technology and delve into the art of storytelling.

One rainy afternoon, when the precinct's energy seemed to match the dreary weather outside, Amy felt a surge of inspiration. The pitter-patter of raindrops against the window became the backdrop for her creativity. With a determined gleam in her eye, she fed a sheet of paper into the typewriter and began to compose a story.

The clacking of the keys transported Amy into a fictional realm, where she crafted a tale of a dedicated detective navigating the neon-lit streets of a city that never slept. The protagonist, much like Amy herself, chased echoes of forgotten dreams while balancing the complexities of love and justice.

As Amy delved into the narrative, she found herself drawing parallels between the character she was creating and her own experiences. The city in her story mirrored the Brooklyn she patrolled, and the protagonist's pursuit of justice resonated with Amy's unwavering commitment to her job.

Hours passed, and the rain outside intensified, casting a cozy ambiance within the precinct. Amy's colleagues had left for the day, leaving her alone with the soft glow of her desk lamp and the steady cadence of the typewriter.

In the fictional world Amy had crafted, her protagonist faced a pivotal moment. A mysterious figure emerged from the shadows, and their connection mirrored the silent camaraderie Amy shared with Jake. The story unfolded with a dance under the city lights, capturing the essence of their own moments of joy amidst the chaos of their lives.

As the final keystrokes marked the conclusion of her narrative, Amy felt a sense of accomplishment. The story had become a reflection of her own journey, a testament to the resilience and passion that fueled her every day. With a satisfied smile, she carefully removed the paper from the typewriter, a tangible record of her creative endeavor.

The following morning, Amy arrived at the precinct, carrying the typewritten pages in her bag. She couldn't shake the anticipation of sharing her creation with Jake, eager to see his reaction to the fictionalized version of their love story. As she approached their shared desk, Jake noticed the glint of excitement in her eyes.

"What's got you so pumped, Amy?" he asked, curious.

Amy grinned, holding out the stack of pages. "I wrote something. A story. I think you'll like it."

Intrigued, Jake took the pages and began to read. Amy watched his expressions shift from amusement to genuine appreciation as he immersed himself in the tale she had woven. The story resonated with him on a profound level, capturing the essence of their relationship in a way that words spoken aloud often fell short.

When he finished reading, Jake looked up, a mixture of awe and love in his eyes. "Amy, this is amazing. It's like our own little adventure, but with more suspense and way cooler descriptions."

Amy blushed, grateful for his positive response. "I wanted to capture the magic of us, the way we dance through life together."

Jake leaned in, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. "Well, you nailed it, partner. We've got our own detective love story, and it's epic."

And so, in the quiet corners of the precinct, amidst the rain-soaked streets of Brooklyn, Detective Amy Santiago found a creative haven in her vintage typewriter, immortalizing her love story with Jake one clack at a time.

[sapphireginger]

Don’t Go Earth-Quaking My Heart

AO3 Link

Summary:

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms, his lips forming an adorable pout. “I’m a grown man and I can do what I want. I don’t need a babysitter.” If it wouldn’t totally invalidate his point, Stiles would have stomped his foot.

It was just after ten pm when Stiles sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He took off his glasses and sighed. He’d been at this for hours and still had a lot to do. After checking the time, he figured another hour or two couldn’t hurt and quickly dove back in.

Two hours later, Stiles was still typing away on his computer, but had to take a break to get rehydrated and find something to quell the rumbling in this stomach. He got up to get a drink and fix himself a sandwich.

Suddenly, a siren blared loudly and the ground began to shake. Stiles took up a place in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Than he ducked under the dining room table just off the kitchen. From his hiding place, Stiles could just barely see his desk in the office on the other side of the living room.

As the earthquake intensified, his computer started to slide towards the edge of the table. He began to panic at the thought of losing all of his hard work. He knew it was stupid and that computers could be replaced but the panic building inside him couldn’t be reasoned with. Right as his laptop started to fall off the edge, he scrambled out from under the table and ran over to catch it.

A crack formed on the ceiling, startling him and a piece of plaster fell. The debris collided with the back of Stiles’s head. He was immediately knocked unconscious, his computer clutched tightly to his chest.

💻 ⟡ 🌋 🤍 🌋 ⟡ 💻

When he woke up in the hospital, Danny was sitting by his bed, a laptop–a laptop that looked like Stiles’s laptop–balanced in his lap. The tech wizard’s fingers were flying across the keyboard in a blur. When he noticed Stiles had woken up, he glared at him despite the relief in his eyes. “You stupid idiot,” he snapped.

Stiles blinked his Bambi eyes wide and pouted, his brow furrowing.

Danny huffed and rolled his eyes. “Remember when I showed you how to upload your works to the cloud?”

Stiles nodded, his throat scratchy. “Yeah.”

Danny set the computer aside and helped Stiles drink some water. Once he had set the cup aside, the tech whiz turned the computer to face the injured man and gestured to the list of files. “These are all of your files and documents.”

Stiles’s eyes widened and then he noticed the computer was a brand new version of his old one. “Wha–”

The tech guy sighed and closed the computer, setting it on the hospital table. He crossed his arms. “You’re an idiot. You could have died. And for what? A computer of all things! You ridiculous imbecile. No self preservation at all. A computer is replaceable. You. Are. Not.”

Stiles huffed softly, warmth pooling in his chest and he smiled at the other man. “Th’nk y’u,” he slurred as the pain meds kicked in and offered another smile this one more fond. “You love me and wouldn’t change me for the world.” Then he passed out.

Danny took Stiles’s hand and laced their fingers together before leaning forward and placing a kiss on the unconscious man’s forehead. He rested his forehead against Stiles’s own and sighed, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “It’s anyone’s guess why, but I do love you, Bambi.”

Stiles had to remain under observation for at least a week and Danny didn’t let him have access to his computer at all. Technically Stiles wasn’t supposed to watch TV or stare at any screens until the concussion was sorted out. So, Danny read to him, sang to him, played board games with him and just relaxed in silence with him.

💻 ⟡ 🌋 🤍 🌋 ⟡ 💻

Once they finally released him with strict instructions to take it easy and relax as well as scheduling a checkup in a couple weeks, Stiles found himself in a taxi with Danny.

Neither spoke until the taxi stopped and Stiles frowned in confusion. “Danny? Where are we?”

Danny smirked and hopped out to go around and open Stiles’s door. “My place of course. I wasn’t going to leave you homeless and your place is a hazard zone. Not to mention that from now on I intend to keep an eye on your computer time and of course keep an eye on you.”

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms, his lips forming an adorable pout. “I’m a grown man and I can do what I want. I don’t need a babysitter.” If it wouldn’t totally invalidate his point, Stiles would have stomped his foot.

His friend ignored him and led him inside. It wasn’t until they got everything put away and Danny gestured for Stiles to join him on the couch that either of them spoke. Once the amber eyed man was seated, Danny took a deep breath and said, “I was so scared, Bambi. I got the call and I—” He choked back a sob. “I thought I had lost you.”

It was then that Stiles realized just how upset and hurt his friend was. He and Danny had always been close. They were the ones who supported each other when they both came out as gay their sophomore year of high school. They’d been inseparable since preschool.

“I-I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t know that—I didn’t mean to make—I’m so sorry. Please forgive me?”

Danny shook his head and snagged Stiles’s hand. He gently rubbed small circles on the back of Stiles’s hand with his thumb. “I know. It’s okay. I just need you nearby. Okay?”

Stiles swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

Danny looked up at Stiles and met his gaze as he gently kissed the amber eyed man’s hand. “I love you, Bambi.”

Stiles’s breath hitched. “Oh, Danny. Fuck I love you too! I know I was high on painkillers but I meant it!”

The two guys chuckled and then stilled, searching each other’s faces for any hesitation or doubt. When neither found any, they leaned closer and pressed their lips together. Stiles hummed softly and threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of Danny’s neck. Danny melted into the kiss, cupped Stiles’s jaw with one hand and gripped Stiles’s hip with the other.

When they pulled apart, Danny smiled and nipped Stiles’s lip. “You know what this means right?”

“No. What?”

Danny rubbed their noses together and smirked. “Don’t you dare go earth-quaking my heart.”

Stiles’s eyes widened and then he burst out laughing, Danny joining him quickly after. They laughed until they cried and then curled up together to just be.

Then, a few minutes later, just as they were drifting off, Stiles whispered softly in Danny’s ear, “I promise I’ll never break your heart.”

Danny smiled and kissed Stiles’s forehead. “Good, cause I’ll never break yours either.”

“Love you, Koʻu aloha.”

“And I love you, Ko'u Puuwai.”

[melonpalooza]

I jist got this thouggt and i wonder what would happen if, like, the humans somehow got their turtles' phones and start talking to each other while not knowing that the people on the other side of the screen is not different versions of their turtles but them lmaooo

Obviously they wouldn't since they all respect the turtle's privacies and i love them for it but i honestly had this thought because i was laughing about how funny it would be if the little niblings accidentally crawled/walked all over ronin's laptop while the others are like ????

Then i figured how much more hilarious it would be if the people reading the missent messages were people who don't know ronin and how weird it would be for him to keyboard smash hahaaaha

Like it would be so funny if like 03 karai somehow got one of the turtles' phone and had no worries reading and replying through it and just causes chaos(and the potential angst/emotions that whole thing would bring but mostly hahas)

Sorry for the long ask i just love this fic so much

thoughts of the babies crawling over the laptop is going to live in head rent free now. thank you for that :D so cute

most of the humans know about the turtle server! people that aren't in touch with them like 03 karai would have no idea, though.

SO, if by some miracle 03 karai had a hold of one of the shell cells and ronin found out, ooooh boy. like he knows it's a different karai, but from what he heard 03 karai was not on good terms with her turtles.

[projektnomad]

3 million years into deep space, the ship to surface transport vehicle Starbug 1 is drifting aimlessly toward a long abandoned expedition ship. The beeping of a proximity alert rouses Cat from a dream of raining fish and he stares out the window at the hulking lump of titanium and steel.

“This one better have some damn fish!” He mutters to himself before pressing the ‘all hands’ button on the dash to summon the rest of the crew.

Acting First Officer Rimmer struts authoritatively into the cockpit. “What is it this time? Another ‘wibbly thing’ on the radar screen that actually happens to be chocolate pudding? Or did you just dream about fish again?”

Cat points. “Look for yourself goalpost head.”

Rimmer squints at the ship. “HMS Camden Lock. It’s British. We might be able to get some baked beans and HP sauce, lovely.”

Kryten stumbles in wearing his apron and presenting a tray of appetisers. “Sirs, I’m sorry to report that Mr Lister won’t be joining us unless this is a matter of utmost urgency.”

“Why?” Demands Rimmer.

“He said if this turned out to be Mr Cat crying about the lack of fish again then he was going to insert a live space weevil into him and take bets on how long it took to crawl back out again. He refuses to get out of bed.”

“Out of bed?” Rimmer asks. “It’s 3.30 on a Wednesday, even he’s usually up by now.”

“No, sir, Mr Lister had a lot of urine recyce wine at the weekend and asked me to set the clocks back so he’d recover in time for Monday. It’s actually 9.45 on Sunday morning.”

Rimmer sighs and shakes his head. “Cat’s spotted a ship, it’s the HMS Camden Lock.”

“Ah yes, the HMS Camden Lock, an expeditionary ship launched in 2151 by Great Britain, one of the few remaining sole nation states on Earth at the time. They went out searching the galaxy for trading partners. They thought that if they found new territory where nobody knew who the British were that they might actually find someone who wanted to rent an office block in Milton Keynes or invest in Melton Mowbray pork pies. Mr Lister’s home city was in Great Britain.”

“How did they get on?” Rimmer asks.

“Well, you see those holes in the side of the ship, sir?” Kryten asks, pointing out of the viewport at the scorched, gaping holes in the hull, presumably caused by large explosions. “I think that gives us some idea how far the reputation of the British has reached.”

“I can smell something, and it ain’t no pork pies.” Cat interjects.

Rimmer runs a scan. “There’s a residual energy reading, there’s some sort of AI still running on board.” He turns to Kryten. “Raise comms, attempt to hail them.”

“Right you are, Sir.” Says Kryten as he taps at a keyboard and bangs the side of a monitor until the picture comes up.

The hailing frequency takes a few moments to get a response before the screen displays a dimly lit woman in a strange metallic helmet, covered in dirt and cobwebs. A spider crawls across her face. Her smile is wide and creepy.

“Greetings, I am Sandstrom.”

Kryten is about to speak, when Rimmer leans in and interjects. “Greetings Sandstrom, this is Acting First Officer Arnold J. Rimmer, but you can call me Arn.”

“What can I do for you Mr Rimmer?” Sandstrom asks.

“Please, call me Arn. Or Arnie, Iron Balls, whatever. We see you’ve taken a few hits. Are any of the crew still alive?”

“They’re all dead, Arn.” Sandstrom says, her smile staying as wide as ever. “Everybody’s dead, Arn.”

“Guys, let’s cut to the chase here.” Cat says, combing his hair. “Lady! You got any fish?”

Sandstrom’s smile fades and she begins to look peeved. “The HMS Camden Lock does not stock fish. Great Britain is still seeking fishing territories at this time.”

Kryten taps Rimmer on the shoulder and whispers in his ear. “I think we might have a problem, sir. My readings indicate that this AI is carrying a version of the holo virus that you contracted some years ago.”

Sandstrom raises her left hand next to her head, on it there sits a tattered looking Ed the Duck puppet. “What’s that Ed? No, we couldn’t possibly do that. Who’d clean up the mess?”

“Screw this.” His feet up on the dash, Cat uses the heel of his boot to tap a red button and sends a trash compactor shot towards the Camden Lock.

“Sir, what are you doing?!” Kryten asks, shocked. “Their stock manifest shows over 18,000 tons of curry on board.”

Sandstrom’s eyes glow red and a bolt of red plasma arcs from the comms panel into Mr Rimmer, knocking him unconscious, he lands slumped in his seat.

“What the hell is going on?!” Lister asks as he makes his way into the cockpit just in time to see the Camden Lock blown into millions of pieces.

“Um... hi buddy.” Says Cat, his teeth poking sheepishly over his bottom lip.

“What have I missed?!” Lister asks, poking the unconscious Rimmer.

“Well,” Kryten says, “we’re going to need Mr Flibble and a live space weevil, sir.”

[promiseiwillwrite]

Going Nowhere

Over the next few days, other neighbors waved hello in the hall, or smiled at Ray headed down the stairs as he was going up. But he began to learn about the neighbor in the unit beneath his because of the music drifting up through the floor. Some nights, it was German Death Metal. Other nights Dark Country. It was heavy boots, and the click and snap of high heels. The night after that, both of them were practicing the arias from the Title theme of Phantom of the Opera.

The dark haired man in the heavy coat he'd glimpsed getting into his car a few times, and the tall blond who lived with him that had a night job, and always wore a full length black fox fur coat.

After a late shift on the Thursday after he moved in, Ray was mid flight when the blond turned the corner, her black satin gloved hands fumbled her housekeys, and they landed right in front of Ray, and the expletive uttered by the blond in that moment betrayed a depth of timbre not often found in a lady's throat.

There was a gasp when Derrik realized Ray was holding out his keys, and the satin gloved hand that wasn't reaching to take them back was paused demurely before scarlet lips.

It was slightly too long a pause, but it didn't precipitate disgust, as Derrik was accustomed to seeing in those moments where character broke. The look was... recognition, sliding into admiration?

Ray didn't flinch, but he did flush slightly. Derrik took the keys and Ray's eyes told him he liked what he was seeing. Derrik smiled prettily. "Take a picture, dear. It will last longer." He said softly.

"So sorry," Ray made himself stop staring and climb the stairs instead of gawking.

Derrik walked down past him a bit and Ray stopped him with, "Your falsetto is immaculate. I thought there were two people in your apartment until just now."

Derrik smiled warmly. And then laughed darkly, filling the whole stairwell with a sound holding leather and the promise of thunder. It was a laugh like the Opera Ghost would do, after scaring off another shareholder from the Opera Populaire.

And then in a soft voice like rustling velvet, he purred, "Well, kitten, I'm glad you enjoyed the rehearsal. Maybe you should come see the full show sometime." The satin covered hand was extended, and between his middle and index fingers was an embossed card, with the venue information.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Ray smiled and pocketed the card. He felt a little foolish, but also fortunate to keep meeting the people who lived around him this way.

Ray propped the card against the monitor above his keyboard so he wouldn't forget to buy tickets. A Drag version of Phantom of the Opera sounded amazing.