#as soon as i figure out how to write

[ive-been-quested]

I make up characters in my head and then I want to check their tag. But wait. There is no tag. There isn't even a character

[bluerosefox]

One-Sided

So uhhh

I was thinking of more Dead Serious prompts but my mind went wondering and came up with something else.

What if Danny is dating Respawn!

So this is like a one-sided Dead Serious idea with Danny already dating Respawn (idk their pairing name sorry)

So, now hear me out, what if Danny or rather Phantom joins the Titans or maybe as a young adult joins the JL.

And what if he does his best to avoid being around Robin unless it's for actual missions. Now Robin, Damian, didn't mind this at first in fact he approved of it cause you know it's Damian. But like a cat being ignored he gets curious as to why and starts trying to seek Danny out to find out.

But again Danny is doing his best to avoid the other hero.

Damian eventually gets a crush on Danny after watching Danny go eldritch/ghost king mode and is trying to figure out a way to woo the half ghost.

HOWEVER Danny is in a relationship already, a good one too, with Damian's kinda clone/half brother Respawn. He hasn't told any of them because he knows the bad blood between him and the others. And add the fact Respawn still does mercenary work and Danny doesn't mind but knows those in the Titans or JL do, he doesn't tell any of the heroes whose he's dating.

Danny is keeping his distance cause he knows his boyfriend gets jealous and clingy whenever he comes back from meetings that Robin is in.

[tennessoui]

14 for obikin pretty please?

here you go!

[from this list of prompts]

[5. 'are you jealous' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified' (LATEST) 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

14. 'hey, i'm with you, okay? always.'

The first time Anakin visits, he's so angry that he cannot speak for the first two hours. Obi-Wan sits against the wall of his cell, on the floor even though the Jedi have provided him a perfectly comfortable bed and chair. The Force collar around his neck looks wrong. His master sitting on the floor, dressed in the dull orange of a prisoner's jumpsuit looks wrong.

Anakin is so angry that he can't speak. He can only look and tremble until he is told he must leave.

Obi-Wan does not speak either. He does not even look at him.

Maybe that's what makes his anger harder to bear. Anakin knows that Obi-Wan has met with countless other Jedi. Visitors, friends, allies, people who are working with him on his defense case. He knows that the other man talks to them, has sliced into security holo footage to see it for himself, though no one will tell him what is said. Everyone always leaves looking frustrated, but at least Obi-Wan talks to them.

But not Anakin. Even though it is Anakin that Obi-Wan has hurt the most. Anakin, who deserves to know why from Obi-Wan's mouth.

After all--

"He was like a father to me," Anakin spits at him on his second visit, only a few days later. Going to see Obi-Wan in the Coruscanti prison cell where he is awaiting trial is like an itch. Scratched once, Anakin finds he cannot help himself from digging his claws in.

Obi-Wan is still against the wall. His beard has grown slightly longer. His head is tilted back against the wall, though when Anakin speaks, his eyes slide down from the ceiling to rest on him.

"I'm starting to think you say that to all the boys," his former master who is a murderer says in that lilting familiar drawl.

"You killed him."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees, because apparently part of his defense case is not to plead not guilty to the murder of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. Anakin would say that may be problematic, but then--there are security holos, soundless and slightly blurred, of the event. Of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi taking tea with Chancellor Palpatine. Talking in civil gestures for thirty minutes. Requesting, as far as anyone can tell, for the Chancellor to fetch him a pot of sugar. Lighting his saber and beheading him the moment the old man's back was turned. "Yes, I did."

"Why?" Anakin yells, voice cracking on the word. He doesn't understand. He thinks the not-knowing will drive him to madness. He thinks maybe it already has. It has been two weeks since the Chancellor's murder. Half the Senate is seeking Obi-Wan's execution.

The war, theoretically, has paused, like even the Separatists are holding their breath. Waiting. Wondering.

Obi-Wan looks at him quietly for a moment. For five. His face is stoic, resolved. Beloved, even after this.

Then--for a singular second--the mask cracks, and his master stares at him as if he needs to see him in order to survive. He looks hungry and exhausted and relieved, down to the bones.

"How have your nightmares been lately, padawan?" he asks him, and Anakin is so disgusted by the word--by the title that Obi-Wan doesn't get to say after killing the Chancellor, killing Anakin's friend--that he turns and leaves without another thought.

He is back a day later. He has never known how to keep his distance from things that can hurt him, that's what his mother always said. Too curious by half. Too sure of his own invincibility. That's what his master always said.

Anakin isn't sure of anything anymore.

"Why did you kill him?" Anakin asks. Obi-Wan's beard is longer. He is still on the floor. It rankles, the sight of him brought so low. "Did someone tell you to?"

Obi-Wan lets his head fall forward, a puppet with its strings cut. "Do you think me so biddable, Anakin?"

Anakin today. Not padawan. As if Obi-Wan has learned his lesson. As if he is as desperate for Anakin to linger in his presence as Anakin is hopelessly addicted to returning.

Padmé had tried to stop him this morning. Had tried to tell him it would do no good to see him, that the justice system would do its work, that Anakin was only hurting himself by returning over and over again. She pointed out that he had nightmares last night, for the first time since the news of the Chancellor's death reached them.

He hadn't had the heart to tell her that his nightmares were not about the Chancellor dying, but about Obi-Wan facing down an execution squad. About Anakin, standing on the deck of the Invisible Hand, Palpatine's voice in his ear, telling him to do it, do it. Cut off the traitor's head, only to look down and find that the two sabers he is holding are familiar to him, and person on his knees before him is his master.

Anakin had woken with a yell around one in the morning, sweat soaked and shaking. He hadn't been able to sleep again.

Maybe that's why he feels so alive now, slightly manic and still trembling as he paces in front of the Force barrier of Obi-Wan's cell. Did someone tell Obi-Wan to cut him down? he'd had the thought somewhere around five in the morning. Had it been someone Obi-Wan trusted? Someone he loved?

Who stood to gain from the death of the Chancellor? Who had the Chancellor ever hurt or threatened?

Anakin walks as close as he dares to get to the cell. "Master," he says, coaxes really, pushing forward until he can hear the hum of the force field.

Obi-Wan's head thumps back against the wall and he watches him from under his eyelashes.

"Master, I'm with you, alright? Hey, I'm with you, always, alright, always, so if someone told you, manipulated you, just tell me please. I'll find them. I'll get them to turn themselves in, master. Just tell me. Why did you kill him?"

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He looks for all the world as if he is meditating, save for that collar around his neck. The prison garb. He doesn't look like a murderer, but he is. He is. He killed the Chancellor. He is going to face execution. Anakin is going to have to watch him die too and all he can think is that he knows that Obi-Wan doesn't even kriffing like sugar in his karking tea.

"Answer me!" Anakin yells, lifting his fist and forgetting himself for just long enough that he slams it against the barrier. He pulls it back with a curse as the force field short-circuits his mech arm and the prison alarm blares out a warning siren.

This time, he is led away from the cell by a Coruscanti guard. He is advised to not return for a standard week. The entire time he is exiled from the prison, the only thing he can think about is the expression on Obi-Wan's face as he watches him leave: eyes wide open and forehead wrinkled with concern, as if worried that Anakin had hurt himself.

The day after he is allowed to return, he does. He does not want to seem too eager or desperate, so he waits until it's early in the evening before pointing his speeder towards the prison unit.

"It had to have been someone you loved," Anakin announces as he stops in front of Obi-Wan's cell. He's in his bed this time, lying on his back and looking at the ceiling. He does not twitch at Anakin's voice, though Anakin can tell that he's not asleep, though his eyes are closed. He can tell just from the minute lines of tension he's holding in his shoulders, his neck.

How can Anakin know him so well and not know that he is capable of this? Of murder on this scale?

"Hm?" Obi-Wan finally says, when the silence drags on and it becomes clear that Anakin will not say more until he has engaged. Anakin watches this war play out in the subtle movements of Obi-Wan's facial muscles as well. He knows him so well. He knows him better than he knows anyone else in the galaxy.

"The person you killed him for. You had to have loved him more than anything else in the entire galaxy to kill a man the way you did. Defenseless. Over sugar. You don't--you don't even take sugar in your tea! It was a coward's way of killing--and it doesn't--you would never. Not unless it was for someone you loved."

Obi-Wan's eyes blink open, but he doesn't look away from the ceiling. He doesn't look at Anakin.

"I don't--I don't know what harm you think Sheev Palpatine could cause to anyone, but that has to be it. Nothing else makes sense. You loved someone enough to kill for them, and you killed the Chancellor."

The words come out easily. Anakin has practiced them for a week now; it is the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else but love could make a man like Obi-Wan do what he did. He must have loved someone a lot. He must love them more than the Republic. More than his own freedom.

The first time Anakin had told Padmé his theory, she'd looked at him for ages, until he'd grown angry and defensive. She'd touched his arm, as if that could hold back this hurricane brewing inside his chest, and said, "I don't know if you're right, Ani. I don't know if I think you're wrong either. It's just...you sound so...jealous."

At least Obi-Wan doesn't say the same thing. But what he does say may be even worse. Because he doesn't deny it. He doesn't protest. All he says is, "And who is it that you think I love more than anything else in the galaxy, padawan?"

Anakin has thought about this, too. "Bail Organa," he makes himself say, even though the name curls his lips up into a sneer. Bail Organa, the man who has been voted the interim Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. The man who has gotten everything from this assassination, while Anakin has had his everything taken away.

On his cot, Obi-Wan's eyes slide closed. His mouth quirks up. "Ah," he says, as if he has had something he has long expected to confirmed to him. He says nothing else.

It makes Anakin want to hit the barrier again. It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to be petty, hurt Obi-Wan back in the same way that Anakin feels hurt even though it doesn't make sense, none of this makes sense. But it feels as if Obi-Wan has kept half of himself secret from Anakin, a whole love, his entire capacity to love, and Anakin wants to prove that he has as well.

So he says, voice mean and sharp, "Padmé is pregnant. The med-droid says it is twins."

Everything else remains unspoken, but surely audible. That they are his. That he never stopped seeing Padmé. Perhaps even that she is his wife.

On the cot, behind the Force barrier, in his chains, Obi-Wan opens his eyes and blinks at the ceiling. His lips form a small smile, as he says, still not looking at Anakin, still not looking at Anakin, "I know, dear one. Why do you think the Chancellor had to die?"

[feelo-fick]

doodles from varying times :] kicking my feet and giggling. put your hand in my cage youre safe :]

[mediumgayitalian]

“Come here, you dweeb. Let me fix it.”

Will pouts, dragging his feet over and slumping half on top of him. Nico allows it with a smile and a roll of his eyes, pinching Will’s shoulder. He doesn’t react except for a wounded noise, muffled in Nico’s lap, so the situation is evidently quite dire.

“It’s just hair, Will.”

“But I worked on it!” He shifts around until he’s got his head in Nico’s lap, face turned towards him, body curled up on the grass around him. Nico brushes his tangled bangs off his forehead, meeting his big sad eyes. “I spent forty minutes with a stupid brush! And yet!”

“And yet,” Nico agrees, unable to appropriately school is face into one of somber understanding. Will scowls at him for his lack of proper sympathy, a little bit of genuine hurt in his eyes, so Nico leans down and kisses right between his brows in apology. He seems mollified, if only slightly, or at least he leans into Nico’s touch and stops mumbling quite so much.

“‘S’not fair.”

“Mhm.“

“Your hair listens to your instructions.”

“Yep.”

“Even Cecil’s hair listens to him, and no one listens to Cecil.”

Nico purses his lips thoughtfully. “I think Austin listens to Cecil.”

“Yes, I know. It’s an ongoing issue. I’m trying to train him out of it.”

“And how’s that going?” Nico murmurs, curling a strand of golden blond hair around his finger.

“Oh, well, I’m doing my best, so of course it’s going horribly.”

Nico snorts. He resists the urge to hold his palms to Will’s cheeks and kiss every single freckle at light speed, because he will screech something about how Nico is one-upping him in the romance department or something stupid like that. Instead he settles for looking at his dumb dramatic boyfriend’s face and marvelling over the fact that the cutest boy in the entire world, and Nico is being totally objective, hunts around camp until he finds whatever tree Nico is hiding under and curls up into a ball around him and trusts Nico to hold him while he complains about stupid things that genuinely hurt his feelings a little. It’s nice. So many people at camp are still so rigid around him, like he’s collecting information for their judgement day or something. Will prefers to exercise his lesser-known Apollonian talent of being a bigger drama queen than the god himself.

“Stay still,” Nico says softly, moving Will around so he’s laying perpendicular to Nico, now, head centered in his lap and staring up at the sky. Will sighs and squirms a little and turns his head to press a kiss to Nico’s knee, scrunching up his face and releasing it, and then settles in the position.

Humming something soft that exists on the fringes of his foggy memories, he sinks his hands into Will’s hair.

“It’s not that bad,” he promises, moving slowly and pausing whenever he comes across a knot.

Will harrumphs.

“I mean it, Marilyn Monroe. You can tone down the histrionics.”

“I used gel.”

Nico flicks a dried clump of it onto Will’s forehead, amused. “I can see that.”

“I followed every single one of Mitchell’s instructions!”

“I bet.”

“And yet!”

“And, yet.”

Nico has a sneaking suspicion that someone made a comment about Will’s hair, in the last few weeks. He can never confirm it and Will has been shifty about it every time he asks, but Nico has noticed the uptick in hoods and hats the past month and his little flinches every time Nico reaches up and tugs on it. Despite being oddly confident about the oddest things — why he is so proud of being able to fit his fist in his mouth, Nico will never know — Will is very sensitive to how people think of him. He needs to know he’s liked, and when people don’t like him, he gets…desperate, pleasing. The opposite of Nico, who becomes worse in an attempt to push them away on his own terms.

Nico leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I like your hair, you know.”

“It’s a stupid mess.”

He smooths down a handful of it, pressing it over Will’s eye. He manages to keep a straight face for one, two, three seconds before he huffs a laugh, batting Nico’s hands away. Nico grins.

“I like the stupid mess.”

“Yeah, well, you like a lot of weird things.”

“Like you?” Nico suggests, pressing another kiss to the tip of his rounded nose.

“Shut up.”

Another strange thing about him, that Nico has to duck his head to hide his automatic smile: he gets embarrassed easily.

Nico never expected it of him, with all the dorky, medical-themed pickup lines and general shamelessness in his affection towards everybody on Earth, but especially Nico. When the poking, prodding attraction is turned on him, however, he shuts down like an overloaded Playstation. Nico can sometimes see the error messages playing behind its eyes. It’s hilarious.

“Will.” He pokes him in the cheek. “Hey.”

“What,” Will grumbles.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Watching the slow spread of red from below the collar of his shirt to the roots of his hair is a delight. Nico watches in glee, wrestling Will’s hands away when he tries to slap them over his face.

“Shut up! Leave me alone! Go — flirt with somebody else!”

“You’d curse them to speak in rhymes for ten years,” Nico teases.

Will makes an agonised noise. “Who! Asked you! Shut up!”

“You’d sic Kayla on anyone who so much as winks at me, you jealous bitch.”

“I would not!”

“You would so. You rolled your eyes at everything Percy said for three weeks when you found out I used to crush on him —”

“I did not!”

“— and you didn’t even have the balls to ask me out, back then.”

“You are a — peddler of falsehoods! A prevaricator, a perjurer, and a fabulist!”

“And you sound like you swallowed a thesaurus,” Nico snickers. He catches the hand Will flails at him, pressing a kiss to the wrist, which only serves to fluster him more. He decides to take mercy when the kisses he trails down his arms result in one loud, long, tortured screech, pulling back and giving him some space.

Notably, he doesn’t move from Nico’s lap.

“I like it,” Nico admits, once Will has calmed down some. “I like that you’ve liked me for so long.”

Will peeks through the fingers he has covering his eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes.” Nico squeezes his shoulders. “And endearing, which seems to be your sweet spot.” He presses a much softer kiss to the underside of Will’s ear, lingering there until he sighs, slumping under all the tension finally leaving his body. “I love you, Will. I love your clumsiness and your rambles and your nose and your freckles and your awkwardness and your jealousy and your hair and I love you, Will, all of you. Even the embarrassing weird parts.” He kisses him again. “Especially the weird parts.”

Will breathes slowly, carefully, evenly, face pressed to the inside of Nico’s thigh. His long eyelashes tickle his skin. Nico can feel the press of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, pulsing against his calf.

“I never thought you were a freak.”

Nico brushes his knuckles over his cheek. “I know.”

“I used to — talk about you. All the time. And your oxytocin levels.”

He smiles.

“I know.”

“Lee had a — chart.” Some of the flush rises back up in his cheeks. “A ‘Days Since We’ve Heard About Di Angelo’ chart.”

Nico bites his lip. Hard.

“The number never got higher than six.”

“…I am trying really, really hard, Will.”

Will sighs.

“You can laugh.”

Nico cracks up, trying desperately to muffle his giggles in his bitten fist. It doesn’t work very well, but the glare Will sends him is somewhat softened by the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Gods, you are — a mess.”

“Mhm.”

Nico cups the side of his face. Will turns, slightly, enough to press a kiss to the centre of his palm and then stay there, eyes closed, breathing against his sword-callused skin.

“I love you too, by the way. Obviously.”

“I know.”

“Don’t Han Solo me, you bastard.”

“Go ahead and try to stop me,” Nico challenges, grinning into the passionately indignant kiss Will presses to his lips, finally, letting Nico curl his hands in his hair.

[isbergillustration]

She is having a Suboptimal Time

[gomzdrawfr]

"Don't cry."

Simon said this whenever he knew you were about to cry, eyes glossy and watery, lips trembling.

trigger warnings: angst, childhood abuse (referenced + mentioned), canon-typical violence (referenced)

notes: this is an x reader fic, also apologies for the grammar and errors if any

read more to continue this short drabble

“Don’t cry.”

His voice was hollow, rough, forced out before the words had a chance to settle.

Simon said this whenever he knew you were about to cry, eyes glossy and watery, lips trembling.

It wasn’t gentle, nor a plea. It wasn’t meant for comfort or to keep you from falling apart. It was rough, low, and scratched at your ears in a way that made it hard to bear.

It felt more like an order, one you weren’t sure was meant for you or for himself.

“Just… don’t.” He repeated, the words more for himself than for you. Something swirled in his eyes behind the mask, a faint glint catching the light, like shattered glass.

“Simon,” you whispered, voice cracking, but he cut you off with a sharp edge, ending the conversation before it even began.

You thought it was because of the life he led—the danger and discipline that flowed through his blood. You thought he was telling you not to cry because he needed you to be strong. After all, he was a soldier—a man who had seen more violence, death, and despair than you could ever imagine. You assumed he couldn’t stand to see weakness, the vulnerability that came with it.

But there was more.

There was always more with him.

You didn’t know what those words really meant to him, how deep they ran, how they had been carved into his very bones, how they play on repeat in his head like a broken cassette tape on those colder nights.

You didn’t know that those two words were all he had ever heard growing up, the only comfort he could muster when his mum sobbed after another bad night, when Tommy curled up in the corner of the kitchen, scared and bruised, whispering into the dark.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

He had felt helpless as a boy, kneeling before his family, wanting more than anything to do something—anything—but lacking the strength or power to act. He couldn’t make the pain go away. He couldn’t make the tears disappear.

Hearing those heart-wrenching sobs, those sniffles, those whimpers—it made him feel like that little boy again: lost, powerless, useless.

But the tears always came, and they never fixed anything. Crying didn’t make the bruises disappear. It didn’t quiet the screams. It didn’t make the shouting stop. All it did was twist his stomach inside out, wring his heart until he didn’t even recognize it anymore, and made his breathing all the more suffocating, like he was drowning in someone else’s grief.

It made him feel small.

Seeing those same tears in your eyes brought him back to that place. And he didn’t know how to deal with it. How to make it better.

He hated it. He hated feeling like that small boy again, hopeless, like he was failing all over.

Because Simon loves you, he truly does, more than himself, and yet he can’t bring himself to face you in these moments. 

Turning his back away from you, his head dipped lower, as if he were willing himself out of the memory that bubbled up, out of the pain that no amount of time or distance could dull.

Tears didn’t fix the past. They didn’t heal the scars that had been left on his soul.

“Simon-”

“Don’t cry… please.”

When he turned away, when he avoided your tears, when he grew distant whenever you broke down in front of him—it wasn’t because he didn’t care.

He just didn’t know how to handle it.

[i-love-ptv]

You can’t remember how many drinks you’ve had tonight. Everything started getting blurry after the third.

You and your boyfriend had been invited to a get-together at the local pub. Whose idea was it? Farleigh’s? No, he had just thrown a party the other day. Maybe it was Oliver’s suggestion. After all, he was eyeing that brunette the other day. Maybe he was looking for a hook-up.

You don’t know how or when you were in his arms and taken back to his dorm; But what you do know is that your feet hurt from your heels, and that your boyfriend’s bed was calling your name.

The thought of wiping the smudged makeup off of your face flew out the window as soon as your warm head hit the pillow.

But don’t worry, because as soon as he steps through the door, Felix is already rushing to find the makeup remover and cotton pads that he had stored away somewhere on his desk.

He flips you over and begins the process of removing your makeup. He can’t help but smile to himself.

He finds this situation so domestic; despite the deep snores escaping your body.

Felix gently changes you out of your outfit; trying his very hardest not to jolt you awake. You had looked so sleepy before the two of you left.

After putting you in one of his shirts, and cooing you back to sleep after you deliriously called out to him once you had woke up, he quickly strips himself down to his boxers and scoots himself under the covers with you.

He holds you close and coddles your head. He giggles softly at the sight of your small puddle of drool dripping down your face and onto your pillow. He presses a feathery-light kiss to your forehead, and grimaces a bit when he feels a light layer of sweat coating you.

But he grins, knowing that no amount of sweat, dirt, or grime could pull him away from his angel; that he swore, was ‘sent down to earth from heaven, just for him.’

Felix thought that this type of love was only something that one would find in the movies, and god is he so glad that he was wrong.

An: Made this blurb in 20 minutes for you lovelies!

Feedback always appreciated. <333

[repressionmd]

ready to be loved by you | 7881 words

Mel was young, as far as vampires went, but she'd never experienced the famed bloodlust. If she was honest, she thought it was just an excuse to drink people dry with slightly less moral qualms or to seduce people in the post-feeding endorphin-rush haze. Or both. That is, till she met Dr Frank Langdon.

[mintypsii]

guys i love them i promise i just have the urge to put them through the grinder sometimes

umm on the bright side here's the alternate good ending version lol!!!!!

[tblsomedoodles]

The Preferable Alternative - part 12

Start - Previous - next

: )

[eldragon-x-moved]

[ACT 1]

{On your way to the Favor Tree, you walk into Odile and ask if she wants to come along. She considers for a moment before agreeing, and following you.}

{You approach the Favor Tree.}

Odile 👓 The Favor Tree, huh… Isabeau showed me how to ask them for a favor a while ago. I take it that’s what you’re here for?

Mirabelle 🎀 That’s right! I know a lot of people already asked for Vaugarde to be saved, but I thought I’d ask too, since…

Odile 👓 Are you worried about tomorrow? 

Mirabelle 🎀 Hmrgh… 

{You nervously clasp your hands together. Odile looks up at the tree.}

Odile 👓 The Favor Trees aren’t really part of the Change belief, right?

Mirabelle 🎀 No… The Change God doesn’t grant favors. It’s more of a myth here in Vaugarde, but lately people have taken it more seriously because of the King…

{You take a breath.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Are you going to ask for a favor, Madame?

Odile 👓 Probably not… Forgive my pessimism, but I don’t see the point in relying on a mere myth.

Mirabelle 🎀 Oh…

{You both remain silent for a moment}

Mirabelle 🎀 Is there something you believe in?

Odile 👓 Religiously you mean? Well, in Ka Bue, we don’t really have Gods. They’re more like… Expressions? You’d pray to the ones you need the most currently in your life. I have been reaching out to the Expression of Battle and the Expression of Victory among others, for example.

Mirabelle 🎀 …Do you believe we will beat the King tomorrow?

Odile 👓 …Do you want my honest answer?

{You bite your lip. Odile looks to the ground. You don’t want to dwell on this.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Um, you know, Siffrin actually showed me how to wish on a tree once!

Odile 👓 Is that any different than asking for a favor?

Mirabelle 🎀 I think? You do it differently and he seems to believe in it more than most people…

Odile 👓 And how would that work?

{You smile, relieved that Odile goes along with the change in subject. You look around, pick up a leaf from the floor, and hold it up to show it to her.}

Mirabelle 🎀 First, you have to pick a leaf that represents yourself!

{Odile listens curiously.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Then you have to breathe your wish into the leaf three times and fold the leaf.

{To demonstrate, you hold the leaf close to your mouth and whisper.}

{You wish for the King to be defeated. You wish for all of you to make it. You wish for Vaugarde to be saved.}

{You fold the leaf, holding it like this for several moments, before letting it be carried away by a breeze.}

Odile 👓 Hm… I take it this isn’t a Vaugardian practice. Has Siffrin ever told you where they learned this ritual?

Mirabelle 🎀 They haven’t. But I thought it might be worth trying, seeing as he puts more faith into it, and I… I shouldn’t be saying this, I know it’s on me to bring about change, but I don’t think I can do this alone. 

{Odile gave you a look and for a moment, you were worried she was judging you. Instead, her expression shifted into a smirk.}

Odile 👓 You’re not planning to go to the House alone, are you?

Mirabelle 🎀 HUH?!?

Odile 👓 Because unless you are, you aren’t alone.

Mirabelle 🎀 MADAME!!

{Odile laughs, and you sigh.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Don’t scare me like this again!

Odile 👓 I didn’t mean to. But it snapped you out of something, no?

Mirabelle 🎀 I suppose…

{She isn’t wrong. You feel… not calmer, but not as anxious either.}

Odile 👓 Now then,

{To your surprise, Odile picks up a leaf.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Are you going to make a wish?

Odile 👓 As you said, Siffrin puts more faith into it than Vaugardians have for the Favor Trees. No harm in trying.

{You watch as Odile repeats the ritual you showed her. You are a little curious about what she whispers into the leaf, but decide not to ask. After folding it, Odile lets go of the leaf, letting it fly off.}

Odile 👓 Now, I still have to stock up in the shop for tomorrow. I’d like to rely on more than a wish for us to make it to the King. I’ll be seeing you in the clocktower, Mirabelle.

{You nod with a smile.}

Mirabelle 🎀 I’ll see you then!

[vcaart]

ik most of you guys only follow me for Danganronpa stuff... And how I've recently been really into Dandy's World..

so I'm cooking up a compromise 👍👍👍

[skyward-floored]

Downfall iau, more of Twi's escape. I've got another fic finishing up what's going on with him, but the transition felt weird, so consider this part one (or two? since there already was a part... hm. well anyway).

This is Wild's pov just for reference, since he just refers to himself as Link.

(The bit before this)

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

Link had no idea what he’d been thinking.

Actually, no, he knew the answer to that— he hadn’t been thinking. At all.

He’d seen a super run towards him and Zelda in those dull-colored sleep clothes everyone had, looking terrified and harried with his hands cuffed in front of him, and while Link’s first response had been to cover Zelda (of course), he’d looked into terrified blue-grey eyes that were panicked and obviously in pain, and his second response...

Had been to tug the super into an empty office as quickly as possible, and then help Zelda lie to the authorities as to where he’d gone.

And he was now helping said-super remain standing while Zelda tried to pick the lock of her father’s office.

I must be crazy.

“Almost got it,” Zelda murmured, her tongue sticking out a bit as she worked. “It figures today is the one time he doesn’t forget to lock his door.”

“That... happen a lot?” Twilight rasped, and Zelda shrugged.

“You’d be surprised,” she said, and Twilight hummed weakly in response. A twitch ran through him moments later, one he tried to hide, but Link was still holding him up and felt it plain as day.

Concern ran through him; he didn’t know how often Twilight was shocked on a daily basis, but even the people most used to it couldn’t handle several in rapid succession. And Twilight had been shocked once on the way here and at least twice before that.

Link didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Got it!” Zelda finally whispered with a triumphant smile, and Link wasted no time in pulling her and Twilight inside and immediately re-locking the door.

It was a nice office, if a bit stuffy. Zelda’s father didn’t spend much time here so it was neater than other spaces he occupied, which Link at least was grateful for. There was less to disturb, which meant less evidence they’d ever been in here.

Link pulled Twilight over to a chair while Zelda gathered her tools, Twilight sinking onto the cushion with a groan of relief. He was still tense, likely expecting another shock, but he looked better once he was sitting at least.

“Okay, this shouldn’t take long,” Zelda reassured, crouching at Twilight’s side. “I’ve disabled these before. Just let me know if you think another shock is about to go out, it could be bad depending on where I am in the process.”

Twilight nodded, and Zelda got to work.

Link stayed standing while Zelda worked, his hand kept near his weapon. The door may have been locked, but he still kept his gaze on it in anticipation of any threat, government or otherwise. At least they were safe from security cameras in here.

Link’s eyes went wide at the thought, and ice slipped into his stomach. The hallway they’d been traveling through mere minutes ago was filled with cameras. It was only a matter of time before someone checked them and saw him and Zelda helping Twilight.

Which would lead to Twilight being found, an eventual “accident” involving Zelda, Link would be arrested, or worse—

“Something wrong?” Twilight asked, voice raspy.

Link swallowed. “Security cameras. The hall outside is teeming with them.”

Somehow Twilight got paler. “That means they probably know where we are.”

“If not now then soon,” Link replied grimly. I can’t believe I forgot about the cameras, way to remember your training—

“I might be able to erase the feeds for the past hour or two,” Zelda spoke up, chewing nervously on her lip as she worked. “But it’ll still be sketchy, and if somebody already saw them...”

“You two should go,” Twilight whispered, looking terrible. “If you’re seen helping me then—”

“Not until I’m done,” Zelda said firmly, pulling something out of twilight’s band and setting it aside. “We still have some time. We can wait.”

Twilight went silent, and Link went back to watching the door, small clicks and fiddling sounds coming from Zelda’s hands. Link began plotting a route towards the control room in his head, going over what he knew of the security and how best to bypass it in a nondescript manner. Zelda’s status might help with that, but it would be too suspicious to bring her down there before they erased the footage. He could go alone and just race past mostly everything, but he didn’t know nearly as much about technology as Zelda did.

Maybe she could stay back and radio him the instructions... yes, that should work. He’d run fast enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick him up, and she could instruct him from somewhere safe. The shift would change soon, that would be the best time to plan their move.

Link inwardly sighed. This really hadn’t been what he’d been expecting to do when he’d woken up this morning.

Twilight suddenly stiffened behind him, and Link turned towards him. “Shock coming.”

Zelda’s eyes went wide and she rapidly finished screwing with something on Twilight’s wrist, her fingers flying. The band sparked to life, and Zelda jerked backwards with a small gasp of pain, clutching her hand. Electricity raced through Twilight yet again, and his back arched as he let out a cry, falling from his chair.

He convulsed violently on the floor, and after quickly making sure Zelda was okay, Link dropped to a knee beside him, knowing he couldn’t touch him yet, but preparing for when he could. Twilight screamed again, electricity shooting through him, and bile rose in Link’s throat at the blatant cruelty on display.

This was what they were trying to stop.

Twilight abruptly fell limp, twitching just a little, and Link put a hand on his arm, steadying him while he took his pulse again.

The beat felt erratic, and Link thought he felt it skip a beat, though he couldn’t be sure. Twilight whimpered, sweat on his brow, and Zelda hurriedly knelt beside him, taking Twilight’s wrist again and worked on finishing what she’d been in the middle of. Her face was white as she clutched her tools, and Link was beyond grateful she’d disabled the shocking mechanism in his own band ages ago.

“Surely he’s reached the limit by now,” Zelda whispered, Twilight’s breath softly wheezing. “I thought three was the max for one day.”

“It’s only a guideline. Technically there isn’t one,” Link murmured back, still feeling Twilight’s pulse. He’d passed out, but his pulse seemed a little stronger. “You might get a reprimand for doing it more, but nobody really cares.“

Zelda’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and she focused even more intently on her work, conversation silenced. The only sound was of Twilight’s rasps, and Link stayed close to his side, studying him a little.

Twilight looked about average height, which meant he was taller than Link was. He seemed like he would normally be quite a force to be reckoned with, muscled and broad-shouldered, and despite how pathetic he looked at the moment, Link could tell he’d be a tough fight. He wondered briefly how old he was, then realized he’d been not paying as much attention to the door, and fixed his gaze back on the handle.

He needed to focus. Things were getting tricky, and he didn’t have time to be distracted if he was going to keep everyone safe.

Twilight’s breath had settled closer to normal, and his eyes had reopened when Zelda finally exclaimed in victory, replacing the tiny panel she’d pulled up with a smile.

“There. I disabled the shocking mechanism. It shouldn’t be a problem anymore,” she explained happily, and Twilight closed his eyes again, letting out a wobbly sigh of relief.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he breathed, swallowing, and then taking in a deeper breath. He began to carefully sit himself up, and Zelda steadied him when he grimaced, but he made it up, and leaned against the desk behind him with a conflicted look. “I... you two should really get going. I don’t... want either of you to end up in my position.”

“I agree,” Link said, and tilted his head towards the door. “We need to move fast if we’re going to have any chance of keeping this a secret.”

Zelda sighed. “You’re right, as always. You should be able to rest here for a little longer,” she directed at Twilight, but he shook his head, gritting his teeth as he tried to stand on his shaking legs.

“I need to get moving... people will be coming in for work soon.”

Zelda sighed, but nodded again, and she extended her hand towards Twilight’s as he managed to get himself upright.

“I’m sorry we can’t help you more,” Zelda apologized, and Twilight took her hand and clasped it.

“You’ve done plenty. I can’t... thank you enough,” he said, eyes shining with gratitude. “Though... I have one small favor to ask.”

“Yes?”

Twilight swallowed. “The arrest order went... out for my whole family. I don’t doubt that they had enough time to get away, but if they didn’t... could you give them a message from me? O-only if you see them.”

“Of course,” Zelda reassured, and Link nodded.

“Okay. Well... Infrared and Malanya are my brother and mom,” Twilight said quietly. Link twitched an ear at the familiar names. “If you see them, just... tell them the beast is still divine. They might have two kids with them too, blond, fairly young. Go by Wind and Four. They won’t understand, but they can pass it on.”

“The beast is still divine, got it,” Zelda nodded. “We’ll pass it on if we can.”

Twilight smiled at them, still trembling, sweaty and pale and barely standing, but determined. “Thank you again. I owe you two.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Zelda assured as she packed up her tools, giving him a small curtsy.

“Just get yourself out of here,” Link added quietly, and Twilight nodded, taking a wobbling step forward so he could shake Link’s hand.

Link shook it back, and Twilight smiled at him, and even though the edges were strained and Twilight looked a bit like death walking, it was a nice smile. Link briefly wondered if they were friends now.

“Nearest exit is up the hallway and to the left, it’s after you pass this especially big poster on the wall. It should be easy to find,” Zelda said, and Twilight nodded.

“Up the hall, to the left, after the big poster. Got it. ...Good luck with the cameras,” he said quietly, and Zelda nodded.

“Good luck to you too. I hope you make it somewhere safe,” she said worriedly, and Twilight smiled, and nodded in return.

Link checked the time on his band, then quickly explained his idea to Zelda while she helped Twilight to the door. This goodbye was taking much too long. Twilight would be okay. He was certain of it.

Zelda agreed to his idea as he quickly laid it out, though she was worried what would happen if he got caught. Link waved away her concerns, reminding her they didn’t have time for a better plan, and she agreed with a sigh.

“You’d better not get caught,” she said with a huff, though Link could hear the worry in her voice. “Either of you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Link said at the same time as Twilight, and they exchanged somewhat bemused looks.

Zelda cracked a worried smile. “Prove me right, then.”

They didn’t speak any more, Link turning one way down the hall while Twilight went the other. Link looked back at him before he ran off, the other hero leaning on the wall for support, his steps determined despite how they shook, and sent up a quick prayer to whoever was listening that he would make it.

Then he raced off down the hall, making a beeline for the computer control room.

[kandadze]

Not what I was planning on posting, but this story got super persistent (and my editing sped up thanks to @hyog-blog's cheering me on :)), so...

Catharsis (1334 words) by kandadze

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 大梦归离 | Fangs of Fortune (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Zhao Yuanzhou | Zhu Yan/Zhuo Yichen

Characters: Zhao Yuanzhou | Zhu Yan, Zhuo Yichen, Qing Geng

Summary:

Xiao Zhuo's arms should be getting tired right about now, Zhao Yuanzhou thinks, blinking up from his position on the ground at the man in question; he seems to be in a trance, but there's no malicious energy on him this time, and even Bing Yi's energy doesn't make an appearance. Zhao Yuanzhou is rather grateful -

Or, the missing scene in ep 31.

[originalarchivist]

Perspectives on Humanity: An analysis by Ivy Alexandria

There are many theories over what truly makes us human. Our skin? Our blood? Our brains? Our souls? Our common shapes and extremities?

Despite my years of archiving I am yet to find an answer. If skin and the basic human functionalities is what makes us human, than that would that make Brian?

If blood is what makes us human, what would that make Nastya? If our common shapes and extremities make us human, then what does that make Raph and Marius?

If our hearts make us human, then what would that make Jonny?

A more important question I've had time to ponder over is: If it's our brains that make us human, then what could that make me? (Truly I don't believe I ever had a chance to be human.)

I understand I'm dysfunctional. I was born dysfunctional and broken, and according to the anons, I will die dysfunctional and broken. (I believe the reboot was evidence enough for the crew to believe I am dysfunctional. I'd be surprised if they decided to keep me around after this. After I hurt Jonny. .)

I understand that the Doctor thought I should continue being disabled even if she could've fixed me completely. Some "Bullshit" "about accepting yourself." (Jonny D'Ville-1646281)

Truthfully, I feel as though her true intention was for her 'children' to suffer.

If I was normal. If she had saved my grey matter, instead of programming it.

If she had fixed the parts of my brain responsible for balance, speech, motor skills, I might finally have a chance to be something. To be someone. To be a human. Or as close as a mechanisms can get to being a human

(do we even have the humanity left to be human? I should know the answer. Are my processors down?)

She tore apart what she could hav- Quite frankly: ought to have saved, and replaced it with rusting hardwire.

Where half my neurons are meant to be. That used to be my only location of major fault.

Why couldn't she have just rebuilt that? Why couldn't she save me from the constant confusion? From the confusion over who I am, from the confusion on if I even quali- If I ever qualified as human.

Unfortunately I understand I was dysfunctional even before this due to how I was originally formed in my mother's womb, however why couldn't she have just rebuilt what needed to be fixed? Why must she have rebuilt the entirety of my brain?Did she not think how much agonizing pain and confusion she could have spared me from?

Carmilla. If you're reading this. Why? My centuries of work, the remains of your notes: I am yet to find an answer of satisfactory quality.

I must spend my 'eternal' prison sentence stuck, inhuman, as I always have been.

As I always will be.

You never truly saved me as you promised you would.

You refused to fix what truly was broken. And for that, I don't think I can forgive you. (I don't think any of us do.)

I will never be like my crewmates.

Forever I am to be stuck with this brain. With this faulty lump of metal I am doomed with: essentially hallucinating my emotions, hallucinating a sense of artificial love, until the day the universe will end (or I retire).

So thank you oh wonderfully kind doctor. For ruining your 'children' one 'spared' life at a time.