#but then i need to make certain characters schedules line up with one another for PLOT

[shootingthe-stars]

i feel like my stupid college advisor making every single marauders era character’s timetables rn just to keep everything organized for 4th year. like this is hellish

[a-b-riddle]

Continuing this idea.

You should be scared. Very scared. Instead you were just stupid in thinking that this person who had repeatedly broke into your home, admitting to watching you, and completely invading your privacy didn’t mean you any harm.

Your logic that if he wanted to, he would have. You just hoped to god that your intuition about him was right. You had met monsters before. They didn’t make themselves known until it was too late.

But he was different. The small things he did to make your life easier weren’t things men intent on hurting you did. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have the opportunity to.

You had gotten a dog and a cat. A bonded pair that had been left when their family moved away, leaving the partners stranded.

When you came home with the adorable mutt you sent your shadow a cheeky text.

Don’t worry. I made sure he was good with men. Just not sure if he cares for masked ones.

More worried about the cat.

This little guy? Cheese is harmless. You attached a picture of your new orange cat sleeping peacefully on your couch.

You named the fucking thing Cheese?

Dog’s name is Mac.

That only earned you a thumbs down emoji.

It had been three weeks and you were certain he hadn’t been back into your apartment. You had to do mundane tasks again. Take out the trash. Get your mail from the box. You weren’t sure how he was managing that one.

It wasn’t until you got held up at work that you sent him a text. You felt like you were asking too much, but thankfully he had crossed the line from breaking into your place.

Could I ask a favor?

Almost instantly he sent back a reply.

You could

Can you take Mac out? I’m not gonna be out of here for another 3 hours. Another waitress quit last minute and I’m stuck here. 😭

You added the crying face for effect.

Could test out that biting theory.

He won’t bite you.

Wasn’t talking about the dog, Love.

Forty minutes later you got a picture of Mac looking up. His pink tongue hanging out of his mouth, looking up in excitement.

Be careful if you pass by the guy who hangs out back by the play area. Mac dislocated my arm this weekend being a little asshole and lunging after him.

Thought you said he wouldn’t bite.

Wouldn’t bite YOU. He’s a good judge of character.

He’s a good boy.

The following shifts, your shadow would send you photos. All of Mac. All outside. None giving you the slightest idea of what he looked like.

You gave him a heads up that you’d be able to take him out yourself. You don’t know how you’d react to finally meeting him. You could have easily stalked him as he had done you, but there wasn’t any fun in that. And he had made this fun.

You didn’t however count on Mac scratching at the door at 10 pm that night.

Or the next.

Or the next.

His entire schedule was thrown off. The vet said it was a UTI and your only options were keep letting him out as needed or he will try and hold it in and risk his bladder getting inflected. Or even his kidneys.

You were standing in the flood light at the edge of your apartment building when your phone buzzed.

You need to stop going out this late. Not safe.

Why? You text back, grinning. You’re out here too. Not anything to be afraid of.

Careful. Sounds like you like having me around.

Who says I don’t?

He didn’t respond. You try again.

Am I ever gonna be able to meet you?

Three dots appeared after moments of silence

Don’t think so pet.

What’s the point then? Isn’t a hunter’s goal is to get close to their prey?

Is that what you think you are to me? My prey?

You couldn’t tell if he was actually offended. Fuck. How do you make this better?

Is it bad if I want to be?

What the fuck? Your reaction was to turn things sexual? But you weren’t lying. You often found yourself imagining him, a masked stranger coming into your room while you slept. Looming over your defenseless body until the exact moment he decided to strike.

In an instant he would have your hands restrained and a palm covering your mouth. He’d tell you to hush. The fantasy hard to imagine in that moment when you wondered what he would sound like.

I’m not actually afraid of you, you know?

Oh really? Someone is feeling brave tonight. Going out into the dark. Taunting their stalker.

You swear your could feel your heart trying to beat out of your chest. He was into it. Just as much as you were. You thought maybe given the initial cute acts of service it was more of a guardian angel kind of thing.

It wasn’t until you noticed underwear missing did you know he was just as filthy as you hoped him to be. Even though you never brought it up. Too afraid to get in too deep with someone who could be a sociopath.

You could come and see how brave I am.

He didn’t respond immediately and Mac was done dribbling out the last hit of pee. You were in the stairway when your phone chiroed.

Fine. See you soon.

A picture followed. It was dark. So dark you had to turn up your brightness. When your eyes focused, your stomach dropped.

It was you.

A stilled image of you walking into the building your back turned. The image too clear to be taken from a distance. If you had to guess it was no more than ten feet away.

Ten feet away and you didn’t hear a fucking thing. Completely oblivious to the danger close by.

That night you had came so hard you had half a mind to text him a thank you for being the inspiration behind your bliss.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To a Tea 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary:  A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character:  Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 

Six days in a row and you’re ready to keel over. Amid your busy schedule, you hadn’t a chance to fill your quickly dwindling cupboards and fridge. So, after a ten-hour shift on your feet, running all around the tables and between tea rooms, you expend the last of your strength on a quick trip to the shop. 

It isn’t too far out of your way. It’s just a half-block away from your stop. You could wait until tomorrow, your day off, but you’re dying for a strawberry shortcake mochi before you tuck into bed. The rest of your night isn’t too unusual; you’ll be happy to fall asleep to an episode of the same old sitcom that you know by rote. 

You yawn over the bask hooked over your elbow. You have your mochi and a few other staples to get you through; eggs, oat milk, and your favourite brand of granola. You rub your forehead as a stitch threatens to imprint itself permanently. Tomorrow you’ll do a proper shop. 

You stop just before the cashier and peruse the discount shelf. Those chocolate-covered gummy worms are deadly. You shouldn’t. 

You reach for the package, eyeing it up, blinking away another yawn. Those will only have you waking up with a sore tummy. 

“You’d be better off with the dark chocolate, or even the peanuts,” someone says. The timbre is dulcet but firm, and strangely familiar. 

You look over at the figure standing around the side of the shelves. You fear you might be hallucinating as you stare at Raymond. He has a square of protein chocolate in hand but sets it back where he got it, making certain it and every other bar is straight. 

“Oh, hi?” You stammer.  

The tea shop is busy and you’re certain you’ve probably crossed paths with at least one customer outside store hours, but never like this. If anything, you both look the other way and carry on. Instead, he’s intent on you, shifting to face you fully as he sets his shoulders, clutching his hands before him. 

“Though I do suppose you’ve already got the ice cream, it hardly matters what else you add to your lot,” he muses. 

You look in your basket then at him. Is he judging you? Mr. Black Tea, plain. You hang the bag back on the hook. As you do, he steps forward and you shuffle back on your heels. He pulls the bag in line with others, rescinding his hand with a flutter of fingers. 

“If you’re in the mind for something sweet, there’s a place near here, it has a sticky toffee pudding more worth the expense,” he suggests. 

You don’t know what to say. You haven’t seen him since he muttered about your apron strings. In the two weeks after, you assumed he might not come back. As particular as he is, you thought you’d gone egregiously over the line. And yet, you’d forgotten about him for all the other bodies passing through the door. 

“Thanks, I’ll look into that,” you say. 

“Mm,” he hums and his eyes flit up and down behind his lenses, “you sound different.” 

“Do I?” You reach to scratch your neck. 

“You look different too.” 

You tilt your head and give a confused grimace, “well, I...” you glance down, “suppose I'm not wearing my apron.” 

“Must be it,” he agrees, “you sound tired.” 

“I guess... yeah,” you take a breath and let it out slowly.  

It’s strange. He’s not a customer here, there is no need to please and yet you feel you must. You poke the tip of your tongue out then hide it behind your lips. 

“Not in a bad way,” he assures you.  

“Right, thanks,” you say in a fracture, “that’s nice, but uh, I... I’m just on my way home.” 

“I know,” he says. 

“...so then I’ll just be--” you point towards the checkout and falter, “what did you say?” 

“Yes, down Trafalgar. I know. It’s late,” he peers over towards the transparent walls along the front of the shop, “these parts aren’t too safe this time of day.” 

“Trafal--“ you begin but can’t finish, “Raymond.” 

He blinks, his expression scarily placid. 

“Details,” he says evenly, “it is best to keep note of them. It is dangerous not to mind them.” He raises a finger, “one might not notice the shadow that walks behind theirs or the window they left open in the kitchen.” 

Your lip trembles as your heart sinks, “have you... have you been following me?” 

“Following... that sounds sinister,” he gives a crooked expression, “no, no, I would consider it... I keep you safe.” 

“Safe. From what, exactly?” 

He narrows his eyes and his lips straighten thoughtfully.  

“Well, from men like me.” 

His words turn your blood to ice. Men like him. What does he mean? 

“I...” you take a step back and he moves with you. You put your hand up to stop him as you still, “Raymond, do not come any closer.” 

“You don’t understand, I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says, “that’s what makes me different. Not like those other men.” 

“I mean it,” you warn him. “If you come any closer, I will make a scene.” 

Your adrenaline courses through you. You’re awake now. The yawns have dissipated and your eyes are wide. 

“Ah, and that’s where I am like the other men,” he shrugs, “it doesn’t matter if I come closer to you right now. Hardly matters. Because I can wait. I have waited. And when I...” he steps towards you and you put the basket between you, his stomach pressing against it, “come closer, you will not even see me coming.” 

You stare at him, horrified. His blue eyes gleam and he reaches to straighten his glasses. He smirks and his brows draw up coyly. He leans in and you lean away. Then suddenly, he backs off and tugs his cuffs straight, then fixes his tie. 

“Don’t forget to close your window,” he says as he spins on his heel, “wouldn’t want some nocturnal creature creeping in.” 

You gape after him as he saunters off. You can’t quiet move as disbelief has you stuck to the spot. It’s all so sudden. So unexpected. How could you ever predict something like this? The uptight man from the tea shop, a stranger really, a face who disappeared for a whole fortnight, and he’s just shaken your entire world into disarray. 

Men like him? You don’t even know who he is. Only his name and how he likes his tea. 

[potterandpromises]

the LA plot for omitb has the trio in hollywood bc a movie is being made about them and based on the onset pic with their actor counterparts (they were wearing what the trio was wearing in the pilot ep), part of the movie theyre making is set during s1 which theo is an integral part of so most likely there might be a character based on him in the movie too. do you think they'd have theo in s4 in any capacity? id honestly be upset if theyd drop theo the way they dropped oscar

*Spoilers*

I am at least 95% certain Theo will be in at least one episode of season 4. Mostly because they wouldn't have brought him back in season 2, fleshed him out, then brought him back and fleshed him out again in season 3 if they didn't want him around for the long haul. They especially would not have had Mabel move in with him. In other words, the writers seem more invested in his character then they ever were in Oscar's or Lucy's.

The ≈5% is in case there was a scheduling conflict/other issue with James Caverly (which I think is unlikely, just based off of interviews and what I know of his career.) My understanding is that they wrote Oscar out at least in part because of a scheduling conflict, though I'm not actually sure. Or I could maybe see Theo skipping a season if they star-packed the cast so tightly they decided they didn't have time for him. But season 3 had a similar set up with a bunch of new faces and they still made time to have him come in, help out the with case, sweep Mabel off to his apartment and then peace out, so I'm expecting season 4 will likely be similar in that regard.

Side note: I don't think we'll get a Theo and Will story line this season, because of the aforementioned star-packing. Which is too bad! I'm predicting James Caverly and Ryan Broussard will be in another One Killer Question together where they'll talk about being brothers and I will have to silently scream about how we're deprived of seeing them together in the show. One day!

Anyway, as to whether Theo will get a doppelganger, I'm agnostic. He is an important character in season 1, but I don't know that the in-universe OMITB movie will end up getting made, and thus get to the point of the story where Theo would need to be cast/shown (wow, this is getting too meta, I don't know how to write that sentence.) The script leak I saw indicates that the counter-trio will be following our trio to New York, for research, I'd assume. In real life, many adaptations start pre-production and don't end up getting made, so we won't definitely be seeing that adaptation. It's also possible the plot will diverge significantly from the podcast, like the Brozzos reboot, and he won't even be a character. Though the clothing and method acting would suggest that's probably not the case, at least not at first. Again, I'm agnostic as to where that whole thing will end up.

I'm expecting lots of meta comments on Hollywood and writing. Like aging-up Mabel's character so there isn't such an age gap between her and the guys (because audiences "won't believe" their friendship otherwise? for romantic possibilities?) but still not casting an old women, because misogyny. If they do have a Theo in the movie, I wonder if they'll address disability erasure when it's seen as too difficult or not narratively interesting, or the issue of casting abled actors as disabled characters.

Also, and this is a side note to the side note: Selena was seen filming as Mabel in the courtyard while the wedding set was up, wearing a baby blue sweater and mini skirt similar to the one she worn in 2x07. Mabel only wears blue in (or directly before/after) episodes where she's with Theo. Climatically it's about matching his color scheme/apartment, emotionally it's about getting closer to him. Now, this could be a stretch. I've tried to think of ways it could be stretch, like it could be to match someone else's color scheme, I guess. But the pattern is real. So that might put your mind at ease a bit, too.

The too-long-didn't-read of it is that while I think we had real reasons to worry last season, the writers keep committing to keeping him around and Theo has multiple storylines set up for the future. So I wouldn't worry. As for an OMITB movie counterpart, I have no idea, but wouldn't hold my breath.

[wanderingblindly]

⭐️ for Impasse of Biting because I think about this fic daily! Love you 🤍

ooooooh god i love talking about this fic so fucking much THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!! (ask game link)

There are a million things I could choose to talk about, but for this ask I'll focus a scene that almost went a completely different direction:

Lando Confronting Oscar at His Flat

My main goal with this final "it's now or never" moment was highlighting Lando's agency. In almost the entire fic, Lando never chooses who he sees and when; Charles shows up at the café on his own schedule, or he drags them out to clubs he chooses; Oscar appears and disappears at his own will, regardless of what Lando wants.

So Lando choosing to step out of the café and into someone else's space with the intent of actively seeking what he wants felt crucial.

However, originally, I set it in Lando's flat:

"Oscar," Lando calls confidently, turning flicking on the light. He hadn't straightened the couch before he went to bed last night, the living space almost welcoming in its disarray. "I know you're there." The curtains rustle in the evening breeze, rustle further under Oscar's cautious hand as he steps into Lando's flat. His shoulders are hunched, eyes facing the floor. "Knew you were out there," Lando says, toeing off his shoes like this was casual. Like Oscar waiting outside his windows was normal, like he didn't want to revert back to their typical, safe distance. "I was never, um. Watching, or anything." Oscar mumbles, still waiting by the window.

I didn't end up keeping this for a few reasons. First, it just didn't... feel right. It didn't make by brain go !!!!!!!!!!, and I think that's because it didn't suit the character arc I was trying to build.

Yes, Lando trying to get Oscar to show up in his living room mirrors one of the previous scenes (where he's certain Oscar is there, but feels crippling mortification at asking for him). It made a nice contrast, Lando's uncertain manner in that scene vs. his confidence here. But it was still missing something.

I realized that Lando needed to, literally, step out of the spaces that represent the current version of himself and into one that represented newness. I also though it fitting to have Lando seek comfort in the same way Oscar does: by being where the other feels close -- Oscar in Lando's café, Lando in Oscar's flat. Lando needed to feel like he was moving forward in some way or another.

The final nail in the coffin (nice) was realizing that having Lando ask permission to enter Oscar's home was a fun reversal of typical vampiric imagery. That's not overly important to the plot, but it does subtly reiterate the unconventional nature of their relationship dynamic relative to their biology.

Deleted Line that I Really Liked

I think I've mentioned a few times that the end of Ch. 1 wasn't actually meant to be an ending at all lol. Originally, I planned to transition into a series of brief vignettes that showed their relationship continuing to grow in a two fold way:

Their routine splits in two parts: the day and the night. Time hasn't affected him since it all changed, the sun moving in tandem with the moon fading into the background. But it affects him now, how the light plays in Lando's curls and the moon shines in his eyes.

I wanted to show like, contrast in how they get to know each other at Lando's café during the day (maybe more question oriented, conversational) with how they interact at Oscar's flat at night (sensory, sort of testing their limits in the dark and quiet).

It didn't end up happening, but I liked that quote :)

[legobiwan]

Whumptober Salvage: Episode 1

I obviously did not do Whumptober this year as my October schedule was INSANE. Now that I have a good percentage of my life back, I want to make up for this, as I have some cool ideas and I need the challenge of writing on a schedule.

I can't guarantee that I can produce something every day, but I'm damn well going to try. Caveat that these shorts (ha, "shorts," they said, laughing) will be less polished than my usual work (much less edited, if at all), as I'm using this as an exercise to get my writing back in shape before tackling my larger projects.

Today's theme: Forced to Choose

Today's author commentary: This was supposed to be a short. It ended up just over 2,000 words.

Warnings: Major character death

~~~~~~~~~~~

Bleck is dead.

They’re out of options, out of time. The last gambit with the Pure Hearts was just enough to break through Super Dimentio’s shield, to make him vulnerable to attack. (It, not him, Mario reminds himself as he bounds forward, executing a messy somersault that delivers him a mere breath from the angry slam of a gargantuan boot that would see him flattened in an instant). 

It was a bizarre piece of irony that the loyalty of Bleck’s minions could resurrect the Pure Hearts for one last encore performance, that the same people who attempted multiple times to kill Mario and his friends, the ones who ushered in the end of all worlds without a second thought, the ones who corrupted his little brother - 

If they live through this, they’ll get no thanks from his mouth.

But that’s a thought for later, for when the dust had settled and the worlds remained standing. (The worlds would remain standing. Mario won’t let it end any other way).

Mario sprints towards a rectangular pillar, kick stepping his way to the top. He’s certain to plant a foot directly into the grotesque likeness of Dimentio’s smiling mask as he clambers upwards, landing on the narrow platform just in time to hit the decks as another one of Super Dimentio’s missiles flies over his head. 

Too close, he thinks, shoving himself upright on trembling legs.  

They need to end this now. Peach is waving her parasol, trying to attract the attention of the enormous creature as Bowser booms from behind, ricocheting from platform to platform until he’s near enough to unleash a torrid stream of fire aimed at the back of Super Dimentio’s head. 

It’s enough to send the creature staggering, if that’s what the spastic, jutting movements of the sickly elongated neck could be called. But Bowser’s retreat is too sluggish, the Koopa not quick enough to avoid the retaliatory swing of an iron foot to the gut that sends him hurtling across the blank room, Bowser crashing into the far wall with a thunderous roar.

There’s no time to think, the small opening possibly their last hope of survival. Mario acts on years of well-honed instinct as he summons Carrie and Cudge in quick succession, riding the little boxy platform straight into Super Dimentio’s face, rearing back with Cudge to deliver a devastating blow to the bridge of the gigantic monster’s nose.

The resulting shriek is like a thousand sharpened nails being drawn down a chalkboard, a screeching static that melts with the creature in real time, feet dissolving into bubbling, swirling puddles of acid, legs less collapsing than imploding, a house of skeletal cards upended, each joint falling to the ground with a hollow bounce. 

A line of tiny, fire breathing molecules eat their way up two-toned smock and white ruffles, leaving a disembodied neck and head to float freely over the empty floor for a long second before the creature’s head comes smashing down to earth with a horrid splat, the force of the collision cracking the monster’s jaw in two, the upper portion of the head now unhinged from its base, the gaping maw open at a wide, unnatural angle.

Mario slides to the edge of a crumbling platform, the echoes of Dimentio’s mask now wiped from the edifice. Gingerly, he hops to the floor, limping through the smoke-shrouded scene to join the Princess and Bowser, who are keeping a safe distance from the now-malformed mockery of his brother’s face.

“Is…is it over?” Peach asks, wheezy. She puts a hand on Mario’s shoulder. He’s not certain if it’s a gesture of comfort or evidence of the toll the battle has taken on her. “Did we -”

“Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha.”

Terrors seizes in Mario’s chest as the decapitated head of his brother laughs, the unhinged jaw popping and creaking with each pulsating syllable. Peach’s grip tightens on Mario’s shoulder, her fingers digging into sore, bruised flesh as she lets out a horrified gasp. Behind him, Mario can feel the heat rising from Bowser’s fiery exhalations, the Koopa grinding his fangs together as he lets loose a dangerous, guttural growl.

“You think this is the end?” Dimentio’s voice bounces off every surface of the high-ceilinged room in a nightmarish symphony of sing-song mockery. “This isn’t finished. The Count is dead. And there is only one means of escape.”

The jaw detaches even further, the upper piece of the head bending back with a tortured squeal of viscera and metal. There’s a low rumbling, the earth beginning to tremble beneath Mario’s feet. All at once, the head of Super Dimentio lets out a rusted, phlegmatic bark that seems to emanate from the invisible depths of a diseased chest, and with it, expels a soft, human-like object in a spray of gooey, greenish fluid.

Mario’s heart stops in his chest. “Luigi,” he whispers, breaking free of Peach’s iron grip to sprint towards the prone form of his brother. 

Please be alive. You have to be alive. Oh my God, please. I’ll do anything. 

Relief floods past spiky adrenaline as Luigi begins to stir, Mario covering the last distance between the two of them by sliding on his knees across the smooth, marble floors, coming to rest at his brother’s side. 

“Luigi?” He’s pawing at his brother’s chest, his legs, his face, Mario doesn’t know what he’s looking for or what he's even doing aside from trying to account for all the little bits and pieces that make up his brother, to hold Luigi together by sheer force of will, as if he were a broken vase just waiting to fall to apart.

“Mario?” His brother’s grey-green eyes focus on his own, the dreamy, half-hypnotized look now melted away in favor of sharpened anxiety. Luigi grabs Mario’s hands in his own, using his brother to leverage himself up to a sitting position. 

“Mario, what happened? Where are we, why am I - “

The words die in Luigi’s throat as his gaze lands on his own bloated, distorted image, jaw jackknifed away from the upper part of his skull, blackened moustache now seeping with a gooey phlegm streaked with crimson, the wide, unblinking eyes criss-crossed in impossible directions. 

The ground trembles again, this time with enough violence to send a set of pillars toppling into a pile of broken concrete, the linear shapes and angles of Bleck’s castle seeping trails of pustulent white down the dark walls of the chamber. 

“Oh my God,” Luigi rasps, shuddering.

“Ciao, Luigi,” the bodiless voice of Dimentio greets.

Luigi squeezes his eyes shut, grabbing at the sides of his head with both hands. “No. No, no, no. This can’t be real. It didn’t happen. None of it happened. You can’t be real!” he screams, bringing down a shower of debris from the cracked ceiling. 

“Careful, mon ami,” Dimentio chides with a small chuckle. “This reality seems to be contingent on your mood.”

Mario wraps a protective arm around his little brother. “It’s over, Dimentio. You lost.”

“Is it, though?” The mouth of the monster has stopped moving, frozen in a gaping expression of demented awe. Only the eyes remain animated, dark, swirling irises pinballing off the walls of jaundiced sclera in a chaotic polyrhythm. 

“One last surprise! Ah ha ha ha ha. I may be dead but the Chaos Heart is not. A piece of it lives on, and while it does, nothing can stop the end of all worlds!”

A thunderous crackle booms from outside the castle, the room, reality itself teetering to the side as chunks of marble and plaster cascade to the floor, revealing an open wound in the ceiling through which the violet eye of the Void swirls, tempestuous.  

Luigi grips his brother’s shoulders, his voice high with panic. “Mario, what are we going to do?” 

“We’re going to stop this, Luigi,” Mario grits. “Right here. Right now.” He turns towards the head of Super Dimentio. Black skin is peeling from its cheeks, an ear dangling to the side by a single string of flesh. “Alright you bastard. You’re obviously done for. Where’s the last part of the Chaos Heart?”

“Where else?” Dimentio laughs, the teeth of the monster now crumbling to dust one by one. “Inside its perfect vessel. Just as it was foretold in the Dark Prognosticus.” 

Reality phases in and out of a sickening double, a photographic negative overlaid with a collapsing present. Peach and Bowser scramble over to join Mario and his brother, Bowser shielding the brothers from the worst of the falling detritus with his shell, Peach unfurling her parasol, situating it as best she can over both her and Bowser’s forms.

“Whatever it is, Red,” he growls, “we gotta do it fast.”

Mario nods. “What’s the vessel?” he yells over the rising clangor, pushing his brother further into Bowser’s protective embrace. 

“You mean who is the vessel,” Dimentio cackles through half a disintegrating face. “It’s quite simple. Destroy the man in green.”

The man in…

Denial tears through Mario’s chest.

“Liar!” he screams, jumping to his feet, oblivious to the hailstorm of matter pelting his body. “You’re a fucking liar!”

There’s no answer to be had, the last physical remnants of Dimentio carried off by the whirling Void, the space the head had occupied now a congealed puddle of tarry emerald. 

“Shit!” Mario yells, leaping out of the way of a massive piece of scaffolding. Something grabs at the straps of his overalls, pulling him under one of the last standing arches, bright, fuchsia lightning setting the room afire with a violent crackle.

“Lou, what are you doing?” Mario demands, shoving his brother further into the shadowy alcove. “You could have been killed!”

His brother is silent, gaze fixed on the ashen floor. Outside, the tumult crescendos to a booming, percussive explosion, rattling the very foundations of the castle. Small wisps of violet are beginning to reach down from the heavens, each eddy scraping a few more atoms of reality with it.

Luigi locks eyes with his brother, biting his lip.

“Mario - “

“No.” He knows what his brother is about to say. What he’s going to ask Mario to do. He grabs his brother by the back of the neck, pushing their foreheads together. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Mario.” His brother cups either side of his face, a movement so gentle Mario thinks he might cry. “I remember it all. Everything. Let me - “ Luigi’s voice cracks. “I need to make it right.”

Something awful crawls up Mario’s throat, a tight, squeezing thing wrapping vice-like fingers round his vocal cords.

“It wasn’t your fault, Lou,” he manages to force out through a tangle of emotion. 

Luigi gives a small sob. “I still did it, though.”

A low moan sounds from the sky, a deep, bass drone not voiced by any creature of this existence, as if it were the fundamental tone of all of reality.

Mario slides his face into the crook of his brother’s shoulder. “I just got you back,” he croaks, wet. “I can’t - I can’t - “

“You can’t let the world end because of me,” Luigi says, petting the back of his brother’s head before gently guiding Mario to meet him eye to eye.

“Let me be the hero for once.” Luigi gives a watery smile. “I’ve got this one,” he says, giving Mario’s cheek a fond pat before turning to walk into the maelstrom. 

Mario stands frozen as he watches his brother walk away, his thoughts and emotions encased in a sticky amber, his body either unwilling or unable to put a stop to what is happening. As his brother reaches the edge of the threshold between safety and annihilation, he pauses to look over his shoulder. 

“I love you, bro,” Luigi says. 

All Mario can do is give a simple wave back. 

It will have to be enough. 

Luigi huffs out a small laugh, waving back in kind. “Ciao, Mario.”

His brother disappears into the rainbow-hued whirlwind, the world coalescing into a single point of darkness.

[ask-missparker]

—Reality meet fiction… / Marvel x Fairytale AU Fic ✨🍎💜⚔️

Platonic Pairing: Liane Felton & Amelia Snow

Summary: What happens when a fan gets hit with knowledge of another universe where her dreams existed…

Setting: Avengers Tower

Note: Who’s to blame for this little accident? Was it Cole or Cassie? 🤔

Characters mentioned: The Young Avengers, King Alexander, Alex Summers and etc

+++

It was a early Tuesday night.

Some people were eating going out for dinner.

Others were lucky enough to have plans with friends.

Today Liane was just glad she could stay home at The Tower, watch Netflix and eat some popcorn.

Rochelle and Michelle were out on a double date with Luna and Rick. Cole was hanging out with Mia. Rei decided to go see a certain guy he had his eye on for a while, and Ethan was still out at the mall with his sister. He promised he would get his girlfriend a pretty necklace as a gift and needed his sister’s advice.

Thank heavens The Mall was opened 24 hours.

So Liane had the place all to herself, for the most part. Some of the gang members were still at the tower, either in their rooms, in the kitchen or outside on the balcony.

In result, Liane looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming in to use the TV, and grinned. She pressed play on Netflix’s Once Upon A Time. It was a little guilty pleasure of hers, she wasn’t ever ashamed to reference the series with friends and family, but she would never tell anyone in particular at a party about the shows she watches.

Yes, the show was good but it wasn’t ashamed to be a little silly and intriguing with its characters or plot-lines. Plus she adored the ships very much!She was in the middle of episode 3 of season 4. Aka The Frozen season, when she heard it.

A little crash and stumbling action in the hallway.

She assumed it was probably Melissa being clumsy or maybe Petra who accidentally trying those two high heels.

She shrugged not assuming much.

After a couple of minutes, she paused Netflix after finishing the episode, switched to checking any notifications from her social media feed. She hoped that Rick did not post any embarrassing photos from last Friday’s party.

“Liane?”

She looked up hearing her name, seeing the short brunette with long brown locks, a blushing reddish lip, and wearing a dusty rosey pink jacket and pants. Hell, she saw the girl wearing flats too. It wasn’t uncommon for Mia to wear something colorful, but she wasn’t seen in pink very often unless she brought a certain shade of pink with jeans to match. But she was more of a casual red wearer.

Honestly if Liane had to be honest, she looked pretty good. Maybe she had a date or some unexpected event coming up tonight? Oh my god was she supposed to be getting ready for a party?! Oh my—

“Liane?” She repeated.

The blonde looked up, “Huh? Yeah, what? Oh hey Mia!”

“Hi? Um what happened?”

“What do you mean? Oh god don’t tell me I forgot about a party! Don’t worry give me 5 minutes to change and get my purple heels ready!”

“Wha..no? We’re not scheduled to go to Grandpa’s Diner with Roch or the girls until Thursday I think.”

“Grandpa’s Diner? Is that a new fast food restaurant that I remember signing us up for?”

“No? That’s the dinner Bruce owns?”

“Bruce?! As in our Bruce? Rick’s dad Bruce Banner!”

“Uh yes, why do you sound so surprised?”

Mia looked around seeing the view, of the area she was in. She was only ever once in front of Liane’s house, everyone usually goes to her home or somewhere where to hang out. She looked at the photos on the walls and such, not recognizing much, noticing how Liane was acting so surprised. She wondered if she was under a memory spell or something.

Maybe she was drinking?

Then she saw something that seemed more than odd to her.

A photograph selfie of the gang wearing clothes she doesn’t seem to remember seeing them in. She looked out the window noticing the view of town but instead she saw the clear view of the city—New York City?! They don’t live in a city!

“Where am I? Where was i accidentally sent to?” Amelia asked.

Liane raised an eyebrow, “Mia you’re home in New York City. In the living room, aren’t you supposed to be out or something?”

“No, I was in Cassie’s shop as she was using something of Cole’s to update her transformation spells. Using wands, magical items and other things.”

“Wands? Cassie’s shop? Mia have you been drinking? Girl, I told you not to drink too much lately.”

“No I was not drinking! I was eating some fries and drinking a soda.”

“Okay, Mia, I think you’ve been not quite ready to go take a nap yet..”

“No, no naps. I slept well and it’s not like I am taking a forced nap again…remember what happened last time..”

“What happened last time?”

Mia groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, “A year ago, you were in the fire room after falling under a sleeping curse, it was our only way to communicate while you were in the forest..that wasn’t pretty. You didn’t sleep well..neither did I after a while.”

“Sleeping curse..? Fire room post-sleeping curse..?” Liane said, looking at her tv screen and back at her friend, not wanting to get excited or worried about anything just yet.

“Yeah..it was wild. But we’re fine now because they’re all together again, especially you and Ethan! It took everybody a while, weird times…weird times..”

“Me and Ethan? Sleeping curse..? Forest?…oh my gosh! No freaking way! Wait, no it can’t be right? I mean we have seen crazy stuff in our lives..and the alternative universe thing exists..but that’s wildly different..o holy cow! M-Mia, where do you think you are right now?”

Mia raised an eyebrow and pointed at the room, “Not in your house that’s for sure. I am clearly in New York City and you’re not remotely acting like yourself..like I asked before, Liane where am I?”

“You’re in New York City, in Avengers Tower. I know it’s weird but you will be fine.” Liane said, trying to hold back a squeal but failed, “This is so cool! I mean not cool for you, wait wait um..are you from Storybrooke or something?”

“By that question, you’re not my Liane, huh? Okay weird but I can handle it. And no, I am from Fighter Town. Knowing that this is a spell, sometimes will use magic and pop me back to my original home..”

“Original home? Oh my god! You said that I’m not your Liane? Wait what do you mean? And how are not weird about this?”

“Since my whole life was turn upside down years ago, and I’ve been to a few places unexpectedly before. But it’s wild, The Avengers exist here…hehe my nephew is gonna flip knowing that.”

“Nephew? Okay, better that i don’t know. What about me?”

That’s when Mia actually smiled and chuckled, “Now you sound like my Liane. My Liane is smart, a little slow at times, clever about her surroundings and quick to following along or firing up her skills. And she’s always asking questions about things.”

“Huh? Kinda weird but sounds like me.” She repiled lightly chuckling, curious about this particular thing.

“And she gets herself into trouble a lot.”

“Now that definitely sounds like me! Woah, even in another land I am getting myself into trouble..”

“Haha but we forgive you for it. Not everyone in the world forgives you or gives you a chance to prove yourself, but they eventually warm up to you.“

“Aww! That sound sweet, okay I’mma cut to the chance cause I think I know what universe your from..”

Amelia sat down on the couch curious about this hearing Liane point out her outfit, hair, what she heard about her talking about the land and how she might have a good guess onto who she is. Liane even talked about her universe too.

“Fairytales? Like the Disney movies?” Mia asked, grinning.

“Well yeah, I mean, I could be wrong—wait you know about the Disney stuff?” Liane asked, curious about that part.

“I mean yeah, our kids are pretty smart and well educated on things, hell we have them package at the store in our town…wait a minute, in my world you guys are just comic books and movies…I’m movies and children stories..”

“What story are you from?”

“Guess!”

Liane was silent, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one came in and looked back at Mia. She looked over her clothing closely, trying to remember her knowledge of her favorite series, what she heard Mia said eariler and what types of fairytales could she be referring to.

“Umm, sleeping beauty?” Liane said taking a wild guess.

She shook her head, “No, but I do know her and so do you, in our land. Try again.”

“You said sleeping curse? Am I sleeping beauty?…wait unless somebody else got hit with a curse too?”

“No..but you did have a hand in creating sleeping beauty.”

“I—what?! Wait wait wait what princess has had a sleeping problem?”

“Hint, lips as red as blood and skin soft as..”

“Snow! Your Snow White!”

“Well it’s Amara Snow..but people like to add the white part.”

“Damn who cursed you?”

“My brother in law.”

“Brother in law?!”

Liane took a moment to reflect on her words and glanced down at Amelia’s hands by accident, as her eyes caught onto a darling ring, as she gasped. She looked at her friend from the other side and squealed.

“Snow White married Prince Charming! Oh my god that’s so cute! Who’s your prince? Wait wait I know…Nikolai! Aww he saved you. Wait how?” Liane said, rambling trying to comprehend this new information.

Amelia chuckled, “It’s a long story but Nikolai is the brother of a king, so he’s the prince of light. And we both saved each other..well it was months after our first meeting.”

“Aw he hung you by a tree after you stole his jewelry?”

“How did you—? Never mind. Well no, it’s the opposite actually. He stole from me and I hung him by the tree.”

“Oooh a plot twist! How about me? Who am I? You said me and Ethan are a thing, or at least I assume we are.”

Amelia laughed feeling better about her surroundings at the moment, felt nice not to be chanced by an ice monster or a giant for a while, and no evil people in her presence at the time being.

“Well you’re Maleficent, but you’re actually a really good person! Your a fairy in my land who’s more or less human, you had stuff happened to you and whatnot.” Amelia started to explain, “You were upset and made a deal with King Alexander to help you curse a princess due to her father’s crimes against your forest.”

Liane connected the dots and nodded, “But the sleeping curse didn’t stop true loves kiss from breaking it. I see, I know the whole tale, and it’s smart plot point. What happened next?”

“The bad King Alexander saw how your spell didn’t work out like it was intended to and that deal was flipped on its head, as you were made to live out your days as a purple dragon, guarding a crystal item he stole from Cole years before.”

“Oh geez…how was I so foolish? I mean I get it was upset and heartbroken about something, so I wasn’t thinking straight but still!”

“Hey, you were hurt and people tend to do things differently when they’re not in the right mindset. But you were saved, twice in one month.”

“Really? How? Tell me, I like where this is going.”

“Well Nik—Nikolai was on a quest to look for an special item that belonged to Cole, so he searched until he entered the castle and fought his brother, King Alexander, there he found you as a dragon…and instead of slaying the dragon, he decided to help from the kindest in his heart. Once he unchained you, you turned back into human.”

“Liane grinned, “Awww! I was saved by my future friend! Let me guess we escaped and I got to live in a castle with you guys?”

“Not yet, Lia.” Mia chuckled, “Haha, um, if my memory serves me right, after your escape, the two of you parted ways. Nikolai went to return the item to Cole and return a little jew to help finish his quest. You decide to head home and live your days in your old castle, you were sad..but then a certain Prince or Knight from Wonderland arrived..”

“A knight from Wonderland..? But that doesn’t add up?…ohhh I get it now! I think?”

“The knight was Ethan, he was originally on a journey to find a dragon that lived there and bring it back to his homeland..but when he arrived at the castle he saw his childhood best friend there instead, as you two looked at each other, sparks flew once again..”

“And we lived happily ever after! Hehe he saved me!”

Liane just sat there squealing and gushing over how she imagined that tale to go, mentioned how she hoped they lived together in a beautiful house with a lovely view of the mountains and flowers too, and how she pictured them riding horses then visiting wonderland.

Amelia just sat there giggling and smiling at her reaction, she was willing to tell the blonde more but she rather wait for another time.

Then the brunette took her moment to ask about life here in Liane’s world. She read some Marvel comic books and binged watching the stuff she found on Netflix, with her friends and family. Hell, her red headed nephew adored them. Liane then explained things here and there, how The Avengers saved the day, how their lives are, who’s dating who, the missions they been on and etc.

It was all very interesting to the young brunette as she asked questions about things she wondered.

Soon enough they were both chatting with one another on the couch, not realizing the time went by.

Liane went to use the restroom and once she returned Mia was nowhere to be found. She looked around the living room, glanced at the hallway and kitchen, even called out for her brunette friend.

She sighed and huffed, noticing when she returned to living room, there were sparkling specks of green dust in the air, it was almost magic. One dust of the shimmering dust was left on the couch where Amelia last sat. Her eyes fell onto a small note that was left on the coffee table.

She picked it up.

‘Thank you for the wonderful gift of spending time with a friend. Sorry I had to go I was fading into green sparks, realizing it was Cole and Cassie’s magic bringing me back home. But don’t worry, you’ll see a verison of that tale i told you in your dreams tonight.’ ~ A.S. ♥️

Liane smiled finishing off the small reading, gushing to tell her friends about what happened as squealed hoping to dream about fairytales once again…

~~~

Ahhh! I couldn’t resist not doing this short story!

Please let me know what you guys think! 💭

Tags: @missstrawbs2001 @gcthvile @gaminggirlsstuff @cherrysft @meiramel @rickb-chaos @unicornempress606 @thecavalrywife

[angstyaches]

Hi!I love your fics so much and I saw your request things and thought maybe you could do Donnacha or Henry with an upset stomach that pushes them to the edge? Like they have to go go go all day long and it makes them like super overwhelmed but it ends all fluffy with the other character comforting them with belly rubs or a hot shower or smth?? Only do this if you want ofc!! Just a an idea! Ok bye!!

I was so sure that this hadn't been in my inbox for too long, but then I realised my original draft is named 'henry sickfic june' lmao thank you for the lovely request and for your patience, anon 🖤

CW: anxiety, depression, bad self talk, chronic pain, job interview scenario, death mention, emeto, stomach noises, platonic caretaking, belly rubs.

Word Count: 4,000+

___

Henry woke up feeling far too rested. 

Not a good sign.  

Even before he’d untangled his thoughts from the hazy dream he’d been having – the details were already retreating, but he was certain that Orlando Bloom had been somewhat involved – he knew in his bones that he had slept through his alarms. 

Cold spikes of adrenaline flipped him onto his back, joints protesting, so he could reach for his phone and his glasses. He pressed the glasses to his face and read the time on the screen. The taste of bile crept into his dry mouth. 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in ages, and his stubble was just short of a full-fledged beard at this rate. He’d intended to shave this morning, before sitting down to do a remote job interview that had been scheduled for one hour and forty-three minutes ago. 

Well. The company may as well have received written confirmation that he was no longer interested.  

Woops.  

He supposed he could call them up now and apologise for running late, and maybe they’d give him another shot –  

Henry’s stomach instantly turned at the idea, and he had to swallow very measuredly to avoid choking on a mouthful of bile. 

He had another interview lined up for later that afternoon, in case interview number one fell flat. Which it technically hadn’t. Now everything depended on the second – only – interview, a thought that had his stomach twisting again as soon as he had it. He almost regretted that he hadn’t managed to sleep through that appointment, too; at least then it would have been out of his hands. 

Henry hauled himself out of bed, grabbed his cane, and headed down the hallway for a quick, lukewarm shower. He thought about his day as he worked the grease out of his hair and the sheet-marks out of his face; his failure to make his first meeting of the day clawed at him, clinging to his skin despite the running water. As much as he’d been dreading the human interaction, he needed work – for the sense of purpose as much as the financial compensation. 

But... mostly the financial compensation. 

Digging through his clothes, he realised that the first thing he’d needed to do that morning was stick a bundle of his laundry into the washer-dryer, so he would have a decent shirt to wear for his interviews. Well, interview singular now. He dragged his laundry basket to the kitchen and filled the machine. His hip and back started aching with the effort of crouching, and head spun with urgency, frustration, and the overall unpleasantness of waking up to instant panic. His hair – now long enough to lick the neckline of his sweater – dripped cold water into his clothes. 

Alright. The dry cycle would be finished a measly fifteen minutes before he’d need a shirt. He’d really needed to wake up with that first alarm, but... it was fine. This was fine. 

While the washing machine hummed to life and water trickled into the drum, Henry gingerly righted himself, fingers working into the tension in his hip. Tears stabbed at the backs of his eyeballs and his jaws sat tense, but there was no sense in letting the pain steal his focus when he had things to be doing. 

He eyed the cupboards and considered dragging something out for a breakfast/lunch hybrid, but he felt his stomach do a queasy little backflip at the thought.  

He slinked back to his room, his heart thumping like he’d run a marathon, and lowered himself into his desk chair. 

___ 

Henry tried tapping around on Reddit to kill the time, but the constraints of both his laundry and his upcoming interview made it impossible for him to get absorbed in anything other than watching the time. His eyes skimmed over words and paragraphs without really taking anything in, and what little information his brain did let in only made him confused and angry. His mind was locked up tight, sealing itself up in fear of forgetting what he was supposed to do later. 

He typed the name of the company he’d be interviewing with later into a search engine. Maybe if he convinced himself he was being productive, his brain would give him a break. 

Light stabbed his eyes and Henry almost physically recoiled when their website appeared on-screen. No wonder they were looking to hire a web designer. The thing looked like it’d been created by a thirteen-year-old in 2004, despite the fact that the About Us portion stated that the company had been established in 2016.  

Henry was ready to click away from the site again – any longer in front of that wall of neon yellow and headers written in Bradley Hand, and he’d trigger a migraine – when a twinge of hunger sent his stomach into a spiraling churn.  

“Oh, great, now you’re hungry,” Henry murmured, gliding a hand over his belly.  

As indignant as he was about having to move, he was a little grateful to be given a task. He pulled himself out of the desk chair with a resigned sigh. After making himself a milky cup of coffee and a sandwich, using the last slice of cheese in the fridge, he hobbled over to the living room couch.  

He thought about turning the TV on, but the remote was out of immediate reach, so that decision was made for him. He ate in silence. 

He took a few bites of his sandwich that didn’t really taste... like anything. He hadn’t had anything to drink, since he’d woken late and in such a panic; maybe it was his dry mouth that was stopping his taste buds from doing their job. He took his coffee mug firmly by the handle and gulped down a few mouthfuls, stopping when the bitterness clung to the back of his throat. Not his best move, he thought with a shudder. He managed a few more bites and, unable to force himself to eat the crusts when his appetite was already so poor, called it there. 

___ 

Henry’s belly roiled. He could feel a panicky sheen of sweat gathering under his clothes. and his voice trembled throughout the meeting, It was so hard to sort through his dizzy thoughts that he struggled to answer the most basic of questions; what were his qualifications, what previous work was he the proudest of, what had he struggled with in the past and how had he overcome that struggle. 

“Thank you for allowing me to get to know you, Mr. Wilde,” the interviewer said now, smiling at him through the screen. “Your qualifications and experience are probably the most outstanding of all of our candidates so far. But I am just curious; what it is that interested you about this particular project?”  

Henry swallowed thickly. Despite this very immediate emergency situation, all he could think about was how Lucy would have passed away from second-hand embarrassment if she ever found out that the extent of his research on this company hadn’t gone beyond a brief skim of their website. 

He mumbled something about potential, even though all he could think about was the potential of him taking a nap directly after this interview ended. To his left, his bed lay beneath the armfuls of clothing that he’d moved out of his webcam’s line of sight, yet it seemed to peer out at him with a warm, tempting gaze. He could call it a day here, and hope she’d hire him based on his credentials alone. 

A warm, sickly belch crawled up his throat. He managed to stifle and muffle it, but his fist jerked towards his lips out of instinct, his cheeks puffing out slightly. The air settled back into his stomach with an acidic slosh, and he eyed his interviewer carefully. 

“Excuse me, sorry,” he mumbled. 

She blinked, regarding him with a hint of distaste, but moved along. “So, if we were to hire you for this project, where would you begin?” 

Henry cleared his throat, removing his fist. He was becoming irritated now; it felt as though she were tricking him into giving her instructions for whatever sap she hired, be it him or somebody else. But sometimes, you just had to jump through hoops to get ahead. Or stay afloat. 

“Well...” He cleared his throat. “I think I would begin by implementing some basic changes to the optics of the company’s home page. It’s the first impression of your company that many customers will get, so I feel it’s important to provide a good visual impact.” 

“Visual.” The interviewer – shame curdled in Henry’s gut as he realised he’d already forgotten her name – raised an eyebrow. “This project doesn’t concern any graphic work.” 

Catastrophe bloomed amidst the existing unease in Henry’s belly. He could let himself off the hook for not knowing the company inside-out, but not knowing the details of the position he was applying for was a whole other level of unpreparedness. The Lucy in his head was slapping her forehead and shaking her head, disowning him. 

“But you’ve intrigued me,” the interviewer said. “What optics are you referring to?” 

If you want my input, hire me, Henry wanted to snap at her. 

“Well, there are some scenarios where websites such as your current one would lend a certain retrospective, nostalgic charm,” Henry said, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand, “but since I have no reason to believe that this was the intention here, the current website makes your company appear out of touch, and the previous designer seem like an incompetent amateur.” 

With a deep nod of her head, the interviewer looked down at the notepad she’d been clutching since the call had begun. She tucked a nonexistent strand of stray hair behind her ear. “The previous designer was my deceased partner.” 

Henry’s throat froze over. 

“But I thank you for your feedback on her competence, Mr. Wilde, or... lack thereof, as it would seem.” Her eyes widened as she jotted something down. Her sudden lack of eye contact seemed intentional. “That’s all I need from you right now.” 

Henry fidgeted in his desk chair. He’d done such a great job of not fidgeting until that point. An apology danced on the tip of his tongue, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was, “Alright.” 

“Thank you for your time.” The interviewer didn’t even off a ‘we’ll be in touch’ before she ended the video call and vanished from his screen. 

Henry sat back in his chair, flung his glasses across his keyboard, and groaned loudly into his palms. When the groan didn’t seem like enough, he allowed himself something a little closer to a scream – why not? He was home alone, and the downstairs lot had been unoccupied ever since they’d moved in.  

The sound turned over painfully in his throat and made his eyes water. His insides felt like they were shrinking under the weight of failure, uselessness, despair, and hopelessness, and his shoulders crumpled inwards until his head was resting on the edge of his desk. 

It felt like forever before a sob finally tore loose, and with it came the sickly belch he’d swallowed on the video call, only this time, it came with interest. His stomach was churning wildly, feeling full to the brim with acidic mush. 

Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even said sorry for his remark, or thanked the interviewer for taking the time to speak with him –  

Vision blurry, Henry’s hands scrambled to find the metal bin he usually filled with sticky notes and chocolate wrappers and noodle cups. He shifted his chair forward in the search, jamming one of the wheels against his own foot. He yanked the bin into his lap as his stomach muscles imploded.  

No, he thought, tossing the bin back to the floor. Puking in his bin would mean washing it later, and Henry didn’t trust his energy levels to be up for an extra task after all of this.  

He gripped the edge of his desk, flinching to his feet and setting his stationery holders rattling. His hip seized up as he straightened, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a spike of tension pierced his temples. He staggered into the hallway and towards the bathroom, and, mercifully, made it to the toilet bowl before his stomach could really get going. 

The pressure at the base of his oesophagus felt like too much laundry being pushed into a washing machine drum at one time. It took far too long for him to retch up even the tiniest splatter of burning-hot bile; the liquid ejected from his stomach probably amounted to less than the liquid he’d squeezed out of his eyes.  

Still, his body seemed satisfied with that for now. The nausea retreated, leaving only that stubborn pain in his belly and the matching pain left behind by the clenching in his throat. 

He sank to the floor, knuckles pale and jutting as he gripped the toilet seat with both hands. He forced up a burp that was pressing at the base of his ribs, grimacing and desperate for relief, but it only brought that hot, heavy feeling back. His stomach burbled. His hip ached. His goosebump-ridden body shuddered. His heart curdled into a lump of despair that sat at the back of his throat. 

He belched again, and this time, up came his sandwich. 

___ 

“Henry, it’s Flatmate Friday,” Donnacha called through the door, as drily as he might have said that it was raining outside.  

Henry groaned quietly into his pillow. Flatmate Friday generally involved pizza delivery and a nostalgic movie or two, while three people sat crushed together on the couch and the fourth either took up residence on the floor or on a dining chair. 

“Hen, you alive in there?” Donnacha asked. “More importantly, are you decent?” 

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Donnacha not to come into his room, Henry gave in to the inevitable. He tugged the duvet out of the way of his mouth and called out, “Yes.” 

“Look,” Donnacha sighed as he breezed into the room. His eyes lingered on the mess of clothing that lay between the door and the bed, but only for a few seconds. “I know Lucy brought you your slices last week, but I don’t agree with that! I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, or whatever, but the point of Flatmate Fridays is... you know. Hanging out with your flatmates on a Friday. If I can be civil with Payton in the spirit of Flatmate Friday, then you can at least manage the ten paces it takes from here to the couch...” 

There was a brief flash of silence. 

“Jesus, Hen,” Donnacha said softly. Ha shimmied around the clothes mountain. His weight tipped one side of the mattress, creating a slope that pulled Henry’s legs towards the warmth of Donnacha’s back. “What’s going on? Bad day?” 

Henry shrugged. 

“Those... those new meds messing you up?” There was a soft, sympathetic melody to Donnacha’s voice now. He wove his fingertips into the fluffy mess of Henry’s hair.  

The gesture took him so much by surprise that tears sprang to Henry’s eyes, almost as uncontrollably as vomit. 

“Hen,” Donnacha exclaimed in a whisper, as though Henry had done something outrageous by tearing up. “What’s up? This is scary. Please tell me.” 

“I... fucked up so many times today,” Henry said numbly. It all felt so... inconsequential now that he was trying to summarise it for someone who wasn’t there. Someone who didn’t share his headspace. Someone who could smile and shrug and tell him to try again another day.  

Someone who, sweet as he was, didn’t understand.  

“What do you mean?” The sympathetic edge left Donnacha’s voice, leaving only disbelief. Genuine disbelief that Henry could have fucked anything up because Henry was older, Henry was smarter, Henry never left the apartment so when would he even have the opportunity to fuck anything up? 

“I-I woke up feeling like shit, and then I missed one job interview, and I really... really wanted that one.” He hadn’t admitted it to himself earlier, but now it hit him like a rock to the gut, that the interview he’d missed had meant so much more to him than the other one. “A-and then, I spectacularly fucked up the second one –” 

“It can’t have been that bad.” 

“I insulted the interviewer’s dead partner.” 

Donnacha’s lips hovered apart, wordless. Yeah, that’s what I thought, Henry wanted to spit. 

“And then I-I completely shut down for the rest of the day... I’m behind on my current deadlines –”  

“Hey, it’s okay,” Donnacha said. 

He didn’t even realise he’d started heaving with sobs until he felt Donnacha’s hands trying to still his shuddering shoulders. He leaned into his arms, the mattress rolling his legs and his torso closer to Donnacha’s weight as the larger boy edged a little closer. 

“And you’ve just been lying here all by yourself? Why didn’t you call out to any of us when we got home?” 

A small, bitter voice in Henry’s head wanted to snap, Why didn’t any of you think to check on me? but he knew that was unfair. Most days, he was fine, but still didn’t like having his flatmates entering his personal space without an invitation. 

“Why didn’t you tell me... tell us you had interviews this week?” Donnacha wondered. His eyes darted across Henry’s face, as though he thought he had a better chance of finding an answer in his pores and his eyeballs than of getting an answer verbally. “You don’t need to keep all this shit to yourself.” 

Henry shrugged. He honestly wasn’t sure. Part of him had wanted to avoid Career Guidance Lucy and her sporadic seminars on interview skills. Part of him had dreaded the inevitable words of encouragement that Donnacha and Payton would no doubt have offered him, making it feel like an even bigger deal, an even more profound failure, when he didn’t get the jobs. He’d wanted to secure a new gig in secret, and mention it casually to his flatmates after the fact.  

Anything else was just asking for too much attention, building up too many expectations... 

A weak gurgle broke the silence, and Henry instinctively covered his stomach with his palm. Donnacha’s eyes followed the movement. A second later, there was a deeper sound, a hollow grumble that Henry felt tickle at the back of his throat. 

“Have you eaten today?” 

“Yes. I’m not hungry,” he added, already knowing that Donnacha was going to suggest, once again, that he join the others for pizza and Flatmate Friday. It was just unfortunate that his belly decided to rumble for a third time. 

“Somehow, I think you're lying to me.” 

“No - you don’t get it,” Henry sighed. Noting that Donnacha had left the door ajar and that Lucy was just down the hallway in the living area, he lowered his voice and leaned a little closer to Donnacha’s shoulder. “After my second interview... my only interview, in the end,” Henry growled, kicking his past self yet again, “I felt so sick to my stomach that I threw up my lunch.” 

Donnacha looked positively wounded with sympathy. Henry wondered how the hell he managed it.  

“Hen...” Donnacha’s hand pushed gently into Henry’s hair again. 

It was all Henry could do not to whimper and melt into the touch. He settled for letting his eyes flutter shut. He didn’t deserve the tingling pleasure that was flowing from Donnacha’s fingertips into his skull, softening the sparking, frayed edges of his nerves.  

“I’ll bring you your slices, if you want them.” 

Henry shook his head. He might have been trembling with emotion now, rather than nausea, but he still didn’t feel up to putting anything in his stomach.  

“I’ll bring mine, too. We can hang out in here, watch our own movie.”  

“No,” he choked out, pulling away from Donnacha’s hand and resting his head on the pillow again.  

“Just give me one minute.” Donnacha didn’t hesitate another second before getting up from the bed and tackling the obstacle course that was Henry’s bedroom floor one more time. 

Henry buried his face in his pillow, part of him hoping that Donnacha would somehow change his mind while he was out there and not come back. Part of him felt extremely cold and hollow at the thought of him changing his mind and not coming back. 

These feelings were confusing. Henry didn’t like it when feelings were confusing. Maybe that was what prompted him to groan in displeasure when Donnacha returned, carrying a plate laden with at least five slices of pepperoni pizza. The smell made Henry’s stomach growl with hunger that felt a lot like nausea, or... nausea that felt a lot like hunger. 

“You can’t be in here,” Henry muttered as Donnacha leaned over the mess to prop the plate on the edge of Henry’s desk. 

“Ah, ah,” Donnacha sang, darting from the room again. This time, he came back with his laptop, which he propped on Henry’s desk chair – after removing a few pairs of underwear that had been tossed onto it. “What were you saying?” 

Henry sighed and pushed himself up onto his side. That spike of agony still trailed from the outside of his eye socket to the centre of his brain. He couldn’t allow his mind to drift anywhere near the memories of the day without feeling the shame turn over in his belly. But he had to admit, Donnacha’s presence was a lot like a hot cup of tea on a chilly day. 

“It’s Flatmate Friday.” Henry waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the living area. “Flatmate bonding and whatnot.” 

“You’re my flatmate, too,” Donnacha pointed out. He looked away from his laptop and glanced about the room, no doubt analysing the mixture of washed and unwashed laundry littering the floor. “And I have a feeling I’ve... we’ve all been neglecting you a little bit.” 

Henry’s empty, knotted stomach attempted to do a little flip. “You sound like Lu.” 

Looking slightly pleased with himself, Donnacha gave a shrug. “Maybe she’s a good influence on me. Only Fools and Horses?” 

“Sure.” Henry didn’t particularly care for the 80s sitcom, but it always seemed to draw a chuckle or two out of Donnacha.  

Donnacha positioned himself at the lower half of Henry’s bed, one leg crossed under the opposite knee while his foot trailed off the side. It was a long way for him to reach to grab a slice of pizza from the place, but he did so heroically with only a tiny exhalation of strain. Henry took his pillow and pressed it to the back wall, forcing himself to sit upright even though it made his head spin and his bones feel like jelly.  

After five minutes of staring numbly at the laptop screen and listening to Donnacha chew not one but two slices of pizza, the spinning and the weakness started to pass, and the shifting in Henry’s stomach felt less like a natural disaster waiting to happen and more like an empty plea for sustenance. He gingerly reached for a slice of the pizza, and was oddly relieved when Donnacha didn’t make a big deal out of it; he just leaned around Henry and grabbed a third slice for himself. 

A few bites in, and Henry’s mind started to wander. Sleeping in, not feeling motivated enough, insulting the work of a dead person, lazily forgetting social etiquette – 

The spices in the pepperoni and the tanginess of the tomato sauce drained away until the next bite of pizza felt like a mouthful of cardboard. 

Henry chewed painfully  leaning over to place the half-eaten slice back at the edge of the plate. Chewing was an ordeal almost as unpleasant as that afternoon’s bout of dry-heaving, which he had no desire to repeat. 

He brushed the crumbs from his fingers onto the plaid fabric of his pyjamas pants, making a note to change them before bed, and sank back against the pillow. Dough and cheese and sauce sloshed around in his stomach, and he started to lift a hand to rub at it, but a large, protective one made it there first. 

Donnacha didn’t even look away from the screen as he rubbed his hand back and forth. “Doing okay?” 

“I think so,” Henry murmured, flinching as his stomach squelched under Donnacha’s palm and then began to settle into a gentler churning motion. He wondered if Donnacha had any idea the effect he was having. 

And then Donnacha laughed out loud at an on-screen joke that Henry just didn’t get, and Henry had to fight just to keep his eye-rolling subtle. 

[underratedandoverit]

You Wanna Wish Away Your Sins (1/3)

After losing to Best Friends at Arcade Anarchy, Kip undergoes shoulder surgery. One person reaching out to him afterwards sends Kip spiraling, turning all the pain and suffering in him into… Flowers? Flowers growing in his lungs?

Kip Sabian/Chuck Taylor. Hanahaki disease. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. One-sided attraction.

Marked Mature on AO3 for general content. Warnings for mentions of hospitals, surgery, medical stuff. Described feelings for choking and vomiting.

Other characters include Penelope Ford, Trent Beretta. Kris Statlander and Orange Cassidy are mentioned. Background ship of Penelope/Kris is heavily implied, but never specifically shown.

part 2 || part 3

On AO3

I reeeeally only wanted to start posting this after it was all done, but seeing how I'm two weeks behind on what I wanted the original publishing schedule to be, I need heavy motivation to actually finish this (its about halfway done as of posting this), so! Here's the effort to hopefully help with that! Cause I am planning on finishing this, I have full plans for all three chapters and the epilogue (that'll be tacked onto the final chapter), I just need the energy to realize that its worth finishing so.. I'm getting this up now. To maybe hopefully see its worth it and people want to see this through. Idk.

I have been thinking maybe this concept would have been better with another ship, but I started with this and its very fitting for them, and I need more of this propaganda in my life and seeing how I'm the only one making it… Yeah we're sticking to Kip and Chuck. Sorry not sorry. (also tag list might change a little as i post the rest, tho this should be it generally. i tried to keep it spoiler free for now)

@midnightpretenders0 @stormbornpirate @ss-trashboat

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

Beep.

Kip tried to ignore the heart monitor to the best of his ability, and yet his brows furrowed, irritated, at the sound. The soft groan was barely audible in the hospital room that was empty aside from him, as Kip came to witness as he forced his eyes open, returning back to the real world from the sleepless rest he had been attempting to get for the last few hours.

Some would have guessed that sleeping would have been easier when you lost feeling from one of your four limbs, especially from the one going through the extreme levels of pain. But what those same people didn’t understand, was that the medication they put him under with, was amplifying most of his other senses to the point where it was almost painful to just even listen to certain sounds.

Beep.

Kip glared at the monitor, watching the little line on it beep an extra time, almost as if it was mocking him and the hatred raising his heart rate. Kip leaned back on the bed, turning away, eyes landing on the window across the room. The soft rays of sunshine indicated early morning hours, which wouldn’t have surprised him a bit. After coming to from the surgery Kip had been in various states between high alert and sleeping like a log, dozing off whenever he felt like it. Not that it mattered, they didn’t let him go home yet anyway, so he was just taking advantage of sleeping away as much of the irritation and pain he could while he was alone.

Beep.

Slowly Kip’s eyes dragged away from the window, landing on the little drawer next to the bed. Some nice nurse, was his guess unless it really had been Penelope, had left his personal belongings on it on a little tray. Honestly Kip was slightly surprised they had been just left for him like that, out in the open. While sure, he wasn’t sharing the room with anyone else, anyone could just walk in at any time while he was out cold and grab his wallet, keys, and phone and just bail out.

Or even worse, he himself could have used the phone before he was fully aware of himself and his surroundings yet, being under the influence of the painkiller and/or anesthesia. Almost as bad as some of his younger days of drunk dialing.

Beep.

Kip closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried not to get irritated at the sound piercing his ears every couple of moments. As he calmed himself down, he slowly opened his eyes again, landing them back on the phone on the tray. He observed it for a moment, trying to count in his head how long it had been since he was wheeled into the operating room, how long it had been since he had last checked anything.

Really all he could remember was the little kiss Penelope placed on the top of his head, whispering him good luck before he was wheeled away from her too.

Beep.

Kip’s hand slipped away from under the thin covers of the awfully medical feeling blanket thrown over him, reaching for the phone. It was easier said than done to be honest, having to navigate the world now mostly with his non-dominant hand and everything. Kip fumbled a little, almost letting the phone slip from his fingers, letting out a string of quiet curse words from under his breath as he barely caught it again before it managed to fall to the floor, where he most definitely wouldn’t have been able to grab it without getting some help first.

With a sigh he lowered the phone into his lap, brushing a hand through his hair. Everything was just so bothersome and irritating to him, he could barely do things by himself. And every single little bit that he required some kind of help with, Kip hated even more. He understood the situation he was in, absolutely, but that didn’t mean that he was going to enjoy being so dependent on others when he could just as easily do all of this, and more, by himself before.

Beep.

His eyes landed back on the phone now sitting on the bed in his lap, the fingers of his right hand carefully drumming against the dark screen. It felt cold to the touch, clearly not having been turned on for a while or being held in a hand using it. Kip had no idea if there would even be any messages for him to return to, sure there were people like his family, friends, and co-workers who knew he was going through the surgery, but most people he felt like had already been in touch the day before, wishing him luck. He vaguely remembered Penelope telling him she would send him reminders about things he needed to take care of after surgery, but that was all he was expecting.

And yet, there was some sort of odd feeling of hesitation in him as Kip’s fingers kept drawing circles on the screen, only mimicking opening apps and scrolling through them.

Beep.

It was almost as if the sound was mocking him at this point, screaming at him to do something. Kip glared at the monitor on his side, eyes slowly returning back to the phone. He carefully took it back into his hand, weighting it for a moment, his thumb navigating on top of the power button almost on instinct. Kip barely stopped himself from pressing it down, taking a moment to ask himself if it was worth it.

As far as he knew, nobody was going to need him while he was gone. He was going to have to turn it on later to get in touch with Penelope about getting out of the hospital as she had promised to pick him up, but apart from that… Kip didn’t really know what to expect. On the other hand though, this kind of silence gave him a good chance to catch up on other important things he might have missed, if there weren't people he needed to get back to.

What could go wrong?

Beep.

Kip held down the button, watching as the screen slowly lit up, greeting him with the familiar opening screens. His eyes narrowed a little at the sudden bright lighting hitting him, but soon enough he was booted in, allowing him to adjust the screen brightness to his liking. Kip was still trying to get used to being awake and feeling like himself in his own body, and coming off from heavy medication, even if it had been a day since then, it was like a dark cloud hanging over him. He didn’t enjoy it in the slightest, but Kip knew it was a necessary step if he wanted to get through all of this. Unfortunately.

As he got himself back into his phone, Kip absentmindedly scrolled through some of the messages that were popping up little by little all over the place. Mostly it was just few remaining co-workers and friends that hadn’t reached out earlier wishing him speedy recovery and hoping that the surgery goes well, the usual things you’d message to someone you didn’t talk to more than occasionally but who you knew was going to go through something heavy like this and you had their contact info at hand. Kip scrolled through the well-wishes, smiling occasionally a little more as he watched the different names and profile pictures he recognized, wondering how many of these people actually cared or if this was just a cleverly arranged mass ruse so he would maybe feel a bit better after being under the knife.

And then.

Kip’s eyes locked onto one of the messages, starting with a word he didn’t expect to see.

‘Sorry’.

He didn’t notice his grip on the phone getting tighter until holding it actually hurt his hand, but Kip pushed the thought aside. Unblinking eyes stared at the phone screen as it burned the images of the words on his retinas until they were hurting too, but he was too deep in his own head to look away, to stop reading the message he didn’t think he would be getting. Not now, not ever.

Not from Chuck.

‘Sorry about your shoulder. Heard from Kris you were getting surgery. I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad. Hope you heal well. If you need something, let me know.’

Kip’s mind was nothing but static. The phone light hurt his eyes, his grip hurt his hand, reading and processing the words in his head. The pain shooting through him was almost comparable to the jolts he experienced going through the structure Chuck had thrown them both down to from the stage, only this one was even worse somehow.

‘If you need something, let me know.’

He didn’t read that right. He couldn’t have read that right. There was no way Chuck Taylor out of all people would say something like this to him. Or even text these kinds of lines to him. To Kip.

To the man that had been looking at Chuck from a distance with a mixture of interest and admiration for so long without saying any words out loud, without making any moves, without taking any actions to realize the thoughts and feelings he had. There was no way Chuck was doing this, offering help to him if he needed it, without knowing that there was something going on in Kip’s mind that he wasn’t sure was going to be able to handle daylight.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad.’

Chuck didn’t know Kip was already on his way out when Arcade Anarchy was announced. He had already been told he would require surgery on the torn shoulder, but this match was approved even with the ending spot as it wasn’t going to make his condition any worse than it already was. Kip hadn’t dared to say anything to the Best Friends, in fear that it would hinder their performance; he wanted them at their best, not feeling sorry for him, not trying to be careful with him. Miro knew, but he kept his promise and didn’t say anything either.

For better or worse, Kip wasn’t sure anymore.

Beep. Beep.

He finally tore his eyes away from the phone screen, letting it drop from his hand. Kip curled the fingers a few times trying to ease the pain, eyes blinking as rather painful tears stung in the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was a sign of emotional distress or just a side effect of staring at the screen, but it didn’t matter to him. Whichever it was, he didn’t want it, and it was making him feel awful.

Beep. Beep.

Kip slowly looked over at the heart rate monitor, watching the little line make extra jumps and letting out more irritating noises than necessary. His eyes trailed one of the cords leaving from it, watching it being attached to his chest with a little patch. Kip snorted at it, turning away.

Stupid. It was all so fucking stupid.

Beep.

His eyes landed back on the phone, hand reaching for his face as he wiped away a couple of tears. He wasn’t sure why he got so worked up over this, it wasn’t like this meant anything. Chuck was just worried, offering him his condolences and a little help if he needed it, just like everyone else did. That didn’t mean anything, no more, no less, than that he was being a good co-worker. Not even a friend.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Beep.

Maybe that’s why he took it so hard, to be honest. Kip inhaled deeply, almost frightened over how shaky his breathing sounded. He hadn���t expected this to hit him so hard, but something about seeing Chuck Taylor out of all the possible people reaching out to him after hearing about the surgery just sent him spiraling. Short circuited his brain. His thoughts were all gone. Kip’s mind blank, nothing but a newly debuted white canvas ready to be painted on.

And the only visual that appeared on it was Chuck, the moment he held onto Kip seconds before throwing them both off from the stage.

The words he whispered to Kip when the camera was pointing the other way.

“Are you sure?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

In that moment he had been, only for the fact that he knew Chuck would prevent him from hurting further. At least, in the physical sense. Mentally at that point Kip was already so far down the rabbit hole that it didn’t matter. He would have said yes. Not only to that, but to anything that Chuck asked him.

Was Kip sure? Yes.

Was Kip going to be okay? Yes.

Did Kip want him?

…

Yes.

Yes he did.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He looked back at the monitor, watching the line make extra jumps again. It apparently wasn’t a concerning enough feature, considering how long it had been going on and not a single nurse had gotten in to even check on him yet. Kip understood it though, in a hospital full of patients in worse conditions than what he was in, he was merely a second thought to anyone passing by his room. He didn’t make a sound, he wasn’t in pain, he didn’t exhibit extreme amounts of discomfort.

At least, not on the outside.

Beep. Beep.

Kip leaned his head back against the propped up bed, eyeing the monitor. If he wasn’t thinking about the phone that was still quietly buzzing in his lap, his heart rate slowly went back down. Of course he couldn’t keep this up forever, eventually he would probably have to reply to Chuck, and who knew what kind of fresh hell of wounds that would open on him. How awkward it would make everything if he dared to actually take on Chuck’s own offering and ask him for any help. Of course Kip didn’t need to do that, knowing that Chuck hadn’t actually caused any of this like he was thinking that he did, but…

Maybe it would be a way to get a step closer. To spend time with him. To figure out if Chuck could possibly feel the same way Kip did.

Beep.

Kip closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. It would be all fine, he lied to himself. It wouldn’t matter if Chuck said no, it wouldn’t matter if they became just friends. Another lie. Kip could live with it if he could just tell Chuck how he felt, and whatever came out of that was just perfectly fine with him.

Kip was such a masterful liar sometimes.

Beep.

He hummed at himself a little, obviously satisfied with the way he made himself at least on some level believe everything was going to be okay. A small smirk tuck the corners of his lips, but Kip resisted it, thinking it was a step too far. He allowed himself to be proud of himself in this situation, but showing it outwards was a little too much.

Instead he yawned, followed by a cough as Kip could feel something scratching in his throat.

Beep.

He tried to gently cough it out, only making the scratching worse. Kip opened his eyes, glancing around him, trying to see if there was even a cup of water somewhere close by, but no such luck. Instead he coughed again, the burning in his throat just growing stronger and feeling grosser the more he tried to physically force whatever was stuck in his airways out of his body.

With a few more coughs the feeling was turning unbearable, Kip rather violently jerking forward as he coughed loudly, hand flying on to cover his mouth as he could feel something dislodging in his throat, attempting a forceful exit out of his mouth.

Beep. Beep.

Maybe he wasn’t as over the side effects of anesthesia as Kip thought, or nausea was a side effect of the painkillers. As the thoughts raced through his mind, Kip tried to keep his mouth covered by his hand, eyes shooting around his limited moving space, trying to find something he could safely vomit into. He could feel another scratch on his throat, knowing that he just had to take it and let it all out, Kip shoved the phone from his lap to the floor in a semi panic, barely hearing it landing with a loud thud before he allowed his insides to empty themselves into his lap.

Beep. Beep.

With his eyes closed to bear the pain, Kip could feel the burning in his lungs, but it all felt different than usual. It was an odd sensation, it felt more like something was scratching and crawling its way up his lungs rather than his throat, pushing painfully out of him rather than flowing in the liquid form like usual. It still burned, but in a softer, almost calming way compared to what Kip knew it should be.

Fearing the mess he had made, Kip slowly opened his eyes, thinking that he might have to call a nurse over to help him out, as much as he hated it. But instead he froze in place, eyes widening in shock as he tried to process the small pile of purple shaded rose petals sitting on his lap instead.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kip carefully reached a hand towards the petals, shaking fingertips tracing along one. It felt soft, like it was freshly plucked from a flower, the kind of fresh petals you’d spread on a bed for a romantic surprise to a loved one. But the moment was nothing but romantic, it was surprising for sure, but it was more making Kip internally freak out than giving him any sentimental feelings over the sudden pile of petals in his lap.

They had come out from inside of him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kip had no idea why. No idea how. He could feel something crawling in his throat again, letting out a soft cough, watching a single petal flowing out of him, landing on top of the pile that had already formed.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kip’s hands slowly grabbed a hold of the petals, squeezing them in his fists. He froze for a moment, feeling the soft petals against the palms of his hands, against his exposed skin, almost tearing wounds onto him despite their petite appearance.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kip screamed.

[autumnslance]

I have a question about carrying out an idea. I think this writing issue I've been having has been plaguing me longer than my time on Mateus; I’ve always struggled to get past chapter one or even stick to an idea, even when I started writing years ago. Are there any pointers on carrying an idea or story through?

That's a hard one, as I know I have plenty of plans and WIPs I haven't gotten past those stages myself.

So I ask myself what's the core of the idea, the heart of it? What is it I really want to say? I don't tend to write chronologically myself; I write lines, descriptions, bits of dialogue, scenes, and chapters entirely out of order. I know where they "go" in the overall arc. And sometimes, like with the Avengret storyline, I can then string them together, shuffling the order, writing new bridging scenes, removing or combining others as needed.

If I am trying to write in order, even then if a section is hard, or boring, or not working--skip it. Put in some brackets with [AND THEN X AND Y HAPPENS AND IT'S NOW THE NEXT DAY]. Move on to the next part that excites you, or that you at least know what happens. You can always double back later and add in that connecting scene...or even decide it isn't needed now, you've covered everything it would have elsewhere, and can just be summarized and moved on from.

I've recently been reading a "How To Write" series of books by James Scott Bell; there are several, but they're all pretty short. One of the pieces of advice he gives is to start in the middle (go to the midpoint of just about any novel or film, and it's somewhere very near that 50% mark in one direction or another). Find the "mirror moment" a point--sometimes a page or paragraph, sometimes just a single line--that is a frank look at the situation, self, etc on the part of the main character. What do they see? It's a moment of reflective truth. Who is the character in this midpoint? How did they get here? Who do they need to be/what must they do to get to the end? How do they realize they may fail? What forces are against them? Do they realize/acknowledge any of this?

These are recommendations more for novels than short stories, but heavens know how long some of our fics go, and short stories do still have similar, if truncated, structures and beats.

Anyway, you're not beholden to write from beginning to end. You may not know everything about your story yet--because you haven't written it yet, and these things change form, even for plotters with outlines. Write scenes. Write chapters. Write microfics that are just a couple lines of dialogue. Use prompt lists and challenges, if you gotta. Start small and build, as one of the old philosophers said.

(and eventually one day you look and realize you've written a few hundred thousand words, many of them about your OC and a Damn Rogue wending through their world...)

Writing works like exercise; you have to practice it, figure out what works for you, at what times of day, and it can be a struggle to keep up momentum. In the meanwhile, you also have to take other care of yourself.

Like actual exercise (whatever you're able to do; at least stretches, which is where I'm at some days). Remembering to eat and stay hydrated, get plenty of sleep (don't @ me, I sleep, just on a later schedule), and also do remember to intake other creative works; I got a rush of inspiration last year and spent months feverishly writing scenes and plotting and writing dialogues and making timeline outlines and writing more pages I'll never use after reading a popular novel, cuz the visceral language and a vaguely similar character dynamic in certain specific ways clicked something on in my brain. We gotta feed that persnickety little muse.

And on the days the muse is being recalcitrant...we write anyway. It's hard, it feels like it sucks, but if we want to get something done? Write something. Anything. Stream of consciousness if you gotta; complain, talk out your ideas, maybe write a little from that. And the next day look at it and realize it's not so bad as you thought and a little polish will fix it.

So don't try to be perfect first round; writing is messy. Revision and editing is where we make it look pretty (you usually don't have to rewrite entirely front to back, either; some folks like to, but for many others that's only if there's serious structure issues; mileage varies per project, too, as they're all different).

So write the scenes out of order, as they come. See what ideas stick and what are just idle thoughts. Maybe they're all true and there's multiverses and AUs there. See what starts t string together into coherence. Don't be afraid to revise, rewrite, even retcon if something better comes along months later after you already posted something.

The only way to know the story is to write it, figuring out how it wants to be written, and sometimes that means writing it from other angles and around the back way until it tells us how it got to that point (and whether what we thought was the start actually was or not).

Anyway. This got long, hopefully there's some tiny tidbit that helps!

[alterchaos]

Hi everyone! I’m back with another update!

After watching the poll this past week, I am happy to officially announce that Alter Chaos will be continuing in writing as a full and complete story!

I’m honestly so excited to put my attention and effort into making sure this story is written with proper love and care. I feel like a novelist! ♡ Since I no longer have to put equal focus on the art and visuals, I plan to really take my time plotting everything out, closely revising my pieces, and sharing a wider range of stories to help build the world and central lore better. With that in mind, there are a few specific things I want to point out:

1. I would like to go back to the drawing board on most elements concerning Seven Rings and the Moonbeast Saga. I won’t be altering the central plots but I was never fully satisfied rushing through these stories given the limitations the technical/art focus placed on my imagination. Seven Rings especially needs more attention, as I originally planned to go through every boss and adventure with Sinbad and Ali Baba, but rushed it for the sake of continuing the following saga. I even want to rewrite the saga’s ending to be more in line with this structure and to be a proper build up for what follows, so only expect the original pieces to be posted after I get to that more as a bit of behind the scenes than anything.

Moonbeast, thankfully, just needs some tweaks and rewrites to the script apart from the arc that was already posted (Roses - Tears). The central plot for this saga in particular has gone through MANY changes and variations since the beginning of this series. For instance, I ditched the Chip/memory plot in favor of a more unique storyline concerning the mysteries of the world known as Gaia (I’m especially excited to reveal more details on that). I need to go back with these ideas and properly lay them out, every detail, to ensure this saga maintains structure and a more natural sense of progression.

2. Since I will be reworking these sagas, I would like to pick up all the way back at the start, following Tale of Two Brothers and work from there. I had already written the immediate next episode/chapter and plan to post that alongside a drawn one following Party Hardly. From there, I may not write a full chapter for EVERY episode of Sonic X, but most, including some brand-new tales to add to the mix.

As we work through these stories, I also plan to write smaller side chapters called Mobius Adventures. These will revolve around side games such as Sonic Rush and Sonic Riders, or even little unique stories such as Silver eating a chilidog for the first time or Chaotix detective/band shenanigans or Eve helping out in the town etc. I want these stories to flesh out Mobius as a world not too far removed from our own despite the crazy adventures. It will also help more pivotal and central plot elements hit that much harder (muehehehee♡).

3. I can’t promise a weekly schedule, so I will be posting when I feel like it from now on. One week I may be free and want to write 3 chapters and another week I may be offline. Who knows. What matters is enjoying the adventure and having fun! ♡

4. Just because this path won the poll doesn’t mean I will never draw or post things such as random pages or character art. They will just be rare. I at least plan to share what I already sketched out when I post their respective chapters and will also be finishing a certain chapter (coming soon) in comic format since I was almost done, it’s my favorite episode in the show, and the physical comedy would be lost in writing.

5. I will release a couple posts/documents in the future laying out a proper timeline for the series as well as important lore elements to help readers keep track of the world and plot at large. I’m also learning more about how Tumblr functions as a site and may be experimenting with extra blogs/sites to create pages or “tabs” to help organize everything. If any major changes are made to my blog, I will be sure to send updates to help you all locate where things have moved. My goal is to make chapters as easily accessible as possible rather than being forced to scroll through months of posts.

That’s all I have for now. Thank you all for reading and supporting this series and I will see you all in the next post! ♡

[emyluwinter]

In connection with the latest news about the June schedule

Firstly. The card of THE BEAUTIFUL QUEEN. THANKS. I ALMOST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS WHEN I SAW HIS CARD. Please do not check your phone when you are on the move on the stairs, it will not end well. Don't be as clumsy Vil simp as San. And I also screamed very much, cried internally and cursed in my own language so harshly that it was already scary how I knew so many words. Ahahah. Yes, the fact is that I have only 11 attempts for this handsome….Please Beautiful Queen come, I couldn't knock out your card with a broom..spare the poor woman.

You know, I really love the fans of the game and the fans of Vil Because we've been shown his ankles and we're screaming like innocent Victorians.Ahahaha.

Then there will be a stream of thoughts.

Soooooooooo

As far as I see a lot…No, not like that… QUITE A FEW fans of the game are very upset by the fact that this map will have no history, only furniture for the guest room. Many even left the game or left the fandom.I understand their frustration and frustration in places.

And you know, I understand well why the SSR Vil card will not have a personal history of the card this time. Also! There will be no role in the rerun of the event.

My dear, do you understand what a crazy and busy schedule it must be for the creators?

How long has it been since the previous plot update? A month?A MONTH GUYS.Just think about it! Here we don't have a big break like between the 4th and the fifth chapter. Or breaks as in the same 5th or 6th chapter. I may be wrong with the time frame.

The developers very much want to reward all those fans who have been waiting with trepidation for the arch of Diasomnia. The hostel and the characters, which is literally the final cherry and the knot of the web that weaves the whole plot as a whole. The story is nearing its end, from which much is expected and longed for. (And I pray and hold on only to the thought that we will have Chapter 8, which will blow everyone to pieces)

And that's why their deadlines are burning so much. They have a choice to cram everything into one update and do it not so well, or take a short break and break an impressive part of the plot into two updates and take more time to improve. The choice seems obvious to me.

In order to do all this, it will take quite a lot of time. From the point of view of an artist-writer- and a creative person in general, I am somewhat horrified by the ability to work and the TWST schedule at times.

Let's start with a simple one. For the plot, we need to write a script, make drafts that SATISFY ALL INSTANCES in development. Because what? Without a good story, everything will go to hell, no matter how good the cover is. Like an empty candy or a wrapper without a yummy. Let me remind you that they also most likely need to coordinate everything with Disney, because copyrights and so on. (Add here the pressure of expectation and the bar that they cannot lower)

The script needs to be written in sufficient detail to link certain lines of characters, leave riddles or omit information to reveal it later, character development, their inner world, leave room for the thoughts of the reader / viewer / player… I won't burden you with a writer's structure, my dear. BUT, without a clear understanding of what should be in the story and any respite at one time or another, you will frankly not be interested in following all this. This is a very difficult puzzle or puzzle that you need to come up with from scratch.

It is necessary to transfer materials for 2D game models that need to be drawn and animated. Record the voices of sayu or the actors of the sounds, edit the sound tracks, substitute the desired music. Draw backgrounds, make sure that there are no errors or bugs in the game. We add that all employees can have their own schedule, and voice actors can be busy with various projects for months ahead.

And now remember that for the development of costume designs, characters, their stories, the script is mostly responsible for Toboso, which in turn works with a team that I hope simplifies all this work load. And Toboso leads two projects. The Dark Butler, a manga that is still coming out!

And the TWST game to everything else. And we didn't have time for a full hiatus, but there were months of calm, so then preparing larger-scale events filled with the ent of the game, personal stories, new clothes for the characters and so on.

They need to fill in the gap between the events of the main story. To prepare a new event in such a short time is a direct way to overload. Therefore, in order to keep the attention of fans at least for a while longer, they add new cards without personal stories. But with the addition of furniture for the playroom. Well, ordinary commerce is also partly involved here.

Please understand me correctly, the developers and authors of the game are trying and investing in their project. Now is the peak of the most anticipated chapter of all the others. But their schedule is very busy and attention from fans adds pressure from expectations and other things.

I can't say if they have breaks and respite, but I know only one thing that they have plenty of work. So we just need to wait a little. If you are disappointed or don't want to be in the fandom anymore, this is your right. If you want to take a break, do it. If you want to come back later, no one is judging you.

Besides, I'm not the devil's advocate or anything like that. I just want to clarify a little for fans who don't quite understand why TWST started to go in such a way of cards without personal stories. We have voice cues, from which you can get a lot or not so much for information, furniture for a guest room with a cute animation of a particular character. Voiceover of voice cues in the guest room. Yes, there is no personal history, but at least they try to compensate for it to others. Or they could just fucking send us

Remember the previous chapters. We didn't have additional cards like Cerberus Ortho or the upcoming General Lilia card, anyway they give us something new and fresh, trying not to repeat and not to lose the attention of fans.

I hope my verbal cocktail didn't confuse you too much.

Have a nice day, my dear.

[cookinguptales]

okay so it's about a week until I leave the country for over a month. I am dutifully filling up my queue so y'all will stay entertained while I am gone, but I should probably state for the record that I may not be easy to get ahold of while I'm gone. if you really want me to see something, send me a tumblr chat/ask so it'll show up in a separate inbox from my notifications.

I'll probably post about some travel stuff here, if I'm not too tired, but I suspect the lion's share will end up on twitter and especially instagram. if you would like to see travel posts, I am @iletaitunefois on twitter and @cookinguptales on IG.

if you do not want to see travel posts, please block '#the travel bug'.

I'm also gonna offer up postcards again. I'm not going to make any promises because I don't know how easy it'll be for me to find time/post offices everywhere I go in Japan -- and also because I may be cursed; I think like only half of my Christmas cards actually made their way to their destinations last year.

But! If you do want a postcard, send me a private message and I'll add you to my list. If you have any special requests (locations, nature, cityscapes, cute characters, whatever) lmk and I can see if I can make that work, but again, no promises. I usually keep track of nearby post offices in Japan because they're good places for foreigners to withdraw money, but like. I'm also not gonna take a ton of time out of my trip to find a post office, y'know? Certain legs of the trip will probably be easier than others for that.

FINALLY, if you want to know more about the trip before you decide to follow my IG or ask for a postcard (or, if like me, you are simply nosy) here's a vague overview of the trip:

The first couple weeks of the trip, I'll actually be on the ocean. There's this thing that cruise lines do called "repositioning cruises" where they literally just sail across the ocean. This is so a cruise company can use a ship in a different location, generally. Like if they usually use a boat in the Caribbean, but during another time of the year want to use it in the Pacific, they still need to get it over there. And why not let people ride it during the journey?

The trip is really more pragmatic than it is designed for tourists, though, so they tend to be very cheap. They're long, there aren't a lot of stops, they tend to be during unpopular travel times... So long story short, we can take a two week cruise to Japan for like... half the cost of a plane ticket to Japan. And my mother and I can work from wherever and my father and my aunt are retired, so. We'll just. be in the Pacific Ocean for two weeks. lmao

(I've moved around my work schedule so I probably won't have to do much work in Japan, but I'll have to work on the boat. ;;)

There will be one stop at the beginning of the trip (Alaska) and one at the end (Hokkaido!!!!!) so that'll be fun! But for the most part, I will mostly be working and writing and vegging out on the boat. I'm downloading a lot of tv now because boats tend to have minimal internet. lmao

(And don't worry, we chose a boat that has vax and testing requirements! Which... will probably make it safer than SEPTA here in Philly...)

Once we're in Japan, though, we're really gonna be putting our JR passes to the test. Here's a not exhaustive list of places we're going and things we're doing, in no particular order. (I... tend not to let people know exactly where I am until I've left that place lmao.)

Tokyo (obviously)

Kyoto

Osaka

Nara (to see the shosoin)

Yamagata

Two different onsen towns

Yokohama

Takarazuka 😎 iykyk

Tokyo Disneyland/DisneySea

Wakayama

Kawagoe

Maybe Hakone depending on weather

various Halloween-themed meals in Tokyo and Halloween itself in Dotonbori

several very sacred mountains to learn about shugendo

castles!! and more shrines and temples than you can shake a stick at

Asahi tour (for dad haha)

sumo stable tour (also for dad)

Pokemon stuff (.... also for dad lmao)

seein some cute animals

a lot of interesting food!!!

tbh we're going to be exhausted, but there's a lot of train travel and easy days in there so we can rest then. (dad and I both love trains lmao) Dad actually hurt himself about a month ago, so I took out some of the stuff I was planning that involved more walking (like the old pilgrimage route in Wakayama, climbing Nokogiriyama, and the monkey park in Jigokudani) so that'll also prevent me from overdoing it too much.

part of me is like "wow this is too much you should scale back and save responsibly" but a lot of my trip is gonna be subsidized by my family in return for translating for them all and arranging everything, and we're gonna save money in lodging and such, so I'm just. gonna tell my brain to shut up and enjoy living before we die lmao.

(when you grew up really poor, it can be kind of hard to let go and allow yourself to enjoy nice things when you're older and more stable financially lmao. but I'm getting better at it!)

also, I'm gonna bring Glen! my little Tabikaeru frog! we'll go to Kusatsu Onsen together lmao.

[ratsandfashion]

Mirima is actually an OC that I've had for awhile (like...a year?) and just haven't done anything with. I'd like to app her at one of the supernatural boards I write her at as a chamois shifter but I just don't have the time for another character there. But if you are interested in her, here's what I have written down about her! Yes, she has self-insert elements/self-aspirational aspects (like being a fantasy writer and animal lover, opinions on real writers, etc) and that is on purpose.

Mirima "Miri" Gohar Marinakis (Mira also a nickname) FC is D.ilan G.wyn (K.urdish, T.urkish, G.reek, A.rmenian, C.ircassian) 33-35 Gay Ace Virgo Sun, Libra Moon, Capricorn Rising 5'4 but leggy so she looks taller, which she augments with how she dresses; she's had people guess up to 5'7 She grew up how I wanted to, working with animals and also writing fantasy. She's published nine novels, one anthology of short stories, and 35 pieces of flash fiction in online magazines. She mostly writes urban fantasy, but also gothic horror, new weird, gaslamp fantasy, steampunk, high fantasy, low fantasy, and magical realism. Critics say she makes wonderful, engaging, unique characters and has some fantastic ideas, but her plot and worldbuilding are often weak, plus her pacing needs a lot of work. She's a very small name in the industry and probably always will be, and while she'll never make a living off it, she's happy to be doing it. She consistently wears shirts backwards without realizing She has pet snails and a 3 year old female S.ardianian m.arginated t.ortoise named Z.aratan after the legendary giant sea turtles described by Al-J.ahiz, an A.rab prose writer and zoologist in the 9th century, Zara for short. The snails are Snally, Snusie, and Snamantha She has very complicated opinions on A.nne Rice and S.tephen King as writers and as people, but unquestionably HATES L.aurell K. H.amilton as BOTH. She has not met ANY of them. Absolutely rehearses imaginary arguments in her head that she's never going to actually have The first novel-length anything she ever finished was a D.une fanfic when she was 15 about a gender-swapped P.aul A.treides. She hadn't even finished the first book but she had IDEAS! P.aula A.treides remains her most beloved creation even if she can never be published. Miri is NOT a rebel. She is the reverse. She likes following rules and finds it hard to disrespect or disobey authority. She knows in theory how dangerous this is due to her heritage and the themes of her own writing but it just seems part of her personality. She's just always been the good (read: compliant and manageable) kid and she's only comfortable being the "good" kid. Very fussy, needs to stay on schedule and have things a certain way, hates spontaneity and anything unplanned, doesn't deal well with change especially on short notice Very analytical, keen attention to detail, overthinks and can cross the line into being way too critical  Judgey, even just internally Definitely wants to help but limited by her inflexibility and anxiety She gives the appearance of being very practical, capable, and organized but inside she's super anxious and has a ton of self-doubt, which clashes against her considerable ambitions as a novelist.  Strong sense of responsibility---filial, societal, but also to herself and her dreams, which also prevents her from getting in trouble or taking risks that could jeopardize those dreams Miri is skilled in social diplomacy and tends to use charm and tact to get what she wants. She’s the sort of look at an issue from all sides and typically takes the middle ground, both because she genuinely sees nuance but also because she doesn’t want to make waves. Miri is overly compliant because she wants to be seen as likeable and sweet She tries to stay out of conflict and not take sides because she doesn't want anyone mad at her Miri still has her L.ita boots from 10 years ago when they were trendy, and she loves that they’re called L.ita boots because that’s S.ailor J.upiter’s name in the English dub of S.ailor M.oon she grew up on and they look like the boots she wears.

Likes: - Bees - Pretty organizational supplies/journals/stationary - Specific instructions - Harmonious group dynamics

Dislikes: - Tense situations - Interpersonal conflict - Logical fallacies - Being in charge - Being late, she absolutely PANICS over even the slightest tardiness and texts immediately if she's going to arrive more than five minutes after the expected time - Lots of people talking - The lost potential of the A.nita B.lake series - Trying new media, especially music; she just listens to the same songs on repeat. This makes it super difficult to make playlists for her book characters - Widespread misunderstandings/misinformation (ex: the M.cDonald's coffee case, the idea evolution means we came from monkeys, etc) - Readers and writes mistaking darkness in fiction for depth - A whole lot common of urban fantasy tropes - People trying to "win" social interactions - People insisting they know something when they clearly don't

[cinnabundolly12]

Hey I was thinking about making the fnafhspr au into a comic again now that what I needed before having to be made into a video isn't necessary anymore I still have no knowledge how to make these but I'm going to try ;v; with every new fnaf drop I end up trying to adjust my au to fit in the new details and I thought that maybe once I am so sure that what I have later down the line with to be locked in place I'll be able to go back to video and fix any errors I had or changes I made when it's "finally ready". this is also for an art style problem of mine which doesn't matter rn I don't think I have to say cuz I'm sure you guys already know

Official fnaf stuff (movie, games, books, and merchandise, ect.) will be heavy inspiration but also some theories I hear online will most likely be the reason I end up doing stuff in the story

The main characters will be the animatronics (freddy, bonnie, chica, foxy, gold and) so when it "shifts(?)" to another characters story it's not like what edo kept doing with her mistake in forgetting freddy is the main character but it's that the whole 5 missing kids is what started all this they were the main reason for the whole story to start so the animatronics will be the main characters with their own mc story while still being in their little friend group but to also let in other characters come in even for a moment but also because I'm terrible at story writing I've never actually written publicly cuz I get nervous and I get horribly side tracked and so far the writing process has bounced around from character to character

I'm still going to try making it horror maybe not so much gore like I had originally planned now that the villains motive for the au has changed. they'll still be violent tho because I really want it to be what I vision for fnaf but you know- it's high school lol

The whole art problem I have is I really want to actually try drawing backgrounds properly I still need to practice buildings and furniture design for rooms I have to teach myself how to do everything so I hope you forgive me for some of the wonky drawings. I'm going to try simplifying a lot of stuff not for shortcut purposes but skill issue reasons as I unfortunately do not have resources to help me

Last thing I want to clarify is some stuff will be nonfiction I don't want to offend anyone so a lot of health issues with a certain character is not going to be real it will be made up because story purposes so when a character has a real health issue I will try my best to make it as close to the real thing since I am no doctor obviously and I don't trust doctors here as they lie or gaslight you into thinking you're actually fine so anything I find will be online and if the source I use lies to me I am very sorry for being stupid 💀

______

The comic will have no schedule as you guys know I go from one drawing to another and then back because my brain doesn't know how to function on one task all the way through and people ask me for art stuff and idk how to say no plus I like to enter into art contest stuff from time to time c: aND I'M SLOW AT ART

OK BAI :D

[bluejay-writes]

Mystictober 2023: Day 12 - This sounds like a Job for AI

You can read/collect this fic on Ao3 if that’s more your speed!

Rating: E for everyone.

Prompt: Robot / Text Message

Characters: 707, Vanderwood, MC (Anna)

Wordcount: 1993

Summary: Wait, did you really expect her to just stay in the apartment under these obviously sketchy conditions? No thanks. Let's just make a chat bot to talk to the RFA and then GTFO.

Author's Notes: This was written for Mystictober 2023, Day 12. I've been intending to be writing for the whole month, but a lot of the prompts just aren't doing anything for my muse, so if you have any requests, hit up that ask box. (The full prompt list is at the bottom of this post!) Also, the diner and the waitress therein are an homage to one of the best MC/707 fics out there, "The Number Next Door" by LumiOlivier.

Alright, now I just need to make sure I’ve got the settings correct so that it only joins chat rooms during the sleep schedule precedent I set for the first two days, and then I think everything’s set…

Anna winced as another chatroom opening notification pinged in.  Well, it wouldn’t hurt to set the thing up and test it out before she made her way out of the apartment and back to some semblance of a normal life.  If everything went well, she’d be out of the apartment for good within the hour. Making sure the phone was plugged into its charger, she set it next to her, kicked on the Chat AI bot that she’d just finished, and watched as it entered the chat just like she taught it to.

Anna couldn’t help but preen like a proud mother as she watched it interact.

[Anna has entered the chat] Yoosung★: Hey, it’s Anna! Jaehee Kang: Welcome, yo Jaehee Kang: I mean, welcome. Yoosung★: typo lolololol Jumin Han: Her fingers must have slipped. Jaehee Kang: …;

Anna watched as her bot flawlessly chatted with Jumin, Jaehee, and Yoosung about their lunches, and food in general. She smirked at the commentary about rich people, and Seven’s maid.  Anna was certain that Seven neither had an actual maid, nor was the person in question named Mary Vanderwood 3rd.  It was probably his handler for whatever super-secret work he did.  Not that Anna was one to judge, she did plenty of hacking on her own.  

She’d made one major mistake, however. Her cover identity this time around was too perfect. It had fooled Unknown into thinking she was just the kind of nonentity that he needed for whatever mess he was trying to get her into with the RFA, and it was clean enough that even hacker 707 thought she was who she said she was.  It would be a bit sad to shed Anna less than a year after slipping into her skin, but that was the price of going undetected in this line of work. Apparently, her impressions of 707 had led her bot to trust him, which amused her. He was probably the most trustworthy among them, but because of that the least likely to speak the truth.  

As the conversation started to wind down, Anna unplugged her power cable and got everything ready for her departure from the apartment.  Surely they would just assume she was still here if the phone was still here and talking to them.  She knew there was a camera in the hallway, so if she left the apartment after this chatroom closed, they’d think she was off to get groceries or something, and Seven would just assume he’d missed her come back when she started talking again.

Yoosung went back to class after his lunch hour (which was frankly a miracle given his gaming habits), whereas Jumin and Jaehee had a meeting.  They all logged out, and Anna paused the bot before it, too, left the chat.

Anna: This is going to sound weird, but Anna: Thank you all so much for being so welcoming. Anna: I know you didn’t have to, and it means a lot. [Anna has left the chatroom]

Anna kicked the bot back in, checked that she had everything she came with, and turned off the light on her way out the door.  She felt bad for leaving them without more than a cryptic thank you, but if she said anything else they’d start to question the bot.

Next stop, lunch.

The sights, sounds, and smells of her favorite little diner wrapped Anna up like a warm hug. She sipped on the blueberry honey shake in front of her as the waitress took away the dirty plates from her lunch. Laptop in front of her, she tapped away, looking for just the right area to disappear to next. Seoul had seemed like a great idea, but then she’d found that lost phone and decided to be a Good Samaritan and return it to its owner, and, well, the whole mess with the apartment.

She lost herself for a moment, looking at youth hostels in Morocco, when someone suddenly slid into the booth across from her. Gut instinct told her to cut and run - but before she could even shift, someone else settled between her and the edge of the booth.

Anna sighed, and looked up at the ginger sitting in front of her.

“Good afternoon. What can I do for you…” She glanced at the stern brunette next to her. “Gentlemen?”

“Come on, Anna. You’re smart enough to recognize me from my pictures!” The man across from her said, brightly. “Don’t play dumb, please.”

Another sigh, and Anna shrugged. “Hi, Seven.”

Seven, for it truly was the hacker from the RFA, grinned and waved down the waitress. “Florence, can I get a short stack and a strawberry shake?”

The older woman smiled. “Sure thing, Lucy. Anything for your shadow?” She eyed the man next to Anna, who shrugged. “And a black coffee.  You need a refresh on that shake, dear? Not often I get an excuse to play with honey.”

Anna looked at Seven, and then back at the waitress. “Sure, why not. May as well ruin the rest of my day with a sugar high.”

“Works for this boy often enough, not that I usually see him before Midnight.” 

Anna sighed, and closed her laptop. “So, what can I do for you while we wait for the sugar rush of the century?”

Seven smirked. “Care to explain how you’re having a conversation with Yoosung about the pros and cons of LOLOL character builds while you sit here considering youth hostels in Africa?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Anna said, shrugging. “Well, about LOLOL. Never played it. I was definitely looking at Hostels.”

Seven tapped his phone a few times and pointed it at her, where ‘Anna’ and ‘Yoosung★’ were definitely having that conversation.

“How did you install a chatbot in my messenger?  Why did you install a chatbot in my messenger? You’re an American, an English Literature major college dropout, how do you even know what a chatbot is?”

“First, rude. Liberal Arts majors know a lot of things and don’t get enough credit.” Then, she shrugged. “The fact that you believe that I’m American, or dropped out of college even, implies that you’re not as good of a hacker as you claim to be.”

There was a pause, and the shadow next to her shifted in a way that implied he was reaching for a concealed weapon.

“Stow it, black coffee.” Anna said, rolling her eyes. “I’m hardly a physical threat, and you have me dead to rights before I could even try and get out of this booth, there’s no need to scare randos at a diner.”

“Vanderwood.” He grunted, relaxing a degree or two, and she nodded. 

“Sorry. Vanderwood.”

Seven looked between them, and then back at his phone, and deflated into a depressed looking puddle just as Florence arrived with their food.

“Trouble in paradise, you two? And here I thought my firecracker of a regular was finally going to go on vacation with a cute girl. You better apologize, mister, she’s a keeper.” Florence said, waggling a finger before walking away.

“Shit.” Seven rolled his eyes. “I’m even the villain to Florence now.”

“Sorry, Seven. No romantic vacations for you. At least not with me.”

“Aw, am I not cute enough?”

“You’re adorable. And I’m a lesbian. Next question?”

“What’s your name?” Seven asked, bluntly.

Next to her, Vanderwood made the strangest sound, like he was trying desperately not to laugh. When Seven gave him a look, he quietly said “She could tell you, but she’d have to kill you.”

Anna chuckled, and Seven just shook his head. Spy Dad Jokes.

“Okay, how about ‘what do you want to be called’ then?  We all know Seven’s not my real name, so like, I’m not one to actually complain.”

“Anna’s fine. I haven’t gotten to be Anna long enough.”

“So, obviously you’re a hacker type.” Seven said. “And better than me at. identity. shenanigans.” he clarified. “Why did you leave the apartment? Why a chat bot? I want to understand. I want to keep my friends safe.”

“You try being led to a random apartment by someone who was drawn in by an identity that no one would miss if she disappeared, and then get taken in like family by the people you were led to. Now, be told that you shouldn’t leave the apartment you’re in, that there are cameras but not where. Then be told not only by the group in which you’ve been planted but also by the creeper that put you there that you have to convince people to come to a charity party and that everyone’s happiness relies on you doing a job you only agreed to so you wouldn’t get arrested for trying to do a good deed. I am not sad to be burning this persona to the ground this fast, I just started being Anna and I like who she is. I’m a fan of not caring what two milkshakes in a day and no gym time is doing to my hips. But I’m glad. Because it means that it’s me who was in that situation. Me, who was equipped to get herself out without hurting herself or others. Well, barring some feelings. I’m sure Yoosung will never forgive me and I set the bot to be nice to Jaehee and flirt hardcore with Zen, so… yeah. Feelings probably hurt, but. No innocent lives were entirely ruined, and I’ll figure out what to do about buying new jeans wherever Anna 2.0 ends up next.”

“Well. Someone certainly taught you how to monologue.”

“Video games.”

“I thought you didn’t play LOLOL.”

“I don’t. There are other games, you know.”

Seven sighed. “Okay. Say I understand. What about the shady guy? Isn’t he going to just get someone else?”

“Yeah, probably, but I mean you were looking for him and he won’t notice I’m gone for awhile, and he’ll be so confused by the chat bot he’ll slip and you’ll catch him.”

Seven grumbled. “I was fooled by the chat bot until I realized you weren’t in the apartment.”

“See, cameras.”

“But why a chat bot, Anna? Why give in to sleazy corporate AI shenanigans? Stolen training media!! My heart hurts.”

“I stole the chat bot. She’s ripped. And she’s trained only my own shitty fanfic, so she sounds as much like me as possible.”

Seven just blinked at her. “You write fanfic?! No no no wait that is not the takeaway here.”

Vanderwood cleared his throat as Florence arrived to clear the table and quietly return Vanderwood’s credit card.

“Right. Uh. One last question, Anna, and then I’ll get out of your hair.” Seven was wringing his hands, and Anna wasn’t sure how she felt about whatever this question was going to be.

“Would you consider… working with me?  Maybe this hacker situation as a trial and you can see if you like the working conditions?”

Anna eyed Vanderwood. “This your handler?” A grunt from Mr. Black Coffee Vanderwood himself gave the answer. “That make him my handler?”

“Depends.” Vanderwood spoke for himself. “How do you feel about dishes?”

“I prefer a dishwasher but as long as you don’t make me wear the horrendous yellow plastic gloves I’m game?”

“Yeah. I think I can handle you.” Vanderwood nodded.

Anna smirked, but didn’t take the easy bait.

“Alright. Let’s go catch us a creepy cult boy and his Eternal Paradise or whatever. Then I’m going to Morocco.”

“Need a +1?” Seven said, smirking as they left the diner.

“Yep. I’m going to seduce Jaehee.”

The sound Seven made in response sounded almost like someone put a rubber chicken in a blender. In that moment, Anna was glad she decided to stay.