#but there was just so much material that i decided to split that stuff into its own post

[northbndtrain]

the last kingdom ep. 1x02 = uhtred & alfred (2 of 3 4)           + Uhtred visits Alfred's library for the first time.

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[miintsprigz]

Mercs x GN! reader who drew them (ALL NINE!)

This goes out to everyone, not just my artists.

But yes, all my fic material is extremely self-serving.

Big thank you to a dear friend of mine for helping me with mercs like Pyro, Engie, Sniper, and Medic when I got stuck.

VERY LONG POST INCOMING

Scout

• Well, he IS an artist himself, that’s probably how the two of you first started talking.

• Ran past one day, only to immediately throw it in reverse and go “hey whoa whoa whoa when were you gonna tell me you could draw?!”

•Naturally…it was only a matter of time.

•He was always so encouraging about your stuff, so…after working up the guts, you showed him.

• “Yo wait a sec…you drew me??? I…” For once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. He’s never been drawn—not even a self-portrait. For as cocky as he seems…well…

•He just…stares for a second. Marveling. Is that…really what I look like?

• “Do you like it?” “Abso-friggin-lutely, (Y/N)!!! You kiddin’? I don’t even look that beautiful in real life! And ya know, that’s sayin’ somethin!”

•You laugh, and he pulls you in so fast to hug you that you weren’t even ready. “But seriously…thank you. I’ve uh…I’ve never been drawn before. You did amazing. …you know I gotta draw you now, right?”

•And he does. He’s a complete perfectionist about it—he feels like he can’t replicate you, you’re one of a kind. (He actually does very well! But he’s so shy showing it to you…d’aww.)

Pyro

•Pyro was more of a doodler than anything. They loved color. And of course, you could resonate with that.

•Sometimes you’d draw designs and let them color it in. They giggled all the while…they just adored how creative you were.

•Being the most secretive about their appearance, they’re hard to nail down…even for you. Pyro is most themself in their full gear. You, out of everyone, know that best.

•So you took a…different approach. Abstraction.

•Their hands, the ones that so often seemed to be magnetically drawn to you.

•Their back, the strong shoulders when they just felt content to sit in the quiet with you.

•The brief glimpses you’d caught of their face—split second instances in shadows—those were easy, yet challenging. Their brief sightings made them easy to be abstract about, and yet, it made them harder to actually nail down.

•Conjuring a rather fittingly smoky composition, it had a dreamlike feel to it. Pure Pyro.

•You were only a bit hesitant to show them, but when they did see…they surprised you a bit.

•You could see them straighten up a bit…surprised. They craned their neck a bit, looking closer, gently curling their fingers over yours to hold the snapshot-like portraits with you.

• “Hmmm…” There was a sort of…tranquility to them. So unlike your little sparky fella.

• “Do you like them?” Immediately, the edge of their mask bumped against your forehead—your own personal way of kissing. That was all the answer you needed.

•They couldn’t verbalize it, but…seeing beauty in images of themself. The same beauty they saw all around them…it made them see themself in a way they never had before.

•And of course, it made them fall even deeper in love with you, the one who cared for them so much that they took the time to look so deeply.

Heavy

•Heavy is a very intelligent man, but he’s never had much gift for creative work. Even his insults were kind of just the same thing repeated, when the other mercs made it an art form.

•So he couldn’t help but be enraptured by your artistic endeavors and how much work you put into them.

•He loved to see you covered in your medium of choice, your passion for it. Made him lovesick. How lovely you were doing what you loved.

•If he could paint, he would have wanted to paint that. So he could look at it forever.

•So of course, imagine his delight when you decided to draw him!

• That roaring laugh you so enjoyed boomed immediately, just elated.

•“Ohhhh…look at that! You captured me perfectly! Beautiful!” You couldn’t help but beam with pride.

•“Can Heavy keep this?” “Of course you can, hon.” This warranted a sudden barrage of kisses to your face, which cracked you up of course.

•“Very happy to have such talented artist as yourself to love. But to me? You are most beautiful. In all the world.” Despite being more eloquent in his native language, Heavy could still get you to turn red. “Oh gosh…” “Is true!”

Demoman

•Tavish had always been a pretty sentimental fellow. He really did enjoy artwork, but didn’t talk about it much.

•Once he discovered that you were an artist, he was over the moon. Finally, he felt, he could talk to someone about art without them possibly poking fun.

•He’d never go in your sketchbook unless you allowed him to, but he always looked with such admiration in his eyes. “That’s bloody brilliant. So long as ya luv it, never stop doin’ this. Cuz I’ll never stop lookin.”

•One day, you told him you had a surprise for it. “I dunno if I like surprises…” “Oh trust me, Demo,” you chirped, “I think you’ll like this one.”

•As you held up the finished product, his mouth went agape. Almost instantly, he began to smile.

•“Well aren’t you just the sweetest!! That’s me there???” “Yes, love. I uh, I hope that you like it.” His gaze shifted over to you, and you could see his eye had grown somewhat misty.

•Demo was at a loss for words. He had never thought of himself as particularly good-looking, certainly not good enough to be drawn. And yet. You had drawn him. Drawn him very well. And he liked how he looked. Was that how you saw him?

•“Aw, Tav…you okay??” He blinked quick, trying to keep composed.“Never better…c’mere, you…”

•Wrapping his arms around you, he gave you a kiss, just about taking your breath away.

•“My little artist…ya made me look so good.” You caught him rubbing his eye a bit. “I just drew what I saw.” “Well, ya see a work of art in me. And that? That’s the best surprise of all.”

Engineer

•With how much designing went into his machines, Dell could always appreciate the skills of an artist. So when he learned that you were one, well, that only sweetened an already sweet deal.

•You were a little self-conscious at first about him watching you work. You tended to just work parallel to one another, both lost in your own stuff.

•You’d sometimes stop what you were doing to follow his hands as he put the pieces together, fingers wandering as they looked for the correct tool.

•When the inverse happened though—when Engie watched you work—he admired your spontaneity. You could start off with a total wild card and somehow managed to pull it all together and make it work, in a way he never could have come up with.

•Being rather rigid in his own trade, that was something Dell couldn’t help but be dazzled by. Very smart man for sure, but rather by-the-book. Not like you. He saw genius in the way your mind worked.

•So, one day, as the two of you perused each other’s handiwork a bit, you shyly revealed the piece you’d made of him—hard at work on an updated sentry model.

•His lips parted a little like he was about to say something, but nothing came out.

•“I know it’s a little rocky…I’m not the best at drawing machinery.” Gently, he took ahold of the sketchbook and gave it a soft tug, nonverbally asking for permission to hold it. You let him.

•As he looked closer, a warm smile crept across his face. “Well, well…wouldja look at that. That’s me alright.” He chuckled heartily, but you realized it was from admiration, not amusement.

•“Look at you, (Y/N)! Saw me all covered in dirt an’ said ‘yeah, I can make art from that’. I love it…shucks, darlin’, I can hardly get my eyes off of it.”

•He looked back at you, still all aglow, only to find you blushing to the point of near luminescence. “Aw, c’mon now honey…no need to be all shy. You’re incredible, ya know that?”

•An arm slunk around your shoulders, pulling you fast to his side, quickly pecking the top of your head. “I love it, and I love you.”

Soldier

•Soldier was a brave man, that he was confident in. But even he was self-aware enough to realize he wasn’t the sharpest.

•Anything he’d ever drawn looked like kids’ stuff, so to see what you could make? It blew his mind.

•Jane tried not to stare while you drew—you’d gotten all nervous when you’d caught him, and he was trying to be courteous—but he couldn’t deny how it captivated him.

•“Whatcha workin’ on now?” “I’m drawing those two goofs.” You motioned to the Spy and Scout bickering as they often did. “Why them, of all things?” “I just like capturing the moment sometimes.”

•One day, as you sat while he drilled the rest of the team, you started to do just that. You found it hard not to chuckle just a little as the others groaned and rolled their eyes.

•Sure, you got their annoyance, but you couldn’t help but be pulled in by Jane’s excitement and hot-bloodedness.

•“Seemed pretty lost in your work there, or I woulda asked you to join in.” A strong hand ruffling your hair snapped you out of your daze. “Capturing the moment again?”

•“Uh-huh. I think this is my best one yet.” You turned the book around to show him, and you saw his lips part slightly in surprise before he suddenly laughed. “Haha! Look at that! It’s me!”

•You laughed with him, just happy to see him so tickled by it. “I think I really captured you.” “I’d say so, kid! I’d say so…wow.” The amusement gave way to what you realized was…almost awe.

•“I look…strong. Proud.” “Yep.” “…I look good.” “Of course you do.” He nudged his helmet down a bit with his hand, chuckling to himself. From what little bit of his face you saw…was he blushing?

•Imitating him playfully—it was something you two tended to do, he found it cute—you joked, in your best impression of him, “‘Are you going soft on me, maggot??? You’re red as a tomato!’” “Noooo…oh, (Y/N), what am I gonna do with you?”

•He caught the side of your face softly and pecked you on the cheek. “But…really. Thank you, sweetheart. I think that’s my favorite thing you’ve ever made.”

Sniper

•Truthfully, Mick had never given a lot of thought to the arts before he’d met you. What really caught his eye was the amount of time you put into it.

•Sniper knew better than anyone that holding still, completely focused on your task, being all but absorbed in it…that was respectable.

•The fact that he could leave for work and come back to find you in the same spot? It was just very attractive to him.

•You stopped by to watch him sometimes, very discreetly, on less busy days, although he wouldn’t lie, it got him nervous. He trusted in his own skills plenty, but…you weren’t just anyone. He couldn’t have you getting hurt.

•So one day, as he finally wrapped up, he saw you, still hard at work. He didn’t want to interrupt you, but if it was time to go, he wanted to go. Giving you a light pat on the shoulder, he chuckled. “Almost done there, darlin? Quittin’ time.”

•“Just a bit more…there. Perfect. Check it out.” You held up what you’d been working on: a full sketch of him invested in his own work.

•It took him a moment to process what he was seeing, but once he did, he couldn’t help but be amazed. Slightly slack-jawed, he looked up at you, the faintest trace of a smile.

•“Never considered myself the modelin’ type, ‘specially not out here, but…wow. Ya really did it. And I look bloody good, too!” “Well duh!” “Oh, stop—” Oh, that got him. The Aussie was surprisingly easy to fluster once he’d fully grown comfortable, and you loved it.

•“Awww, are you blushing?” “Just a little…now c’mon.” Taking your hand, he helped you up, quickly hugging you around the shoulders, catching you somewhat off-guard.

•“But really. Great job there. Thanks…it’s an honor, ya know that? To be drawn by you?” “Gosh—” “Heh, now you’re the one goin’ all red.” “Oh, stop—”

Medic

•The good(?) doctor first learned of your artistic prowess when he caught you trying to draw the charts he had on his wall. “Ooh! Very impressive.”

•Medic could do a lot of things, but drawing wasn’t really one of them. He couldn’t resist watching you work, even though he knew it was a bit touchy.

•“Poetry in motion, Liebe. Really.” Simp. “Oh, come on—” “I mean it! You have such precision, such grace…it’s a sight to behold!”

•So of course, when you were working on something that you absolutely would not let him look at, he wanted to see even more.

•“I promise that whatever it is, I will find it as beautiful as you!” “It’s not that, silly—it’s supposed to be a surprise!” He seemed almost sulky about it…it was kind of cute, although you did feel a bit bad.

•Eventually though, it was done—him, with Archimedes on his shoulder. “Okay, honey, you can look now.”

•One hand comes up over his mouth, audibly gasping. “Is that…? It is!!! Haha!”

•You had never seen him this happy, and you couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, (Y/N)! Look at that…and Archimedes too!”

•Perhaps unsurprisingly, he brings the bird out to show him too. It’s hard to gauge the response from a dove, but the tranquil cooing seems to suggest that he enjoys it.

•The doctor catches you off-guard as he sweeps you into a kiss. “Oh…danke, Schatz (treasure). May I keep this?” “Of course~”

•Best believe this man is showing your art off to EVERYONE who he treats, going on and on about what an incredible artist and person you are.

Spy

•This guy is a man of culture, he can appreciate good art. And good artists, wink.

•But in all seriousness, your attention to detail was incredibly attractive to him. After you’d been together for a while, the two of you would sit in his smoking room and relax together once the work day was over.

•Sometimes he’d be off to the side just doing his own thing, reading, but other times he’d actually sit beside you and watch. There was an intimacy to it, one you took time to grow fully comfortable with, but he was patient.

•So when you were very secretive one night, it caught his attention. Nothing slipped past him—not even you. You sensed him behind you surprisingly quickly though, and quickly closed the project up.

•“Shy tonight, are we? So unlike you, mon bijou (my jewel)…” “Hehe…be patient, babe, it’s not done yet.”

•His arms wrapped around you from behind briefly…gosh, it was difficult to keep anything secret from this man. “Very well. Keep your secrets…for now.”

•But he respected that you didn’t want him to see it just yet, and so he waited.

•“…Okay, you can look now.” In an instant, he was behind you again. It was hard to even look up at the guy right now, but once you did…there was this sense of wonder in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

•It wasn’t often that Spy looked at himself unmasked for longer than a few seconds—he’d almost forgotten his own face by now. For spies, he reasoned, it was better that way. But the way you had captured every detail of him…

•“Oh, what a handsome devil…wonder who that could be…” Was he trying to brush off his own flustering? Maybe a little.

•You couldn’t help but giggle as he almost hurriedly sat down next to you, quickly drawing you in close as he continued to look. Almost entranced.

•That element of intimacy I mentioned before? It was his turn to feel it now. Not even in a physical way, which is what this Casanova is so used to.

•No, the fact that you had clearly just…looked at his face, so intently. There was something raw and vulnerable to it. And as much as he wanted to look at it even more, his eyes were magnetically drawn to you.

•“I wouldn’t have ever asked it of you, but…I always wondered what it would look like if you drew me. I…”

•Glancing back down, he found that he couldn’t even come up with anything to say. The act of love had rendered him speechless. YOU BROKE HIM OH MY GOSH/j

•“…Do you like it?” Before you could say anything else, you were swiftly kissed, and I mean kissed.

•Spy always looked at you with a sort of passion, but this was different. He had never felt so much love for someone. Felt like a young, hopeless romantic boy all over again.

•“I adore it…and most of all, I adore you, mon cœur (my heart).”

AAAAND IM DONE. WHEW. That was fun!

[sturn-saturn]

the diamond lab

pairing: fem!reader x bf!chris

warnings: cutesy stuff hehe, y/n getting suspicious of her best friend and chris, one slight sexual joke, not proofread

part 2 part 3

word count: 945

aruba. it's known for it's stunning white sand beaches, the bluest ocean you'll ever dip your toes in, and warm sunny weather. this beautiful island is a place you and chris have been talking about visiting for ages, and it's finally happening.

you, your boyfriend chris, matt, his girlfriend (@flouvela) flora, nate, larray, sam, colby, tara, jake, and johnnie booked a trip to the island as a way to get away from reality for a couple days. you all booked a hotel at palm beach, a touristy area with so many dining choice to choose from. you all were so excited so excited to explore this island.

matts girlfriend is the reason you and chris ended up together. when you two were dorming in college she told you about this really attractive guy she went on a date with and it turns out he was a triplet! they both convinced you and chris to go on a date and get to know each other and the rest is history.

you all made your way to the hotel you'll be staying at and checked in.

"alright everyone, we're gonna get dressed and we'll go out for dinner." chris says.

"woah okay mr. boss man." you giggle, giving his lips a little peck.

you and chris were sharing a room. matt and flora, nick and nate, larray and jake, sam and coldby, and johnnie and tara wanted their own rooms.

"are you excited for this trip?" chris asks you. he grabs you by your waist and holds you close enough to see how bright your eyes are shining.

"i'm so excited, and i'm even more grateful you planned all of this out." you smile.

"yeah. i know how stressful it gets for you when you plan things so i thought it would be easier if i did it."

"oh so husband material."

"husband? i like the sound of that." he smirks as he captures your lips in a kiss. "c'mon sweet cheeks, time to get dressed."

you and chris finish getting and head down to the lobby to wait for the rest of the crew.

"what do you feel like having tonight, mama?"

"mm, i'm really in the mood for italian." you smile.

"alright, alright, you can wait until we get back to the hotel room."

you playfully hit his arm with a shocked expression. "chris! don't say things like that in public!"

"oh c'mon, you like it."

"okay, fine. i do, but stop it!"

"what are you two love birds talking about?" flora asks walking up to us with the rest of our friends.

"oh you know, just y/n wanting a piece of me."

"oh god, here they go again." larray jokes."

"chill, she suggested italian. is everyone cool with that?"

scattered agreement spread amongst your friends.

"they agree? usually they all want to eat something different..." you thought to yourself.

you all made your way across the street where all the restaurants and bars are.

"oh wow, that gelato place looks amazing can we go after chris?" you ask grabbing his arm like a child.

"of course, baby. i know you ned your sweet treats after dinner." he smiles down at you. "you look so beautiful, you know that?"

"you make me feel beautiful."

you finally pick an italian place that seems appetizing and wait to be seated.

"we're gonna have so many left overs if we all order something. do you guys wanna get a few dishes and split them so we wont have as many left overs?" you ask.

"yeah, that sounds like a good idea." jake says.

"make sure we get something that has no meat for tara." you say.

"you're so cute." tara says holding your hand.

once your food arrives you all dig in and chat amongst each other on how excited you are to be here and what your plans are for the next couple days.

you notice chris and flora are exchanging glances but don't think much of it. although it was a little weird, you didn't want to cause any problems and just wanted to enjoy this island with your boyfriend and your best friends.

after dinner and gelato you all decide to take a walk on the beach capturing memories on matts digital camera, your phones, making tiktoks, and just messing around. you really were having the time of your life.

watching the sunset is something you always loved doing. now you get to watch the sunset on the beach in aruba and it's a whole other feeling coursing through your body.

it was getting dark now so you all made your way back to your designated hotel rooms and got ready for bed.

"so, how was your first day here?" chris asks. you both are cuddled up in bed holding each other.

"better than i ever imagined. thank you chris."

"no, thank you."

"for what?"

"being you."

"you're so corny." you playfully roll your eyes.

"you love it tho!"

"i do. i really do."

"alright, sweet cheeks, bed time."

the next morning...

you wake up the next morning to face chris but notice he's gone.

"chris?" you call out.

"i'm in the bathroom, love."

you stayed in bed for a few and waited for chris to finish up.

"can i see the pictures you took of me last night?" you ask.

"yeah, of course. my phone is under my pillow."

you reach under his pillow to grab his phone and type in his passcode, your birthday.

you press the photos app and see a notification pop up from your best friend flora that reads...

"don't let y/n find out."

"what the fuck." you whisper, your heart dropping. "don't let me find out what?"

[bokettochild]

I absolutely love fics that give all the Links different written languages.

BUT

For the ones that don't...

Who do you think can or can't read/write cursive? I firmly believe that Wind's grandma taught him how to read it, but he never writes in it so he can't without double checking certain letters multiple times.

Ooh!

Yes, Wind is quite proficient in Hylian cursive! He and Aryll actually both are since Granny doesn't really use anything else except back when she was first teaching them how to read, and even then, her letters are all swoopy and graceful (they love that). He reads it well, but his handwriting is still awkward and crooked (JoJo had it overlapped onto Warriors'). Aryll spends more time writing things down so she's a bit better than he is, but only a bit.

Four is familiar with cursive, since he spends a lot of time at the castle and most of the royals use it. he can read it well, and he can sort of write it, but Blue finds the excessive loops to be ridiculous and while Red thinks they're pretty, it's too tricky to do all the time, so only really Green uses cursive, and only when split. Vio likes how it looks, but he writes to get things down, and he thinks too fast to care about how his writing looks (it looks like chicken scratches).

Legend is also quite used to cursive, and he can write in it, when he takes the time to try. Most of the time, he's like Vio and just trying to jot things down, but if he's writing a letter or a note to someone, he tends to at least try and make it look nice, and cursive does a decent job of that. I'd like to note, also, that since he's a bit of a book collector too, Legend is very good at reading even the crappiest of handwriting, not just cursive.

Hyrule hasn't got much expose to written materials, but most of what he has seen are old books with the gilded letters and the like, so he doesn't even know cursive is a thing until Aurora introduced him to it. He's not very good at reading it, and definitely can't write with it, but he's getting better.

Wild might have been able to write in cursive before he lost his memories, but he doesn't any longer. Most of Hyrule doesn't bother with cursive, not even Flora, since she, like Legend and Vio, has only the intent of writing things quickly and no longer has anyone to tell her to make it look nice. Purah and Robbie are the same. Sidon and the Zora do use cursive, but Wild doesn't really care enough to try reading it, since most of the time anything they bother to write is just official mumbo-jumbo to him anyway. He does have rather neat printing though!

Sky can read cursive, as can all the students at the academy, but he prefers to print things out, because it's easier and he was always a rather lazy student. Zelda feels the same way, but Groose actually has the best penmanship out of them all (he wanted to be better than Sky). They can all write cursive, but again, Sky never cared to practice enough to make it look very nice, so he sort of struggles to do it.

Twilight on the other hand! Twilight has the fanciest gosh-darn handwriting out of the whole chain! Since he's a total book nerd (look at his house), I'd say he's probably been exposed to all sorts of handwriting, and as a kid decided he would make his handwriting look like the stuff in fancy books. Ulli helped him to learn, and he now writes with a very neat hand indeed. Most of the time he prints things, to save time, but this man could be a calligrapher if he so chose! He really likes to do those embellished first letters like in old books, and while sometimes he gets teased about it, Shad may or may not have asked him to help with some of his publications because of his skill.

Warriors has very neat handwriting, but unfortunately, cannot read or write in cursive. I'm a street-rat Wars truther, so this man probably only recently learned to read in my take on him. He makes sure his handwriting looks nice, but cursive is a bit too much for his needs. Soldiers don't get sent things with cursive most of the time, so when he does, he can usually just ask Impa to help him read it, as it's usually in regards to an official frivolity anyways.

Time cannot cursive. Malon can, but she's not very good at it either (reading or writing). Time doesn't care to learn, Malon doesn't really care to improve, and the only way to get Time to even try would be to tell him he could use it top mess with Wars.

[hadesoftheladies]

FEMALE MOVIE/TV RECS (PART 2 / HISTORICAL FICTION/NON-FICTION)

got inspired from a recommendation post so decided to make a list of movies and shows with female-centric stories/female protagonists. since i can't post all of the genres in one post, i'll split it into multiple posts and y'all can save or add to the list as you wish. (disclaimer: i have watched most of these, but i only know about the existence of others. not every movie/show on these lists will be my recommendation. my recommendations will be beneath the list with reasons. also some of these are way better than others in terms of storytelling/performance--which is why i'll list my faves separately):

Common Themes of Media in the List:

-Workplace/general sexist discrimination

-Husband being pieces of shit and whiners

-Strong emphasis on sisterhood

-Romance plays a large part (both hetero and homo)

-Female genius and triumph

-Scheming mothers (always scheming)

-Grief, loss, and growth

-Motherhood is difficult but we pull through TM

HAVEN'T WATCHED:

Mozart's Sister

Lessons in Chemistry

The Conductor

Lizzie

Radioactive

Cable Girls

The Great

The Queen's Gambit

Britannia

Harriet

Mary Queen of Scots

ONES I LOVEDDDD:

A League of Their Own (9/10) (a favorite!)

Hidden Figures (8/10)

The Woman King (8/10) (a favorite!)

Anne With An E (9/10) (a favorite!)

Dickinson (8.5/10)

The Marvellous Mrs. Maisel (9/10) (a favorite!)

Gentleman Jack (8/10)

The Gilded Age (7.5/10)

HONORABLE (NON-LISTED MENTIONS)

The English (an english woman teams up with a native american cowboy to take revenge on the men who hurt them)

The World to Come (two women isolated by the wilderness and their husbands fall in love)

The Pursuit of Love

Colette

PERSONAL NOTES:

The Buccaneers is pretty feminist and wholesome, although oftentimes childish and full of Netflix cliches (even though it's an Apple TV original). It tries very hard to be Dickinson and Little Women but is a far cry away from Dickinson's edge and fierceness and Little Women's maturity and realism. It's more interested in appealing to Bridgerton audiences and its worse for it. But it's still full of the nice stuff, like strong female friendships and sisterhoods. Ooh, and lesbians! It's adamantly female-centric.

As for Little Women, I prefer the 90s version with Winona Ryder, but Greta did more justice to the source material than Louisa May Alcott herself in the new version.

The Book Thief and The World to Come are also tragedies, so you know. Ammonite, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Summerland and The Favourite are lesbians and bisexuals in their full glory, although all of them have vastly different tones (The Favourite is a dark comedy, I believe).

Speaking of The Favourite, Mary & George is like that but it's men vying for the affections of the king. Don't get it twisted though, Mary, George's mom, is the protagonist and primary mover of the show. It starts and ends with her. Also, more lesbianism! (I don't get tired of pointing that out.)

Belle is one of the few autobiographical historical fictions of a black woman. My dad and I love it. It, however, does not surpass The Woman King. The Woman King is like . . . one of the best historical movies on African women I've ever watched! Or just in general! It gives so much agency to African people in the colonial age and tells the story with nuance and perspective--it is a decolonized view on the slave trade that places West African people at the center. It's pretty intense and gory, though. Like it's dark, but like the performances are insanely good, and so is the story. Real life Wakanda and all that!

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXII

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Please note: There will be heavy subjects discussed that may be triggering.

*This chapter was previously part of chapter 21 (which again, was 30 pages?? insane) and as I have been editing and reuploading the chapters, I have since decided to split chapter 21 into two. 

shoutout to @abruisedmuse for being my number one on this journey!

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @zenkindoflove / @animezinglife / @teddyhoneybear / @readthelastpaage / @positivewitch / @krem-does-stuff / @clockwork-ashes / @carolynmezzosoprano / @carnythian / @runningwiththeoceans / @secret-third-thing / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @thedarkinmansfield / @mali22 / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @moonfawnx / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @eachies / @feysandfeels / @thelovelymadone / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @sinnerrsworld / @gracie-rosee / @stormycleric / @queenofnothing1998 / @wolvesnravens / @theeternalstruggle / @the-midnightwriter / @illyrianvalkyrie / @that-golden-lyre / @ladystarrynight

Find it all here.

Something was wrong. 

Iris had started to sense it not too long after Eris had left; a sense of unease worked its way through her chest and twisted in her gut.  She tried to brush off the worry — today had been a whirlwind and Finn showing up suddenly was probably adding to the stress she was already feeling. Eris would be fine. He should be fine. Even if he was taking longer than she expected. 

She let herself focus on other things while she waited, mindlessly tidying the room, washing up for bed, and lastly, actually choosing something she deemed indecent to wear to bed.

It was a beautiful olive-green gown, the material satin with lace trimmings that seemed to have been made for her, hugging her body in a way she knew would send her husband into a nice little spiral. Or, at least she hoped it would. It was also much shorter than she’d ever worn around Eris, barely reaching her midthigh, and that — well, that made her a little more nervous than she’d like to be.

It was just skin after all. She’d gradually been showing him a little more skin with each new set but never…never this much. Iris flushed deeply and then frowned at her reflection.

“Get over yourself,” she mumbled. “It’s not like you don’t want him to touch you.” 

Because she did. If his kisses were any indication, Eris would likely be the death of her, and that had her feeling very nervous. But she had a nice long robe that would make her feel more secure. 

At least until they talked and she got answers to her questions. 

Today had been challenging in its own way but this moment, choosing to be a little more intimate with him…this was for her. For the way he had been making her feel the past few weeks. For the way his eyes always watched her with just a little hunger and a whole lot of amusement. 

But mostly…it was for the way his voice had dropped when he had made his request earlier. He had asked so politely. It would be bad manners to refuse. 

If he’d just hurry up and come back already.

Iris had been standing in front of the vanity, fidgeting slightly with the thin strap of her nightgown when a sharp tug to her ribcage had her freezing. A gasp left her lips as she steadied herself and the dread she had been trying to keep at bay came back in full force. She felt panicked. She felt — she felt pain.

Something was wrong and she didn’t understand what that was. That — that tug.

With shaking hands, she quickly slipped the robe over her gown and tied it firmly, rushing to her door and yanking it open. 

She staggered to a halt in the doorway when one of Eris’s commanders turned to face her and she blinked in surprise. 

“Oren?” she asked and straightened. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

The general took a moment to scan the hall, empty except for the two of them then took a small step towards her and gave her a tight smile. “His Royal Highness, Prince Eris wished for you to have some additional protection at this time,” Oren said calmly but Iris’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t miss the usage of the formal title, especially when Oren and Eris were considered friends.

“Where is he?” she demanded. “He was supposed to be meeting with Finn earlier. Has something happened?”

The tight smile remained on Oren’s face.  “The High Lord requested him earlier. He sent me here before he went.”

Iris inhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the doorframe as another sense of unease washed over her. “I knew something was wrong,” she said quietly and Oren narrowed his eyes at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Something is wrong. I can feel it.” Iris said and rubbed a hand to her forehead. “I’m going to change then go find —”

“I can’t let you leave,” Oren stated and Iris froze.

“Excuse me?”

Oren winced and Iris cocked a brow as he took a breath. “I am under orders to watch over you,” he said more gently. “Until he returns from his meeting with the High Lord.”

“He’s never had someone stand guard when he meets with the High Lord,” she said quietly, and again, she felt that flutter of panic as Oren’s lip thinned. 

“It seems, the High Lord is angrier than usual.”

Iris bit her lip and then let out a breath. He was angry with Eris and Iris knew without a doubt, it had to be because of her. Because of her horrible father. “Fuck.” she mumbled and Oren gestured gently to the room behind her. 

“I suggest you wait inside.”

“How am I supposed to wait when I know that —” she began then cut herself off in frustration, knowing she couldn’t say anything about the High Lord that wouldn’t get back to him. “How can I just wait when I’m telling you I can sense something is wrong!”

Oren gave her a look she didn’t quite understand then again, gently said, “I know it might be hard to wait but it’s better for you and him that you stay here. He’ll worry about you less.”

Worry about her. As if she cared about herself at this moment. Knowing what she knew about Beron, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was tearing into Eris for not beating Iris alongside her father. She ran a hand through her hair and bit her lip, holding back a string of curses. 

The High Lord needed Eris. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything — but Iris immediately shook her head. The High Lord would do whatever he wanted to his son. 

And she could do nothing to protect him. 

Shame and anger coiled in her stomach and Iris wished there was more she could do — anything she could do other than sit here and wait.

She glanced at the commander once more who only gave her a nod. She sighed.

“You don’t have to wait outside. I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “No one can come in here without my permission.”

Oren gave her a small smile. “I know. But I am loyal to one male and one male only,” he said. “And I will do as he requested of me.”

Iris watched Oren carefully. So it seemed he knew all about Eris and the way things were with the High Lord. He’d also been a friend and commander of his for so long…but she had to ask, “Why?”

The corner of the commander’s mouth shifted up. “Because I see what he’s been trying to do. And I believe in him,” he said then gestured with his chin behind her again. “I’ll be here if you need anything until he returns.”

Knowing she’d been dismissed, Iris turned to go back into her rooms. Oren had distracted her briefly but as she slowly shut the door, her hands started to shake again. She couldn’t help the guilt threatening to consume her, couldn't help the twist in her gut. How long would Beron keep his son? What would he do to him?

Her eyes flickered to the grandfather clock sitting in the corner of their living space and she frowned. It was already so late in the evening. How much longer would this meeting take?

But an hour went by. Then several more. 

And Iris spent the time pacing around their room, fighting back her anxiety and holding herself back from running past Oren and finding her husband herself. 

She had been seated, curled up on their bed trying and failing to distract herself when she heard the familiar thud of their door closing and leaped to her feet.

“You took so long! I started to think —” Iris started but the rest of the words died in her throat at the sight of Eris in front of her. 

Heat filled the room almost immediately as Iris halted a few feet away from him. 

Her husband stood before her and Iris wasn’t sure where to look. At the now tattered jacket somehow still on his body. At the blood dripping from him. Or his hair that now barely reached the nape of his neck. She couldn’t stop staring, her heart rate increasing at the cold detachment on his face and the dead look in his eyes that set her on edge. 

Iris tried to swallow, to hold back the horror and panic going through her body, to calm her shaking hands.

“What — what happened?” she asked carefully, taking a step closer to him. Eris’s gaze dropped to her feet and the step she took closer to him then back up to her face. 

A beat of silence passed. Then another. Eris watched her, barely blinking and Iris didn’t dare move or say anything more as her fingers curled into the fabric of her robe. 

Slowly and without saying a word, Eris gestured to his body, to the state he was in, and Iris tried to keep her expression from falling, tried to curb the slight panic clogging in her throat. Once again, Eris only glanced down and then back up at her but this time, she saw wildfire in his eyes. The room’s temperature spiked and Iris felt her chest tighten as anger surged around them. 

Eris wasn’t angry, no. He was seething. Fuming.

He took a step towards her, his hands clasped behind his back and her heart started to beat frantically at the flame that licked at his heels. 

“Eris,” she started gently. “Tell me what happened.”

The Prince of Autumn cocked his head as his wild eyes watched her and Iris knew whatever had happened, whatever the High Lord had done to him, it was bad enough that Eris had gone someplace far, far away. And her Eris was not back yet. 

His eyes narrowed on her and Iris couldn’t find it in her to say anything more, her body tensing instead. She wanted him to say something, anything to fill the silence between them, where the only sound she could hear was the frantic beating of her heart. Her husband had not returned as he had left and she wasn’t sure if he fully would. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself that would help him, that would ease whatever was going through his mind right now.

It was as she opened her mouth once more that Eris moved, taking one step towards her and Iris paused. She willed herself not to flinch as his hands lowered from behind his back and knew Eris had clocked the movement. His hands wouldn’t hurt her but it still didn’t stop her from watching them carefully.

They watched each other silently. 

And Eris wanted to reply to her question, to speak, but he was having a hard time trying not to vomit. He was having a hard time trying to remember how to breathe properly. He had lost consciousness at some point enduring his father’s wrath and had woken up to find himself lying in his own blood. He didn’t remember being untied, and he didn’t know how much time had passed, but he knew he needed to check on his mother. He knew he needed to get back to his wife. 

So Eris had forced himself to stand on trembling legs, his wits barely about him. He forced himself to leave the throne room and muster what willpower he had left to winnow in front of his parent’s chambers. And Eris had waited, barely able to stand as his blood dripped from him to hear something, anything to indicate that his mother was alright. But Eris had heard nothing and he didn’t know if the deafening silence was worse than the cries of pain he had expected. Only when black dots began to line his vision had he finally forced himself to winnow once more to his own door. 

He had waved off an alarmed Oren and allowed himself a moment to compose himself before walking in and standing as he stood now.

And he really, really wanted to hurl his guts because Iris was looking at him in a way he wasn’t used to in a moment like this. No one usually saw him like this. He mostly let himself go numb during his father’s unleashing and then, only when he was alone, did Eris let his anger consume him. But he had already been teetering on the edge today and he was no longer alone. 

Iris said nothing as he stood there, only watching him with a level of concern that made his chest feel tight. She cared. She cared about what happened to him. She was not his father and she was not looking at him with anything but genuine concern and everything in him recoiled at the fact that she had to see him this way at all. That his father had put him in this position, to look weak and it made him so angry that Eris went momentarily blind with rage. 

He forced himself to swallow and then do it again before he could unlock his jaw enough to speak.

“My father,” he began in a voice that wasn’t quite his and the flames licking his heels spiked up. “Wanted to give me a new look.” He held up a bloodied fist. “He suggested I choke you with what was left of this.”

Iris dropped her gaze to his hand holding — clutching strands of hair that was — she looked up at his face again then back down to his hand. 

“Oh gods.” she mumbled and her heart sank to the pits of her stomach. What had the High Lord done to him? Or rather, what hadn’t the High Lord done to him? Iris took another hesitant step toward him and started to say, “Let me —” 

But immediately, Eris held his other hand, halting her in place and Iris fell silent. His eyes didn’t leave the hand holding the strands of his hair.

He finally glanced up at her, that wildfire in his eyes. “I told him to fuck off, of course.” he continued. “He didn’t take that well.” His gaze dropped again and Iris’s eyes followed to where a few drops of blood had dripped by his feet. She couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. “He didn’t take many things well during our conversation.”

“Conversation,” she repeated faintly and her face fell at the way his own hands had started to shake. “The state that you’re in is the result of a conversation.”

Eris fell silent again, blinking down at his trembling hands. A part of him wished he’d evaporate, simply melt into the floor, and cease to exist. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel this way. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to think about how much this family had been through and how much more they’d have to suffer until his fucken father died. Maybe then he wouldn't have to worry about his wife being another body for his father to beat down. 

Maybe then —

“Eris?” 

He looked up at her gentle calling, so unlike the voice of his father who had spent the past few hours breaking him. The way she looked at him made him want to collapse.

He was bleeding and broken and there was no logical reason for it other than his father was a monster.

“How — how did you even walk the halls like this?” she finally asked and couldn’t help how choked her voice sounded, couldn’t help that she had to keep breaking his silence. Her own hands were shaking as she moved closer to him. “Let me help you — let me see wherever you’re bleeding from.”

Eris shook his head and tried to breathe. She cared and it was too much for him. He couldn’t do this now — he needed more time.

But even if he wanted to, that thread at his ribcage forced him to stay where he was. How could it not when he looked at her and it steadied him? That thread that had dragged him back here, to this room. That thread was the reason he hadn’t let his fire consume him.

It took him another moment to speak, his eyes unblinking as he watched her. “I shouldn’t be able to winnow directly in the House, you know,” he said with a hoarse laugh and swayed slightly. “But stubborn as I am, I can bend the magic to my will.” He pointed a bloody finger at her. “I think it has to do with you.”

This rooted Iris to where she stood. “With me?” she repeated in a whisper. 

“With you,” he confirmed and lowered a trembling hand to his side, his eyes unfocused. “I had to come back to you. You were waiting for me.”

Iris’s mouth trembled and she tried to swallow back the cascade of emotions surging through her body at his words. “What can I do?” she pleaded. “What do you need right now to make this moment easier?”

“What do I need.” he repeated and his eyes fell back to his hands. Iris watched his grip tighten until a flame burst in his fist and what was left of his hair was no more. Eris shook his head again, his chest rising and falling as he tried to breathe. Her face fell as he backed a step from her, both fists aflame now. “You shouldn’t be near me right now.” he said and his gaze flickered up, his wild eyes watching her. “I — I am not — I don’t —”

What was left of her battered heart broke further. He was physically standing before her but Iris could see the struggle in his eyes to connect to their reality.  She wanted to reach him. She needed to reach him and remind him, that he was hers and she would take care of him the way he took care of her.

“It’s okay.” she said as gently as possible and slowly reached out a hand. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t.” Eris snarled so viciously that Iris couldn’t stop the flinch this time, yanking her hand back immediately. 

A thick silence filled the room once more and Iris watched her husband’s chest rise and fall, his breathing starting to turn shallow, those wild eyes watching her in an almost pained resolve at her reaction.

“You flinched from me.” he said, the words barely distinguishable.

Iris swallowed and she hid her trembling hands in the folds of her robe. “It’s alright.” she said softly and saw the way he shuddered at the two words. “You — you surprised me. That’s all.” 

He took a step towards her and Iris froze, waiting as he breathed more deeply, the flame licking his body seeming to flare and then shrink with each breath. “I’m — I’m sorry.” he said, his voice guttural. “I need — I — I need —”

“You need a moment.” she said as his body shook and she fought every instinct to reach out again. She — she wanted to hold him, needed to. But he wasn’t there yet. He was still finding his way back to himself. So she tried to reassure him from their six feet of distance. “That’s alright. Why don’t you go change?”

He nodded and blinked at her, his gaze still unfocused. “Shower.”

“Okay.” she said and nodded carefully. “I’ll — I’ll ask for some tea.”

But her husband just stared at her. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

“Stay.” he said then repeated, “Don't go anywhere.”

Iris gave him a tentative smile, trying and failing to hide how deep her worry ran. She tightened her grip on her robe so she wouldn’t reach out to him again. “I’m not going anywhere, Eris. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

She watched him as he watched her and again felt that tug in her ribcage that she didn’t understand as Eris swallowed hard then slowly, as if he was forcing himself to, he walked away from her and into their bathroom.

The door shut behind him and Iris’s face fell. How badly had that…conversation gone? She had no doubt her own father had played a part in it after the way Eris humiliated him but to what extent? How many more gifts had Beron given Eris? Letting out a shaky breath, her eyes fell to the drops of blood that had left a trail behind him.

An icy rage blinded her momentarily and Iris wanted nothing more than to find the High Lord and stab him violently until he choked on his own blood. Until he had enough wounds to make up for the ones he put on his son even if it would never be enough. The world would be a better place when the time came and he was gone. 

The sound of the water running had her blinking back to reality and Iris forced herself to snap into action and move. 

It didn’t slip her mind that earlier in the day, their situations had been the opposite and Iris wanted nothing more than to erase the anger and the shame that tied both of them to shitty fathers. 

She knew Eris was…not himself yet. She knew he needed a way back and Iris needed to believe that there was a way out of this — this darkness they were surrounded in. There had to be. 

No one deserved to live like this and as she wiped away any signs of his bleeding heart, Iris knew she would give him whatever he needed. Anything that would be a bright light for him on an otherwise dark night. So she had the tea tray ready with a bottle of hard liquor seated right next to it. Most importantly, she had tried to discreetly have her healing salves ready if he felt comfortable enough for her to touch him. 

She waited, too restless to sit, and paced between the sitting table and hovering by the door of the bathroom, listening in case — Iris wasn’t sure in case of what but was sure she wanted to be close by. 

Iris had just moved away from the door again when it finally opened and she immediately turned to find Eris standing in his sleeping attire. She tried not to frown at how tense his body still was and her eyes roamed his face.

“I have the tea.” she said quietly. “And um, alcohol.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up a millimeter before his expression shifted to the blank one she hated and he walked over to her, stopping a few feet away.

She waited, letting him take his time as he glanced down at his feet and then back up at her, his anger still lingering around him.

He watched her, his hands at his sides. “I made you flinch away from me.”

“You were angry.” she said simply. 

“I would never harm you, Iris.” 

His tone offered no argument and the corner of her own mouth curled up. Anger towards her had typically only meant one thing but she knew, deep in her weary bones, that Eris would never hurt her. 

So Iris took a step closer to him and made sure she met his gaze as she replied in a tone that also offered no argument, “I know.” she said. “Your anger wasn’t towards me.”

His nostrils flared at the reminder and Iris almost regretted saying anything but then he took another step closer to her. “No. It wasn’t,” he said and Iris let her gaze drop to his hands that were clenching and unclenching at his sides. “After…events like this, I usually…am alone. To process.”

The words, the resignation in them, made her ache. Iris wondered how many times he’d had to process alone, with no one to share this burden with.

She looked up again and took one more step toward him as she slowly held out her hands. “Well, you’re not alone anymore,” she said quietly and watched as his gaze dropped to her open hands. “I’m here.”

“Yes. You are.” he said so softly that it made Iris’s heart twist. It took him a moment and she felt his hesitation, as if afraid to touch her but she waited. She waited as he clenched and then unclenched his hands once more before he slid his hands into hers. 

“I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it,” she said as softly as he had spoken. “If not, I’m still here.”

His grip on her hands had tightened and she watched as his breath quickened for a moment, working his jaw. “I will. I have to,” he said hoarsely. “Or I will lose my mind.”

“Okay.” she simply said even as her chest tightened at the slight tremble in his hands. “I can’t have you losing your mind over anything except me, can I now?”

Eris tried to smile at her but it turned more into a grimace and Iris gave him a small smile of her own, wanting to bring him some sense of ease. She glanced down at their intertwined hands and let her thumb caress the back of his hand gently. “I don’t think I ever actually told you but…” she met his gaze. “I like how your hands feel holding mine. I have since that day I met the puppies for the first time and you told me I have lovely hands.”

She watched the Prince of Autumn shudder at the words and it took him another moment before he could answer her. “Not puppies,” he said and Iris couldn’t help her small smile, especially as he continued in words so quiet, she almost missed them. “I like how your hands feel in mine too.” 

“I bet you do.” she said and again, the corner of his mouth lifted but this time, it remained curled up, and again, Iris couldn't stop staring at him. He may look a little different with the sloppy cut he had been given but it didn’t change the feeling that was spreading in her chest. She loved it when he smiled, especially if she was the reason. She liked his wicked mouth too much. 

Iris made to move towards the table but Eris’s grip tightened on her and she turned to find his expression tense, his body rigid.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m only getting you a drink.” she said gently and Eris swallowed then gave a small nod and squeezed her hands once more before reluctantly letting go. Iris couldn't help the way she softened at the way he watched her, as though she was his tether to his way home. 

How many times had he needed someone but had suffered alone? How many times had she been in the same scenario? It made her wonder how often had they shared a moment like this in their separate lives…two sides of the same miserable fucken coin indeed.

The thought exhausted her and with a swallow, Iris pulled away to turn to the table, feeling his eyes on her. As if she’d disappear if he blinked. She opted for the alcohol and filled both teacups to the brim. She may have the power to heal but with wounds that ran as deep as her husband’s…she wasn’t sure if she would be enough. 

She carefully handed him his teacup and stood opposite him as they glanced at one another. 

They did so much watching one another. So much observing. They exchanged so much without saying a word and Iris wondered if he could hear the way her blood was pumping so loudly in her ears. If he knew she could hear the rapid beating of his heart. 

She gestured with her chin. “Drink.”

He glanced down at the cup in his hand and then looked up with a quirked brow. “This isn’t tea.”

“I think we need something a little stronger tonight.” she said gently and Eris gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before lifting the cup in a mock salute and knocking it back. 

Iris switched their cups and handed him hers with a small smile at the dry chuckle that escaped him before he drank it as well. But her expression immediately fell as his body gave a shudder followed by a small grunt of pain and Iris’s grip tightened on her cup.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered and the apology seemed to dim any momentary lightness Eris had experienced. 

“For what.” he said dryly. 

“For whatever happened. For all of it.” she continued and Iris tried not to fidget beneath his gaze. “For anything that I might’ve had to do with it.”

Eris stared at her in silence, his expression tight, and the only sound in the room was the tapping of his fingers against his cup. What seemed like a lifetime later, he reached out to take the empty teacup from her hands and turned from her to place them back on the table.

He stood like this for several quiet moments and it made Iris tense again, wondering if he needed more time. If she should’ve backed off and let him be alone. Even if that was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted —

“My father wanted you with me for this little meeting.” Eris finally said and Iris blinked. 

“Why?”

Eris turned to face her again and leaned against the table. She didn’t miss the way, a second later, he moved a slight inch to avoid his back making contact. 

“You see,” he began and glanced down at his hands. “He found out about my lovely encounter with your father and didn’t quite like that.” His hands slowly clenched into fists as he spoke. “The High Lord wanted you on your knees apologizing to your father. At your father’s request, of course.”

“What?” she croaked.

“But my father also wanted me to apologize to your father for beating him. Because I did it for you,” he said and then gave her a dry smile. “And well, the High Lord can’t have his son beating people for his wife now, can he? The only person the High Lord’s son should be beating is his own wife.”

Iris’s fingers dug into the folds of her robe as anger and shame washed over her once more. For the audacity of her father and the cruelty of his. 

“He doesn’t deserve an apology,” she said through clenched teeth. “He deserves death.”

“I agree.” Eris said and he slowly made his way over to her, the room heating again with each step. “Which is why my father tied me to a flogging pole and whipped me within an inch of my life. Because I told him that my wife apologizes to no one and I certainly do not apologize to anyone either, especially filth.” he snarled softly and straightened with an angry wince. “So do me a favor? Do not apologize for their choices ever again. My wife doesn’t apologize for things she had no hand in.”

Horror slammed into her as she stared at Eris, fully engulfed in his own flame. At the way he had so casually admitted what his father had done.

“He — he whipped you?” she whispered and watched his body tense again, the temperature in the room spiking once more. 

“Yes. But before that, I broke both of your father’s legs and his face again.” he said and Iris saw his fists clench again. “So that makes us somewhat even.”

“Eris…” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. How can he ask her not to apologize when she was the reason he was hurt? When it was because of her father that he had been pulled so far away from himself.

And she hated how it fell silent between them again. She hated that he felt this way. That he was made to be feeling this level of anger and despair. As if every word that fell from his mouth took too much effort, too much work. 

Iris hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted to make him feel better. To bring back that stupid smirk she pretended to hate so much. She wanted to —

“Don’t look at me like that.” he said so tiredly and it made her ache. With a shake of his head and a deep breath, his flame went out, and he turned away from her, moving towards their bed. 

But Iris froze and every single thought emptied from her head. 

With his back to her, Eris’s shirt had clung to his skin and tiny beads of blood peppered the white shirt. 

He looked over his shoulder, meeting her horrified gaze, and immediately looked away from her, his shoulders tensing as he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the bed.

���Don’t.”

“Eris, you’re bleeding again.” 

“I know.” he managed then rubbed a hand down his face. “Just please stop looking at me like that.”

Iris bit the inside of her mouth, outraged on his behalf and hating that he felt embarrassed by any of it. She willed herself to breathe. One breath in, one breath out. They couldn’t catch a break. A small dosage of time where they could just be. Where everything between them didn’t have to get so fucken hard the moment they found a little ease.

“Look at you like what?” she finally said and made her way over to him. She sank down next to him and knew her expression gave away the panic she was trying to control. “Like I’m disgusted with what happened to you? Like I’m horrified  that your father hurt you because of me and my piece of shit father?” 

She stared at him and waved a hand helplessly. “How else am I supposed to look at my husband who left me in one way then came back another?” she added softly. “How else am I supposed to look when I want to help you so badly but I’m unsure how?”

Iris watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “Careful, wife. You sound like you care about me.” he said and Iris let out a huff of frustration, glaring at him. 

“I do care, you stupid bastard.” she muttered, flushing deeply, and the dead look in his eyes was given a short reprieve when he gave her a small smile. 

“Good to know.” he said and then fell silent, the weight of this whole day and what was left unsaid suffocating. 

As Iris watched him, she was hit by the need to kiss him. The need to run her hands down his arms and chest and scarred back that she wanted to help him heal and then kiss it all better. She wanted anything but whatever this heaviness was, anything but that awful expression on his face. Her eyes scanned his slightly ruffled hair and how tired his eyes were and her frown deepened.

Slowly, she reached out a hand to gently touch his face, giving him all the time in the world to push her hand away if he desired. But he didn’t and Iris turned his head so he’d face her and his exhaustion slammed into her.

“What happened was unacceptable.” she whispered. “And for that, I am sorry that it happened to you. Because you don’t deserve it. You didn’t do anything wrong and he had no right to treat you that way.” 

Eris scoffed faintly but at her expression, swallowed hard, closing his eyes. He seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat then nuzzled gently into her hand. He hated how desperately he needed the softness of her touch. How badly he wanted to be soothed. She was here and even if he felt like death itself, she was here. “No one deserves what he delivers.” he finally said quietly. “But we still take it.” 

“You should not have to.” 

“No.” he said and straightened with a grimace, taking her hand in his hand. He let his thumb caress her palm as he added, “None of us should have to.”

“Please let me look at your back,” she whispered but he shook his head, his thumb still rubbing her hand gently. Whether it was to soothe him or to soothe her, she wasn’t sure. "Please. Let me heal it."

A muscle in his jaw flexed and Iris had to remind herself that his anger wasn't at her.

“I can heal it myself,” he replied but not unkindly. “I’m choosing not to at the moment.”

“Why?”

“Pain is good. It keeps the memory fresh.”

Once again, the room heated at the words and Iris’s body went rigid. He was so angry and gods, she knew that anger. She had tasted the humiliation he felt. And she knew without question that beneath that anger was so much sadness. So much exhaustion. So much…yearning. For more. For different.

For love. For some sense of normalcy in a fucked up home that showed them no mercy. 

Iris could practically hear his mind whirling and it pulled at her heart because she had started to understand him in a way very few people did. Slowly, she reached out once more and gently forced him to meet her gaze.

“There is no part of you that deserves pain like this, Eris.” she said firmly and hated the way she could see his disbelief, as though it wasn’t true. 

Eris’s eyes fluttered closed at the words, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “How do you know that? That I don’t deserve pain? I’ve made bad choices. I’ve had to do bad things.”

She shook her head. “Making bad decisions and being forced to do bad things doesn’t make you a bad person. You’ve had to carry so much…give yourself some room.” she said and then added quietly, “Unburden yourself with me. Let me help you.”

Eris met her gaze and she watched the internal struggle in his eyes as he worked his jaw. Finally, he said, “There’s too much. It’s a lot.”

“I know. You were ready to tell me earlier. So tell me now.” she encouraged calmly. “You told me you wanted to know the side of me I didn’t like anyone seeing. That you wanted to see.” She squeezed his hand. “Well, I want to know too. I want to see.”

Eris seemed to pause and then his gaze hardened as he straightened. “Iris,” he began and her brows furrowed at the urgency in his tone. “You have to understand whatever I tell you, it has been kept a secret for us to survive. I do not trust anyone as much as I’m allowing myself to trust you. Don’t — don’t make me regret it.” 

She tilted her head and watched him for a quiet minute. “Have I given you a reason not to trust me?”

“No.” he said and swallowed. “But when you’ve been living in a pit of snakes for so long, you’re never sure which one will bite. Things have changed between us but…I have this doubt in the back of my mind that you’ll take anything I say and give it to the highest bidder to get out of this marriage and run.” He paused for a moment and licked his lips. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

She watched him quietly again and it made her chest tighten that even after things had shifted between them, this still worried him. So Iris swallowed and decided to be honest as well.

“And despite the changes between us…I still fear that someday you’ll realize you could beat the living shit out of me every single day and no matter how much I can defend myself, you’ll still overpower me,” she replied. “But I have not seen anything from you that would truly have me succumb to that doubt. Have you seen anything from me to feed into those doubts?”

He paused but Iris didn’t fail to notice how his thumb was back to caressing her hand softly, almost as a way to calm himself down. 

“No.” he said after a moment. “You’re my wife and my friend and my — you’re many things. I — I trust you.” 

“Good. Because I trust you too,” she whispered. “I’ve trusted you not to hurt me and you haven’t.” 

He shook his head and held up her hand in his. “It is my job to protect you. These fists will fight for you.”

Iris couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed on her face or the way her heart swelled at the words. “And I am grateful for that,” she said. “But then who protects you?”

His mouth curled into a tired smile and he sighed. “Apparently, it’s my wife with her healer hands.”

Iris gave him a pointed look and then gestured to his shirt with her chin. “Then let these hands help you.” 

Eris tensed and his grip tightened on his wife’s hands. He wasn’t used to anyone being near him whenever this happened. Wasn’t used to anyone seeing any of his scars, much less fresh ones.

But this was Iris. His wife. His mate. And he wanted her hands to touch him. To fit all of his pain in the palm of her lovely hands and wipe it away.

Could he let go? Let this part of him be free? 

He swallowed again, trying not to choke on his shame. On his fear. He was almost paralyzed by it.

But it was as if she could see it rampaging inside him, could see the struggle in his eyes. For all she had to do was give him a small smile. An encouraging one, her thumb caressing his hand in hers and Eris felt himself straighten. 

He finally allowed a dip of his chin in acceptance and promised himself that after tonight, there would be no going back. 

[my-catsface]

When Minecraft first added horses, my brother and I dropped everything we were doing to play it.

We booted up the Xbox, opened a new world, and I waited diligently for his controller to pair for split screen. When it finally did, we set to work building the shittiest, ugliest, most lopsided stable ever. We didn’t add beds, because it wasn’t a house. It was a stable, we knew that. But we added stalls for the horses and an outside area, because of course, the horses should have sunlight.

When we found out they could jump over blocks and run faster than other horses, we set out to make the most elaborate obstacle course we could imagine. We raced against each other over and over again, using different horses and different rules until we were finally bored, hours later.

This post is going to be exactly what you’d expect. I am generally not a person who devotes lots of time to stuff like this. Other people have said better things about the quality of the Minecraft movie trailer (why is everyone backlit?), or how it doesn’t make sense (why are all those piglins normal in the overworld? Why are they even attacking?), and others have already shared their personal thoughts like I’m about to do.

But I have memories and experiences that belong to me, and I want to put them somewhere. I’m aware this won’t reach very far, it won’t change anyone’s mind, and it isn’t exactly full of revolutionary takes. But it’s mine, and I need to say it. And here seems as fine a place as any.

The only game my brother and I ever really played with each other was Minecraft. We’re about as different as you can imagine, with different interests and different ideas. But when we were both much much younger, we loved to play Minecraft together. Of course, that makes sense! Being young kids, we didn’t exactly have an allowance to spend, so our gaming options were in the hands of our parents. They didn’t agree on much, but each of them knew what Minecraft was. They knew it was safe, and they knew it was something we could share (IE: they didn’t have to buy twice), and so it was added to our collection.

And because we had no one else to play with but one another, and nothing else we could really play together, it was always Minecraft we turned to. Different as we were (to the point there are jests between us about being swapped for someone else at the hospital (my money’s on him)) we could find common ground on the same game. I liked to play creative and build houses, but he liked to mine and thought creative was cheating. To compromise, we turned keep inventory on and he would collect materials so I could build our house. We didn’t even know there was a wither. We didn’t even know there was an ender dragon. When we finally finished a house, the game was over for us.

But we would always come back to it. Always build a new house, maybe in the desert or underground. Always rush to our Xbox to play a new update until we were properly bored again.

Eventually, we learned there were worlds built FOR us. It started simple; we found a Christmas map with a giant tree and a massive workshop, and marveled at how beautiful the world was. But of course, there was already a giant house built, so what was there for us to do? We couldn’t built one here, it might ruin all the other houses. Ah, of course! We’ll just live in this one, we thought. So we mob proofed as much as we could, and explored a place we couldn’t even begin to comprehend was made in Minecraft of all places.

Eventually, when we explored it all, we wondered what to do again. We couldn’t just exit and start a new world, we’d just be going back to the exact same place. So we made a story.

He was supposed to be an elf. But he had a frog skin so he couldn’t be an elf. He had to be a winter frog. It made no sense, but it didn’t have to. I was supposed to protect all the “reindeer” because otherwise the winter frog (who we decided was very mischievous) would release them. Naturally, I, armed with a blaze rod (the only thing that could melt the winter frog), would search up and down the place as he would jealously hide his part of the screen, and when I found him, I would hit him. When he made it to the roof of our giant house, he would declare he had won, set off as much tnt as he could, and then we would have to load a new world to play it all again.

I look back on that story, and I think it’s stupid. I think it’s probably one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, and as a self-acclaimed writer, I should be ashamed. I’m not. It’s stupid, and it’s childish, and I was a stupid child when I played it. But more importantly I was a stupid child having fun with my stupid brother in our stupid game. And we loved every minute of it. I’m not ashamed of it because it’s nostalgic, because it’s a memory of joy that I hold as close to my heart as I can.

Only a few years later, when my brother and I could finally play on separate systems, we discovered the ender dragon and the wither. Maybe we knew about them before, but we had never beaten any kind of boss before and we were under the impression that those sorts of things were much too hard for us.

So when my brother came to me with a radical idea to beat those bosses, I was doubtful and so… excited. What if we DID beat them? What if we beat a DRAGON? I was instantly in. He had a plan, but he wanted backup, and of course we were each other’s number one choice. Thick and thin. Still are, I suppose, but back then we didn’t realize we could stand up without always making sure the other wasn’t actively falling down.

He agreed we needed creative mode for this. He said it would be hard, but he knew what to do, so for the first time we should use creative mode to get all the items we would need. Nobody ever wants to work something up in their head and then have it all fail in the end, so we made sure it wouldn’t.

I manually enchanted our sets of armor, our diamond swords, our bows. I stacked our gear neatly away with as many “super gold apples” that could feasibly fit in a chest, and declared us ready. We each took our gear, and set off towards… the nether. We could get blaze rods from the inventory easily, we knew that, but we were excited to test out our new gear. We never had a reason to enchant before, so how exciting would it be to test everything out? I discovered my favorite enchantment in the entire game was fire aspect.

When we got our rods (and our pearls) we put them together and shot an eye of ender into the air. We diligently followed the trail we were making on foot (because that was just how you did these sorts of things), and when night fell we didn’t just sleep or skip it. We pulled out wool, made some honestly really ugly tents, and put our beds under those. When we woke up, we left our tents there and kept moving.

The thought was that anyone else who had this world after us would find the tents and be able to use them. We had a pretty rudimentary (and quite incorrect) idea of how Minecraft world seeds worked at the time.

Eventually, we got to the spot where all the eyes stopped. My brother dug down. I jumped in the hole he was digging, but he made it pretty clear that I had to stand in the corner of the space or he’d hit me with his enchanted pickaxe and not be sorry about it.

The fortress was a maze. It was dark and there were mobs everywhere and it looked like a glitch of a structure. But we never gave up. We knew what was waiting for us at the end (pun quite intended). When I found the library, I walked right through it and kept moving (for what use are books to a soon-to-be-dragonslayer), and when I found the portal, I called my brother’s name over the shittiest microphone the world had ever produced, and teleported him over.

He set to work on filling the portal, and I set to work on dealing with the annoying silverfish. A spawner destroyed and a gate created, we readied ourselves. We didn’t place beds down because we didn’t expect to lose, and we didn’t jump in right away, because we didn’t expect to win. Eventually, one of us worked up the nerve.

The end, as many of you know, is an odd place. It is light stone and it is dark skies. It is filled with pillars that aren’t buildings and there is an alter of a stone that cannot (ordinarily) be broken. We knew what the end looked like. We thought it was something new to be there.

I remember staring off into the distance. I remember mentioning how small the end was, considering we had treked at least twenty times its size in the nether and the overworld combined just to get there. I also remember how panicked my brother was at the realization there were endermen LITTERING the place that you were absolutely not allowed to look at.

After dealing with the endermen my brother looked at, we were finally ready for the real fight. We heard the dragon when we got there, we could see it fly in and out, we were very aware of its healthbar looming ominously at the top of the screen. But we knew the dragon had to wait, too.

We aimed, missed, then aimed again at countless pillars until we saw the satisfying explosion signal our first few victories in the war. We knew the ones in cages had to be handled differently, though. We had to march up there and take them out ourselves. The only issue? I forgot to pack blocks. We had stacks of golden apples and tons of junk picked up on the way, but we had thrown most of what we got away in the lava under the portal to clean our inventories.

So, mid fight, we mined. Tunneling underground to avoid the wrath of the dragon, we mined until we each had a stack of end stone (because that would surely be enough), and then climbed. Once we reached the top of an obsidian pillar, we hacked away at the iron bars until the floating core was exposed to us. Without any hesitation, we would strike at one. As end crystals do, it would explode, and then it would throw us off of our platform.

Seeing as neither of us were particularly good at water bucket clutches (at the time we weren’t even aware that had a name), we simply fell to the ground, and let our enchantments eat the damage. It felt powerful. The same blow and the same height that would easily kill us before were nothing to us now.

When all of the crystals were gone, we turned to the dragon. It had seemed almost passively disinterested in us as we struck at its crystals, but we were sure it would be mad once we took out the final one. Instead, I thought it was scared. It ran away constantly and never stayed in one place for too long. That made sense to me. That was good game design. Of course it was scared, there was no chance it could beat us. There were two of us, one of it, (hundreds of useless endermen minions) and no way back.

I don’t remember who got the final hit. I guess it didn’t matter. It’s not like there was an achievement to tell us with all of the creative we had slipped in and out of (but never for the final fight). What mattered was we had done it. We won. An achievement that’s so lackluster today it means almost nothing. But to two kids with terrible headsets and elementary school the next day, it was everything we had hoped for. The dragon went down easily. Not because the boss fight was easy, no, it went down easily because we were that skilled at it. It wasn’t a bad fight, it was exhilarating.

We looked up how to collect the egg. We knew you could do it, we just didn’t know how. My brother clicked on it a few times, and it teleported enough for us to realize we were doing it wrong. With the fight over, we agreed creative was fair game again. I dug a big underneath the egg as my brother supervised up top to make sure it wouldn’t teleport away if we didn’t both look at it. I placed a red stone torch two blocks underneath the egg, and then mined up.

It fell with grace. The moment it landed on the torch, it popped away and slid into my inventory. Excitedly, I flew up and dropped it to him, then pulled a NEW egg out of the creative inventory for me. One for him and one for me. We both got one, because we both did the fight. Not our fault the game only tried to give us one.

We jumped into the portal after. At the same time, just like how we entered the strange realm in the first place. That was my first experience with the ending story. The message from two strangers to me, the player. Me, who explored this world, sure, but countless other worlds like it. Me who knew all the crafting recipes by heart and knew rotten flesh would always give you hunger but raw chicken would only give it sometimes.

I love story games. I did then, and I do now. I love when something makes me feel some way, when something carves its place into me and establishes itself as important. I think Minecraft did that long before I experienced its “end,” but I think that was the moment I realized I loved this game. It felt like everything I had done meant something, every action culminated into where I was there and then. I also thought, when it concluded, that my brother—who preferred action and fighting to stories (yet another difference between us)—would have skipped the ending of the game for being cheesy.

He didn’t.

When my brother and I could buy (with permission) a world from the Minecraft store, we would have to agree on what it was. The first one we bought was the Greek mashup pack, because he loved the hydra skin and I loved the harpy one (it added WINGS, what wasn’t to love about wings in Minecraft?) and we both loved greek mythology. Not that we were well versed in it, of course. When we loaded that world up, we experienced that Christmas one all over again. Years on, and it was the same feeling. There was a beautiful new world for us to explore, there was beautiful MUSIC we had never heard before, and there were countless hidden secrets we could find.

But we eventually ran into the same problem. We couldn’t build a house, there were already houses here! We couldn’t fight the enderdragon, it would mean leaving this place behind and that would just be pointless. Besides, we had done that already.

So, eventually, we made another story.

I won’t go into detail about this one, but you can imagine it was about the same as before. We made up something dumb, and played our hearts away following it.

I am not a kid anymore. I am not easily blown away by the ocean monument or amazed that the moon changes form in game. I don’t laugh aloud when a villager “hrrs” or burst into tears when I lose all of my stuff in a cave.

I dont think the stories I made with my brother over Minecraft are anything important. But that’s not what my point is. None of this is really what my point is.

My stories weren’t good, but that doesn’t mean Minecraft can’t have a good story. In the early days of maps and pumpkin headed men and signs that told you where to go, there were countless wonderful stories. Hell, even now there are countless wonderful SMPs made by communities, and most of them are created for the express purpose of telling. A. Story.

And they’re beautiful. Some SMPs are only between friends (and perhaps they’re short lived sometimes), some SMPs are beloved by hundreds or thousands (or perhaps millions) of people.

Most SMPs inspire artists and animators and everything beyond and between to make things. Beautiful things, from the soul and the heart and the nostalgia of creating. They’re things made with love, for love. The Minecraft movie is made of money, for money.

The biggest argument FOR the Minecraft movie is that it’s meant for kids. I understand. I understand I am not its target audience, and if I am, then something has gone horribly wrong in the nostalgia bait department. But honestly? I don’t even think it’s marketed to kids. Kids arguably love a good story. I would know, I very much was one. I think it’s marketed to parents much like mine, who know the name Minecraft and know it’s safe and figure it’s a fun thing to take their kids to.

And I think that sucks. Because there could have been something better.

Minecraft is not a story game. It’s a sandbox. And the best part about a sandbox is that it can be anything you make of it—which means that, ironically enough, you can turn it into a story game. I think modders probably display that the best (the create mod would’ve blown my mind back then).

But that’s unrelated. The point is that Minecraft can be anything. But to make it into anything good, you have to really love it. You have to spend time developing what you want, be it your story, your resource pack, your mod, your challenge, your lovely world, your book(s), it doesn’t matter. You have to love whatever it is a lot, and you have to want to spend time on it to make it. Like I said before, the Minecraft movie was not made with love in mind. It was made with money there instead. I understand why. I understand every action that was taken for it, and I understand that it is not going to be a detective pikachu, a sonic, a Mario, or even a fnaf movie.

It’s just going to be another stereotypical “bad videogame” movie. And I think that’s a shame, because there could have been something beautiful there. There could have been something that makes someone sit in the theater with their brother and remember a horse race or a Christmas game or a valiant fight. There could have been something that reminded me a lot of when I had nothing to do but waste time with my favorite person in the world and build the ugliest house imaginable.

But there’s not. That’s okay. I understand. But I don’t want to see it. I love stories, and I love Minecraft, and I love the feeling of being a kid.

That movie will have none of that for me.

[bonefall]

I'm still wading through some brain fog so I'm not writing as much as I want to, currently. But I have just been absently sketching Willowpelt because she's been on my mind

I had initially been working with the "hyena" face in mind, but I've been playing around with the "villainous role" idea for Ferncloud's Parting. I mentioned it to my partner who pointed out that big, strong profiles like that are overused for "vengeful" characters.

Besides, I really love drawing that face shape anyway, so I figured I'd move away from it since it's going to be on a LOT of RiverClan cats in particular (they have longer muzzles than other Clans because they hunt in water).

I'm leaning towards "bat" now... maybe I'll retool it so it's more deer-like. Deer are totally underused as inspiration for harsh characters...

Anyway ready for some WIP material? Plus a recap of Ferncloud's Parting for all who need a refresher

(oh wow it got long. The power of girlies <3)

FERNCLOUD'S PARTING... Refresher!!

Replaces Graystripe's Vow completely, taking place just after the Impostor has been deposed and is imprisoned. Ferncloud is now the main POV, accompanied on her journey by her childhood best friend Cloudtail and the Impostor's surviving lackey, Bumblestripe.

The goal of this SE is to explore Ferncloud's relationship to her younger brother, Ashfur.

(BB canon: Ferncloud and Elderberry are the older kits of Brindleface. Ashkit was a singlet born shortly before his mother's death, raised by Fern, Elder, and their grandmother One-eye. Fireheart botched the Queen's Rights while claiming Cloudkit, but for all intents and purposes was socially his Mi... which he was not good at being. Cloudtail was Ashfur's mentor and Ferncloud's childhood friend.)

Ferncloud is asking herself the question; "What could I have done to prevent this?"

A lot of secondary questions revolve around this... Does this make her responsible for what Ashfur has done? Did she teach him anything that contributed to who he is today? Does that make her responsible?

Cloudtail is in a similar situation, as Ashfur's mentor and someone who only ever wanted to help his friend. Could HE have prevented this? He wants to find out.

Graystripe, oldest cat in ThunderClan, accompanies the little group as far as the mountain... and decides to stay there, with his golden boy, Stormfur.

Bumblestripe had come along with them all, for... a lot of complicated reasons. But the most relevant is that he had been one of the Impostor's most loyal, brutal enforcers. Berrynose was killed in a huge skirmish, and now there's just Bumblestripe left alone to shoulder his sins.

After saying goodbye to his father for what's probably the last time, getting to meet the mythical oldest brother he's been compared to his entire life, and seeing Cloud and Fern looking to visit the Old Forest Territories... Bumblestripe goes with them even further to make sure the old cats stay safe.

Like Graystripe's Vow, I'm planning to keep the split chronology. It goes back and forth between Ferncloud in the Broken Era, and Ferncloud back during the Fire Era.

The ultimate moral here, the point I want to build to, is that Cloudtail and Ferncloud did exactly what was expected of them. They raised a loyal warrior who holds the code above all. They're only responsible for Ashfur insofar as they were responsible for teaching him the same values of vengeance, violence, and distrust of outsiders as was expected... in Firestar's absence.

(Though... there's lots of other questions that I don't think FP will answer. Like, COULD they have truly stopped him? Can they ever understand WHY, if they don't currently? There's a LOT of feelings here and I don't know if all of them really have answers.)

WIP STUFF TIME

Here's new stuff, I've either not mentioned this before, or I've mentioned it in passing without actually linking it to Ferncloud's Parting.

I have a LOT of ideas here that I have to start sorting through. I think these characters are all really interesting so it's really a matter of cutting down all these little details into something more coherent.

When Ashkit is young, he's a child. There was nothing particularly outstanding about him, besides the fact he was a bit lonely and eager to please.

There's a bit of an air of "loss" when Ferncloud thinks back to Ashpaw's childhood. Elderberry and One-eye will be dying soon after the "flashback" segments, so when she goes back to the modern era, thinking about them feels bittersweet.

I also want to sneak in that Ferncloud feels jealous over Cloudtail's mateship with Brightheart lmao, because she has a crush on Brightheart. (Note, maybe tie this to Ashfur being obsessed with Squirrelflight, with Fern questioning if her jealousy rubbed off on Ashfur)

Through helping WarriorClan, Bumblestripe feels REALLY good. They don't know anything about his past, his struggles, or his failures as a person. He's just a hero to them and that feels... good.

Watching Bumblestripe be good, learning more about his issues and WHY he did what he did while following Ashfur brings Cloud and Fern some insight... but not entirely what they need. Is Ashfur just a Bumblestripe on a bigger scale? Or are they just learning more about how good of a manipulator Ashfur is? In which case... where did that ability to manipulate come from?

Fang/Honeysuckle might be Bumblestripe's half-brother. If that's the case, Bumble is... frustrated by it. MORE of his dad's complicated legacy.

Ferncloud and Cloudtail probably have some short discussions about how much is really appropriate to teach to WarriorClan... after all, they're here questioning if any part of Ashfur was THEIR fault, what if they accidentally teach them something terrible?

But at the same time, Ferncloud is the Educator of ThunderClan, and these cats can't write. The Glyph system would be very useful to them, and they're begging to learn more about Clan culture.

Putting a pin in that part, for now. Will tie back more into the conclusion that the Clan cat party ultimately reaches.

BACK IN THE PAST; Firestar is away bringing back SkyClan in Firestar's Quietus. Everything that is done is without him.

Longtail, the deputy, is blinded and a leader does not immediately rise to fill the space in ThunderClan.

And in BloodClan, their trading partner... Scourge does the same. Oops! WRONG TIME, SCOOJ!

Planning to retire, Scourge announces an event called The Frenzy. He will choose the next leader from whoever accomplishes the biggest achievement in the given timeframe. This is how BloodClan passes on leadership.

He gives his chosen heir, Claw, their first Frenzy Achievement-- the fang of a dog from his own collar. Anyone who wishes to take power instead must accomplish a feat even bigger than what had allowed SCOURGE to take power in the first place; Killing a dog.

Fury is a challenger. She does NOT want Scourge's chosen heir, Claw, to lead BloodClan next. Claw will continue the trading and friendliness towards Clan cats, which Fury wants to end.

ENTER WILLOWPELT

Willowpelt ALSO wants this trading with BloodClan to stop. She feels it's gone too far.

BloodClan killed her mate-- Whitestorm. Firestar might have been willing to just throw his life away for this, but she's NOT.

She's recovering from a boar bite, currently, but it's scarring up nicely... and she's willing to pretend she's injured a little longer if it shakes suspicion off her.

She doesn't WANT to be allies with Fury, but if her goal is to bring BloodClan back into isolation... then, Willowpelt will do it.

And Fury promises her something else; Revenge. Scourge is the reason why Whitestorm died, and together, they can ruin his plans and make him watch as his peaceful little power transfer crumbles into ash.

GOOD SETUP IMO but I still need to work out what nefarious deed they'll do, exactly. All I know is that Fury will betray Willowpelt at the height of it. Maybe something about taking over Barley's barn. Maybe Elderberry gets killed.

But, I have one very strong feeling in mind; Ferncloud probably ends up killing Fury while Ashpaw watches or even helps.

Hmm... maybe Graystripe (becomes deputy as soon as Firestar gets back for handling this crisis so well) ordered them to let Fury go.

But Ferncloud looked at Fury, and decided that Willowpelt was right about one thing. Most BloodClan cats cannot be trusted.

The code does not apply equally to outsiders.

Maybe I WILL have Fury end up killing Elderberry in some way, and then give Ferncloud and Ashpaw a conversation about it. "Those who don't live by the code will not be protected by it. And we must protect our Clan... even if Graystripe doesn't realize it."

I could make it clear that Fury is not a threat at that point, having been beaten in some way and Claw ascending to BloodClan leadership. OR I could have left it open-ended, like, maybe Fury would be a future problem, maybe not. Not sure yet.

Willowpelt of course will also need to experience some consequences for this... unleeeess, I have Graystripe let her off really easy exactly because she's Clanborn, which even Cloudtail is frustrated about, maybe even coining the term "Codebreaker" as an insult under his breath.

In any case, Ferncloud never told Cloudtail about how she secretly killed Fury. It's too juicy to have her reveal it to him in the modern day, explaining that it IS her fault, she DID teach him the wrong thing.

Hmm... I'm talking myself into it. Though I did also like the original vibe that Ashfur's tyranny was kind of unknowable, trying to make sense out of a senseless thing he did. I think it feels a lot more interesting for Ferncloud to have been hiding this for literal years, and now feeling like she has to "pay the world back" for what she did.

Maybe even build towards something metal about Fury's grave. Hmm... maybe to hide the murder, she buried her in Elderberry's freshly dug one, since no one would notice the soil had been recently disturbed as it was JUST dug.

Buried my sister and my secret victim in the same grave. ~Just Girlie Things~

Cloudtail sitting here, War Criminal to the right and Secret Murderer to the left like "can i ever be around normal people. like, just once"

Jokes aside... Cloudtail needs to point out something very important. Ferncloud regretted what she did, and she never did what Ashfur is doing. She never sought power, when Firestar came back she's lived a long life without ever once undermining him, and even her beliefs have softened over time.

She was a Traditionalist back then, but is Fire Alone now. After everything. The destruction of the forest, loss of her kits, WindClan rebellion, reveal of Squirrelflight and Leafpool's secret...

She's helped to raise every new generation as the Educator. And yet, Ashfur, the Impostor, is unique.

And look at Bumblestripe... being Graystripe's son didn't stop him from being the Impostor's lackey.

We all make our choices. HE made his. You made your own.

But... I don't feel like Ferncloud can entirely accept that as an answer either. There would be a very forlorn sort of feeling here. Yes, we all make our own choices-- but we influence each other. For better and for worse. And she refuses to avoid responsibility for that.

Maybe in that moment I'll have her make the choice to return home, and BE the one who becomes the Light in the Mist to face Ashfur in the Dark Forest. Seems to be coming together.

[benis-chillin]

IDW's Fang the Hunter and the failure of Neo-Classic Sonic

(In case you're stupid, this is an opinion piece made for discussion)

Greetings, boys and goyles. I'm Benis, otherwise known as Benis Chillin, Sonic lore enthusiast and fanfic writer. I say the latter part because I want people to know that I'm well aware that many of my criticisms are based in the fact that I'm a writer, and unlike most people, I try to run more by objective canon than my whims. I explain it more here.

And per those standards…The current state of Classic Sonic SUCKS.

Now, I am a Modern Sonic fan through and through. I LIKED the 4 main Classic games when I played through them, but Sonic Adventure was the one that truly hooked me in. The world established by that game, and the ones that followed, just have my interest more, and I would prefer things be made in service to THAT.

However, to the greater detriment of society, Sonic Generations happened, and Classic Sonic was reestablished as part of the brand after years of Modern Sonic being THE face of everything, with even collections of Classic games using Modern Sonic artwork. And with the environment of the internet in the 2010's, it's no surprise that they decided to let Classic be its own sort of "brand" with Sonic Mania(bleh)and Forces(less bleh).

But they had a fun spin on it: A split timeline.

As explained above, Classic Sonic was given his own little mini-continuity to run around in, which is actually a brilliant idea, from a brand perspective. Original Classic Sonic had the creative freedom to do whatever the heck he wanted to, since he was the main Sonic. However, new Classic material, or Neo-Classic material, as I shall now refer to it, if left in the main timeline, inherently has the ��prequel” problem where things HAVE to have some kind of hook for it to really be worth having another branch of the brand available. I wouldn’t say EVERY brand has this problem, but even the most masterful uses of that format have to deal with the fact that the future is predetermined, and Neo-Classic Sonic material just does not have the leg room to work around that problem.

So, split the timeline, and just do whatever with it. It’s an AU, go nuts! Let a part of the brand reset and grow in a different way for that audience who isn’t into that Modern stuff!

And we had a promising enough start with the 30th anniversary comics! Full of interesting returns that you didn’t really see in the mainline books. Heck, we got an actual look at the design of Metal Knuckles, that was pretty rad!

Bark, Bean, and Fang also had an appearance that made their old Archie team somewhat canon, after they only appeared as illusions in Mania.  Sure, these characters were neat in the Archie comics, but getting a proper form of that in a continuity free of that Satam Stank was nice. This particular comic being a separate thing from my main love, while not diving into the weird stuff that would turn me off from it, inherently made the comic more interesting, even though I’m not much of a Classic Sonic fan.

And so this sentiment continued through the next specials, but something else began to shift on Sega’s side. The dumbassery of single timeline was stated to be the new status quo, and they started acting as such with new Sonic material.

Sonic Superstars came out, too, and my feelings on that are known. Now, after his appearance in the comics had been a bit of a treat, even if you didn't like him, Fang was in an official Sonic game again, with 3D renders to boot!

...But he was still the same jackass with barely any personality that he was before. Because Superstars was TRYING to be like 3&K with its storytelling, while lacking basically every element that made 3&K's storytelling work. Combine the lackluster story and music, both of which were caused by the idea of it being a Neo-Classic game, with the fact that the graphics were 3D, and now the question is being raised of, "Why wasn't this just a Modern Sonic game?" 

Cause from an outsider's perspective, it being a Neo-Classic game only served to hold it back in a ton of ways!

For example, the character of Trip. She seems well liked in the Sonic fanbase, but Sega's kinda funky with how they handle characters being both Classic and Modern. Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Amy, Eggman, and Metal Sonic seem to be allowed to exist in both parts of the brand, but that's it. 

Knuckles Chaotix is said to be canon, but the Classic Chaotix are unlikely to appear anytime soon since Sonic Heroes soft-rebooted them. Mecha Sonic was allowed to appear in the Modern "Scrapnik Island" mini-series, but I suspect it's seen by Sega as a "modern reboot" rather than a character being allowed to co-exist between the two brands again. Heck, they didn't even have the guts to show the Classic versions of the characters during the flashbacks, even though logically, they were still referencing 3&K.

 So will Trip be allowed to appear in any meaningful way in the future? Probably not, the way things have been going.

So, if all Classic characters can only appear in Neo-Classic material, then the Neo-Classic material has to be as good as it can be, right?

Well, that's where the Fang mini comes in.

Written by Ian Flynn, who has very much been showing how utterly stretched he is across so many Sonic projects lately(even if I would still regard him as a fairly decent writer, just...Has his limits), the Fang mini is the epitome of BORING! 

The basic story is that Fang and his gang are seeking out, "The eighth Chaos Emerald," visit a few people who tell him it doesn't exist, and then Eggman sends him to deal with the Hardboiled Heavies going rogue.

Along the way, Fang is just randomly a dick to his friends, and they end up abandoning his ass at the end because this comic is, for some reason, a direct prequel to Sonic Superstars, and we apparently needed an explanation of why they weren't there?

If my summary didn't sound that bad to you, it's because you don't have to go through the grueling wait that being an IDW Sonic fan entails.

Seriously, the wait between issues of IDW Sonic has become a real problem the past few years. Ever since the Metal Virus ended, the main book has had a massive problem with pacing. 

And sure, there are arcs and ideas I like there, I AM a fan, but not a lot HAPPENS in each issue compared to earlier in the book's run. Even re-reading them, the pace is oddly slow for a book about a fast character, and the issue especially persists here...On top of the main book being paused for a bit so THIS shit could come out.

(Current arc is doing better, though, so hope they keep that up)

Issues 1&2 are wasted with Fang harassing Sonic and Knuckles for a bit that, guess what? Goes nowhere! And then we briefly divert to Fang and co. in a watery old Eggbase so Eggman can capture them and actually get the plot going…3 issues into a 4-issue mini! Then, we finally get to the main event, where all will be revealed! And…

It's the Warp Topaz from the main book. The Hardboiled Heavies found it in a cave, where nobody ELSE knew it was, so it can't be the source of the 8th Chaos Emerald rumors.

Like I told ya, that went NOWHERE!

So they fight the bland-as-shit Heavies, Fang adds the Warp Topaz to his hover bike thing, and the airship is wrecked, leaving Sonic and Tails to have no idea what just happened, their involvement being a complete wash.

And our story ends with Bark and Bean rocketing off in little hovercars that just raise the question of why they didn't use those when Fang threatened to kick them off in Issue 2, since he has no say in whether or not they launch.

I actually managed to ask Ian Flynn about this on the Bumblekast, and this was his response:

Worth noting that the final issue has an additional editor that didn't work on the previous issues. Not saying EVERYONE'S blameless in this, but if I had to choose a weak point…

This mini-series encapsulates every little issue the Neo-Classic line has had since they officially eschewed split timeline.

 It feels the need to go out of its way to explain shit that doesn’t matter, like where Bark and Bean were during Superstars, Fang having the Warp Topaz, but not using it during Superstars creates a gaping plot hole that will not wash away, and it not going away at the end brings up a lot of timeline issues that I can only hope that Knuckles special resolves! 

In fact, why didn’t HE get the mini!?

Even in his Classic state, Knuckles has a LOT more to carry a story with! From the secrets of his island, to the mysteries of his people(which Adventure and the Frontiers promo animation hinted at), to even just doing his own treasure hunts! Heck, you could even pin him against both Fang’s crew and the HBH, and you’ve got enough of a banger to hold 4 action-packed issues right there! 

But no! Instead, we get a book that seems written to depend on the personalities of the protagonists…When said protagonists barely have any personality.

Like, let’s consider Team Chaotix from Sonic Heroes ALONE. Vector is the loud, bombastic leader with a love of music, and true detective skills, as showcased by him figuring out that their employer was Eggman on his own by Rail Canyon. Espio is the disciplined, if a bit full of himself, ninja, taking down the bad guys with stealth and precision, while also being somewhat melodramatic. And Charmy is the excitable ADHD kid of the group who may occasionally want to go off-track and play around in the giant casino area.

These characters are simple, yet so full of personality that you immediately like them(unless you’re a 2010’s YouTuber). THESE guys can hold a narrative.

By comparison, what do Fang’s gang have after 3 comic appearances and Sonic Superstars?

Fang is a hired goon who has goons, Bean is “funny” bomb man, and Bark is the silent strong guy with a soft spot.

That is really it.

And this was FINE back when they were still in “Sega forgot us” territory. Being obscure oddities that we would rarely get in stories actually did a lot of heavy lifting for their more limited personalities. Despite what the current writers seem to feel about such limits, judging by Silver and Blaze's current "vacations" in the main book, characters being rarer can actually endear you to them.

But now, these guys aren't really that rare. In fact, I’d say they’re about equal to Team Chaotix in terms of mass media exposure within the past 5 years, and they’re considerably lacking in comparison. 

Hell, even compared to the characters created RECENTLY in IDW and the Modern games, they're pretty lackluster. Yet I'm supposed to care about these assholes just as much as those guys?

Which, really, is how ALL of the Neo-Classic media feels these days.

Look, I get that Neo-Classic Sonic media doesn’t want to step on the toes of Modern Sonic. I do. But I really think it needs a good shake-up.

Quit treating it like it’s this special thing, because it isn’t anymore. Find a more solid identity for this branch of Sonic if you want it to survive, cause THIS doesn’t cut it anymore.

AND ACKNOWLEDGE THAT TIMELINE SPLIT ESTABLISHED IN A MAINLINE GAME, DAMNIT! THERE’S A STORY IN UNDOING THAT! TELL IT, OR I WILL!

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟡 ✧₊

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

day 19: Biting/Scratching, Piercings/Tattoos, Marking

𝐈𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞

| PAIRING(s): Frankie x reader | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 680 | CONTENT: biting genitalia | SYNOPSIS: You figure out that Frankie likes your bite as much as your bark.

You aren’t sure how it happened or when it finally clicked that Frankie really liked when your teeth would slip past the curl of your lip as you took him into your throat. There’d been times when you’d thought your technique was off, but then his constant readjusting and fidgeting was much too frequent to place the blame on you for all the times those sharp protrusions of your jaw grazed his cock.

So, you finally followed that little gut instinct and gently caged his dick between your upper and lower teeth, slowly dragging all the way from base to tip. The restrained whimper that crawled from his throat told you everything you needed to know.

When you nipped the underside of his length, his fingers pressed so hard into the armchair that you thought it might leave permanent indentations. Head thrown back, eyes drifting inside his skull as you carefully applied more pressure, pushing the boundary of what he could take before it was too much.

When you took the tip of his cock and trapped it between the hinged side to side motion of your jaw, his broken cry was such a mixture of surrender and insistence that for a split second you weren’t sure if he’d started coming already.

“Shit shit shit hold on,” he gasped, sounding pained and panicked and aroused all at once.

His aggravated head stood to attention in his fist as you both inspected it. You feared you might’ve taken it too far and drawn blood, but something in Frankie’s gripped stare as he examined his length made you think he wouldn’t mind it too much if you had.

“Your fuckin’ mouth,” he groaned after a moment, apparently deciding his cock hadn’t been mangled too much by your aforementioned instrument.

“I can stop if it’s–”

“No, no,” he says softer now, the edge of more more more crowding each syllable and flick of his tongue. “Maybe just– Can you switch to my balls for a second, maybe? Got so much blood in this thing it actually fuckin’ hurts.” He snorts a little, an incredulous, reverent sound.

So, you travel down further, nosing the coarse curls that surround your staked claim. One firm mass sucked into the soft bed of your tongue. Switching it out for the other, all the while watching Frankie’s expression grow lax and spent as you work his balls. His eyes are hooded and locked onto yours and your mouth.

“You– You can do that same kinda stuff to them if you want,” he suggests in a shy intone.

You work them both into your mouth, drooling around the crowding and heft of them, while you gently suck. Frankie makes an appreciative sound, a little sigh as he starts pumping himself steady and firm in a knotted fist. You’re certain to snare them in your mouth without clamping down entirely.

“Oh fuck–Can you–can you pull on them?” It’s a breathy, urgent plea. When did he start sounding so close to coming?

You feel the sensitive flesh of his sac stretch and thin as you press your teeth closer together and let your head slowly drift backward. You’re tugging on him, nails digging into his thighs as they start to shake at the stinging cage of your jaw.

“Oh fuck m’gonna come m’gonna—”

His mouth locks into an elongated O as he wordlessly starts erupting over his knuckles. He slumps back in the chair, still producing weak spurts of release, and succumbs to the engulfing confines of this novel, heady exploration. He stays like that for a while, even after you leave to retrieve a few towels for cleanup.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” you offer quietly. The soft fibers of the towel are still too much for his sensitive, tender groin, the hiss of overstimulation eeking out when you rub particular areas.

“No, it felt fuckin’ good,” he assures you in a weak, drained voice. You both lock onto the scattered teeth indentations. “Never gonna turn down you leaving your mark on me.” You both share a lopsided smile.

[forgetmynamepleasethanks]

IF YOU write for hazbin x helluva boss could you do a oneshot stolas x raven!reader whos family only recently became royals and are treated as lesser by the other royal families. the ravens arent as fancy as the other families and dont really care about all the royal stuff so they're kinda looked down upon. they meet at some meeting or you can decide. and make this take place after season 2 episode 9 so blitzo and him have broken up at least for now. thank you a ton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I write for everything. That's why it takes me so long to write because I get a request, watch the entire show/consume the entire source material, then I start writing until I get a new request and the cycle continues. I am the Sisyphus of fanfiction. One must imagine forgetmyname happy. Anyways. Thank you for the request. I needed an excuse to watch season 2 of Helluva Boss. And shoutout to my favorite mutual for inspo for this I lowkey stole major plot elements from your story please forgive me. They're a better writer than I am so if you're interested in reading the inspiration for the latter half of this fic check out this. Also this isn't particularly romantic, just two straight guy cool guy besties (peak reference).

-----

If the parties weren't bad enough, the meetings were. Was being a royal really worth it? Sure, immortality, woo. How nice it is to spend the next ten thousand years sucking up to other pompous avians.

Despite your less-than-enthusiastic outlook on royalty, being the youngest of your brothers made you the prime target for all the busy work one could hope for.

That's why you found yourself here. Due to your family's relative youth in terms of royalty, you're positioned to the very far end of an uncomfortably long table seating representatives from all the royal houses in hell.

What a bunch of pricks.

The etiquette that your parents had drilled into you from such a young age- you truly believe they conceived you to be the perfect little delivery boy to turn errands for them- is the only thing keeping you in your seat and this stuffy cape and outfit on your body.

After a wait that could have lasted from 15 minutes to 15 years, the host of this meeting finally makes his entrance. As much as you like to pride yourself in your blasé attitude, being in the presence of King Paimon is enough to shut you up and sit you down.

"Welcome everyone please stop your yammering and listen to me. God when did there get to be so fucking many of you." Paimon announces as he makes his entrance.

"As I'm sure a few of you know hell is currently experiencing some unfortunate economic... blah blah blah"

Could this get any more boring? As you fight to keep your eyes in focus you notice someone standing by the door behind you. It's one of Paimon's sons. Stolas. Long time no see. You and Stolas used to be close, but the weight of royalty split you two apart.

Wow, he looks just as bored as you. I guess being Paimon's son would mean you get dragged along to a lot of borin- "You! Raven boy. Not to be rude or anything but what do you people even do?" Your internal monologue is cut off by Paimon. You don't respond for a beat, internally laughing at how Paimon literally doesn't know who you are or what your family does but you still have to be at this stupid meeting.

"We keep the humans out of hell, Your Highness." You respond dryly. It takes you a second to even notice that you've responded. The line is so ingrained into your lexicon that it practically says itself.

"Right! That's the totally important job I gave your very... snicker... esteemed family." Paimon snorts out, barely containing his mocking laughter. A handful of other representatives stifle laughs at your expense.

Oh, the joys of being a Corvus Arcana. The least royal royal family in hell.

"Yes well, you're dismissed. You're needed for other important tasks. Prince Stolas will direct you. Thank you for your time." Paimon says with mock sincerity.

Oh. Stolas. Yes. You know Stolas. You're flooded with memories of the two of you back at the old "Center for Princes to be" It was a glorified daycare, really. You two got up to a lot. He taught you a lot about the starts, and bugs, and everything he read about. You taught him how to make spit balls and get out of trouble you put yourself in.

You rise from your seat, flipping your cape as you walk to the door. In royal etiquette flipping your cape at someone is somewhat rude. Exactly what you wanted.

The conversation behind you restarts as you reach the door. Stolas is waiting for you with a nervous smile on his face, almost like he's got bad news.

"Ah, I remember you! I didn't know it was you who my father was talking about! Let's head out, shall we?" Stolas remarks oh so professionally. He's looking right at you, using his eyes to try and convince you he's excited about your new task, but you know him well enough to tell he'd rather be anywhere else right now.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" you respond sarcastically. Both of you know you were chosen for this because of your less-than-stellar family image.

"Ah! Well! You see- You were chosen for your... unique skills and inspired professionalism! Yes of course!" Stolas sputters out trying to respond without admitting that you were chosen because you're the trailer park trash of the royal family.

A smile creeps onto your face at the owl's half-baked response. He was never the most socially perceptive, even in his youth. You follow the tall owl out of the meeting room and down some of the winding hallways of Paimon's manor.

"Well hopefully my 'inspired professionalism' landed me something to do besides sitting in that room. How bad could it be? As long as it's not something stupid like stacking boxes." You respond lackadaisically. You look to Stolas for a reaction but he seems fully focused on looking at some dusty old paintings on the wall.

Then you round a corner into a freshly moved into bedroom. So fresh that boxes are strewn about. You look up at Stolas who's scratching the back of his head and looking anywhere and everywhere but your direction.

"No way. It's stacking boxes." You state dumbfounded.

"If it's any recourse I will be helping you unpack. That's our mission. Isn't that... heh... fun?" Stolas replies. You look him up and down. Both of you know how stupid this is.

You just sigh.

Twenty minutes later you're unpacking boxes. Your cape is discarded on the bed, the effort of moving boxes with both magic and your birdy body causing you to break a sweat, and as promised Stolas is helping. You can't help but sneak glances at him. He really has changed a lot since you were kids. He's a lot taller for one thing. Besides the obvious physical change, he seems to never have really put himself together. You can tell he's struggling.

Ruffled feathers, quick to anger, and somewhat mopey. To an average royal this would seem pretty normal. Royals aren't known for their vigor and lust for life. To you, these are signs that he's not doing so hot. Struggling to lift a white cardboard box labeled "FRAGILE!" the tall owl is surprisingly human- well, demon? Humanized? He seems a lot more likable than the rest of the royals.

You decide to break the silence. "So tell me. What's a big important bird like you doing unpacking boxes with lil old me?" It's almost self-deprecating the way you look down on yourself.

"Me?- Ah of course he means you- My father brings me along as a secretary of sorts to his meetings when I'm available." Stolas responds while trying to not trip over a box of pillows as he places knickknacks he got out of a box around the dresser.

You snort at his response. "I have a secretary but she doesn't unpack rooms." You banter at him. This seems to irk Stolas. "Yes well since my divorce it seems my father can't resist the urge to assign me silly tasks as if I were some child in need of a distraction." Stolas snaps at you. He drops his volume at the mention of his divorce, which has surely affected how he is perceived by the other royals.

Despite how peeved he sounds by your comment, it sounds more like he's disheartened than truly upset.

You had heard of his divorce. You didn't care. Your family was never huge on the whole arranged marriage thing. You weren't even married yet, which for a prince of your age was unheard of in most other families.

You smile, half sympathetically, half filled with schadenfreude. "Join the club." An uncomfortable silence fills the air after your response. Stolas was aware of how your family is treated. It seemed silly to complain about being assigned trivial tasks like unpacking a room to a Corvus Arcana. It's sort of like complaining about a paper cut to a man missing both his arms.

"I apologize," Stolas says.

"For what?" You respond quizzically. "For how the others treat you. Merely because your lineage is young does not justify the lack of respect or meaningful assignments they've received from the other royals." Stolas says.

The uncomfortable silence fills the air once again. Stolas had always been the only person to treat you like a true royal. Back in the day, he was the only one to play with you, share with you, or even really acknowledge you. You two unpack in silence. After another ten minutes of unpacking you finally can't take it anymore.

"This blows. Wanna ditch this stupid "assignment"?" You stretch your arms and let the box you were carrying fall to the ground with a thump. Stolas looks at you dumbfounded.

"Ditch? Like... 'play hooky'? No... I could never! I'm much to old for that type of behavior now." Stolas seems aghast at the idea of offending his father. You turn around and grin at him. "Oh like anyone's gonna miss us! There's a million servants around here that can unpack this dumb room. Let's ditch this. Or are you gonna tell me you're having a blast?"

"That's not the point. I can't just leave!" Stolas retorts.

"You're an adult now. Plus King Paimon clearly doesn't care what we're up to. No one's checked on us. C'mon, we used to do this all the time. It'll be like back then when we used to sneak away from the nannies at daycare." You rebuttal. You can see Stolas fighting with himself over what to do.

The look on Stolas' face is priceless. There's nothing quite like a royal trying to decide if it's worth doing something considered "non-royal".

"I suppose it's okay to leave unannounced... I read something about the human country of Ireland and how its people say goodbye without saying anything and-" Stolas realizes he's rambling. "Ah well... yes. I guess I'd like to leave."

You shake your head in mock surprise at his overly introspective response. "Follow me."

You two walk in silence for a moment. You're spending the quiet time considering your current circumstances. You and the prince of the Ars Goatia are playing hooky from a meeting neither of you were really invited to. Huh. Interesting spot you've found yourself in.

Conversely, Stolas is trying his best to keep his cool. He's not so used to just leaving these types of things. You two have also not spoken much since you were young. There was never any bad blood or anything, being a royal is just time-consuming.

Stolas follows closely behind you as you walk out of the castle. "So... if you don't mind me asking..." Stolas begins, waiting for your confirmation to continue. After a quick nod from you, Stolas furrows his brow, contemplating his words before speaking, "Your..." He pauses, searching for a diplomatic way to phrase it. "casual demeanor seems almost at odds with your status as a royal. It's always been quite intriguing, I must say. Most other royals tend to carry themselves with a certain..." He gestures with a hand. "formality, shall we say. Your informal manner is indeed a rare sight." Stolas asks you.

The owl's attempts at not offending you are admirable. "Well. My family is much younger than yours, as you know. While your family and all the others gained power at the very start of hell my family rose to power a short three hundred years ago. To put it bluntly, we don't really do all the royal stuff." You respond, trying to explain your family's situation.

"I see... fascinating." Stolas offers. The two of you make it out of the castle without another word.

You two find yourselves behind the castle. You hop up on a small ledge to see over the hedges. Stolas, being tall, can see over just fine.

"Well. The world's our oyster." You say. The night is fresh upon you and the city shines spectacularly below you. You look up at Stolas with a mischievous grin. "How quickly would your dad notice if his fancy schmancy car went missing?"

Stolas snickers at your question. "We'll just have to find out I suppose."

-----

I don't really like how this turned out but I also feel like I say that after everything I write. I'm also pretty rusty (and slightly intoxicated). Life has been up my ass for like two years so that's where I've been. Once again, massive props to freakyfrye for a lot of inspiration behind this. I had no clue where to take it but I read their story and it was great! Worth checking out. Anyways I hope you enjoyed.

[soft--dragon]

Witches Curse

Words: 4,494

Warnings: None

This can be seen either romantically or platonically, I don't mind ^^

This was inspired by this incredible art and this idea by @carrie-tate . Check out her blog!! He makes amazing stuff :D <3

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Witches sucked, Castiel decides, glaring over his shoulder and rolling the tense muscles out the best he can. The ache persists much to his annoyance. He sighs bitterly. Witches sucked so much. 

Dean, Sam, and Cas had been hunting something that had been running rampant. Cures and curses had been popping up around Missouri for the last few weeks - all indicating a witch on a spell spree. It seemed pretty cut and dry, and Dean had proudly bolstered they'd be back in time for beers and a good slice of pie. 

But because their luck could never be that good, the hunt went sideways fast. 

They'd snuck into the house easily, and found the altar room where the witch was preparing a new enchantment. Slowly, the trio split up and crept around to circle him. Sam had the shot lined up perfectly, a finger easing on the trigger when Dean had accidentally knocked down a shaky stack of mismatched crockery from his hiding place - inadvertently causing Sam to misfire from the crash and strike the drywall. 

Turns out, people don't take kindly to being shot at. 

The witch lashed out instantly, a frightened yell wrenching from him as he blasted the first spell to mind at his intruders. The flashes of light and echoing shots of guns were overwhelming. 

Cas, armed with only his angelic grace, slipped around the firefight to hopefully catch the witch in a blind spot and end this. Unfortunately, one of Sam's bullets ricocheted off the concrete wall and only just missed Cas's cheek. The close call made him gasp in alarm, giving away the element of surprise. 

In a split second, the witch whirled around and rambled off a fast spell, causing pain to streak through Cas's shoulder blades. He yelled out, stumbling away from the witch and grabbing at his spine when the feeling spread and something shifted under his skin. It hurt. 

A sharp bang burst through the room, something wet hitting the floor and quickly followed by the heavy thudding of dead weight. Dean's gun was still smoking from the fresh bullet, raised to where the witch had just been standing, but he practically threw it to the ground in his rush to get to his friend's side. 

"Cas! Cas, you alright? Talk to me!" He demanded, hands splayed out towards Castiel as the angel writhed on the spot, still desperately clawing at his spine. 

"H-Hurts-" Cas choked out, suddenly wrenching at the sleeves of his coat to shed it from his burning skin. 

In an instant, Dean was helping him yank off the heavy material, startling at the sight of Cas's skin moving under his white dress shirt. "Cas, what the fu-" 

"Guys, what's happening?" Sam demanded worriedly from where he was crouched by the witch, checking for a pulse. 

"That son a bitch did something to Cas!" Dean growled, panic in his face as the angel suddenly gasped and twisted in place. "Cas-" 

A sharp tearing sound burst through the room and all Dean saw was a mass of darkness before he was thrown back into Sam. The Winchester brothers fell in a heap on the cold floor, the older man slightly winded from the sudden impact. 

"Augh, get off of me, Dean."

"Give me… a sec, man. Jesus." 

Dean coughed for air only to yelp when his younger brother hefted himself up on his forearms - making the older hunter roll off of Sam's lower back and land facedown on the concrete with a grunt. 

Sam looked from Dean, to Cas and froze. His lips parted in bewildered shock, eyebrows practically in his hairline as he registered what he was seeing. "...Dean."

Dean, hearing the awe in his little brother’s voice, lifted himself from the floor to look at the end of the altar room. He froze too. 

"Cas?" He asked cautiously.  

Castiel, angel of the lord, was standing at the edge of the room with a pair of hulking, black wings stretched out on either side of his body. 

So yeah, witches sucked. 

Cas was staring at the feathered appendages with round, blue eyes. Then, after a moment of silence, he muttered a gruff, "Fuck." 

The trio of misfits had left Missouri quickly after the curse had been placed on Castiel. Unfortunately, due to how misplaced they felt on a human vessel, Cas didn't trust himself to fly back to the Bunker. Cas' wings protested the cramped space the entire time he was stuck in the backseat of the Impala, which only added to his agitated state. Sam and Dean tried to get him to open up and let them help, but he sent them a sharp look at every attempt and continued brooding.

As soon as the Impala parked, Cas shoved himself out of the car and stomped up to the woods, ignoring the humans' calls behind him. While he trusted Sam and Dean - hell they were his closest friends - having his wings exposed was a level of vulnerability he never knew existed. He couldn't handle their eyes on his angelic appendages for another minute.

Hours later, Cas is fully settled into bitterness. No matter what he does, he can't get comfortable with how weighty and awkward the wings feel in a human vessel. With his grace, the impressive appendages are cloaked safely, tucked away from any misgivings in the human world. The overexposure is downright uncomfortable now - the dirt scratching on his primaries and the wind upsetting the pristine layout of feathers. Cas hates this. 

Soft footsteps make the angel turn sharply, his years as a soldier instinctively preparing to yank out his blade and stab whatever was going to make his life worse. 

Dean quickly holds up his hands in alarm, taking a stumbling step backward and almost tripping over a tree root. "Woah there, buddy," he placates with a nervous smile, eyeing the sharp blade. "Let's not go all 'Michael Myres' here, okay?"

Cas glares, but he already feels his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. With a sigh, Cas re-sheathes the blade and sits back on the forest floor, wings hiking up around himself to hide from Dean. 

"What do you want, Dean?" He asks in a choleric tone, not wanting to be disturbed from his self-resenting, but safe position. 

Dean didn't shift from his spot, hands slowly lowering to sit in his jacket pockets as he worriedly stared at Cas. "Sam and I have been looking into the lore," he says, hoping to draw the angel's interest. "We're tracking down a way to reverse this."

Cas doesn't answer. 

Dean, never one to enjoy the silence, clears his throat and tries again. "You've been up here for hours, Cas, I just wanted to come check on you. You haven't exactly been very talkative since you got hexed." 

"I wonder why." Cas snips, hunching deeper into himself. "It's not like a witch cursed me to expose the essence of my angelic side." 

Dean makes a small noise of regret. "Right- uh… sorry." 

At the subdued tone, Cas closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath. When he opens them again, he tries to sound more neutral. "It's not your fault, Dean. Thank you for looking for a cure." 

The sound of crunching twigs lifts Castiel's head, turning to see Dean slowly approaching. His eyes are glued to the trees ahead, avoiding looking at the wings that are shifting uneasily. The lack of staring is honestly a relief to Castiel, and he appreciates the gesture. 

When Dean is standing by Cas - far enough to give space but close enough to hear each other easily - he flicks his gaze to the bright blue eyes that are watching him carefully. "Any room on this hill for one more?" 

Cas regards the hunter for a moment, then sighs and nods, waving a hand as Sam taught him to show he didn't mind. Dean sinks to the ground, grunting in mild discomfort as his knees protest the action. He really was getting too old for this hunting business, he wasn’t sure how many years left his knees had with this work. 

Once seated comfortably, Dean clasps his hands over his bent knees and releases a breath, inhaling slowly to enjoy the crisp air. He doesn't get much of a chance to enjoy the Bunker’s surrounding woods. 

“Can I ask something?” He inquires.

Cas nods in his peripheral vision, still tucked into himself glumly. 

“What do they feel like? In this body, I mean.”

Cas lets out a deep sigh and rolls his shoulders, the ache persisting and prickling at his neck. “It sucks.”

Dean couldn’t stop the small laugh that left him at the bone-dry, deadpan answer. He quickly schooled his expression, turning to apologize, but there was a small smile on Cas’s face. The angel glanced at him.

“Humans weren’t meant to encompass the full weight and strength of angel wings,” he says. “It's why we keep them tucked away when we use a human vessel. It protects the human from extra strain and protects us too.”

Dean cocks his head to the side. “Protects you?” He repeats. 

Cas gives a small, miserable wave to his angelic appendages. “Earth is beautiful,” he sighs. “But it is filled with things that can damage our wings. It’s safer for everyone if we keep them hidden.”

Dean glances at the glossy, ebony feathers standing tall over him. With a small hum, he smiles at Cas. “Well, despite the situation, I’m glad I finally get to see them. They’re really cool.” 

Castiel glances at Dean in confusion. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, most angels are depicted to have white wings, but having black ones? So fucking badass, man. If I was an angel, I’d be envious of em.” 

Cas stares with wide eyes and a tilted head. After a moment, he shakes his head with a fond smile. “You never cease to confound me, Dean.” 

Dean scoffs in bemusement. “Thanks?”

“You're welcome.”

The pair settle into a comfortable silence. Cas’s wings had come to rest on the ground, the puffed-up feathers smoothing down for the first time in hours. Cas too, had slumped into a more relaxed posture, his half-lidded eyes taking in the countryside. Dean, who was leaning back on his hands, snuck glances at the impressive wings every so often, captivated by their beauty and obvious strength. Dean did not doubt that Cas could easily smack him like a baseball with one of those bad boys. Yet, he felt no fear near the strong appendages. Instead, he got a weird, intense urge to ask one thing. 

“Can I…?”

Cas turns to watch as Dean struggles to put his request into words, his mouth ticking up slightly in amusement as the human looks almost constipated. “Dean.” He says. 

The man meets his eyes instantly, his nerves written clearly in the pupils though his face doesn’t show it. It was how Cas learned to understand the Winchesters over the years, emotion was all in the eyes, not the face - it was a rather endearing trait for the boys. 

Wordlessly, Cas stretches out the wing closest to Dean, noticing the slight flinch in Dean’s posture as the appendage shows off its impressive size and build. One flap and Cas could send him tumbling down the hill, but he does no such thing. He holds it perfectly still and lets Dean register everything. Dean’s hands fidget on top of his knees, drawing Cas’s gaze to the shifting fingers. He smiles, despite his racing heart of exposing such a vulnerable thing to anyone who was not an angel. 

“You may touch them,” he reassures quietly.

Dean swings around almost comically to stare at him. “Really?” He flits his gaze to the wings again and then back to Castiel. “I thought you’d smite me if I tried to ask.” 

Cas gives a one-shouldered shrug and lets his smile soften towards the man. “I trust you,” he offers, his voice just as gentle as his expression. “Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone do so.”

Dean noticeably swallows, lips parted in bewilderment. But whatever he is going to say, it doesn't leave his lips. Instead, he closes his mouth and shifts to turn to the wall of feathers. A hand leaves his knees and slowly raises to the wing, fingers just grazing the outer plumage. He huffs in surprise, the silky surface sliding over his skin pleasantly. 

“Woah,” he mumbles, dragging his palm over the soft primaries. “Awesome.”

Cas has to fight back a shudder from the contact, though the slight tension in his brow catches Dean's attention. Immediately drawing back his hand in concern, he asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers quickly, his wing already missing the warmth of Dean’s palm. “Like I said, it has been… a long time since anyone has touched my wings.”

“Oh. Do you want me to keep going?”

“That would be nice.”

Dean’s fingers return to the feathers, carefully raking through the thick primaries with a gentle and curious touch. With how Cas’s wing has stretched to practically wrap around and encompass Dean, he has easy access to the entire appendage. Cas hums appreciatively and rolls his shoulders, the ache in his back easing up finally. 

“Feel alright?” Dean double-checks. 

“It feels… quite relaxing, yes.” Cas folds his knees to his chest and drops his head onto his crossed arms. He watches lazily as Dean slowly explores the wing. He registers a slight pull on his coverts and chuckles a bit. “Just don’t tug any of the feathers out, Dean. It’s not molting season yet.”

“You guys molt?” Dean repeats in surprise, looking from the wing to Cas, eyebrows high as he searches the angel’s face for any sign of jest.

Cas nods. “Of course. It’s a yearly experience, we have to do it to have healthy wings.”

Dean scoffs, but it’s in disbelief, not malice. “Wow.” He mutters, returning his gaze to the feather-endowed appendages. “You guys really are like birds, huh?”

Cas rolls his eyes and lightly smacks Dean in the face with the wing, pushing down a grin when the man splutters and pushes away from the offending limb. He looks at Cas in annoyance.

“Sorry, sometimes I can’t control the movement,” Cas smiles innocently. “Instinctive flexing, it’s completely involuntary.” 

Dean scowls at him, but a smirk curls at his lip. “Dick,” he jabs light-heartedly. 

“Ass-butt,” Cas replies in kind, settling on his arms and grinning. 

Dean returns his focus to the wings before him and shifts his hand to rake through the feathers, smirking when he hears Cas hum again - it isn’t unlike petting a cat. The thought made Dean snicker, but Cas was too far gone in enjoyment to care. 

The steady combing through feathers settles Castiel’s tense spine and brow, letting himself enjoy the sensations wholeheartedly. The last time he’d had the joy of having his wings groomed was back when he was a servant of Heaven. The angels often help each other maintain their wings to perfection, making it a bonding activity of sorts. It was a pastime Cas didn’t think he’d ever have the honor of experiencing again. He smiles into his arms. Figures that he’d be able to relive it with the Winchesters. They always managed to find ways to make his life interesting in some way or another, whether it be a good surprise or not. This, however, was a surprise he liked. The prior, bitter resentment from the curse soothed into simple bliss. 

Dean’s fingers shift from combing through his primaries to his secondaries. The change makes Cas shift in place, the wing flexing a bit as the sensations sparked through the wing and down his spine. Dean paused at the reaction and glanced at the angel in surprise. 

He took in Castiel’s posture, once relaxed and easy, now weirdly tense. His eyes are still closed, but there’s a marginal scrunch that draws attention to them. His simple grin was replaced with a slightly wobbly smile. 

“Cas?” Dean asks worriedly, his eyes raking over the angel’s form in concern. “Are you good?”

“Y-Yes.” Cas’s answer was nowhere near as firm as his previous confirmation. If anything, Dean swore his voice sounded a touch higher pitched than normal. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Dean pressed. “I can stop if this is uncomfortable at all-”

Cas opens his eyes and Dean is surprised at the slight plead in his pupils. “Please don’t,” he almost begs. “I’ve missed this.” 

Lips parted in surprise, Dean digests those words. Cas looked… well shit, he looked like he was desperate for this. A weird pang cuts across Dean’s heart as a thought hits him. Is Cas touch starved? 

Getting himself together, Dean nods and sends the angel a reassuring smile. “Alright.” He concedes. “Just lemme know if anything is wrong, okay?”

Cas gives an answering nod, tucking himself back into his arms and stretching his wing out again. ‘Instinctive flexing’, Cas had mentioned before. Dean thought that Cas was joking, but maybe he actually was telling the truth. That would explain the sudden twitchiness, and after all, the angel had said he hadn’t had this kind of touch in a while. 

Questions satiated, Dean lifts his hand and combs one hand through secondary converts. Cas yelps, his wing ruffling and shoulders leaping to his ears as his whole body jolts. 

Dean wrenches his hand away in alarm and snaps towards the angel. “Cas-?” He demands, but then he registers Castiel, and all thoughts die in his head. 

Cas has his knuckles pressed to his lips as he snickers, light sounds that seem so unusual for the angel. The force of his grin is causing his eyes to squint. The sight leaves Dean speechless, feeling as if he’d been thrown into an ocean and left to tread the waters with no help. Then, once the shock subsides, the puzzle pieces click into place and it's as if a lightbulb gets turned on above his head.

“No.” He mutters, his anxiety replaced with a sudden building elation. His grin builds on his face, “No way.” 

Cas, who finally managed to settle the small titters leaving his lips, glances over at Dean with an endearingly confused face. “Uh, I don’t… I’m sorry, I'm not sure what that-”

Dean’s hand sweeps out to bury into the secondary coverts again, and Cas yelps for a second time, tumbling backward in his haste to evade the sudden tingling invading his senses. “Gah- De-Dehehean!” He chokes out through a series of tumbling chuckles, a hand lifting to his mouth again to muffle the noise. 

Dean laughs, loud and excited. “You have got to be kidding me!” He grins, his hands chasing the wings down to the ground and scratching into the fluffy feathers. “You’re ticklish?!” 

Cas wriggles from his spot on the grass, hiccups peppering between his startled laughter. “Dehehehean! Whahahat ahahare yohohou- AHAHAHA!” 

Cas’s own words are lost to his mirth, his body trying to curl into a ball while his wings stay splayed out - eager for attention while the host of said wings squirmed uncontrollably. Dean snickers from where he’s settled beside Cas’s wing, his other hand coming up to hold the top of the appendage while the other sneaks in to tickle the feathers. 

“Who would’ve thought, huh?” He grins, “Castiel has ticklish wings. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh this much, man.”

Cas’s arms don’t know what to do with themselves - the rapid electric tingles shooting through his body render him useless and flailing. He grabs onto his forearms and kicks uselessly at the grass, throwing his head back as laughter escapes his mouth. 

“Dehehehean!” He presses out, his eyes squeezed shut instinctively. 

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Whahahat ihihis thihihis?”  

Dean snorts, mostly in surprise. “You’ve never been tickled before?” 

Cas shakes his head rapidly, too caught up in his mirth to give a verbal reply. Dean, seeing that Cas is struggling for air, eases up on the sensitive coverts and settles back into tickling along the secondaries and primaries. 

“Basically, you’ve got sensitive wings,” Dean explains. “Being ticklish is pretty common for humans, it’s our nervous system that makes it possible. Sammy can give you the whole scientific spiel of it if you want. My version, though? Touching the body in a certain way makes someone laugh, it’s a way to mess with people and a way to bond. God knows I tickled Sam so much growing up. He still gets these nervous giggles when people wiggle their fingers at him.” 

Dean shakes his head fondly as he speaks and scratches along the bone of the wing. Cas suddenly bucks with a loud squeal, crashing back into the grass and giggling hysterically. Castiel was giggling. Dean’s grin widened at the sound though his eyes softened. It was rare when he got even a chuckle out of Cas, this was a whole dang gift basket in itself. 

“THIHIhihihis feheheels sohoho strahahange!” Cas manages to get out, his cheeks growing pink from his ongoing laughter, and the subconscious embarrassment of letting out such an unnatural sound for an angel. 

Dean wiggles two fingers into the bend of the wing with a look at his friend. “Good strange or bad strange?”

Cas squeaks in laughter, his hiccupping giggles coming back full force. “Ihihit feheheels nihihice? Buhuhut Ihihi cahahdn’t stohohop mohoving-” Dean’s fingers skim a particularly sensitive spot, causing Cas to roll onto his side, proving his own words.

Dean snickers. “Yeah, that’s normal. The usual reaction is to try and get away….” The rest of Castiel’s words clicked in Dean’s head. “Wait, are you saying you like this?” 

Cas rolls back over and looks up at Dean through his eyelashes. ‘Ihihis thahat wrohong?” He asks through tumbling giggles. 

Dean bites his tongue to stop his mouth from possibly making a fool of himself, but he can’t stop the endeared smile that spreads on his face. “Nah,” he reassures when he’s sure he’s got his emotions under lock again. He tweaks the sensitive spot on the bone just to hear Cas squeal again. “It’s not wrong, Cas.”

Questions answered, Cas lets his head fall back and simply laughs, his chest feeling lighter than it had in, well, ever. The tickling shifted from light skittering, to gentle scratching - Dean’s hand making its way across the sensitive areas. When he dropped to test the scapular of Cas’s wing, Castiel shrieked. 

The sudden jump of octaves made Dean jolt in surprise, but he burst out laughing not a moment later as he watched Cas squirm and laugh twice as hard as before. “Christ on a stick, Cas!” He chuckles warmly. “Gonna scare off all the birds round here.”

Cas twists on the grass and holds his arms tightly, though one of them does let go to swipe in Dean’s direction, nowhere near close, however. “DEHEHEHEAN!” 

Dean opens his mouth to answer when something soft brushes the exposed skin of his ankle from where his pant legs have risen. Turning to look down, Dean’s mouth slips open in shock. A little red flower, which was most definitely not there before, waves its petals in the light breeze. Dean glances around, and to his surprise, there’s a series of small flowers budding and growing around the pair of them, a mix of reds and pinks. Dean’s fingers have slowed to gentle tracing on Castiel’s scapulars, distracted by the small garden of flowers blooming. It’s a rather captivating sight, watching the flowers press through the grass to stand proudly in the sunlight, perfect and pristine to every petal.

Cas meanwhile, is being kept in a giggly form of purgatory of precise, tickling fingers. And as much as he’s enjoying the attention, he needs a break from that spot before he accidentally smites someone - namely Dean. 

“D-Dehehean!” he gasps out again, “P-Plehehease!” 

Snapped out of his stupor, Dean pauses in his wiggling motions, looking back to the angel who slumps into the flower-dotted grass with a giggly sigh of relief. The red flowers match his flushed face, leaning towards Cas from their angle of growth. Dean can’t help but stare. 

After giving his friend a chance to recover, Dean clears his throat. “Cas?” He asks quietly. 

A soft, warm hum leaves Castiel as he calms down, eyelashes fluttering open to look at Dean. “Mhm?” 

Dean glances at the grass. “Did you… did you make these?” 

The angel’s eyebrow lifts in confusion, turning his head to the side to where Dean is looking. “Oh.” He practically chirps in surprise. He sits up on his forearms, glancing around the field where flowers have sprouted. “Ah, yes, I think I did.” His wings rise carefully from the grass to reveal a series of little yellow flowers hidden underneath the feathers. 

Dean’s eyebrows lift to his hair as he takes in the whole field of color. “What are they? I didn’t know you could miracle flowers out of thin air.”

Cas carefully plucks one of the yellow ones off the grass and holds it up to his face to inspect. “I have not made them since I was a fledgling,” he mused, turning the stalk in his fingers idly. “They are buttercups.”

Dean watches as Cas is captivated by the small plant in his fingers. He leans forward slightly to look at it closer, cocking his head to the side curiously. “Why’d you decide to pull out the green thumb again?” 

Cas glances up and gives Dean a small, shy smile. “It was subconscious, I believe,” he murmured. “I haven’t felt this relaxed or happy in a long time. I suppose the flowers are a byproduct of my emotions, flowers do have meanings after all.”

Dean’s heart ached for the angel. He turned to look around again and admired the patches of petals. “Well, I think you made a fine batch of buttercups,” he commented. “Maybe you can grow a few different kinds of flowers around the Bunker. The lawn looks pretty sad, so some flowers would do it good.”

Cas’s face lit up like a damn Christmas tree. “Really?” he asked, “you would like that?”

Dean gives a one-shouldered shrug and lets his smile soften toward the angel. “I trust your florist talents,” he says. “Besides, I think Sam would like it too.”

Cas grins, wide and warm. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, of course, man. If it makes you happy then-”

“Not just for that,” Cas cuts him off, his smile slipping back into shyness. “About… before. While this whole 'tickling' thing is new to me, I haven’t laughed like that in a while, and the wing grooming was appreciated too. So, thank you for that. It meant a lot.”

Dean is left speechless for what feels like the sixth time that day. He takes in Castiel’s genuine smile and relaxed form, his blue eyes brighter than his angelic glow could hope to achieve. Dean finds himself grinning, soft and sincere. 

“Anytime Cas.”

[humorisstoredinthetits]

The Heathers + Veronica play Minecraft

Mining away, I don't know what to mine i'll mine this anywa-

SHUT UP HEATHER!

Of course they've played Minecraft before, they grew up in the 2010s (at least in this AU)

Chandler and Mac played on a world when they were younger, but as they got more popular Chandler had to cut out anything that made her nerdy so she stopped playing

Duke and Veronica also played, I mean like who didn't play at least once, but eventually they got bored with it and moved on to other games

But once they graduated and settled in to their new lives, they started to look back on their past fondly and pick up some of their old hobbies, Minecraft being one of them

One day Mac brought up her and Chandler's old MC world and how much fun it was and all the stuff she built and how she still hasn't forgiven her for killing her dog

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT MAC AND FOR GOD'S SAKE IT WAS 13 YEARS AGO GET OVER IT"

"I WILL NEVER FORGET FIDO YOU HEARTLESS MONSTER"

The other 2 chimed in about their own memories and eventually Mac suggested that they create a world together and all play, an idea which was met with enthusiasm from everyone except Chandler (who could have guessed that)

She thinks its 'childish' and 'boring' and 'a waste of time'

Duke and Veronica give Mac 'the look' which is code for 'Chandler is being stubborn deploy the puppy-dog eyes'

Mac gives her said eyes which causes Chandler to groan before giving in

They play Java Edition bc they already have desktops which they use for work or whatever

They play vanilla bc they haven't played in a very long time and have no idea about the new updates, so before they move into that they are going to re-familiarize themselves with the base game

They load in and do the usual, cut down tress, get stone, iron, etc.

While mining Chandler sees this structure and she's like 'I think they updated the Stronghold'

Everyone is excited that they won't have to get all of the Eyes of Ender later

Chandler goes down and starts screaming that she can't see anything

She sprints around aimlessly and eventually hears this loud cracking sound and sees this giant blue/black monster crawling out of the ground

She then proceeds to scream, get one-shot, die, and lose all of her items

She keeps saying 'What the fuck was that?!?!?'

After they google it they realize that they had found a Warden and after seeing that he can easily kill a player in Prot 4 Diamond Armor, they decide to stay far far away from that place

They find a village, and Duke proceeds to rob them of all of their goods before smacking a villager and then getting obliterated by the Iron Golem

Of course her gfs try to save her, before also getting obliterated by the golem, and they lose all their progress and stuff

Chandler is pissed and is about to rage quit, Duke is trying to justify punching the villager (apparently it was homophobic), Mac is trying to calm Chandler down, and Veronica is just watching the chaos unfold

Once everyone chills out, they agree to split up duties to make this a whole lot easier

Chandler is on wood duty, she has to go get as much wood as she can, and as many different kinds as she can

Duke goes get food, slaughtering every single cow, chicken, pig and sheep she comes across, while also going back to steal all the crops from that village

Veronica is in charge of going mine and getting enough materials for the 4 of them

Duke wanted to be the one to do it but no one trusted her to fairly distribute the ores between them

Mac is the one who has to build them a house, bc she's the only one with a creative bone in her body

So they all go off to do their jobs, and immediately run into issues

Bc Chandler is still off getting wood, Mac doesn't have much stuff to build with

Veronica also severely underestimated the new caves, and instead of mining she spends most of her time running from the hordes of creepers and skeletons chasing her

And worse yet, none of them have slept, so phantoms started spawning

None of them had any clue what a phantom was, so once it became night and these demons started dive bombing them, they all started freaking out

Mac dug herself into a hole and refused to come out until the rest of her gfs assured her it was day and they were gone

It was at that point they took a break and took some time to research all of the changes and updates (which they probably should have done from the beginning)

They sit on the couch and watch video after video going over the updates

Mac gets excited bc they are sooooooo many more pets for her to get

There's birds and fish and turtles and new doggos and-

She also loves the bamboo wood bc she can finally make a yellow house

Same thing with the cherry blossom trees, they just look so pretty

Duke is enthralled with the end crystals

'You mean I can actually place them and blow them up wherever I want? Ohhhhh I am going to have SO much fun with that'

That comment is swiftly met with three 'If you blow up my house you are sleeping on the couch' from her gfs

Chandler cannot wait to get her hands on some Netherite, she is gonna make some armor and tools to protect herself, both from the mobs and from a certain gremlin

She looks at Duke as she says that last part

Veronica is just intrigued by how much there is to find now

From the last time she's played theres several new biomes, a new ocean with things in it, a overhauled Nether, Ancient Cities and Trial Chambers and all sorts of things for her to explore and find

Eventually, after much trial, error, and Duke being her gremlin ass self, they all have diamond tools and a decent looking place to live

They then decide to go to the Nether and oh boy does it go poorly

Despite their research they were severely unprepared

They all forgot to wear gold armor so the Piglins kept attacking them

Chandler looked an Enderman in the eyes and it started attacking her

Veronica got relentlessly perused by this Magma Cube and she kept yelling for it to leave her the fuck alone

Mac almost fell into lava after a Ghast blew up some netherrack under her feet

Basically its a miracle they made it to the Fortress without losing all of their stuff

After being terrorized by the Wither Skeletons (and Duke accidentally hitting a Zombified Piglin), they barricaded themselves into a room with a Blaze spawner

They got the Blaze Rods and hi-tailed it outta there and back to the overworld, not before stopping and killing some Endermen first

They get prepared to fight the Ender Dragon, getting arrows, potions, etc.

They surpsingly manage to find the Stronghold without any major problems, same thing with finding the portal and killing the dragon

The problem came when they had to get the egg

Everyone wanted to be the one to get the egg and put it in their house, and no one was willing to budge

Threats were made, from killing Mac's pets (of which she had many) to rearranging Veronica's figures in the middle of the night to Chandler threatening to make them all sleep on the floor

All of them insisted that they had put the most work and effort into the fight, and because of that they deserved to get the egg

Eventually Duke pulled out her axe and started attacking Chandler, and from there it turned into a free for all

Unbeknownst to everyone, Duke had known this was gonna happen and prepared Instant Harming 2 Arrows and a Power V Bow, which if you don't know deals a fucking whole lot of damage

Once everyone was dead she put their stuff in chests so it didn't despawn (she's not that evil), took the egg, and went go hide

They were all pissed at Duke, and she was not welcome in their bed that night

In the morning Veronica made scrambled eggs for breakfast

**Line Break**

When they next got on (which was not for a while, what happened at the end put a bad taste in all of their mouths), they began working on a plan to get the egg from Duke

They know she had a hidden base somewhere, and that was likely where she was keeping it, so one of them had to find a way there

They had Mac pretend to lose her sword in the End and have her convince Duke to make her a new one bc it was her fault that she lost her sword

After a bit of convincing Duke begrudgingly agreed, but only if Mac helped, which she agreed to

They went to the Nether to get some Netherite and grind xp, and eventually Duke brought Mac to her base bc she had a full Enchantment Table there

While there Mac looked around for the egg and couldn't find it, until she saw an Ender Chest and realized where the egg was

She quickly texted the other two about the latest development and they moved on to Plan B

Plan B was 'Just blow shit up'

After a while of getting TNT and Ender Crystals they went to Duke's base and threatened to blow it all up if she didn't hand over the egg

Duke said 'try me bitch' and oh boy did they ever

When they were done Duke's base was a giant crater in the ground and they took turns spawn killing her until she agreed to hand over the egg

Problem with that is Veronica, Mac and Chandler did not decide amongst themselves who would get the egg once they got it from Duke

So what happens when 3 heavily armed players disagree about something?

If you guessed beat the shit out of each other, you would be correct

When it was all said and done everyone was pissed off at each other bc all of their houses were blown up, loot destoryed, and Mac was crying bc her pets had gotten killed in the crossfire

From that point on there was a new rule in the Chandler-Duke-McNamara-Sawyer household, and that was that they played Minecraft separately, never together

On a separate but related topic, Veronica got really into Dream SMP and would watch the streams relentlessly

Her favorite was Technoblade, they both had the same sense of dry humor (She got really upset when he died)

She got super into the lore and would argue with people online about it

She joked with JD that he acted alot like Wilbur, to which JD said he was nothing like him, and that he only thought about lining the boiler room of Westerburg with explosives and didn't act on it, which made Veronica very concerned

[trainer-sean]

Danny Phantom x DC Prompt Pokemon Au

This will be less cohesive then most Prompts other do, its mainly just some thoughts and ideas I put together when I was day dreaming, I tried sending it to The Bones lady who does Dp x Dc prompts, but its taking a long time, so I decided to post it myself, hopefully others will expand apon and improve it.

Sorry, I'm just kinda impatient @stealingyourbones

Most of the ghost stuff is different, because its now the Fenton's studying The Ghost typing, which, they are now morally correct. due to studying it and have machines processing the Ghost Type Infinity energy, they've had alot of ghost types born from their machines, and alot of them collect around their home, to the point that they know a few of them as welcomed guests. Danny has developed a Ghost type alignment in his Aura(aura having wave lengths with infinity energy, which affects some traits a person has, like water type alignment are good at swimming and holding their breath) due to his parents studys letting the G.T. infinity energy radiating through the house influencing his aura development while it was developing as a child.

the Fentons are the local professors in town, but mostly pass out Ghost, Dark, Fairy, and Psychic types due to their studys being connected to them. There most frequent starters are differently typed Porygon with special evos.

When they find Danny has a Ghost Type Alignment, with secondary Ice and Psychic, they give him a Dreepy they had been previously studying as his starter pokemon.

Jazz has previously been on a journey, with a Teddiursa, she caught psychic types and many pokemon good for Emotional support and therapy due to her developing her like of Psychology during her journey, she made it to 4 gym badges before deciding to head home for studying, splitting up with her traveling companion, Harleen Quinzel, a friend who shared similar likes. However, she would later be kidnapped and tortured by Joker, eventually becoming Harley Quinn, her pokemon have been confiscated, and given to Jazz, to keep them safe. Maybe some Tall Amazon Jazz x Harley Quinn in the future with a foursome side of Jason and Pamela Isley?

DC is still a heavy part here.

due to pokemon and the pokemon league being a thing, Civilians will help apprehend criminals, due to pokemon training originally being a Crime deterrent. this has also turned away multiple invasions. also, Apocalypse(can't remember how to spell that name) was destroyed long ago by Arceus, Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina, so no Darkseid. isn't great when God's actually do their jobs?

starters: Danny with Dreepy, Sam with Bounsweet from her parents too make her seem normal, she actually loves Bounsweet alot and it hasn't changed her because she was planning to get a grass type starter already, Tucker with Togedimaru, and Jazz with Teddiursa(has a vest made with a silk scarf materials and both an everstone and Evolite).

when Danny goes on his journey at 14, he, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz, head out to travel Unova. Jazz here to mentor and chaperone. they ran into multiple incidents involving poachers and evil teams, and assisted Heroes, like many trainers. The League actually has a meeting every few weeks to talk about some of the notable trainers that helped them, and even watch the League Tournaments as team bonding. Batman is more approachable here, and he and the batfam use suits that have tech that allow them to use attacks, primarily based on the closest pokemon to their animals. regular animals still exist.

the DP team find a old Temple, one that was recently cleaned out and collapsed, when some ghost types were beckoning for help, after clearing the way they found a strange woman who'd look like she was trapped for weeks, she looked half feline pokemon, much like Killer Krok(Krookodile) in Gotham.

Barbara Ann Minerva had been obsessed with archeology from a young age, sense she learned of all the pokemon that were artificially made by ancient civilizations and that Fossils could be revived. But while she was interning for a Professor on a exploration if a temple, she and the Professor were backstabbed, the professor killed and she shot through the back, thankfully not through the spine. They had blew up the pathway, Barbara was stuck, her mentor was dead, and she was likely to starve. she returned her pokemon so they wouldn't have to worry of starving, and started crying. her crying angered something. The Temple she was in was the resting place of the Legendary pokemon Cheeralah (chi-rah-lah), an Electric Fighting type, a humanoid and feminine cheetah pokemon, with bandages wrapped around her legs, arms, and chest, and Bronze markings along her body. Some human was whining in her Temple, she was angry, so she cursed Barbara, turning her into what was basically a Human Cheeralah hybrid.

when the Dp Team made it to Barbara, Cheeralah was angry enough that she showed up, along with two Zeraora. A Raid Battle occurred, with much struggle, from all the pokemon on Danny's, Sams, tuckers, Jazzs, Barbara, and the deceased Professors teams, all three legends were caught. and then Danny accidently caught Barbara.

Diana shows up with Doctor Fate(who here is different, the god of order behind Doctor fate is a legendary pokemon, completely independent of the helmet) because they had sense the awakened presense of Cheeralah. Diana knows Barbara because Diana had actually sponsored one of her and the Professor's digs in the past, and even joined in.

Gotham, the spirit, became a legendary pokemon along time ago, and still has no clue how to assist with everything, she became some variant of Lunala, but a Dark/Ghost type, and she just can't seem to exit the spiritual plane, which is probably the doing of some wizard or something to prevent city spirits that became pokemon from running around causing havoc. She eventually breaks out when Jason was kidnapped. She looks like a darker Lunala with a more pointed tail, she has a form change that makes her look like dawn wing necrozma, but not entirely, it doesn't look like necrozma parts, maybe even make it an artificial form change made by Bruce, similar to the enhancement equipment Jessie and James sometimes use on their pokemon, maybe even a special batmobile that attaches power ranger style with a ride-pokemon saddle part for Bruce. Name, Gothamala. Form change, Gothamala, Bat-tle Wings.

Something Similar to Metropolis, who became a Variant of Solagaleo, a Steel/Fairy type, who just watches from the sidelines as the superfamily protects his city, but his appreciation can be felt by the super family due to their lack of resistance to supernatural power. Maybe make its presence capable of breaking down green kryptonite and its radiation. Name, Metropaleo.

Amity Park has one too due to the Fenton's studying on Ghost Type Infinity energy, and due to multiple other studying, like blueprint analysis on Silvally, Amity is born a variant of Silvally, but with out its hind legs and a serpent tail, basically taking a Lindwyrm body shape with its usual fin tail still on the end, but slightly modified, it still has a version of the RKS System, called the Fenton System, but its a dual ghost/normal type, so its form changes are Ghost Dual type, and it's got the disks to do it because the Fenton's are friendly like that here. Its head Crest is not as tall and more wavy like a ghost tail. It can enter the physical world thanks to how Saturated the Fentons lab is with Ghost type energy. Name, Spectvally.

Maybe make some of the other city spirits similar to regular pokemon, like similar paradox pokemon, like star city(thats green arrows place right?) Is a Decidueye, but it has a pair of crossbow like structures floating beside it instead of being able to make a bow string, due to not being a grass type. Ghost/fighting type with the Sniper ability.

Cheeralah, The War Pokemon. a Legendary Electric and Fighting type. Cheeralah were once worshipped as Gods of protection and purity, but worshipped members of the species began to enjoy fighting and conflict while protecting the innocent, corrupting their image. Zeraora are believed to be lesser incarnations born from Cheeralah lust for battle being so great that she tried to forcefully removed it to save herself from falling from Grace, and it became a pokemon of its own.

[balioc]

LARP Sizes

When you talk about the "size" of a theater LARP, you might mean a lot of different things -- how long it lasts, how long the game materials are, how much physical space you need to run it, etc. (These things heavily correlate with one another, which helps to confuse the issue.) But the most important version of "size," of course, is player count. A LARP is nothing more or less than a bunch of characters doing stuff, and the experience is shaped heavily the number of characters who are contributing to it.

(It's like party size for a TTRPG, only more so, because you don't have an omnipresent GM who can keep everything in hand for everyone.)

If you're thinking of writing a theater LARP, I would strongly encourage you to think about your game structurally when you're deciding how big it's going to be. Don't just decide that you want to write a large game because you're feeling ambitious, or that you want to write a small game because you're feeling nervous; don't just include every character concept that you have in your head. Choose a size that works well with the kind of experience you want to generate, and with the mechanics you have in mind.

Every additional character changes things, of course, but (in my opinion) these are the size ranges that really matter:

0-1 PCs: This is not a LARP, in the conventional sense. This is a joke or an art project.

2-3 PCs: The PCs cannot escape each other at all. The game will necessarily consist of a single extended conversation, and you should think of it in those terms. It's the writer's job to make sure that conversation is interesting and sustainable.

[The general rule is that character sheets and other documents tend to get longer as the game gets bigger, because there's more material that has to be incorporated...but games with 2-3 players often have really long sheets, just for the sake of making sure that everyone has enough to talk about, and that every PC has some very substantive thoughts about every other PC.]

4-7 PCs: At this size, the game will likely default to being a single round-table conversation, and fundamentally everyone is going to have to deal with everyone else -- but the PCs will be able to split off for private chats (without leaving anyone twiddling his thumbs). Plotting and politics begin to become possible, although you shouldn't expect that anyone will really be able to hide anything from anyone else. This is an excellent size for games that are basically about emotional tangles.

8-15 PCs: By my standards, a "medium-sized" LARP. There's enough going on that you can thread multiple plots into your narrative, although you should expect that everyone will likely be interacting with everyone else, at least to some extent. It is totally plausible that a PC will be able to maintain a more-or-less complete understanding of the total game situation, although you can't count on anyone in particular doing so. Complexity and factional conflict are viable here. This is the sweet spot for intricate integrated mechanical structures where you want every PC to be interfacing with the same system. It is not an accident that two of the most successful game-structure templates that have come out of my LARPing tradition -- the Dance and the Dawn template and the Be Not Afraid template -- require exactly 13 PCs.

16-30 PCs: In a LARP of this size, a PC can probably have more-than-zero clue about every other character in the game, and about all the overarchingly important plots...but no one is going to be able to keep up with everything that's going on, not even remotely. Chaos and fog-of-war start dominating the play experience here. Games this big usually require multiple interconnected narratives, and there are usually whole plots that just don't have much to do with each other. It becomes important for the writer to ensure that any given PC has enough different things going on that his game won't get randomly destroyed by the tides of happenstance.

31+ PCs: Any given PC will be totally clueless about whole swathes of the game; certain characters, and certain plots, will completely fail to intersect at all. Either the LARP is secretly a bunch of loosely-connected game modules, or it needs to be robust enough to survive all manner of butterfly-effect-generated madness as unusual outcomes and choices ripple outwards. (I don't actually have any experience writing LARPs at this scale. My biggest game is for 30 PCs, and it was definitely straining against the kind of structural cohesion that I tried to impose on it.)