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ironwoman359 · 3 months ago

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Gonna try to make this taglist work, all my pasting attempts earlier did not so here is a different method:

Our Own Villain taglist:

@veryvirginvirgil, @cinnamonrollpatton, @fandomsofrandom, @buzz-by-bee, @funsizedgremlin, @ccecode, @fandomfrend, @callboxkat @olirs55 @emissary-of-stuff @fudgeyouandyourmoose @sammy-writes-stuff @erlenmeyertrash @inksandpensblog @fancydelusionluminary @afilhadehades-blog @the-rainbow-witch @blue-astro @timeywimeygalaxy @equipodeleo-blog @roman-is-a-gay @romanasanders @sombraplayslazertag @officialotpgirl @peace-love-and-fandoms @everythingfanblogkingsman @ghostilda, @phlying-squirrel @sanderstalker @faithfreedom-art @myworstdays @give-me-a-minute-to-think @teenager-of-phandoms @obsessedfangirlwithissues @small-reptile-cake @thesoftestlittlepuffball @band-be-boss-blog @maya-tl @guys-chill @justsomerandomhooman @shadowjag @ignitethenight5984-blog @secretlyondrugs @anotherfandomtrasher-blog @nuttytheorizer @musicphanpie-b @kikifinntastic @kri-marie-b-the-nb @basically-trash5 @amazable01 @temmiecupcake @samathekittycat @aj-the-psycho @anxious-witch @i-identify-as-a-mango @heartsaved @today-only-happens-once @cosmic-melodies @justpure-trash @princessromania13 @lovingcreatorstrawberry @dreaming-about-kittens @hazelswann @jlyk-im-kinda-crazy-so-blog @ifwewerehistory @brownie-aunt @as-if-unreal @thefancon10ent @ps-reblogs @midnight-tragedyy @winterrs-child @booksnbandsnbooks @overly-caffinated-crow @croftersjam15 @lunatatic

Our Own Villain Ch. 9

Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10

Word Count: 5,570

Chapter Summary: Everything Roman has worked for threatens to crumble around him as Logan puts his plan to save his friends into motion.

Pairings: Logicality, could be read as romantic or platonic, platonic Moxiety

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, guilt, isolation and anger, overworking, fantasy violence, just generally unhealthy thought patterns going on for Roman.

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

AN: IT'S HERE! As always, I cannot post this story without acknowledging the incredible @theinvisiblespoon, who helped me edit this and resulted in over 400 extra words of flavor for this chapter. They're the absolute best! Also, shout out to @teacupfulofstarshine for helping me get over some writers block with a few of these passages, she's an absolute darling <3

— — —

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

The captain of the guard bowed low before Roman, a faint tremor in his posture betraying his nerves.

“I’ve had my men up all night, searching the city from top to bottom,” the captain continued, “but there’s been no sign of the fugitive.”

The man kept his head low, glancing tentatively up at Roman who paced back and forth across the floor of the throne room, arms crossed across his chest. He barely noticed the captain’s discomfort, lost entirely in thought.

Where could Logan be? There was no way he could have left the Imagination, so how had the guards not found him yet? Roman supposed he could have snuck out of the city somehow, but there was nothing for him out there but wilderness, and it was cruel, even for Logan, to run away without even trying to rescue Patton and Virgil. No, he had to be hidden somewhere, somewhere that he thought was clever enough to escape Roman’s notice.

“Keep searching, Captain,” he ordered. “He must be somewhere in the city. Perhaps he has enlisted the help of one of the townspeople and is being kept out of sight. Issue a decree that anyone found to be harboring criminals will face charges of treason. I want every-”

“Your Highness!” a new guard burst into the room, and Roman spun around with a glare.

“What is it now? Are you men so utterly incompetent that you’re incapable of following the most simple of commands? I said that I was not to be disturbed!”

“It’s just, your highness,” the guard stammered, cowering in the face of Roman’s rage. “There’s an attack at the gates–”

“What on earth makes you think I care about the gates right now?” Roman exclaimed. “There is a traitor loose in the city, corrupting the people and conspiring against me. Nothing at the gates could possibly be more important than finding–”

A roar pierced the air, and Roman went rigid, his hand automatically gripping the hilt of his sword.

“Dragon Witch,” he hissed, and the guard nodded frantically.

“She was spotted flying down from the mountains, your highness. The gate guard sent me to warn of her attack.”

Roman slammed his fist down on the table.

“Of course she would strike now, when we are distracted and unprepared. Captain, send criers through the streets to order your men to mobilize at the main gate. And bring me my armor! We must not let her take the city!”

The soldiers scrambled from the room, and for a moment, Roman stood alone. After everything he’d done, everything he’d worked for, he now was faced with this. His oldest and strongest enemy, coming to challenge him when he was at his weakest. Did she think he would simply cave before her might? He was Roman, Prince of the Imagination, Thomas’s Hero, the last bastion of goodness left for the entire mindscape. He wouldn’t be overthrown by a mere construct. He laughed to himself. No one was around to hear it.

The next several minutes were a flurry of activity, and soon Roman was on his horse, his silver breastplate glinting in the first red rays of sunrise poking over the horizon as he cantered through the city streets.

The thought of Logan somehow escaping the city during the battle briefly crossed his mind, but he pushed the idea away. They would find the logical side eventually; after all, there was nowhere for him to run.

Outside the city wall, the Dragon Witch let out another roar, and Roman urged his horse forward, drawing his sword.

Right now, Logan didn’t matter.

What did matter was making sure that his realm did not fall. He was Roman, Creativity, creator of this realm and Prince of the mindscape. He was a hero, the only hero Thomas had left after all the others had fallen prey to the wicked machinations of those accursed Dark Sides.

And nothing, not the others, not the Dragon Witch, nothing, was going to stand in his way.

— — —

Screams rang out through the streets as another of the Dragon Witch’s roars shook the city. Seth pressed himself up against the wall of the alleyway, peering out from behind a corner. The palace drawbridge lowered and Prince Roman and his guards in full armor appeared. The thunder of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestone and with the blare of the soldiers’ warhorns echoed all around Seth, and he ducked out of the way as the battalion rode past his hiding spot.

The market was quickly emptying as merchants and shoppers fled the streets, and he intended to take full advantage of the chaos. Now that he had secured a place by the square, he hoped to pilfer enough foodstuffs from the merchants to be set for at least a week. Seth waited until the last terrified shopkeeper had disappeared from sight, then he crept out from the alleyway into the square.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly pulled him back into the shadows. He spun with a cry, his fists up in an instant ready to strike, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who had attacked him.

“Maddie?”

“We had a deal, Seth,” the girl said, glaring at him.

“But I saw you…the Arachnids…”

“Show me the servant’s entrance, please,” Maddie interrupted, folding her arms.

“What, now? We’re in the middle of a siege! Come on, let’s comb through the market and see if we can get any–”

“Seth, if you don’t show me that servant’s entrance right now, I will ensure that you spend every waking moment for the rest of your life fighting tooth and nail for that market spot. I said it was yours once you showed me the entrance, and unless you take me right this second–”

“Okay, okay!” Seth said, raising his hands in surrender. “Sheesh, Maddie, what’s gotten into you?”

“It is vitally important that I gain access to the palace. The reason why doesn’t concern you,” Maddie said as Seth led her up the street towards the palace walls.

Luckily, the entire city guard had ridden out to the gates with the Prince to fight the Dragon Witch, and the barred gate where Seth met his contact on the palace staff stood unprotected.

“There’s a door on the other side of the garden that the servants use,” he said, pointing through the courtyard. “Though I don’t know why that would matter to you, it’s not like you could get in. There are easier places to steal food from, especially since the city is under attack right now?”

Maddie didn’t bother answering, she just pushed past him and pulled experimentally on the gate. It was locked and didn’t budge, but she didn’t seem put off by that fact.

“Thank you, Seth. Our deal is complete. The spot by the market is yours. Now, I suggest you take cover; as you so aptly pointed out, the city is under attack.”

“What about you?” Seth asked.

“I have something I need to do,” Maddie answered, pulling a small glass vial from her dress pocket. She uncorked the bottle and poured a few drops of its contents on the gate’s lock, and Seth stared in awe as the metal melted away like ice on a summer’s day.

“Now go,” Maddie ordered. “I’ll explain later…if we ever manage to resolve this whole ordeal.”

Part of Seth wanted to stay and see what on earth the girl was up to, but just then the very sky seemed to explode, bright purple lightning and blue streaks of light flashing all around as the ground shook. Seth became overwhelmed with nausea, and he fell to his knees, retching. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maddie still standing, seemingly unaffected by whatever strange spell had caused the world to fall apart around them. He tried to call out to her, but she slipped through the gate and disappeared into the palace grounds before he could force his mouth to form words.

As soon as it began, the lightning stopped, and after a moment of gasping, Seth regained his bearings. He looked at the open palace gate, but then another roar rang out, and he turned and ran back through the city towards his new market spot. Maybe after he scavenged what food he could, he’d risk the gangs and take cover in the sewers until this was all over. Whatever had Maddie acting all weird, he didn’t want to know about it. He’d have a hard enough time surviving the Red Sun as it was.

The Dragon Witch’s roar echoed through the streets and Seth stumbled as he skidded around a corner.

When would this madness end?

— — —

“Prince Roman!” the Dragon Witch called out, her voice reverberating through the city. “Show yourself and face me!”

She hurled a spell at the city walls, and they buckled and folded beneath the weight of her magic. She stretched out her wings and roared, the very sound of her fury sending a squad of guards who were approaching to draw back in fear. A few of the gate guards tried to stand their ground, but she batted them away easily with a swing of her tail.

Slowly, she stalked into the city, giving the peasants in the streets plenty of time to run screaming from her mighty presence. The slower and more dramatic she was in her approach, the more time it would give Prince Roman to muster his entire guard and ride out to face her.

After a few minutes of her lazy destruction, the sound of battle horns rang out in the distance, and the Dragon Witch smiled. Looking up, she caught sight of Prince Roman’s black and red banner fluttering in the breeze, signaling that her quarry was coming within her grasp.

“Ready, little hero?” she asked quietly. She felt the grip of the human sitting on her back tighten.

“As I’ll ever be,” came the answer, and the Dragon Witch chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured. “Just stick to the script we practiced and you’ll be fine.”

Prince Roman came into view then, and she had to give him credit where it was due. Even in this mindset, when the very fabric of her reality was changed because of his pain and anger and frustration, he was personally leading the charge against her. How many tyrant kings would send their armies out to die in a battle that they wouldn’t dare to risk themselves?

He wants so badly to be good, she thought as the prince stared up at her, his face twisted in a look of disgust. Not just good. Perfect. If only he could see the truth.

“So it comes down to this!” Roman called up in a loud, clear voice. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you capable of this level of betrayal, Logan.”

He spat the name out like it was poison, and the Dragon Witch felt her passenger tense.

You can do this, little hero, she thought. Save us all.

“Prince Roman!” Logan’s voice was firm and unwavering, and the Dragon Witch couldn’t help the small swell of pride she felt at the sound.

“Release your prisoners and surrender, or see your realm destroyed!”

— — —

Roman stared up in disbelief as the Dragon Witch sneered down at him. Of all the possible outcomes, of all the ways that he’d expected a confrontation with the last remaining free Light Side to go, he’d never expected this.

Logan sat on the Dragon Witch’s back, staring down at Roman with a determined expression on his face. He looked almost comical, in his simple polo shirt, tie, and glasses while riding atop such a majestic and mighty beast, but Roman wasn’t in the mood to find humor in the situation.

“Release my prisoners?” Roman repeated. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, we will destroy the realm,” Logan repeated simply.

“If you think that I and my forces won’t be able to defeat the Dragon Witch before she destroys the city, let alone the realm, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Logan frowned, tilting his head.

“You would risk your entire world’s existence, rather than accept defeat?”

“I’ve not been defeated yet!” Roman shot back. “Besides, I made this world. If it is destroyed, then I will simply make it again. Your threat is meaningless!”

“And the lives of the people living in it?” Logan demanded. “Are they meaningless too?”

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, the world split apart. Purple lightning filled the sky, and he let out a cry of anguish as a wave of emotion slammed into the walls he’d placed up between his realm and Thomas.

There was the same fear and anxiety from Virgil as there had been before, but there was also sadness, doubt, and guilt, manifesting in bright blue flashes throughout the storm. The guilt was somehow even more debilitating than the fear, and as he fought to keep the emotions from reaching Thomas, he could feel his grip on the realm itself slipping.

No… he thought, desperately trying to hold on to his composure. No, no, no…

— — —

It has to be perfect. If it’s not perfect, then I’m just a fraud, I’ve basically been lying to my fans this entire time, and I can’t let that be true, I won’t let them down like that, it has to be perfect.

Thomas let out a gasp as his creative flow slammed to a halt, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread.

“It will be good enough,” he said aloud to his empty room, but the swirling thoughts of dread and despair only grew stronger.

But what if it isn’t? What if you’ll never make anything worth watching again and all the sacrifices you’ve made, all the friendships you’ve harmed along the way, all of that will have been for nothing? Your dreams will never come true and your friends will all abandon you. You’ve never really been that good a person anyway, why on earth would they stay? You’ll end up all alone for the rest of your life, and it will be your fault.

“What is going on?”

Thomas started to reach out for his sides, but he wasn’t sure who exactly to summon. Who could be responsible for this type of thinking? He’d never felt like this before, as though his thoughts were being forcibly pulled out of his control, except…

Except for that time when Virgil had ducked out. He hadn’t been as aware of it, but his thoughts had felt just like this: foreign and strange and fully divorced from what he was directly experiencing.

Thomas frowned, and decided that the best thing to do would be to summon all the sides together. He started to reach out with his mind, but before he could contact anyone specific, somebody appeared in the corner of his vision.

Unfortunately, it was the last side he wanted to see.

“Janus?” he asked. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I think you should take a break, Thomas,” Janus said quietly. “Put the laptop away and try to get some rest.”

“What? No,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “I need to keep working on this, it’s my best idea ever. It could completely change the course of my creative career, I just have to get these feelings under control and then I’ll–”

“Thomas,” Janus interrupted sharply. “You’ve been working for fifteen hours straight.”

Thomas glanced at the time on his laptop and was startled to see that Janus was right; it was nearly three in the morning, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d stopped to take a break.

“You need to stop,” Janus said, his voice firm. “Your magnum opus can wait until tomorrow.”

“I guess…” Thomas said slowly. “But what’s going on with the others? I felt…strange, just now.”

“Get some sleep,” Janus said. “If everything goes right, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Thomas frowned, giving Janus a skeptical look.

“Is that my Deceitful side lying to me, or is it the truth?”

“At the end of the day, does that really matter?” Janus asked with a tight smile. “Either way, you need the rest.”

“I suppose,” Thomas said, stifling a yawn even as he spoke.

Janus watched as he closed his laptop and got up, a strange expression on his face. Thomas tried not to pay him much attention, quickly swapping his jeans out for some pajama pants before falling into bed.

“Summon the others tomorrow,” Janus said as Thomas closed his eyes. “By then, they should have things straightened out.”

Thomas was already drifting off, and he felt more than heard Janus’s final words.

“I hope.”

— — —

Roman was losing his control. He looked up, and he could see the imagination around him beginning to crumble away. He noticed bits and pieces from his room, the bright white of his bedspread, the shine of the lights around his mirror, the blood red of his sash where he’d thrown it on the floor. The fantasy around him– his soldiers, his city, the Dragon Witch, even Logan himself– it was all flickering in and out of existence as the mental barrage continued.

“NO!”

Roman stopped trying to channel the emotions away and instead closed his eyes and pushed, forcing his mental walls back up, stronger and better than before.

“You won’t take this from me!”

He opened his eyes, only to see that the outburst of energy had reverted the Dragon Witch into her human form. She stood before him, leaning heavily against her magic staff, Logan now on his hands and knees at her side. Roman drew his sword, pointing it at the pair with a shaking hand.

“You. Can’t. Take this from me!”

Logan’s entire body was trembling, but he looked up and met Roman’s gaze, glaring at him even as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“You’re insane,” he whispered.

Roman let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

“If you just now figured that out, then you’re…” he trailed off, looking down at the shaking side.

He had begun to fade away as Roman’s control over the imagination loosened, but he was fully solid again now. His breath was ragged and his skin was pale, as though he’d just attempted to run a marathon while running a fever.

“You’re…not part of this realm,” Roman said slowly. “You’re part of Thomas. You shouldn’t have disappeared.”

Logan still looked ill, but at Roman’s words he pushed himself to his feet.

“What was that word he used?” Logan asked, looking over at the Dragon Witch, and a small, triumphant smile spread across his face as he looked back to Roman. “Checkmate.”

Roman’s eyes widened, then the Dragon Witch lashed out suddenly, her staff glowing as she swung it towards him in a wide arc. Roman threw his sword up and blocked her strike, and her spell went ricocheting off through the city.

For a moment, all his attention was on the fight, on blocking and parrying and counter attacking, but he’d sparred with the Dragon Witch dozens of times, in both of her forms. By the third strike from the witch, he’d settled into a familiar rhythm, and turned his attention back to Logan…or what he’d thought was Logan.

“Who are you?” he shrieked. “You can’t be him! He shouldn’t have disappeared! So you must be–”

“Meaningless?” asked a voice he’d never heard before.

Roman pushed the Dragon Witch away and took a step back, staring in disbelief as Logan’s form began to flicker, just like the rest of the imagination had, just like all the other characters Roman had designed to fill his vast fantasy world had done when he was losing his control over the scene. But he was back in control now; this shifting had another cause. He’d barely had enough time to form the thought before the image of Logan was gone.

In his place stood a barefoot girl in a tattered dress, her hair a wild mass of curls and her fists clenched at her sides. She looked somehow…familiar, and Roman tilted his head.

“Do I know you?”

The girl didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. He remembered now, for the longer he looked at her the more he recognized where she’d come from. When he’d first created the town surrounding the castle, he’d decided it needed citizens to make it feel more lived in. He’d made soldiers, peasants, shopkeepers, tradesmen and artisans, and then, to make the place more realistic, he’d made a handful of street urchins.

He’d scarcely given the creations any thought after forming them and setting them loose in the city, and why would he? They weren’t meant to be important; the girl had no family, no backstory, no real role to play in his realm. So how on earth had she ended up here, fighting alongside the Dragon Witch and impersonating one of Thomas’s sides?

She looked up at him and he could see fear in her eyes, but there was a quiet strength too. The girl folded her arms and took a step towards him, and the Dragon Witch held out an arm, as if to shield her.

“Careful, little hero,”she murmured, and Roman looked back and forth between the two in disbelief. The girl ignored the witch and took another step, looking up at Roman with a determined expression.

“Like I said,” she repeated. “Checkmate.”

Roman turned and ran, knowing even as he did so that he’d never make it back to the palace in time.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he should have known something was wrong! Why else would the Dragon Witch attack now when she’d never attacked during the Red Sun before? Why else, except to draw him and all his guards away from the palace, leaving the castle vulnerable to an unseen enemy, a more crafty enemy…

A shadow fell over him, and he glanced up as he ran to see the witch in her dragon form flying along above him, the little girl on her back once more. She quickly overtook him, and landed in the market square, spreading her wings out and blocking his path to the castle.

“You’re too late, Prince Roman,” the Dragon Witch declared.

“I’ve defeated you before,” Roman cried, shifting into a fighting stance. “I can defeat you again!”

“You can defeat me all you like,” the Dragon Witch replied, her mocking voice echoing his own inner thoughts. “But you’ll never be able to outsmart him.”

— — —

Logan had no idea what was causing Roman’s realm to fall apart, but he was exceptionally grateful for it.

The few remaining guards inside the castle were too overwhelmed by the effects of their very fabric of reality unraveling around them to notice a small girl running through the corridors searching for the dungeons.

He found the correct door after only a few minutes of searching; Roman’s penchant for the dramatic meant the one door that very obviously looked as though it led to a dungeon did in fact lead to a dungeon, and he pulled the vial of acid the Dragon Witch had given him out of his pocket. Technically, the Dragon Witch had described the liquid inside as a magical potion that would dissolve any substance besides its own container, but the ‘potion’ was functionally identical to a freakishly effective vial of hydrochloric acid.

Tomato, Solanum lycopersicum, Logan thought as he poured a few drops onto the door handle of the dungeon. After a moment of sizzling, the lock dissolved away and he pushed the door open.

The room was dark, faint torchlight flickering ominously off the stone walls. Six cells lined the room, and the two at the end of the row were occupied.

“Patton?” he called. “Virgil?”

The prisoners looked up, and relief flooded through him when he saw their faces.

“Maddie?” Patton cried, jumping to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Who is that?” Virgil whispered to Patton, but Logan ignored the question.

“Not Maddie,” he said breathlessly. “It’s me.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another vial, downing its contents in a single gulp. A strange tingling sensation enveloped his body, and he had to admit that in this case, he didn’t have a scientific explanation for the shapeshifting potion that the Dragon Witch had given him.

“Logan?” Virgil asked in disbelief.

“Watch your hands,” Logan said, stepping forward to pour the remainder of the acid on the locks on their cell doors.

“I knew you’d figure something out,” Patton said, his eyes shining with pride. “I just knew it.”

In a moment, both cells were open, and Patton rushed out, pulling Logan and Virgil both into a bone crushing hug. For once, Logan didn’t think, didn’t analyze or worry, he just wrapped his arms around his friends and let himself slump into them.

They were all safe, and they were all together. For one, shining moment, that was all that mattered.

“Are the two of you alright?” he asked when he eventually pulled back. “You’re not injured, are you?”

Patton shook his head.

“We’re fine, Logan,” he said, and Virgil nodded in agreement.

“My head will be a bit sore for a few days, but I’ll live. What about you? We heard the Dragon Witch attacking…”

“I’m fine,” Logan reassured him. “In fact, the Dragon Witch attack is my own doing.”

“What?” Virgil exclaimed.

“The potion…” Patton said, his eyes widening. “That’s where you got that potion that made you look like Maddie, isn’t it?”

“Technically, the potion made me look like myself, as it was an antidote to the spell that she cast to make me look like Maddie–”

“Hang on, where is Maddie?” Patton interrupted.

“She’s with the Dragon Witch…pretending to be me.” Patton’s jaw dropped open, and Logan grimaced. “I know! I tried to tell her that it would be safer if she stayed behind in the cave, but she insisted. She said that the distraction would hold Roman’s attention for longer if I appeared to be aiding the Dragon Witch directly in her assault.”

“Back up,” Virgil said, holding up his hands. “You let the Dragon Witch cast a spell on you?”

“She is Roman’s biggest villain,” Logan said simply. “Asking her to help us defeat him was the only logical choice left.”

“To be fair,” Patton admitted, “It’s not that much crazier than what we tried to do.”

Logan frowned.

“What you tried to do?”

“We’ll tell you on the way out,” Virgil said. “Right now, we should move, before the guards come back.”

Logan nodded, and the three turned and began making their way out of the dungeon.

“Remember what happened on the bridge?” Patton asked as they climbed the stairs, and Logan nodded. “Well, I had a feeling that it wasn’t Roman who caused it…I thought it might have been Virgil. And it turns out I was right!”

“You caused the Imagination to fall apart?” Logan asked, looking back at Virgil. “How?”

Virgil shrugged.

“I’m not exactly sure. I had an overload of anxiety, but something was blocking me from channeling it away the way I normally do.”

“Roman’s cutting off our access to Thomas,” Patton added. “I think that’s also why we can’t sink out. Reach out for him now; you can’t feel him, can you?”

They’d reached the top of the stairs, and Logan paused. Normally, he was at least subconsciously aware of whatever external stimuli Thomas was experiencing, so that he could filter through the information and assist with decision making. He’d been so distracted by the quest to save Virgil and Patton that he hadn’t even noticed the lack of that awareness.

“I can’t,” he said aloud, and Patton nodded.

“I can’t either. Whatever Roman’s done, it’s making him our only access point to Thomas. So we’ve been waiting for the right time to try overloading that access point.”

“When we heard the Dragon Witch attacking, we thought it would be our best shot,” Virgil said. “And for a minute there I thought we would actually do it, but just before we could break through, the wall went back up again. Somehow, Roman was still stronger than the two of us put together.”

“Perhaps…” Logan mused. “But nonetheless, the two of you did have a strong effect on the Imagination. I wonder…would it be successful if all three of us tried to breach that barrier?”

As they spoke, Logan led them outside and through the palace gardens to the servants’ gate in the side of the wall. The three stepped out onto the street, and Virgil looked around hesitantly.

“So…now what?” he asked.

Logan opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a familiar roar sounding from the market square. He grimaced, and looked back at his companions.

“Our original plan was to try and sneak out of the city. But simply escaping from Roman isn’t actually going to solve this problem.”

Patton glanced at Virgil, and at a small tilt of the anxious side’s head, he locked eyes with Logan and nodded.

“You’re right,” he said firmly. “This whole thing happened because we’ve been ignoring this problem. The only way we’re going to bring an end to this is if we confront it head on.”

“Guess we’ll get a chance to test out your hypothesis, Logan,” Virgil added as they hurried towards the square.

“If it comes to that,” Logan agreed. “I do still hope that we’ll be able to use reason with Roman, though after all we’ve done to reach this point, I don’t know if that will be effective.”

“Probably not,” Patton said quietly, and Logan glanced at him.

Patton met his eyes for a moment, and Logan was surprised at the amount of melancholy he saw there. All through their ordeal, Patton had maintained a level of optimism that bordered on recklessness. As much as Logan had found that to be unrealistic, he also had relied on it for strength more than he’d realized. That Roman had somehow managed to dampen that was almost more offensive than the fact that he’d locked Patton and Virgil up.

Before Logan could think of an appropriate response, the trio rounded the corner into the square, then immediately skidded to a halt. Patton let out a gasp and Virgil swore under his breath; all Logan could do was stand there blankly and take in the scene.

Guards in full regalia lined the square, blocking off every possible avenue of escape. The Dragon Witch lay sprawled out on the ground, a deep wound in her side causing her breath to come in quick, pained gasps.

Roman stood over her fallen body, and the red sunlight shining down on his silver breastplate made it look as if he was bathed in blood. His face was twisted in a terrible mix of fury and triumph, and he brandished his sword at his defeated foe, as though daring her to stand and challenge him again.

She was in her dragon form, but as her wound spilled blood down onto the cobblestones, that body fizzled away, revealing the humanoid woman Logan had first met outside her lair. Her robes were torn and bloody and her face was deathly pale, but her eyes still blazed with a defiant fire as she stared up at her opponent.

“Any final words, Witch?” Roman asked in a steely voice.

The Dragon Witch opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a high pitched cry rang out through the square.

“Stay back!”

Maddie darted forward, putting herself between Roman and the witch’s body, gripping Dragon Witch’s staff tightly in both hands. The thing was nearly twice her height and she brandished it clumsily, but Roman still paused in his advance.

“Out of my way, girl,” he said, but Maddie shook her head.

“I said back!” she insisted, shaking the staff towards him.

“Run along now, little hero,” the Dragon Witch coughed, reaching weakly towards the girl as if to pull her back. “Your part is done.”

Maddie shook her head again, and Roman frowned.

“I won’t tell you again. Stand. Down,” he said coldly.

Maddie shifted her feet and gripped the staff more tightly, but she did not move, and Roman sighed, raising his sword.

“Enough!” Logan shouted before he could bring the blade down.

Roman looked up, his eyes flashing with hatred as they landed on his three fellow sides. Logan’s confidence faltered as the full force of that glare landed on him and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s not enough? I have no more tricks up my sleeve…if this plan fails, then what are we going to do?

Logan’s racing thoughts were pulled to a stop with a sudden, simple touch. He looked down and saw that Patton had stepped forward and intertwined their fingers. The moral side glanced up at him and nodded, a slight waver in his smile the only sign betraying his own nerves. Virgil stepped up beside them, locking eyes with Logan as he wordlessly took Patton’s other hand. An understanding passed between them, and Logan smiled, giving Patton’s hand an encouraging squeeze. He looked back to the square, and took a deep breath.“Enough, Roman!” he repeated, his voice steady and strong. “This ends now!”

— — —

AN: So I know that LAST time I updated I said I wanted to update the fic more and then almost 5 years passed, but I can say with confidence that THIS YEAR chapter 10 at least will be released, if not the entire end of the fic (I won't actually know whether the conclusion takes one or two chapters to write until I, you know, write it, but it's outlined, I promise). I've been trying to finish this story for so long, and I know it looks like nothing happened between these updates, but rest assured, I thought about this story and how much I wanted to finish it often during these past few years. Thank you so much for being patient with me, and thank you to anyone who still has stuck around to read this, even after all this time. I love each and every one of y'all <3

(If you were on the Our Own Villain taglist, I will be tagging you in a reblog, tagging has changed so much in four years that my taglist copy-paste doesn't even work anymore)

#taglist reblog #my writing

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arvandus · 3 years ago

Note

For the word search game: Soft

🤍

Kiiiinda cheated for this one but it’s my game so I do what I want. 😆

The insane urge to draw his thumb across the skin – to feel its plump softness – overcame him.

#arvandus answers #cosmic-rainbow-trash #touch game

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min0uze · 4 years ago

Note

Hey!!! I just finished reading the doujinshi and I AM FLOORED. The story is fantastic, and the art... *mwah* (chef’s kiss)!!! I’m actually trying to write a reinterpretation of Stardust Crusaders right now. I heard that somewhere along the line of writing Part 3, Araki wanted to have a female crusader join the group, but she was eventually cut. I wanted to explore that idea. I was wondering how does one make the addition of a new character so seamless, & where did you learn to format comics? ❤️

Ahh thank you so much!! I’m so happy you loved my doujinshi ;w;

Ohh that’s a very interesting idea!!! I didn’t know Araki wanted to do that :0

Hmmm honestly I think it’s important to make sure the other characters around the one you’re adding stay in-character, because it’s them who will make your added character believable

And well, formatting comic is just like any form or art, it takes practice :0 I used to have askblogs here on tumblr for my faves (asknarumayo, dont-ask-for-bread and plus-ultrask), and tried drawing a kakashi x oc doujinshi when i was like 12 JDHFJDHG so yeah... i just have a bit of practice TwT

#cosmic-rainbow-trash

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embracing-the-ineffable · 8 months ago

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Rainbow nebula color splash for everyone!

Join in if you want to! 3/25/24 is Holi this year! @tragic-cosmic-magic @crowleybrekkers @lil-king-trash-mouth @eybefioro @weasleywrinkles

HAPPY HOLI TO EVERYONE WHO CELEBRATES IT (IT'S A HINDU FESTIVAL OF COLOURS) BUT PLEASE GOD SOMEONE RESCUE ME FROM @thearoacemess AND @hello-ello-ello WHO ARE TRYING TO STRONG ARM ME INTO WATCHING AN INDIAN MOVIE ABOUT, AND I QUOTE, "ALIENS" AND "FLYING SHAWTIES".

PLEASE SAVE ME.

I'D RATHER REWATCH THAT ONE MOVIE WHERE HALF AN HOUR OF SCREENTIME IS DEDICATED TO NIGHTMARISH ANIMATION, ANOTHER FIFTEEN MINUTES TO A SHROOM TRIP, THE MAIN CHARACTER IS PROBABLY A VAMPIRE BUT IT'S NEVER ADDRESSED, AND THEY PLAY PUPPET WITH THE CORPSE OF THE FAMILY MATRIARCH.

#HOLI TAG GAME #tag game #holi 2024 #happyholi #holicelebration

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sprnklersplashes · 3 years ago

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soulmate tattoo au because I’m trash (ao3)

Charlie Spring has spent the past four years and eight months of his life wondering how he ended up with this particular soulmate tattoo and which sin he committed in a previous life to be stuck with it.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he were like Elle and Tao, whose tattoos are so specific to one another that Tao fell off his chair when he first introduced them. And even when it took them a week to work it out, that was nothing more than stupid little preteen butterflies dancing in the way. Or perhaps if he were more like Isaac, who manages to be still blase about the concept of soulmates. Whenever Charlie asks, Isaac simply offers a wry smile and says that his soulmate is whichever book he’s reading at the moment. It’s slightly puzzling to Charlie, how he can treat the idea of his cosmically approved life partner with such disregard, but it makes him sort of calming to be around. He keeps him from completely spiralling, and sometimes he forgets how much he needs that.

These are the two options. One the universe could have given him, in the form of a less-general, more unique soulmate mark. The other he could give himself by simply calming down a little, not spending close to every waking moment obsessing over something he can’t control.

But no. Instead, he gets to be the type who clings to this as-yet-unknown soulmate, to cross days off his calendar until the day they finally meet. And that wouldn’t be so bad in itself if his soulmate tattoo, the first words his life partner will ever utter to him, is fucking hi .

So yes. He would have a serious bone to pick with the universe if he were the bone picking type. And his soulmate, whoever the hell they are.

“Are you sure that’s all there is to it?” Tao had asked him one day. They were thirteen, sitting in Tao’s room on a long-overdue Mario Kart session. Charlie had dropped the controller at the question, causing Yoshi to fly right off Rainbow Road. He turned to Tao, his mouth agape and his eyebrows so far raised that his fringe hid them. Tap had simply shrugged, so innocent-looking that Charlie wondered for a moment if he’d misheard them.

He told them all, Tao, Elle, and Isaac, just under a year prior. He knows that you’re not meant to tell anyone except your soulmate. It’s either a complete breach of trust or a bit taboo, depending on who you ask. But he’s found more people who’ve flouted that rule than followed it. Especially in school. Girls gleefully pull up shirts and roll up sleeves, showing their friends the sacred words inked on their skin and squealing with delighted anticipation. Boys tease each other, daring their mates to defy the universe and share it with them. It’s some macho thing he’s never understood, a contest of who is brave enough to be so vulnerable.

Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t already know Elle and Tao’s. If only because Elle called him the day after meeting Tao completely freaking out. Isaac keeps his under lock and key, and that’s fine by him. But he’s yet to meet one person who got messed up due to sharing theirs, and he needed to tell someone.

“What?” he had asked, dragging out every syllable. Tao ran a hand through his hair and looked back at the screen, his jaw clenching as his Wario slid into second place.

“Just… you know. It’s one word,” he explained. “Maybe the rest of it is somewhere else, and you just haven’t noticed.”

Charlie looks down, tossing the controller between his hands. Of course, Tao didn’t mean to, but a flurry of memories fluttered in his mind. Each one is more embarrassing than the last. Tao doesn’t press any further, but his eyes flit over to Charlie, and he watches his friend’s face soften, the classic ��open mouth insert foot’ expression creasing his face.

“Do you want to-”

“I have checked,” Charlie says at precisely the same time. He looks over at him, their eyes meeting in a clash of openness, embarrassment and realisation. He shrugs, pretending like it’s no big deal. “Everywhere.”

“Oh.” Tao nods. Silence descends on the room for a few seconds. It cools Charlie’s cheeks and lessens the pressure sitting on his chest. The corner of his mouth even curls up, although he forces it down just as quickly. A laugh bubbles up in his throat, and he swallows it. Tao’s head is turned away from him, but when he cranes his neck, he sees the glitter in his eyes.

“Everywhere?”

“Oh, shut up!” Charlie hits him with a pillow, and then the world is enveloped in their laughter.

He meets Ben a few months later. It begins with that same word that’s been giving him heart attacks for years now, but it’s slightly different now. It’s different because Ben is pretty and has soft-looking lips and lovely eyes, and currently, he’s the only person outside of his friend group who looks at him without disgust in his eyes. His social standing has gone from bad to worse in the past weeks, so Ben even looking his way feels odd. Actual verbal words feel unthinkable.

“S-sorry? Are you talking to me?” he had said. Ben smiled at that, beautiful and slightly terrifying. They were alone in the quiet little room where he kept his drum kit, and Charlie tried not to kick himself. Ben slid closer to him, the neon lights reflected in his brown eyes, and Charlie’s blood ran cold. The fateful first words hung between them like dust in sunbeams, the anticipation so thick Charlie felt in danger of strangulation.

“Who else would I be talking to?” he said quietly. He looked around then, his jaw clenching. His knee brushed gently against Charlie’s. “What’re you doing after school?”

Charlie stumbled out of the room and into maths just minutes later, his brain buzzing like a radio searching for a signal and the ghost of Ben’s kiss lingering on his lips.

In hindsight, he should’ve listened to Tori.

His sister has similar views to Isaac on the soulmate issue. At least, he thinks she does. He knows it goes against her worldview, her professional, permanent pessimism. She’s kept her tattoo a closely guarded secret her whole life, leaving Charlie wondering if she had one. Tori is an old soul trapped in a teenage girl’s body. He wouldn’t be surprised if this weren’t her first turn about the globe. She has a kind of wisdom most people her age probably shouldn’t have, and he forgot that right when he needed it most.

“You seem happy,” she had remarked. It was a few weeks into his and Ben’s relationship, and that day was a particularly good kissing session. They had even talked a little bit before and after. Not that he was planning on telling Tori any of that, not when it was so new, and Ben was still figuring himself out. So he settled to hide his grin behind his phone and pretend he wasn’t eyeing his DMs. Tori knew, of course. “Do I get to know his name?”

“What makes you think there’s a he?” he had asked, feigning calmness. “Why can’t I just be happy about life?”

“Intuition,” she replied before taking a sip of her lemonade. “No one is that happy about life itself.”

“Well, your intuition might be off.” Tori raised an eyebrow at him, a silent how very dare you in her action. “And some people are happy about life.”

“Yeah. Weirdos.”

Charlie went back to Instagram, chuckling under his breath at Tao’s story. His friend’s newest drawing filled the split-screen; the picture turned landscape on the top and portrait on the bottom. A mess of colours and lines, and in the middle, Tao put a poll, asking his followers to decide if it was a Tree or a Lampost. He put a hashtag #impressionism for good measure. Charlie selected the tree and sent a quick “Van Gogh is shaking”.

“What did he say to you?” Tori asked. Charlie looked up, his hands tightening on his phone to stop them from shaking. He replayed the last three minutes in his head and was sure he never gave anything away about Ben.

“Who?”

“You know.” She sipped her lemonade quietly. “Your mystery boy.”

“I told you,” he said. “There is no mystery boy.”

“I see.” Tori turned her back to him then, back to whatever she was blogging about before she got the urge to annoy him. Charlie let out a long exhale and opened 2048, planning to swipe numbers into each other until his pulse returned to normal.

Unfortunately, his sister wasn’t done.

“Did he say it?” He didn’t need to ask what she meant by ‘it’. The inflection in her voice was enough. Did he utter that fateful word destined to turn his world upside down? Is this it now? Has he found the person he’s meant to be with forever? The start of a new part of his life, the one where it’s him and Ben. Is the great question finally answered?

His hand moved to his arm of its own accord, fingers brushing against where his jumper conceals his mark. It’s there. He could find that spot blindfolded in a dark room. It’s like another limb, an extension of himself despite it being flat on his skin.

The word yeah formed in his mind and stuck in his throat. The possibility of it being Ben was steadily solidifying in his mind, and he was left cold and shaky if he thought about it for too long.

“Be careful, even if he did,” Tori said as if she had heard him. “Just… be careful.” She turned and looked over her shoulder, and Charlie could see the older-sister protective glint in her eyes. “You have to be sure about those things.”

“Can I ask you something?” he asked Elle one lunchtime. The two of them sat in the corner of the art room, watching Tao slave over a project he had until the end of the day to finish. There’s enough space between them that he doubts Tao will listen in, plus the pure, unbreakable concentration on his work has him trapped for at least an hour.

“Sure.”

Charlie rubs his hands together, his mouth dry. He wrote three drafts of this question down during maths and muttered it under his breath repeatedly, yet now his mind is a blank page.

“When you… heard Tao for the first time…. How did you know?” Elle turns, her eyebrow raised. Her mouth might hang open, too, were it not for the raw carrot she just bit into. She chews slowly, digesting Charlie’s question, and he sees her mind working behind her eyes.

“Why?” she asked in a low voice. “Did someone-”

“Maybe,” he says quickly. Her eyes widen, and he jumps in before she can start the parade. “I just need to know. Mine is so common. It’s not fair. So was there anything else? Some… other sign that you knew it was Tao?”

Elle leans back, her hands pressed flat against the table. Her legs kick in the air as she ponders, lips pursed, and Charlie waits with rapt attention and regrets opening his mouth.

“Yeah,” she says after a while. “Yeah, I guess there was.” There’s a sort of dreamy, soft smile on her face that almost lessens his regret. “I can’t explain it. But it was like… It was like realising I was trans. Minus all the… you know… stuff.” She gestures vaguely with her hand. “But it was this feeling of…. Oh. Like some missing piece of myself slot into place-the world slotted into place.” She picks at her trousers. “Sorry if this sounds weird.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “So you just… even if you’d forgotten what your tattoo said… you’d have known.”

She pauses for a long time, then whispers, “yeah”. It sounds almost like a prayer, like something he shouldn’t overhear.

She slips her hand into his and gives it a squeeze.

“Don’t worry, kid,” she tells him. “When you find your little hi, you’ll know.”

“My little hi,” he echoes. He turns to her, a dumb joke about ‘feeling a little high’ ready, but his buzzing phone cuts him off.

‘Meet tomorrow morning?’ He turns his head slightly as he answers, hoping Elle won’t see the pink blush on his cheeks. He does note the irony of Ben texting him now when he’s been on his mind all day. As though Charlie willed this text into existence.

Timing is a funny thing, to put it mildly.

He made up his mind that night; Ben was his soulmate. It wasn’t just a coincidence; it was fate. Ben didn’t even know what his tattoo said, and he’s the first person who said it to him and stuck around. He felt everything Elle said she felt with Tao, an overwhelming rush, feeling like he’d finally found his place. As for Tori, she was just being protective. Ben was his soulmate, he decided he knew it, and everything else was just because soulmates are scary.

Unsurprisingly, he was wrong.

He had asked Ben carefully, quietly, a month into it. Ben had pulled away from him, face creasing with confusion, and asked why he wanted to know. Charlie even offered to show him his. Ben had just smiled in a way that was just ambiguous to make him believe it and said he’d show him later. Charlie didn’t mind because everything about Ben lived in the land of later. He’ll introduce Charlie to his friends ‘later’, they’d hang out at his house ‘later’, so Charlie can see his soulmate tattoo ‘later’.

Except later came, and he never saw it. Charlie showed him his though, and in the absence of anything else, he took Ben’s kiss as proof.

He discovered Ben’s lie just before Christmas break. Discovered the girlfriend, what his mark said, everything. They came after each other in quick succession like a stream of bullets fired at him. Ben dealt with it by ignoring him and then distracting him with kisses when they were alone. Charlie had pushed him off, a deep shame filling him. First for believing him, then for having unknowingly gone behind this poor girl’s back. All he could do was ask why; “why didn’t you tell me about her, why didn’t you tell me your mark wasn’t about me, why did you let me think it was?”

“Why do you even care?” Ben shouted back, his voice echoing off the lockers. They were alone; everyone else had gone home for the break, which was likely the only reason Ben was being so loud. Charlie squirmed at the disgust in Ben’s eyes, the exact look he’d spent months enduring from his classmates. The one Ben didn’t have, which drew him into him.

“Ben I-”

“What?” The corner of his mouth twitched up then, disbelief clouding his brown eyes. “You thought we were soulmates?” He barked a laugh, cold and jagged as barbed wire. “You’re not even my boyfriend, Charlie. How could you think that?”

“I-” The syllable spluttered out pathetically, and his voice wasn’t nearly as strong as his answer deserved. “I never want to see you again.”

They both stood there, digesting his declaration. Charlie watched as Ben’s image blurred and distorted, the colours of his uniform blending with the colours of his skin, his hair. Vaguely, he heard Ben warn him not to tell anyone about them. He grabbed his arm and pulled him close, his hot breath scratching against Charlie’s face.

When he let go and walked away, Charlie looked down at his arm. The fabric of his jumper was twisted and wrinkled, right over where his mark is.

How could he think that indeed?

If Charlie was frustrated by his mark before, this is what makes him loath it. He sits in the corner of his room that night, staring down at his arm. The two letters sit in neat handwriting, and he kicks himself again for thinking it was Ben. Every story he has heard about soulmates thus far talks about the joy of finding your life partner, the safety of knowing you’ll never have to go through anything alone. Even those who haven’t found theirs treat their marks with reverence, dreaming about their person being out there, somewhere. The marks make every day an adventure for most people, yet his has made his life unbearable.

He shudders against his wall, his skin crawling as Ben’s phantom hands wander on it. He’s not the first to have kissed someone other than his soulmate, and there’s no rule saying you can’t. But he believed he was, and the violation cuts deep into his body. He touches his fingers to his lips, only to gag when he remembers they’re the same lips Ben had kissed. He had let Ben kiss him there and was happy to as long as he dangled that promise in front of him. The more he thinks about it, the deeper the knife goes, and worse still, he can’t stop. It’s like an addict chugging drink; his mind goes deeper despite his heart’s pleas to stop. Tears and snot mix with the sweat running down his face, and he drags his nails up and down his bare legs, praying for a relief that never comes. His heart gets louder and faster and louder and faster, and it crawls up in his throat until he grabs a pillow and releases his scream into it.

Tori appeared in the doorway, her laptop clutched close to her chest. There’s a distinct lack of “I told you so” in her gaze that most sisters might have, making it worse.

“Go away,” he mutters. She doesn't listen because, of course, she doesn’t, and the bed sinks as she sits down beside him. She doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he feels her hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. They stay there; no words exchanged, just her hand and him crying, which turns to hiccuping and gasping, which turn to shuddered breaths. Eventually, his legs move, and the pillow is soaked through and turned from yellow to a sort of beige. Tori pulls his hair away from his sticky cheeks and smooths it out, bringing back memories from their childhood. Her touch is so gentle that it almost shocks him. This whole thing had nearly made him forget soft touches existed.

Seconds, then minutes, pass in silence, but Tori’s eyes never leave his face. Her intuition can only lead her so far; she needs him to finish the puzzle for her. His throat tightens as he tries to say it, his body begging him to leave it in the past. Let him pretend it never happened.

“I showed him,” is all he says.

Tori doesn’t need to say anything. The look on her face is enough.

He decides he’s finished with soulmates after that. Everyone else can have theirs, fine, but looking at his mark now makes him retch. He first covers it with a plaster, then with makeup. It takes time to get it right, and even then, he lives with the knowledge that it’s there, just a baby wipe away. The mark taunts him with the knowledge that he can’t remove it. Nothing in life is permanent except this stupid thing, and it will be a reminder of every time he got his hopes up and that day he was stupid enough to let someone in. Some days he swears he feels it burning on his skin; other days, he can’t bear to use that arm for anything.

He wonders if he could cut it out. He tells himself he wouldn't, but he Googles it all the same. Just to check. Apparently, very few have tried cutting their soulmate mark off. To do so is unthinkable, even as he considers it.

He finds one story from a girl whose soulmate died too soon. She said she sliced through her mark when it became too painful to look at, but when the wound healed, the words remained, as did the scars.

“They were the first words she ever said to me,” her statement reads. “And now I’ve ruined them forever.”

Below is an image of her soulmate’s first words to her inked across her shoulder blades, but thick white lines run between and behind them. The picture is shocking, even with the warning beforehand. To see a mark disfigured like this is like to see a person with their face sliced away, and Charlie snaps the computer shut.

So the mark remains hidden until he learns to live with it.

“Oh! If it isn’t Charlie Spring, happy new year.”

“Hi, sir.”

“Come to join the ranks of Hamlet House?”

“Apparently so.” If Mr Lange picks upon his prickly disposition, he doesn’t comment on it. It’s not as though he didn’t try to pick himself up. And the Christmas break had been better than he thought it would, though he has a sneaking suspicion much of that was down to his friends and Tori going out of their way to cheer him up. Movie nights, letting him control the remote, Tao even let him talk about a new book he’d started for an hour straight. Some days, most days, he’d forget about Ben and soulmates for a few hours, and almost believe he was okay.

Then school started again, and Truham did what Truham does; fucked him up. Last night, he lay in bed with lead lining his stomach and a head full of potential scenarios, none of which had him coming out on top.

“Let’s see, where did I put you on the seating plan,” Mr Lange says, pulling Charlie back to reality. “Ah yes, you’re over there. Next to Nicholas Nelson. He’s in Year 11, so only one year older than you. One of the rugby lads-”

He thankfully is able to stop himself from yelling out, “are you fucking kidding me?”. Year 11 is not ideal, but rugby lad is worse. Ben might not play rugby, but he’s friends with people who do. People like Harry, who makes life hell for anyone outside the straight cis white male demographic. His entire friend group has been the target of Harry’s harassment. And yes, not all rugby boys are like that; Harry and Ben are particular breeds, but the word is enough to set him on edge.

He swallows his tirade just as Mr Lange finishes talking and turns to meet his new neighbour. He doesn’t look like a rugby boy, although who is he to decide what someone should look like. He-Nicholas, he remembers-bends over a notebook, scribbling something with a pen, oblivious to the sea of chatter going on around him.

He’s quite pretty, Charlie realises as he inches closer. His brown hair falls over his forehead slightly, his profile giving the impression of soft-looking cheeks, his arms just slightly straining against his shirt. He looks up then, and Charlie sees brown eyes, full lips, and freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks like tiny autumn leaves. His breath catches in his throat, even more so when Nick Nelson’s mouth turns up into a slight smile. The morning sun streams through the window, giving him a gentle glow, turning his hair even lighter brown.

The air swiftly rushes out of his lungs as he sits down beside him. His hands wrap around the side of the chair as he pulls it in. He’s even prettier up close, with full cheeks and more freckles than he thought possible and eyes that are impossibly deep.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Nick Nelson replies.

For the first time, he doesn’t flinch at the word. In fact, he barely registers it at all. All he can feel is this overwhelming yet puzzling sense of peace. Like he’s not in school at all but sitting on the beach in the middle of summer, looking out at the ocean. Open air, open space, open everything. Like he could run into the glittering sea and keep going, unafraid.

It takes him a minute to put two and two together. It takes him all morning to process it.

At lunch, he washes the make-up off his arm.

It takes a year for Charlie to ask. A year of…, not perfection, but also a year of happiness and laughing and hugging and kissing and loving. Just purely loving someone freely and unabashedly. A whole year, and he’s still not tired of it.

They’re sitting in Nick’s bedroom, curtains drawn and lights on. Charlie wears Nick’s jumper because it’s softer than his and feels like him. And they’ve spent all night playing Mario Kart and kissing, and Nick played with his hair… so he asked.

“I’ll show you mine too,” he says. Nick nods, apprehension dancing in his eyes, but his smile shines like the little stars above his bed.

“Okay.”

They break apart their spoon and sit with their knees touching, their eyes looking into each other, both hands on their sleeves. Charlie’s on his left arm. Nick’s on his right. He should be scared, he thinks. Maybe he is, a little. If they’re wrong, the past year of his life will have been for nothing.

But even as his heart pounds in his throat, it doesn’t feel wrong. Even as his world grows more uncertain, Nick is the one thing he'd bet his life on.

“On three,” Nick agrees. “One…”

“Two…”

“Three.”

There it is. There, sitting just inside Nick’s elbow, written in a handwriting he’s known all his life. Hi.

A twin to the one on his own.

He thinks of all the times he cursed his mark, those two little letters that mocked him and drove him insane and let people take advantage of it. The mark he tried to cover up, wished didn’t exist. The mark that now proves who is soul-and heart-belong to. The boy sitting across from him and smiling brighter than any star could.

“I knew it,” Nick says. “I bloody knew it.” Before Charlie can say anything, Nick’s lips are on his. He tastes like tea and feels like coming home. He kisses him until he's breathless and until they're flat on the bed with legs tangled in sheets. He kisses like a declaration, saying everything his words can't. I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, you're amazing, I never want this to end.

And that's one of the best parts of a soulmate. Once you find them, there is no end. Just them.

#heartstopper #nick x charlie #heartstopper fanfic #nick nelson #charlie spring #alice oseman #charlie x nick #i tried tm

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cannondisabledcharacters · 2 years ago

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Accepted Characters 10/14/2022

Yeon-o Ji from Trash Belongs in the Trash Can

Brigid (Eyvel) from Fire Emblem

Barbie Fashionistas Doll 146 from The Barbie toy line

Crutchie from Newsies

Shinei Nouzen from 86-Eighty Six

Anju Emma from 86-Eighty Six

Percival de Rolo from the Critical Roles series

Appa from Avatar: The Last Airbender

The Black Knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Valentin Avellán from the Spy Kids series

Ojisan from Isekai Ojisan

Draculaura from Monster High

Arjun Bhalla from Cozy Grove

Frankie Stein from Monster High

Bruin Tram from Cozy Grove

Ursula Pine from Cozy Grove

Ruff Ruffman from Fetch! With Ruff Ruffman

Princess Blossom Pepperdoodle Von Yum Yum (Blossom) from Fetch! with Ruff Ruffman

Mbita from Baymax!

Krosh from Kid Cosmic

Gramble Gigglefunny from Bugsnax

Eggabell Batternugget from Bugsnax

Baumkutchen Cookie from Cookie Run Kingdom

Snorpy Fizzlebean from Bugsnax

Lance Strongbow from Tangled

Shellsy Woolbag (Shelda) from Bugsnax

Floofty Fizzlebean from Bugsnax

Molly Gray from The Maid

Trinity from My Rainbow

Seaweed Cookie from Cookie Run Kingdom

Emery Justice from Drawtectives

Second Watcher from Cookie Run Kingdom

Jancey True from Drawtectives

Pierce Steel from Drawtectives

Amy from the Walking Dead series (tales)

Ress from Watermelo

Rohaan from Watermelon

1081 Requests Remain

#not character of the day #spoilers!#accepted characters

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sidecarghost · 4 years ago

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(x)

Proof Castiel is Sam Winchester’s blurry non-gendered spouse.

Y yo at ti, Cas.

And I, you.

Castiel honoring Dean’s wishes. And watches over Sam for the rest of his life.

Spn 11x23 Alpha and Omega

CAS: I could go with you.

DEAN: No, I got to do this alone. Listen, if—when—when this works, Sam—he's gonna be a mess. So look out for him, okay? Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.

CAS: Of course.

DEAN: [places his hand on Cas’s shoulder] Thank you for everything.

I think Sastiel would have fun married couple adventures. And they’d both be amazing dads for their son Dean. Cas probably splits his time between cosmic duties with Jack and time with Sam. So his presence is more in the background and out of focus then attention demanding.

Sam and Cas both miss Dean terribly, but they accept Dean just wasn’t ready to flip that hourglass over one more time for a chance at a normal life. And even though they can’t understand it they respect that it was Dean’s choice to make.

Getting married wasn’t planned by Sam and Cas, but they both consoled each other over Dean’s violent passing at a young age. And Sam wanted to hunt but knew better than to hunt on his own so he prayed to Cas, and Cas came to help. When Cas learned Dean Winchester died from getting jabbed by pointy rebar he was devastated. Dean didn’t pray to him, so Cas kept his distance from Heaven. He figured Dean would call when he was ready for him. Or if he was ever ready for him.

Cas knew Dean would want Sam to have a good life, so Cas picked that as his new mission and made sure to carry foam packs to cover pointy metal wherever Sam went. Sam rolled his eyes at Cas’s attempt to baby proof the Earth but he was touched to see the angel pull himself out of his own misery to watch over Sam.

After months of monster hunting Sam told Cas he was quitting. The hunting had been a way to cope with the soul crushing sorrow of losing his brother. But hunting wasn’t who he was anymore. Castiel thought and nodded. He thought the Winchester’s had bled enough for humanity and deserved some peace.

~~ I meant to poke at this idea a little bit, but it got lengthy and remainder is under the cut. And it’s just a happy Sastiel fic pretty much following the finale without much deviation, but is meant to make the whole Sam montage less soulless. I don’t have any resolution for Dean, because Dean’s character is just ruined for me at the moment. His meaningless death in series finale still prevents me from writing anything remotely cheerful for Dean. So I’m just avoiding doing anything more than mentioning him.~~

Sam and Castiel rented a little house, because the bunker was too depressing to live in. Castiel called in a favor with Jack to expunge all the Winchester’s public records. Sam and Dean were now upstanding citizens with a spotless record. Dean’s obituary now stated he died during a construction accident while working on a barn. Castiel had a mausoleum built for the Winchester’s, and even though Dean’s remains had been burned he tracked down every molecule of scattered carbon ash that had been part of Dean and set it in his coffin. He also held a second service for the hunter that was a huge affair exactly as Dean had wished for when he faced off against Amara.

Meanwhile, Sam Winchester had started taking night courses to get his law degree and pass the bar exam. With his spotless record he was able to become a prosecuting attorney and did amazing work bringing criminals to justice within the judicial system.

Castiel ends up being really good at dog training after working with Miracle on obedience and agility training. So he starts a dog training school for pet owners to learn how to train their pets without any harsh methods.

One day around Christmas, Sam and Cas are sitting on the couch watching some lgbt hallmark Christmas movie and drinking eggnog. Cas leans his head on Sam’s chest, and they start kissing and they don’t stop. Maybe they both still missed Dean and were just looking for a distraction or maybe they both had slowly fallen in love with each other over the years. They have a small ceremony and Castiel spends the rest of his immortal life proudly bearing the Winchester last name as his own.

Angel reproduction may grant human vessels hermaphrodite sex organs or maybe Sam finds a spell that lets Cas or himself swap sex. Whatever the case, they decide to have a family and nine months later their son Dean is born. Dean is a nephilim, and he has a good heart and a kind soul just like his dads. And he also has all the selflessness and sensitivity of his deceased uncle enjoying a solitary road trip across Heaven.

Original Charlie was brought back by Jack, (along with everyone else that had sacrificed their lives and wanted to have another chance to live a normal life). Charlie buys baby Dean the most obnoxious toddler overalls ever with the name “Dean” embroidered in bright yellow across the front. Sam takes one look at them and after a fit of laughter gets ready to throw them in the trash, but Castiel starts tearing up over them and traces out the letters. Sam doesn’t have the heart to tell him how ridiculous the pants look, so he just smiles at Cas and places a hand reassuringly on Cas’s waist and hopes Dean isn’t looking down from Heaven and seeing that outfit.

Sam lives a long life, and his death occurs at an old age while in hospice care at their home. Castiel knew Sam’s life was coming to an end, and he had been keeping an eye out for the reaper that would come to collect Sam’s soul. And finally one day he sees a reaper beside the bedside of his beloved. Cas fetched their son Dean to Sam’s bedside. He wants their son to have a chance to say goodbye to Sam while he’s alive, and then Cas will accompany Sam’s soul to Heaven. Castiel watches invisibly next to the quiet reaper standing nearby. He still feels a terrible ache in his heart that Dean had missed out on growing old.

After all this time, Castiel had still never heard a prayer from Dean. Bobby had told Castiel that he mentioned to Dean his rescue by Jack from the Empty. But that Dean had taken off in the Impala after that. It seemed that Bobby couldn’t resist busting Dean’s chops about John Winchester living next door. Maybe that attempt at a joke shook Dean, and he just needed 40 years to collect himself.

Regardless of the reason for Dean’s silence, Castiel thinks about the best way to facilitate the reunion of Sam and Dean without causing Dean any distress. Castiel decides he’ll stay invisible when Sam and Dean get their reunion in Heaven. He’ll let Sam tell Dean when he is ready, or maybe Dean will ask about him and that makes him smile softly to himself.

With that settled Cas lets his attention rest on his son. He is so proud of his and Sam’s son, and he is sure Dean will be proud of his nephew too. Their son will be able to visit freely between Heaven and Earth so this goodbye isn’t the end for them.

Sam and Cas’s son, Dean, leans over the recumbent body of Sam Winchester and kisses him goodbye and tells him it’s okay to go. Sam’s eyes close for the final time. Then, a moment later, Sam’s soul is standing next to Castiel and the reaper. All the years have vanished from Sam’s appearance, and Cas is looking at the same young man he had fallen in love with watching formulaic romcoms some 40 years ago. Their son, Dean, can still see Sam, because his nephilim abilities let him pierce the Veil. He embraces his dad, and Sam tells his son to come visit him in Heaven whenever he wants, and Sam whispers to his son to promise to take good care of Castiel for him. Their son, Dean, nods with sincerity and whispers back to his dad Sam that he’ll keep that promise for the rest of his life.

Sam turns towards Castiel and the lovers share a passionate kiss. All the chronic pain from Sam’s failing health is gone. And Cas feels a rush of excitement from Sam’s rising libido. Cas kind of wishes the reaper and his son weren’t standing right there at this moment. Sam notices Castiel’s discomfort and laughs. He then offers his husband his hand to hold. Castiel gazes at Sam’s face with eyes full of love and takes hold of Sam’s hand.

Castiel locks on to the location of Dean’s soul in Heaven. He unfurls his majestic rainbow wings and flies Sam to a few feet behind his brother on the bridge. After he sets Sam down he sees Dean smile, and he hears the brothers greet each other. Castiel remains invisible and he sees the reaper responsible for Sam nod and teleport away. Castiel feels tears come to his eyes watching the two brothers have the reunion they have deserved for so long. He watches them embrace and smiles to himself.

A moment later Castiel teleports back to his home with his son Dean. The father and son hug, and Castiel begins making plans for a celebration of the life of Sam Winchester. He wants the funeral of Sam to be the biggest ever seen in their state. Sam and Dean had been true heroes and their memory deserved no less. The mausoleum where Sam and Dean’s remains rest will be guarded for eternity by the angel that loved them beyond all logic and reason.

While Castiel makes himself busy planning, his son Dean helps tidy the house and stumbles over a board game. “Hey dad, how do you play Twister?” Dean asks. Castiel can’t resist smiling and begins to explain the rules of the game to his son. “Can we bring some of these games to Heaven when we visit dad Sam and uncle Dean?” Dean asks. “Yes, I think that’s a great idea,” Cas smiles to his son thinking back to playing “Sorry” with Dean and “Connect 4″ with Jack. He feels like those were memories from yesterday and not decades ago. But decades is barely a moment relative to the immortal life of an angel.

“These games are special, Dean, because they give us the most precious thing in the universe,” Castiel tells his son. “They give us time spent enjoying the company of our loved ones. I haven’t spent very long on Earth in the company of humanity, but in my short time here I learned that time is a gift. It’s the most precious gift we can give the people we love. And spending that time on big gestures is never as fulfilling as just all the little things we can do together. The grand gestures seems to get forgotten rather quickly by those closest to use. Big events are important for posterity and the history books, and they are important for shaping the world we live in. I want Sam and Dean to have a big, beautiful funeral so their memory lives on for the people that didn’t know them well. The big funeral isn’t so much about me honoring them, as me keeping their story alive for posterity. But honoring them is even more important to me, and I honor them with every decision I make, for every moment of the day, for the rest of my existence. I choose the selfless and sensitive choice that Dean would have chosen, and I choose the courageous and loyal choice that Sam would have chosen. Humans were never meant to be grand visions set on a pedestal, they were meant to be appreciated on a much smaller scale along with full attention to their strengths and their quirks.

“And our life spent together hurtling through space in orbit around a star is oddly enough defined by the mundane. The simple times spent together are the treasures that we seem ideally equipped to hold close and carry on.”

#sastiel endgame #Spn ending #Sastiel #Sam Winchester #Castiel #spn 15x20 #spn 4x07 #Spn 7x21 #spn 9x11 #spn 10x05 #spn 11x23 #spn 12x09

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juanitasupreme · 4 years ago

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I don't wanna pull a Lizzy but looking at both Cosmic Girls Sub-units reminds me of when Rainbow did Rainbow Pixie and Rainbow Blaxx 👀 granted dsp was trash and just dropped the idea after one release each. Maybe starship will make these 2 units something.

Lmao someone told me the same thing today. So I truly believe Starship typed “kpop girl group subunit” on naver. First it was Orange Caramel now it’s obviously Rainbow Blaxx. What’s next ? Wjsn19 with Dawon and Yeonjung ? Wjsn-DY ? I truly hope they gave us something else because Easy sounded so good. We need gg subunit legacy to live on!

#ask

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rocinantescoffeestop · 3 years ago

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You’ll Make It So Damn Big (for all the world to see)

A/N: A warm-up drabble that turned into an interpretation of Eobard Thawne’s speedforce origins.

[Read on AO3]

It feels like everybody around him is growing up. The world turns into a frenzy, as every which way the winds are blowing, but Eobard – the young Thawne standing on the precipice of adulthood – looks out on all sides and realises he’s not one of them. The winds are swirling, almost all in the same direction, but his feet are stuck to the ground, cemented in his past, a prison of his own making; His history holds him.

He still feels that, someday, he’ll make a name for himself. Just like his parents did and now want for him, just like the Thawne lineage predetermines, yet the wish he’d make is for the way of getting there – if only it wasn’t riddled with so many holes, hills, walls, and chasms to leap across. He wishes that the way he’d get there – his mandatory future – had support beams and bright lights. However, the only light for him is the hope glimmering at the end – a candlelight only one person cast upon him (a person who doesn’t even know who he is).

The thing about unrequited love is that it almost never pans out, and the back of his mind tells him this every single day. Phrases of You’ll never meet him and Find a different passion, a more sustainable one configure inside his mind, almost all sounding like someone he knows, and whatever configuration the words are in, the idea is the same: give up, go home, fall in line with the whipping whirlwinds, the status quo, and make a mansion inside of that. That’s what his father did, and a highly esteemed politician he made: governor currently campaigning for senator where a bigger name could be made. Make something like that. That’s what his mother did, and prize-worthy, scientific breakthroughs she’s already made, not to mention the world-winning books for which she’s gone on tours.

How many times has Eobard dressed for a public event congratulating his parents on their mighty achievements? How many times has he laid awake at night, wondering how on Earth he was going to top them? How many times did he fume when he saw his brother’s report card on the fridge when his own straight A’s were never satisfactory? How much longer does he have to endure this, how much longer until it’s his name written in the clouds, in the stars, uttered from the lips of people across the nation, across the world?

Hopefully soon.

But it’s just his luck that the one idea he’s rooted to feels like a pipedream.

City lights drown out the stars above. He longs to move someplace rural, far removed from the bustle of everyday, where he can see the cosmos. He doesn’t need a firsthand look (although what an adventure going to space would be!), but he wants the steadfastness, it’s array of little pinpricks of hope, just like his, to make him feel less alone.

Once upon a time, he learned the stars made sounds, so maybe he’ll invent a device that lets a human hear the sounds – the actual sounds, not a recreation. Would that be enough? Would people like that, love that, praise him and his ingenuity for that? Or would they still yearn for a greater greatness, juicing the life out of him until he’s left with the bare essentials, the pulp, the carbon form?

If he could scream ‘STOP!’ and earn a breather, he would.

And if he possessed the powers of The Flash, he could. He would race for the Canadian tundra and catch the northern lights, or race up a mountain and sleep on its peak.

At least he’s close. So close, he can taste promise of lightning in his veins. In preparation of the reaction, he has the chemicals in order and the electricity on standby, and he knows how to contain the dark matter wave. What he needs now is... well, all he ever needed. He thought by recreating the speedforce accident, he’d bestow upon himself the confidence he always lacked, but standing here physically prepared to leap, he hesitates in the realisation that the confidence he needs must come a bit sooner than that, lightning before the storm.

It’s a catch twenty-two.

He sees every step ahead of him in crystal clarity, he sees what he gets out of it, but what he lacks for this first step he’ll gain with his last. Can the stars shed light on this conundrum and tell him what to do?

Unfortunately, stars don’t exist in the city.

Eobard exhales, his lungs fogging up the two a.m. air. The murky navy-brown of sky mirrors in his eyes. Once, they seemed so clear, so decisive. Why can’t he call upon the twenty-year-old him for this? Better yet, his seven-year-old body and mind, all fascination and no doubt. All eagerness, no fear. Perhaps society’s ruined him. Perhaps his parents’ values have snuck their power around him like ivy. Perhaps he isn’t cut out for this after all.

“Of course, you are,” he grumbles to himself. “No one else is bold enough– let alone smart enough– to piece together any of what you did!”

Perhaps he just doesn’t want too.

He lifts his forearms off the railing he’s leaning against, and fingers fasten around the metal, turning his knuckles white.

Amber lights wash over the storage district of Keystone City spreading before him. It’s the cheapest place he found where he could set up his experiments; the undisclosed building he rents reside near a crisscross of highways, over and under-passing each other over. It’s his safe haven for all scientific pursuits – the legal research of a quantum physicist, and the illegal research of a speedforce-enthused young man.

Do you really want this? a part of him insists on asking again. The buzzing silence with which the rest of his mind replies scares him.

Yes. Yes! Of course I want this!

His feet break contact with the fire escape. His hands shove off from the rail.

Then, stop thinking and get the fuck inside.

Eobard spins on his heel and wrenches the emergency exit open. He steps into the rented facility and makes his way through tables and equipment, until he’s reached his chemical set up. There’s a viewing deck – small – cluttered with a couple monitors, matching keyboards, and a mug drained of tea. To the right is the contraption he’ll step inside, shining stainless steel and clear vials and straps to which his wrists and feet will be bound. In all its glory, it looks unpleasant, but appearances don’t matter – he repeats it like a mantra to appease his fluttering stomach – as it’s a means to an end only he will be experiencing. Risks have to be taken if anything is to be made of yourself.

The young Thawne takes to the viewing platform and pulls aside a monitor. Checking levels, checking contraption ability. Checking twice, then thrice. Stalling? No. Ensuring his safety? That’s more like it. The calculations, they appear sound, so Eobard hovers his fingers above go.

When he presses, he’ll have a minute. A minute until true ‘go’, a minute to prepare himself, a minute to slide into the machine and wait. If I press now, he promises, only sixty seconds stand between me and The Flash.

So, press now.

Only twenty-four years old (and a few more months until his next number up), and he’s on the verge of unlocking a brave new world for himself. His father didn’t win his first court case until twenty-seven. His mother didn’t make her first discovery until twenty-six. His brother still hasn’t done anything remarkable. I’ll be ahead of the curve.

So, maybe I’m not as much of a lost cause as everybody thought.

Guilt and the shame shed from his skin the second he presses into the space bar.

Eobard sets himself up inside the machine; steel bands wrap around his wrists and clamp around around his ankles. The machine’s generator starts to whir, glass vials of multicoloured liquid begin to drain, a rainbow, into and underneath his skin. Into me! The machine vibrates– so heavily it vibrates that the floor itself begins to rumble with power. His power, he made it. And he can taste it better than he ever has: a promise.

I’m ready.

—

An explosion rips through his body. It’s of white fire, all his nerves igniting with pure light. His eyes, his nose, his mouth fill with brilliance. His ears ring with blazing song. The metal cuffs dig into his skin as he body tries to fly forward.

At first, he thinks he’s grown numb; perhaps his calculations were off, perhaps he’s dead now and this is it; his stomach rolls and knots itself; but mere seconds after the thought, all thoughts knock away as he slams down. The floor beneath him is cold and rough, and it should have hurt. All he feels, however, is the fire of explosion.

The whiteness dies from his eyes. His eyes return to the compound, everything coming into focus only tinted in red. Around his body, blood still races a warmth, a cosmic warmth, the same warmth he feels gazing at the milky way they’re situated inside while his feet stand on grass – a warmth it is as if the universe were wrapping him in blankets.

Electricity shivers up and down his spine, and peering down at his hands, he notices his nerves aren’t the only thing dancing at impossible speeds. He hands and ankles shiver through the metal cuffs, which fall unceremoniously (and broken) to the floor.

Have I done it?

By analysing the current evidence, he suspects so, and his mind starts leaping to further conclusions and future tests, but at the present moment with relief and excitement and glee and triumph shooting up and flushing the nerves straight out of his system, there is really only one thing to do now. Only one way can he prove if he’s really done it, if he’s really become The Flash of the future...

Eobard steps forward, cautiously optimistic...

That single step takes him to the other side of the room.

Exhilarating!

What would twenty do? he thinks, counting as he bursts out of the building. Thirty? Sixty!? A hundred?!

Eobard Thawne bursts into the night, a streak of red following him the entire way out. Sneakers slapping against the road, he rushes through wind which shoves over trash cans and swirls litter into the air. He follows the curving, ramping highway, beating cars in a spontaneous race. The coat around him heats to an uncomfortable degree, so he throws it off, and once it’s off, it’s void, it’s out of his mind. I’m running! His feet are slapping and his thoughts are racing and every details is sharp, pristine. His heart is pumping, each pound five times stronger than ever before–!

Before long, he’s out of the city.

He’s out of the state–

–out of the country, before he comes out of autopilot.

The lightning fades when his feet skid against permafrost, limbs lit up for a second as red crackles around them, a sign of transferring energy – motion to rest. The air he huffs from his lungs condenses into a greater cloud than it did in Keystone. He knows it’s could, he feels the chill gracing his arms beneath his long-sleeve with goosebumps, but it doesn’t quench the redhot now filling him up inside. Cold is no match against raw power, and this raw power is his gasoline; he can run with it forever and ever, never batting an eye.

He tilts his head to the sky. A beautiful spread of cosmic wonder, through which northern lights flow – a river of green, violet, and red. The stars, at last, are his to see. He breathes, in and out.

You’ve made it, Eo. For all the world to see.

#eobard thawne #reverse flash #the flash #arrowverse #ajr #dctv #fanfiction #lilly's fanfiction #writing #the flash fanfiction #speedforce #next up forever #ajr brothers #neotheatre

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lutrain2020 · 4 years ago

Text

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Squido!

Commission: I haven't and don't really intend to. I don't want to take anyone's hard-earned money. Just ask me to draw things and there's a good chance I will.

Social Media: Tumblr: @sky-squido AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido/pseuds/sky_squido

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

Call me Squido! I love to draw and write but I'm also super extraverted and I love interacting with humans so always feel free to chat with me! Aside from drawing and writing, I just love being outside and have a tumblr sideblog dedicated exclusively to nature photos I take. I love mountains, the ocean, the sky, and just about everything else in this beautiful world of ours! If you ever feel like having an internet stranger give you a thousand word rant, ask me why my favorite color is blue and you will not be disappointed!

What got you into creating? what inspires you to keep creating?

I've been drawing for as long as I can remember and can't seem to stop, though I take long breaks sometimes I always seem to come back to it again. I try not to have anything in mind when I draw, but to start sketching and let the drawing happen. Sometimes I find that what I'm trying to draw is not what my drawing wants to be (if that makes any sense) and change what I'm making halfway through. It makes drawing a really relaxing and carefree therapeutic experience! Writing is different. I've always enjoyed writing, but I didn't write much and never shared my writing with anyone because I thought it was super pretentious. It wasn't until entering High School and joining the literature club and making a deal with a friend that we'd share our writing with each other that I actually gained any sort of confidence in my ability and sought to improve it. Being in that club and sharing my pieces at the open mics was a really encouraging experience! I invite everyone to share their writing, even if it's with some random internet stranger (I'm open anytime!) if they're unsure of their abilities. A little encouragement goes a long way! Now that I'm on Discord, ao3, and tumblr, I receive so much more feedback than I ever have before! It's been super encouraging! What inspires me most is definitely nature. Even if my ideas aren't directly related to the outdoors, I get my best ideas there. Fandoms are also a great idea generator. The sheer volume of headcanons and prompts is enough to make me dizzy with ideas!

What's your creative process like?

I love sketching. My favorite thing about drawing digitally is that I can sketch as much as I like and never worry about wasting materials! Often times my sketches turn themselves into drawings without permission and other times they stubbornly remain sketches for all eternity. I always dive right in because I have no patience and the idea I started out with generally isn't that great but in the process of pursuing it, it spirals out of control and sometimes the idea gets better and sometimes it gets worse but I just kinda roll with it. Creating is a really chill process for me and while I regularly scream stuff like "I'M DRAWING ON THE WRONG LAYER NONONONONONO" or "NO HECK FRICK SHOOT IT SMUDGED HECK HECK GET THE ERASER QUICK," the creative process is a great way for me to unwind. I'm the same way about writing. I never plan or outline and just kind of roll with things. I mean I generally have the basic jist in mind, but I try to not have a plan so I can keep the story driven by the characters and not force them into acting the way I wanted them to in the outline I made hours or even days ago. Creating is my opportunity to break free so I don't really see what good a plan or outline does me. I'm a pretty spontaneous person!

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I like to take pictures, but it's not really my main focus. I've been mostly digitally drawing—I use my iPad Pro and Procreate—but lately I've been pencil sketching with just your average everyday mechanical pencil (I'd forgotten how nice the texture of paper was! Clearly I spent too much time drawing on my iPad!). I have these Stabilio chalk pastels I love to pieces, but have also spent a great deal of time with watercolors. Digital is my primary medium currently, though.

Is there a specific scene wrote that you are particularly proud of?

"Sky’s golden scales are glowing with reflected light from the sun while beneath them, the same pulsing blue in her mane runs like a river as her very skin is alive with electricity. The sun’s beginning to dip, fading through the color wheel from yellow to deep orange to scarlet and the world is bathed in watercolor and hue shifted through the rainbow until all that was blue becomes red. This new alien world begins to darken as red fades to deep purple-pink, the clouds catching last vestiges of gold in their pillowy folds, yet Sky continues rippling with lighting, the bright blue flowing like blood through her veins and the gold shimmering in the eerie azure glow. We weave through the winds and zephyrs and I close my eyes and let the breeze caress my hair and when I reopen them, I’m standing back on the ground again in a world long since darkened by night. I place my hand over my beating heart where Sky is still laughing with joy and smile because once you’ve awakened your dragon, you don’t need wings to fly anymore."

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing or art?

Every fanartist and fanfic writer that posts their stuff online is an inspiration to me. Even if their stuff isn't very good—especially if it isn't very good—it's a huge testament to the courage of the creator and their bravery in expressing themself! I sat on fanfic and fanart for years and never shared it and here were kids half my age putting out art that was their first experiment in a new medium and a little shaky but it was still out there and they were still being supported by the community and that really inspired me to reach out and stop lurking in fandom and actually get involved!

is there something that you struggled with that made you grow as a creator?

I feel like everyone has these periods where they were just gaining confidence in their artistic ability but suddenly everything they make is trash and they're not happy with any of it and they feel so down and worthless and "where did all of my hard-earned ability go? Will I ever get it back?" I think this is a pretty common experience and when I find myself there, I find it most helpful to share what I make anyway, even if I hate it, with someone who I know will give it to me straight because they'll point out the deeper problems—the root of the issue—that I hadn't even noticed and I can use that information to grow as an artist. Bad pieces are just as valuable as good ones. There was also a time where I had a lot of trouble developing a style. I did a lot of experimenting and never found anything I liked. What happened is I just kept drawing and whatever popped out eventually evolved into my style. I used to get frustrated that I couldn't draw anything without a reference, but after years and years of using references and drawing some of the same things over and over again, you won't need the references anymore. I mean, they're great and you should always feel free to use them, but over time, you won't need to look up a picture of every little thing you try to doodle.

What got you into writing or art?

My silly twitchy fingers can't ever seem to stop drawing! Same with writing. Words and ideas follow me around, little plot bunnies pestering me until they get written down somewhere. I was greatly inspired by the works of C.S. Lewis in my writing, especially his Cosmic Trilogy. My art style was aided by Hiromu Arakawa's Fullmetal Alchemist, which was a valuable stepping stone in developing my own style. Other than that, it was my own insatiable desire to MAKE THINGS that spurred me onwards. I don't think I could stop if I tried!

What's your favorite part of the creative process?

After you've got that first paragraph and you've found a flow and you've got a topic and you just GO. I get into the zone and the story starts happening on its own and I'm not an author anymore, I'm just a channel between the world of the piece and the page. That's my favorite. I love watching things take shape. I love shading a sketch for these same reasons. The whole drawing comes together and becomes A Thing and it's the most exciting time to be a creator. Something else inside you has taken over and you're just along for the ride. I have no idea if my experiences are common at all but this is what it's like for me!

What's your least favorite part of the creative process?

EDITING. I HAVE ZERO PATIENCE. THE THING IS DONE. WHY DO I HAVE TO KEEP LOOKING AT IT. CAN I POST IT YET. This leaves me with a lot of holes in what I make and I can't do a very clean, super detailed drawing unless it's for an art class and I'm forced to keep working on it. I have a terrible habit of never proofreading my things!

What's your favorite type of scene to write?

AAH hard question! I love writing description and places where I can really let my inner 19th century romantic be unleashed but I also love a good emotional moment between two characters. Something tense. I like fight scenes, but I try to keep them brief and interesting. Sometimes I find scenes where I have no idea what's going on and I try to avoid that, but it's really hard sometimes.

What's the hardest for you to create?

I have so much trouble with endings. I can generally figure something out, but there's always a moment of panic before the end like "heck I wrote everything I wanted how do I wrap this up????" That's probably a byproduct of me planning nothing XD I sometimes have trouble with characterization and making sure everyone acts the way they actually would. The hardest part is continuing after you have an "oh heck what do I do now" moment that breaks you out of your zone and all of your ideas and plot threads turn invisible or evaporate or go wherever it is they go when you're looking for them.

What's your favorite genre to write?

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST. Wellll... scratch that. I love something adventure-y and plot driven with a lot of really meaningful character interactions. I've always had trouble putting my writing into genres, but I guess that kind of speaks for itself in a way.

What fandoms do you enjoy creating for?

Linked Universe is the fandom I have created and posted the most for by a LONG SHOT. I found LU shortly after making my tumblr and I joined the Discord shortly thereafter. Since then, it has been nonstop inspiration and creativity for me! I tend to get sucked into one fandom and it consumes me for a few months before I silently drift out of it and never think about it again. LU is the fandom I've been the most active in EVER though—and it's still going—so there's a good chance I'm never getting off this ride.

What's the work you are most proud of?

AAAAAAAAAAH MY BABIES. okay um here's the first and only fanfic I've ever posted anywhere but I'm really happy with: https://sky-squido.tumblr.com/post/618964544219463680/turn-back-time-a-linked-universe-fanfic I have a lot of other pieces kicking about, but they're not fandom so I haven't shared them yet. I probably will after I touch them up a bit.

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Not really? I don't really know where my ideas come from to be honest!

Where do you post your finished works?

my tumblr. I tag stuff #squido writes and #squido draws so you can find them easily. I also put them on the discord but they get lost in the stream of other works pretty quickly so stick to my tumblr. I also have an ao3 now! https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

Turn Back Time was actually live written in the Discord, but entirely unplanned and in the #angst channel! It was just a headcanon but then I started describing it and like 2 hours and 5k words later I'm sitting in the Discord like "what just happened??"

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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