#getting my second degree somewhat felt like an accomplishment

[questioningdragons]

Every therapist I've ever had: You need to be less hard on yourself! Learn to take pride in your accomplishments!

Me: What accomplishments?*

Them: Literally anything that was hard for you! Was it hard to get out of bed this morning? That's an accomplishment. Did you have a shower today? Did you brush your teeth before bed? Those are accomplishments!

Me: Sounds fake but okay.

[mikemadethis]

Quick Review: Sonic Frontiers

In my first few hours of Sonic Frontiers I was having a blast. Coming off of Forces I was just happy to be playing a game where Sonic felt fast and fun to control. Jumping from activity to activity was a bit slow but the varied nature of them did a good job keeping me distracted. The more I played however, the more the cracks in the game started to show. The repeating minigames, the broken physics, the lengthy minibosses and the game constantly stopping you in your tracks so it can pan the camera over to something of interest for a second.

Scattered across the map are various activities which can be completed for rewards. Many of these are incredibly simple like the hundreds of platforming micro challenges. Which completely clutter the island full of ugly platforms and rails floating in the sky. These can be somewhat fun to accomplish but they also wrestle control away from the player way too often. Instead of controlling Sonic like you normally would, many challenges will limit your moveset to some degree. It could be a rail which automatically propels sonic forward, or a boss which locks Sonic to a 3 lane runner style of gameplay. It gets to the point where it feels like Sonic's open world movement is mostly just a means to get from point a to point b, since next to none of the challenges are actually testing my abilities with that moveset. In my 15 hour playthrough, I feel like I spent the majority of my time doing things like pinball or three dimensional Tetris, rather than running around and platforming as Sonic in an open world.

These issues are compounded by Sonic Frontiers absolutely baffling collectathon aspects. All of these challenges you can do in the game are to get one of various collectibles. First off, there's waaaaay too many types of collectibles. From Memory Tokens to Portal Gears to Chaos Keys to Seeds of Power, it's just way too many things to keep track of in a game where you constantly just want to be pushing forward. Many game activities require the completion of other activities in order to progress. This isn't too out of the ordinary for games, but it's kind of frustrating in an open world game. Being dropped into a play space with tons of points of interest that you can see on the horizon. Only to make your way over there and be told to come back later. Maybe I'm biased cause of Breath of the Wild, but that game did an amazing job of letting me walk up to something I thought looked interesting and letting me like... interact with it, right away. I assumed Sonic Frontiers was going to be the same, especially since a lot of the marketing seemed to imply you could play the game in whatever way you wanted.

Actually, to be fair to them, Sonic Team DID offer a few ways to bypass certain activities you may find not very enjoyable. But I'd be lying if I said I liked the system they came up with. Okay so you need memory tokens to unlock quest, portal gears (which you get from bosses) to enter cyberspace which you use to get chaos keys which you use to unlock chaos emeralds which you use to fight the boss. But actually you could bypass pretty much all of that ,except for the boss, byyyy fishing. Ya see by collecting some purple coins scattered across the map (or available during a random night time event) you can fish with Big in order to get tokens which can be used to purchase every collectible in the game?! I took advantage of this on the very last Island in the game to the point where I basically had to interact with zero of the activities in the game outside of main quests. All those bosses, platforming challenges and cyber space levels 100% skipped right over. And that's not even including the buried treasures scattered across the island which can give you even more of these collectibles. AND that's not even including the cyloop, this magic technique Sonic can use to fight enemies and interact with puzzles by drawing a circle on the ground. If you happen to draw a circle on the ground with nothing there, you get random drops of items, Including memory tokens. And this isn't some rare drop, if you really wanted to you could sit there and spin and get memory tokens way faster than you ever could by doing the challenges. None of these ways to get collectibles, resemble core gameplay in ANY way, I'd hardly even call them gameplay. If you can play the entire game by spinning in a circle and hitting easy QTE's it kind of detracts from the game proper. It makes me just wonder, is it even worth doing them?

Once you clear all of the main objectives I.E. getting all the chaos emeralds, the rest of the collectibles kind of just become useless. All those bosses undefeated, all those cyber space stages unspeedruned. None of them do anything for you anymore, and the game doesn't seem to care either way if you want to do it. And maybe that's a good thing because the game also doesn't seem to care about keeping a flow state. The amount of unskippable cutscenes in this game is kind of ridiculous. Complete a challenge, bam a cutscene. Walk too close to a boss, bam a cutscene. Stumble across a completely unimpressive structure, yep get ready to get control taken away from you so Sonic can do a Marvel quip about it. This might sound like nitpicking, but I recently installed a bunch of mods just to remove all those moments where the game just doesn't let you keep running and it is INCREDIBLE how much of a difference it makes. All of those simple minigames become so much less of a bother when hopping in and out of them is made as smooth as possible. I'm honestly unsure why they would stop you so much in a SONIC game of all games, but I'm very thankfully for the modders who are working hard to provide some much needed quality of life for this game.

That being said, modders can't fix everything. I still haven't touched on the physics, combat or story yet. All of which are... fine? They're fine. They clearly aren't the best but they're definitely the best we've gotten in a Sonic game in quite some time. With this review I really just wanted to highlight the stuff that REALLY dragged down my experience. The boring objectives, the convoluted collectibles and the lack of flow the game has from one moment to the next. There are things I really like about this game though, I loved the characterization of the cast, probably for the first time since SA2. I loved the Super Sonic boss fights even if they were a bit simple. They were just such a cool spectacle, unlike any we've had in a Sonic game. And while I'm still a bit disappointed that Cyberspace just reused level designs from older games, I actually ended up enjoying them a lot. I like this foundation Sonic Team has set up for the next couple of entries of this franchise. I just hope next time, they actually let me play as Sonic.

[theravennest]

Let’s Talk About Shang Chi...

I just got back from seeing Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings. I had a great time with it. Just a lovely experience.

The fights were dope. The music was rocking. The actors’ performances really sold me on everything. I loved all the Xianxia elements. Y’all know fantasy worlds are my JAM!

But it was the characters that really drew me in. Every one of them were pitch perfect for me. The final act got a little jumbled, imo, but the characters and their dynamics were so good that it was enough for me to completely forgive and overlook the somewhat messy final battle. 

The story had a lot of heart. It was so personal and so anchored in real emotions. I highkey fell in love with all the main characters. I love their journeys and their complex  and grounded relationships with each other. I really liked the movie’s examination of grief, loss, and pain and the lengths people will go to in the wake of being overwhelmed by those feelings.

Let’s dig into it! This is gonna be a whole discombobulated mess, I just know it. lmao

***Spoilers below the cut!***

I really felt for Shang Chi, Xialing, and Wenwu struggling to figure out how to be a family again after they were all broken in different ways by the loss of Mama Ying Li. And each one of them trying in their own way to heal from it, some to extremely destructive degrees. 

How Wenwu treated his kids after being consumed by grief and violence was so utterly messed up but in two completely different ways. 

He treated Xialing like she was anathema, like she was literally nothing. Even when they were older and she had grown into an adult, he barely spoke to her in the entirety of the movie, could hardly even look at her. Partially because she looked like her mom and he retreated utterly from the pain of that, and partially because he constantly underestimated her in favor of her brother. This, of course, seeded the resentful tension between Xialing and Shang Chi from the start.

I’m a real sucker for sibling dynamics, as you all know. They’re my favorite types of family-oriented stories. (Side note, I really love the way the MCU has dedicated several stories to sibling relationships. It’s like my favorite thing in the MCU as a whole.)

I completely ate up the harsh and tricky relationship between Xialing and Shang Chi. Shang Chi completely let her down when they were kids, for her POV. (Not really his fault, he was a scared and traumatized 15 year old. Totally understandable.) But there is something to be said about the fact that she was also a child. A child dealing with her mom’s death too AND her dad’s aloofness. Then she was utterly abandoned by her brother. It’s no wonder she never quite forgives him, even though they mostly team up in the movie. They still have a lot to work out between them.

I really loved that she took on leadership of the Ten Rings at the end. The moment Shang Chi said she was “dismantling” their dad’s empire, I knew what was up. Though, the softy in me does hope that eventually they can find true reconciliation between them. I’m excited to see what we’ll see from her in future movies as a potential enemy of Shang Chi. It’ll be really interesting to see how Shang Chi tackles having to go up against his little sister.

And Shang Chi!!! OMG! Let’s talk Shang Chi and Wenwu now. When Wenwu drop kicked him into the ground and started the blame game for Mama Ying Li’s death like bro!!! I was so heated. He was 7 years old. A whole baby! She died because your thousand years of violence and conquering shit finally came home to roost. 

But that one line when Wenwu said Shang Chi’s 7 year old self “just stood there and watched” while his mom was killed actually revealed so much about Wenwu’s character. (The cutting way Tony Leung, a literal legend, delivered that was masterful, btw.) 

I actually think that it was the first time Wenwu has ever verbalized that he blamed Shang Chi for Ying Li’s death. Like maybe he’s always felt that way and all this time he was partially punishing Shang Chi for what he thinks of as a failure to protect or help the woman who meant so much to them.

Like, yes, he was training Shang Chi to take his place with him in the Ten Rings as an assassin but maybe he also wanted Shang Chi to kill his mom’s murderer as penance for letting her die in the first place.

Of course, it’s clear to see that Wenwu was absolutely shifting his own feelings of conflicting guilt onto his kids. Guilt that his past as a warlord is what got her killed. But also guilt that he put down the Ten Rings in the first place when if he had stayed a warlord, this never would have happened. But also the bone deep knowledge that if he hadn’t put down the Rings, Ying Li might never have stayed with him and loved him in the first place.

When Shang Chi threw it back at him that Ying Li probably wouldn’t love the person Wenwu had returned to, Wenwu looked so shook up. Phew! Perfect emoting from Tony Leung in that moment.

Honestly, Wenwu was having a very tragic and confusing time of it in this movie. Which is probably how that creature from beyond was able to find a crack in his psychic defenses and lure him to the gate. I had a lot of empathy for him even though I disagree so much with what he did to his kids, emotionally.

I really respect the fact that the movie never lost that sense of compassion for all of their feelings including Wenwu. I also respect that the movie really gave them space to grieve not just the loss of Ying Li but also the resulting dissolution of their happy family.

It’s just too bad that Wenwu’s grief made him push his kids away instead of pulling them closer. He completely emotionally abandoned them. A thousand years of power and supremacy yet he was broken because he never in that time fully learned how to process his emotions in a healthier way and his kids paid the price. They could’ve leaned on each other and on the love they found with Ying Li to help them get through but alas that’s the tragedy of the movie. 

I really wanted somehow for Shang Chi to make it through to his dad before he went too far to come back again. I genuinely did not want to see Wenwu die at the end. I wanted him to live and see Shang Chi’s changing dynamic with his father continue. I wanted to see him finally acknowledge his daughter as his true heir and see her accomplishments (dark though they will likely become considering the “softer” version of her is the one that ran an illegal fight club in Macao lmao).

Though I am happy Shang Chi got through to him enough at the end for Wenwu to save Shang Chi’s life, willingly pass the rings onto his son, and somewhat accept his own death after a thousand years of life. That was such a poignant moment between them. And I wonder if in that instant, Wenwu had the thought that in dying he’d at least see Ying Li again.

(Side note: I really hope his soul and the souls of everyone that got eaten were freed when Shang Chi killed the monster. I really want them to be able to move on to the next phase of existence. I really hope they weren’t destroyed after being eaten. I want Wenwu to reunite with Ying Li even in the afterlife, gotdamnit! Sue me, I’m a romantic.)

Let’s talk Simu Liu’s performance here for one second. He was incredible throughout. I completely bought into this strange but so real feeling that while he has a lot of anger towards his father, so much hurt, he also felt a lot of heartache and love for who Shang Chi wanted him to be. And the strange desire to want to help a man who emotionally scarred him so badly.

Simu really brought both sides of Shang Chi’s journey to life. Like, he was tying to find his own path, reconcile with the mistakes he’s made in the past (his sister, killing his mom’s murderer), and facing up against his father’s ideals and expectations. But there was also a side of Shang Chi’s journey that was about finally understand both his sister and his father’s point of views, and of learning/embracing his mother’s history. 

That moment by the lake when he revealed to Katy that he had actually killed the man who killed his mother. Whew boy! The emotions were so poignant. Simu Liu played it like *chef’s kiss* beautiful.

Speaking of character choices, I really rate this decision to have him actually go through with the assassination. It puts Shang Chi in an interesting position emotionally and somewhat morally. Instead of having his breaking point be him unable to kill as his father wishes, it’s instead the feeling of guilt and shame that he actually did kill the man.

I wonder if he felt a sense of satisfaction before the disgust and shame settled in. Because Shang Chi literally watched his mom die, he probably initially wanted to help his father hunt down the man because of that bit of dark need for vengeance. Until he got it, and felt ashamed to fully face his mother’s memory afterwards.

I’m interested to see how future Shang Chi movies and Simu will dig into and unpack that little bit of darkness these events instilled in the character.

Let’s talk Ying Li for a second here. This woman was incredible. An incredible martial artist, for sure, a mystical guardian and warrior...but she was also just an incredible person in general. Mama Ying Li was so self-assured, so steadfast in her convictions. She struck me as someone who knows exactly what she wants and is never afraid to reach for it.

Fala Chen portrayed her with such grace, warmth, and strength of character. It was extremely easy to see why Wenwu fell in love with her. She met Wenwu, a literal thousand year old warlord, and through shear strength of character led him to put down his weapons and his empire to make a home with her.

This man threw away his entire shadow army of assassins, threw away his whole plan to literally demolish her village in the pursuit of power...in order to play Dance Dance Revolution with her and their kids. (The highlight of their romance and the family flashbacks, for me, tbh.) 

And I know it’s not necessarily...positive BUT there is something...hmmmm, crunchy in the fact that Ying Li so completely altered Wenwu’s life by simply loving him that when she died he was willing to raze the whole world to get her back, damn the consequences.

Trying to properly explore toxic and negative turns in previously loving family dynamics is such a difficult task to take on. I really liked the complexity of the Xu family. All the actors really sold the family side of things. It was an almost tangible thing how much you could see how the love they felt had turned bitter and painful over the years.

The final battle was epic and mind blowing (There was a fucking DRAGON flying around for gods’ sake!) but I do wish it had stayed a little more grounded for longer in the beginning of it when the Ten Rings were fighting the Ta Lo warriors. I wanted to see more of that fight before they had the turn to becoming temporary allies against the soul suckers. It became a little too much of a CGI mash, for me, in some parts of it.

Still, the emotional beats held and the core of the story of this grieving family trying to hold on to the tatters of their world stayed consistent even through the final battle. I can forgive a lot because of the strong sense of character and connection there.

Plus, it’s a comic book movie. Spectacle is the name of the game and at least this one had cool fantasy beasts and dope fight choreo. 

Anyway, I’ve rambled enough. Let’s wrap it up here. Suffice it to say, I had a wonderful time with this movie. I’m ready for the next one!

[blonde-in-charge]

Wildcard, Chapter Three

Words: 2.6k

Summary: Steve Rogers found you on the side of the road after a mission involving Hydra and convinced the Avengers to take you in. You have no name, no memories, and no idea of what you are capable of. All you know is that you are a super soldier with more hidden abilities than you care to admit. The first step to finding answers was to train you. Nobody, including you, knows what is up your sleeve.

Characters: Bucky x reader, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Random Hydra guy, Sam Wilson

Warnings:  Mentions of blood/violence, brief unwanted touching, Cursing, Fluffy!Bucky, Flirting

Words: 2.6k

The table underneath you was frozen from the amount of stress you had been under. They just kept injecting things into you, hoping to get some kind of reaction from your body. You had stopped feeling the pain of the needle and experiments weeks ago, which just made everything worse for you in the long run. They were getting annoyed with the fact you had stopped reacting to whatever painful serum they had injected you with that day and it resulted in beating to get a reaction from you. You stared up at the cracked ceiling of your concrete room and counted each crack for the millionth time. You kept yourself company in your mind, getting lost in your thoughts to pass the time until your next beating. You shivered at the cold beneath you, the last serum made ice bleed from every one of your pores. You heard the shrill sound of the old iron door open from the side of the room, you didnt turn your head to see whoever came in anymore, they were all the same type of evil. 

“Your wounds have healed very quickly, you are replicating the progress of our last soldier.” said the thick voice. You hated to think someone else had gone through this hell before you had. You wondered if they escaped or died before they moved onto you. 

You felt a burn in the back of your throat, “What's on the menu today doc? Electro-therapy? Waterboarding? New superhuman power that causes injury to one of your minions?” The one fond memory in your head of this place, being your body set itself on fire as well as one of the more hostile minions of Hydra. You smirked fondly at the memory as the hydra doctor worked his way around you observing the healing process. Every wound that opened on your body disappeared within a couple of hours, which is apparently what they wanted. 

“Nothing on the menu today, we are going to start to prepare you for the memory wipe.” Was all the man said and you felt your heart jump into your throat as the man chuckled, “You will do great things for us, American Girl.” You started pulling at your restraints for the first time in weeks, trying to fight your way off of the table once again. The man gave you a sickening chuckle while watching you struggle and you glared at him. He reached up to run a dirty hand slowly up your leg, “Such a pretty girl, such a shame you must-” He ended his sentence abruptly as you lit your body on fire, burning the man's flesh. You grinned at him as your body started to fizzle out. He held his burnt hand to his body and looked at you with rage, “You stupid slut.” 

You continued to grin as he left the room, feeling somewhat accomplished. Your smile slowly faded as you thought back on the memories they would take from you. Y/N Y/L/N, you were a successful accountant in one of the most successful banks in Manhattan. You lived alone, you haven't spoken to your family since you lost your father. Your mom became an alcoholic after his death, the only thing you really regretted was leaving your little sister, Macy, behind. Your job would have already replaced you by now, and people would have stopped looking for you. You stopped fighting for an escape because you knew you had nothing to go back to. 

-

You woke up slowly to the sound of soft snoring, your body tensed up, wondering who was in your bed. Then you realized this wasn't your bed when you looked up into the face of the sleeping soldier. Your body instantly relaxed as you lay your head back on his chest. His right arm was slung over your waist and his metal arm was holding your forearm against his stomach gently. You closed your eyes, replaying the events of the night before in your head. Hydra had come back for you, but for what reason? Then your eyes snapped open and you looked up at Bucky gently shaking him. He opened his eyes slowly and looked down at you, obviously confused about why he was holding you. Realization dawned on him and his eyes filled with concern, “You okay?” 

“Y/L/N.” Was all you said to him as you continued to stare into his steel eyes.

“Who is that?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.

“I remembered my last name.” You said softly to him, “I remember my life before I was taken.”

He sat up quickly and looked into your eyes, “You remember now?” You nodded your head at him, unsure whether you should smile or cry. “Y/N, that's amazing.”

You looked away from him and sat back, “Is it?” you replied solemnly.

“Why wouldn't it be?” He tilted his head slightly, trying to read your thoughts. The sound of the door sliding open cut off your response as Steve came in. Steve stopped in the doorway and examined the scene in front of him. You were sitting to the side of Bucky, wearing his shirt with no pants on, with your legs strung across his thighs. Bucky had his metal hand resting against your calf and was leaning back against the headboard behind him. Bucky’s face turned a dark pink as he realized the situation before taking his hand off of your leg. You remained unphased as you looked over at Steve. 

Steve watched you both and cleared his throat, “The safe house is all set up, can you both be ready by 0300?” You nodded at Steve, who glanced back at Bucky before leaving the room.

You both sat in silence for a moment before you crawled over bucky to the other side of the bed, his eyes perked up as he watched you unmoving, “Where are you going?”

“I have to pack my bag, don’t I?” You stood up and raised your arms above your head to stretch out your back. 

Bucky started to climb out of the bed himself before he stood next to you, “I’ll go with you.” You laughed softly and chose to not object to his company. He followed you down the hallway to your room and you stopped in the doorway to survey the damage. Your bed hung off the side of the bed frame as if the mattress had been thrown. The drawers in your dresser were all thrown open and all of the clothes were spread around the room on the floor. You sighed quietly and started picking up articles of clothing. You searched around for the SHIELD duffle bag you had before shoving clothes into it. Bucky’s eyes raked across the room, he walked towards the bed and adjusted it to its correct position before picking up shirts and folding them neatly into the bed. You smiled slightly to yourself as you found a pair of leggings on the ground and started pulling them on and up over your thighs. You struggled slightly and then looked up to see Bucky staring at you. 

He stilled, realizing he had been caught and looked down at the tee shirt in his hands, “Sorry, guess I got distracted.”

You laughed softly and patted him on the arm, “It's okay Buck, it's not like I don't stare at you sometimes.” You were unashamed of the confession. Sometimes while training you'll watch Bucky in the gym and sometimes, if you're lucky, you'll be able to see him lift his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. You would never apologize for that.

Bucky looked utterly confused as you packed the last of your things and zipped up your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. He stood up with you and looked down at you. You weren't a short person, you were taller than most girls but still shorter than all of the male avengers so you barely had to crane your neck up at him. His steel blue eyes looked so much lighter in the moment. You turned away from him and started walking towards the door, looking back at him. “Ready?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, go meet with Steve, let me grab my bag.” You nodded at Bucky as you walked into the living area, ignoring the shattered glass on the floor you followed the voices to the kitchen.

“So she just hopped up on this man's shoulders and took him down like that?” Sam snapped his fingers together to get the point across, “Did Natatsha teach her that?”

Tony shook his head and bit the fingernail of his thumb, replaying the 30 second hallway footage from the night before, “Natasha hasn't moved past the basics of fighting with her, we have been focusing on figuring out what she can do power wise.” Steve stood silently with the three, his arms crossed watching the looped video. 

Sam shook his head at the screen, “This chick is a total wildcard.”

You dropped your bag on the ground behind them making them all turn around quickly. You stared at the projection in front of you, you barely recognized yourself. You have never been able to put Sam on his ass in the ring and now you're swinging your body weight around on some random guy? The temperature dropped a couple of degrees in the room as a result of your anxiety. The three men stared at you as you took a step back, you made eye contact with Steve, “Y/L/N.”

Steve looked confused, “What? Who’s name is that?”

“Mine.” You said quietly, “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I had a dream about it. I know my name.”

-

You sat at the table along with Steve and Sam. You were staring off at a wall while shoveling cereal into your mouth. You had only been at the tower for about two weeks now and had a good routine with the two men in front of you. You still didn't have a name. You have been going by kid, kiddo, chick, and rescue. You have been searching your brain for a hint of what your name would be. You tried making up names but none of them suited you the way you wanted it to. You listened to the two men bicker over different work out strategies. You stared off at the wall and thought about how you planned on changing your hair color to maybe platinum blonde. You reached out to grab your glass off the table and grunted when it wouldn't budge. You looked up at the two men staring at you with wide eyes before following their gaze to your hand. The liquid in the glass was frozen solid and the glass stuck to the table in a block. You removed your hand and looked at your palm, which was tinted blue, “Well that's new.” 

Sam tapped on your frozen glass, “Holy shit, Elsa.” You rolled your eyes and rubbed your hands together trying to maintain heat.

Steve watched you, “Has this ever happened before?”

You shook your head and reached out to grab your glass again. Your strength became too much and the frozen glass shattered in your hand. You remained still as Sam hopped up from the table. 

“Jesus fucking christ, kid.” Sam started picking up the larger pieces of glass

“Language.” Steve went into the other room to retrieve a handheld vacuum 

You looked down at your hand and saw little cuts leaking blood in the palm, today just wasn't your day. You stood up from the table and walked over to the sink, running your hand under the water. You were getting really sick of this superpower thing. You have broken so many things so far due to the super strength you can’t control. You sighed as you watched the small cuts on your hand knit themselves back together, you would never get used to that. On the brightside, it didn't hurt. You have not felt the pain of anything you have broken or ran into, the only pain you ever felt was the headache that never went away. You dried your hand off and ran your fingers through your hair.

“Sorry guys… Still getting used to,” You held up your hands, “this.” 

Steve smiled knowingly, “It's okay, kid. I remember when I received my serum, it took a minute to adjust.”  

You gave him a small smile, “Why do you guys keep calling me kid?”

Sam and Steve looked at each other. Sam was the one who spoke first, “You don't really have a name right now.”

“Oh it's Y/N.” You shrugged at the guys and returned to your seat at the table as they stared at you. 

“Did that just come to you?” Steve asked while looking at your seated figure, “It kind of suits you.”

“I think it's my name? It just came to me at the sink and its the only name that doesnt make me want to kill myself.” You smiled as the two men started chuckling at you. 

“I think I will stick to ridiculous nicknames if you don't mind.” Sam said, smiling at you and ruffling your hair. 

-

Tony wasted no time typing your name into the database to pull up a missing persons profile. A photo was pulled up onto the hologram screen and you silently stared at it. It was you, well at least a version of you. You looked so young, your face was effortlessly smooth with a light layer of makeup, and your mouth was pulled in an easy grin. Your hair was pulled back in a sleek low ponytail and you were wearing a white collared shirt with a blazer layered over it. You started into your eyes on the projection, it felt like looking at someone else. 

“You were an accountant? That's boring.” Sam started while eye the photo of you

Tony scanned the photo and then started typing something into the projection. An article pulled up next to the photo, “Y/N Y/L/N, missing for two years, stopped coming into work and her apartment was empty… blah blah blah.” 

“Tony.” Steve warned, coming to put a hand on your shoulder. You looked back at him before shaking off his hand and picking up your bag.

“We should go, right?” You ignored the look Steve gave you before you walked to Bucky’s room, knocking on the mangled door

Bucky met you at the threshold of the door, sensing your discomfort, “You okay, doll?” He raised an eyebrow at you

You raised your own eyebrow, “Doll?” Heat rushed to Bucky's cheeks and you smirked at him, “Grab your bag Buck, it's time to go.” You winked at him and turned away to walk to the elevator door. You rested your nag on the ground as you waited for Steve and Bucky to join you. You leaned back against the wall and sighed loudly, your headache returning.

The two men walked together side by side to meet up with you. Steve pressed the elevator button and debriefed you both about the agents who would escort you to the safe house. You and Bucky both nodded in understanding before stepping onto the elevator. Steve made eye contact with you before the doors completely shut.

“Be safe, kiddo.” You smiled at his words as the doors shut completely.  

[sockablock]

The fires dance and shimmer over Vo, but only on the beaches, and not with any fear.

Instead, there is laughter singing through the trees. There is singing, too, warm and bright, the sound of two dozen amateur dancers cheering in the moonlight. 

Somewhere, Yasha is helping a hunter cut logs for the blaze. Somewhere, Jester is telling stories to children about an unknown world. Somewhere, Beau is criticizing a cask of island-wine, and getting very drunk. Somewhere, Veth and Caleb are helping a very old woman fix a watch. 

Fjord straightens up and sticks his poker into the sand, watching the embers go out with a little hiss. He stretches, loosening his neck and wincing when his bruises argue back. He’d gotten thrashed around Vokodo’s cavern pretty hard at the end, there, but most of the firebloom burns are gone now, and between two clerics and a vengeful druid, he doesn’t have much to complain about.

He glances around the beach and can smell the first sizzle of cooking meat. Something fruity hovers past, and he can hear Beau’s singing growing louder.

And then, he notices something else, in the corner of his vision. Past the celebration, farther down the shore, sitting on the sand with his knees against his chest—

It’s Caduceus. His outline is purple in the twilight.

Fjord considers the fire. The music, and then he leaves the poker to finish smoldering by itself. 

By the time he’s nearly reached Caduceus, the merriment of the bonfire is barely a hum amid the turning tides. Light carries farther, though, and here it reflects an orange sea across the starry waves. It would be beautiful, it is beautiful, although it reminds Fjord a little too much of their last fight. He ignores it, instead focusing on the seated shape in front of him.

“Caduceus, you’re going to miss the food at this rate."

There is no immediate answer. Fjord stops, and raises his brow. 

"Caduceus? Oh, shit, is this a vegetarian thing? We should’ve said something earli...er...”

In this light, his friend is mostly shadow, but for a second it almost looks as if Caduceus raises an arm, wipes his face...

Fjord stops. He dares himself to have seen it wrong, and blinks.

"...Caduceus?!” This time, he is shouting. “Cad, is...everything alright?!”

It could be the waves, but for a second, a sniffle, and then—

“Oh, Mister Fjord, I didn’t hear you c—”

“Are you crying?”

Fjord clears the distance in a second, scattering sand everywhere. A part of him instantly curses the decision, why in the world would you rush at him—but another part, the honest part, the deeply confused part, is too worried to do anything else.

But Caduceus...laughs. It’s more stilted than it should be, though then again, Cad’s always been a weird one, in a special way—

Until Fjord sees the tears. There are two streaks of dampness matting Cad’s fur.

“Oh,” he says, before he can stop himself. 

There is a flash in Caduceus’s eyes. It is so small, so brief, so hidden away, that if Fjord had not been staring at him, he would have missed it entirely.

It’s panic. Caduceus says, “No, don’t mind me, Mister Fjord, I think I might’ve gotten carried away.”

Fjord’s mouth opens. It closes. It opens again.

“Carried away?”

“Just a bit.”

Fjord manages to stop gawking on the third try. He drops down, wincing a little at the sharp movement but ending in a determined, eye-level squat.

“Carried away,” he repeats.

Caduceus does not meet his gaze. His voice, when it finally does comes, is more unsteady than Fjord has ever heard.

“I, ah, I think...today was just a lot. It was...there was a lot.”

“Yes, well...yeah,” Fjord says, and tries to shuffle his back into Cad’s face. More sand kicks up around his ankles. “We did fight a fake fire god and nearly set off a volcano. Then again, that sort of thing feels somewhat standard for us.”

Caduceus coughs, and only after a second does Fjord realize it’s a laugh. 

“We, we do certainly get into all sorts of trouble.”

“Right,” says Fjord, still slightly mystified. He glances around the beach, sees Caduceus still avoiding him, hears the raucous melody of cheering far behind.

He looks up. He looks down. Then:

“...can I sit?”

There’s a vague gesture in response. Fjord accepts this as an answer.

The sand is cool. The wind sweeps across his hair.

“I’m...not very...I think I might have a reputation for being somewhat unobservant,” he says, after a pause. “Sometimes. But...I don’t think I’m a fool, Caduceus. Though even a fool could see that you’re upset.”

“I’m n—”

“I’m not done.” He looks up. Far, far above them, the stars glimmer bright. “I think...I think...that although I wasn’t there to see it initially, I believe that ever since you came to join our little troupe, your presence has been very good for us. I worry that...maybe, we haven’t returned the favor.”

“Favor?” Caduceus chuckles. “There’s no favor to return.”

There is a weight to Fjord’s silence.

“Hm. I wonder about that.”

Caduceus feels his brow furrow. He tries to stop it, but it does.

“Mister Fjord,” he says softly, “I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Right,” Fjord nods. “In that case...it’s a failing on our part.”

The waves ebb and flow on the shore. They are far away enough not to fear getting wet, but close enough still to taste the salt breeze.

“Why are you upset?” Fjord murmurs. “Is it...was it the fight? Are you hurt, or—”

“Oh, no. Not me.”

He glances over.

“Then...?”

Caduceus stares at the ground. His boots are off, and little grains of sand cling to his armor.

“Do you...ever feel...frustrated, Fjord?”

“Hah! Is that really your question?”

When the pause carries on, Fjord clears his throat.

“Er...yes, Caduceus. I do.”

“What about guilty? Very guilty.”

“Uh...sure, I think so. Maybe not...I’m not so sure to what degree you’re talking, here, but I’ve definitely had regrets.”

“And...what about feeling like you’re a burden?”

Fjord leans back on his palms. “Caduceus, are we just going down the list of how I go about my day?”

“No,” and when Caduceus chuckles, Fjord can see a little gleam of moonlight against his fur. “I’m, ah, I’m going down mine.”

“Oh.”

“It’s...it was bad on this island. It was...I felt those things...a lot. And, well,” he gives another laugh, “well, it sort of came to a head down in that tunnel.”

Fjord considers this.

“The...”

“The underwater one,” Caduceus says. “When the...the fireblooms opened all around us and I...lost to Vokodo.”

Fjord blinks. “You mean...oh, well...plenty of us had fallen to him at that point, didn’t we? I mean, Yasha forgot the name of her wife and Jester lost her beard oil, er, my beard oil, and I forgot Vandren, and...” 

He trails off, when he sees Cad look up.

“Right,” says Caduceus, “I forgot things too. But...I did something worse. I hurt you.”

Fjord hesitates. “You...didn’t really—”

“I did,” says Caduceus. “I fought against you. I blinded you. And you spent all your spells on me, and when the fight started, you couldn’t defend yourself, and got even more injured.”

“Well,” says Fjord, with as much certainty as he can muster, “I don’t know if...three spells would’ve really changed much.” Then he pauses again, and adds, “Not, uh, not that the gifts of the Wildmother are anything to scoff at. You know.”

Behind them, smoke pours up into the sky. They can’t smell it from here, but the feast is beginning, all joining in together to celebrate, save for two.

“They aren’t,” Caduceus says slowly, “but...do you want to know something, Fjord?”

“Er...of course.”

He also leans back. Also takes a second to breathe deep by the sea.

“In that moment, when I...fell to Vokodo. It was...exhilarating. It...it felt...it felt like...well,” he murmurs a laugh. “It felt like, for a second I had a purpose again.”

Foam dissolves into the sand. Far, far away, a hermit crab surfaces.

“A...purpose?”

“A mission. A goal, a journey, a...a divine reassurance that I was on the right path. It’s something that I...haven’t had since I saw my family.”

“You...wait, really? Why?”

“Well,” Caduceus gives a shrug. “Well, I suppose it’s because I did fulfill that purpose. We got the green glass. We visited the Dusts, and then the Stones, and my family went home to save the Grove. That was all I dreamed about, all that I knew I had to accomplish for...for decades. And we...did it. I did it. And now...it’s over.”

He takes a deep breath.

“And now...I’m just here. I have faith that she’s guiding me to where I need to go, but...where? Why? And...sometimes, even that is...even that feels...”

Fjord turns, and sees Caduceus staring at him. His hair is a tangle tripping down his back. His eyes are hesitant, shining in the moonlight.

“Sometimes...when I am with you all,” he says quietly, “sometimes I just feel...free.”

The waves come and go. The tiny hermit crab faces down an endless, churning, ever-flowing sea.

“She likes freedom, doesn’t she?” Fjord murmurs. “Isn’t that...I mean...that’s what she’s meant to me.”

Caduceus smiles. It’s a half-risen thing. “She meant duty to the Clays. A legacy to fulfill. A home to tend to, a garden to grow, people and family to take care of.”

Fjord meets his gaze. “Is that what you want?”

Caduceus doesn’t answer right away. When he does:

“...I don’t know anymore. Sometimes...I think I want to tend to our friends. Take care of them. Help you all grow to where you can be.”

“You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Oh, don’t I know it.”

They are quiet for a moment. Then:

“What about other times?” Fjord murmurs. “What about then?”

Caduceus glances up. He takes in the thousands of stars above him, watches a thousand lights fade and glow.

“It can be scary to not have a purpose.”

“I managed. I managed for...oof, maybe thirty years?”

“Did you like it?” 

Fjord shrugs. “I didn’t know anything else. Then, for a while, I thought my purpose was to fill a role. Be a captain. Become powerful. But...I didn’t much like that.”

“No,” Caduceus chuckles. “I didn’t think you did.”

“In a way, though,” Fjord sighs, “I mean...I don’t really know if I have a purpose either. Most of the time...I’m just here. I’m just...doing my thing. As a member of the Mighty Nein. I’m helping our friends as much as I can, and I’m getting to see the world. And learn new things. And...in doing so, I...well, I think maybe I’ve been more free than I ever had been. Maybe that’s a purpose. Even if it doesn’t feel like, I dunno, divine providence, or whatever, I’m...I’m still happy doing it. I love our friends. I think that’s enough.”

“Yes,” Caduceus says quietly. “I...I’m happy with them too.”

“Well, there you go, then!” Fjord taps him on the arm. “Maybe that’s all you really need. And I’m sorry it doesn’t feel...feel like a godly mission, but it still should be worth hanging onto, no?”

When he glances back, Caduceus is still looking at him.

“Right,” he echoes. “I think it is.”

Maybe it’s the beach, or the heat from the bonfire, but Fjord can feel his face getting a little warm. He coughs.

“I hope, er, that helped. I don’t know if that’s...good advice, to turn other people into your purpose. Because now that I think about it, it does still sort of sound like that whole garden-tending thing, which is a little contradictory—”

“Fjord?”

“Um, yes?”

“It helped.”

“Oh, good.”

“Fjord?”

“...um. Yes?”

Caduceus’s eyes are turned to the sky.

“I want to be free, too. But...I would like to be free with everyone else. And with you.”

Fjord coughs again. Though it isn’t as sharp. And the warmness is nice.

“I’d like that too.”

They sit there on the beach for a while after that. Later, perhaps, their friends will realize that they are missing, and come calling for them. Later, perhaps, there will be food to share and island-wine to drink and songs to sing. Later, they will sleep in huts beneath the stars and even after that, much, much later, perhaps there will even be a new path, a new journey, a new mission to follow and a new purpose to chase.

But all that will happen later. For now, all there is, is the sound of the waves, the brush of wind, and freedom, together.

— — —

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[fyeah-bangtan7]

RM: “I hope I’m on my way somewhere”

There are two gears in his life that RM shifts between: when he has to pick up speed as the leader of a worldwide hit-making group, and when he makes his way back home and slowly cracks open some artist’s catalogue. Let’s take a look at the time in between, at the young artist’s journey to seek out his own canvas.

Do you still work out? Your stature looks very different. RM: It’s been around one year? Since I started doing it four times a week without fail. It’s like my lifeline. (laughs) Since, if you exercise, your body gradually improves. I like to feel like I’m doing something and getting better. If you look at other people posting their progress, you can see their bodies change dramatically, but I’m not very strict about my diet, so it’s not like that for me. (laughs) Still, I can feel my frame changing bit by bit.

I saw in the “ARMY Corner Store” video uploaded to YouTube for the 2021 FESTA celebration of your eighth anniversary that your life is focused on doing work and making appearances these days. Has following that repetitive routine led to any changes in your life? RM: My daily routine has become very clear-cut. Now that it’s been exactly a year since I started doing this mid-last year, I kind of think, So is this how people live? I have to go to work and come home, then there’s things I need to do there, and things I have to keep up with like exercise. And same for checking out exhibits. And so I thought my nature itself has changed a lot over the course of a year, but I don’t know whether it’s good for me as a creator.

Why’s that? RM: There was so much that happened with BTS, but with the current situation, sometimes it felt like those things were just things happening on my phone. When I’m listening to other music or watching something I’ll sometimes think about how I would do it, but my life is what it is right now, so I can only draw on things from my own life.

In that case, how did it feel to keep up the energy for your Grammys performance and for everything related to “Butter”? RM: I was really happy that we added one more thing to our list of accomplishments. I think our team really needed the work itself. It made me realize we still have things left to achieve. And I want to thank ARMY above all others for making all of this possible. I’m Korean, so I’m no stranger to finding joy in accomplishment. (laughs) It was really satisfying and nice. It would’ve been better if we got a Grammy, but so what if we didn’t? In the end, getting it means you have one more trophy at home, and after that your daily routine repeats.

How was writing the lyrics for “Butter”? Your performance with SUGA works to kick the energy of the second half of the song up a notch, but I also think, strikes a balance to improve the song as a whole. Your short rap feels like a fusion of American pop and BTS’s distinctive style. RM: That’s the part I spent the most time on. Even though the song’s in English, I thought we should make it feel like our own, so we kept the original but put a little of our own flavor in at the end.

I felt that fine-tuning turned out well. It’s short, but I think it would’ve been a very different song without that part. RM: It’d feel like something’s missing if it weren’t there, right? (laughs) I felt like we absolutely had to have it in there. There’s something different about us from American pop stars. Our DNA is different.

How was making “Permission to Dance”? You can count on one hand how many BTS songs have a message as positive as in that song. RM: Right. They talked about putting some rap in “Permission to Dance” while we were working on it, but we said it would never work. I have more fun when I’m singing and dancing than anything else. I think this song was one of the few times that I felt like I was just having fun while singing and dancing on it. It feels amazing to give into the song with your whole body and just laugh instead of thinking about it too much. I think that’s the power of the song. I wasn’t stressed preparing for it like I was with “Butter.” When it came to “Butter,” I had to think about what we should show off and how I could do that. I’m always careful not to be a problem within the group dynamic. But I didn’t really have to worry about that with “Permission to Dance.” Honestly, I felt like I only needed to add just a dash of the enjoyment I felt.

After the unimaginable continued success of “Dynamite” and “Butter,” this song feels a little more laid back. RM: Oh, this is really fun. Just like that. And there’s a line in the lyrics that says, “We don’t need to worry / ’Cause when we fall we know how to land.” The message is universal, but you could say it’s also something BTS has been saying all along.

You talked about “2! 3!” on “ARMY’s Corner Store,” saying, “2015 to 2017 was a tough time for us and our fans.” Were you able to say that because you ended up knowing how to “land”? RM: What I do can be thought of as a sort of business—a person-to-person kind of business. That’s why I want to be as honest with ARMY as I can be, almost obsessively so. They say it can’t happen in the world of K-pop, and there’s an aspect of good faith to that because I don’t want to worry the fans, but I want to tell them about the things we’ve been through as much as I can. Another reason I talked about those times was that I wanted to pay off my debts to a lot of people. To pass over this story like it never happened would be like saying “that’s not us.” And because it’s in the past. I think that, since it’s in the past, and since we’re doing all right now, and since those days were clearly necessary, I think we have to be able to talk about just how difficult a time that was.

It feels like that was something you wanted to convey to your fans, too. RM: Sometimes we’re artists whose souls are full to our very cores, sometimes we’re meticulous office workers, and sometimes we’re part of the hyper-patriotic “do-you-know club.” We’re many things all at once—that’s why we talked about persona and ego. It’s sort of painful and lonely to want to talk about these things to this extent, but I guess that’s who I am. I want to express myself in full.

Would you say that the song “Bicycle,” released during 2021 FESTA, shows who you are as a person? You talked about your everyday emotions using a bicycle as a metaphor. RM: I’ve faced a lot of pressure while making music throughout my life to move ahead a little more or make music that stands out better, from minor things like my rap technique to bigger things like trends. I wanted to be good at rapping and I wanted some recognition. In that sense, you could say “Bicycle” is somewhat defiant. I wanted to release a song to celebrate FESTA, but the subject matter is really important to me specifically. Bicycles hold an important place in my heart, so that’s just what I ended up writing about. The song’s something like a compass, telling me where I’m at right now, I feel like. My present-day life is the input, so that was going to end up being the output one way or another.

There’s a part in the lyrics where you say, “When you’re happy, it makes you sad.” I imagined you riding your bike and contemplating your life. RM: My feelings kind of go to extremes whenever I ride my bike. My personality used to run to both extremes sometimes, but it also comes back to me again on its own when I ride a bike. When I ride my bike, I’m free from the pressure of the things I’m supposed to feel and think about. I don’t care if people recognize me, and that’s the closest I get to feeling free, mentally and physically—when I’m riding fast and feeling like I’m up on a cloud.

In my case, there’s a big bookstore in my neighborhood, and there’s times when I’ll walk all the way there by myself and think over what kind of person I am while choosing which books to buy. Somehow it makes me think of that. RM: I read a book by Lee Seok Won from Sister’s Barbershop recently. He was contemplating why he likes bookstores. He remembered how not only is it noisy, but everybody’s staring at their books and not looking at anyone else, and there’s a kind of freedom in that. I really sympathize with that. So I make time to go to the bookstore and spend a little more time reading.

I end up talking to myself just by looking at all the book covers at the store. In a way, it’s contemplation on contemplation, but it seems to be an especially necessary time for you. RM: I think I’d be pretty bored without it, since I’ve been too sheltered lately. Read! Work out! Go to galleries! Ride my bike! (laughs)

So writing “Bicycle” was an experience that you had to go through anyways, even though we’re not sure where you’ve come from, where you’re at now, or where you’re headed to. RM: Exactly. It was exactly that kind of milestone of a song for me, and I think I kept that in mind to some degree when I released it for FESTA. I agreed to do something at first, but then I asked myself what I should do and that came to mind immediately: Let’s just do something about bikes.

Even the music has deep connections to all the music you’ve ever listened to, from folk to the hip hop and Korean indie scenes. RM: You’re right. I drew on music from the people who’ve had an impact on my life—artists I’ve been listening to lately, like Elliott Smith and Jeff Buckley, and groups like KIRINJI.

It’s interesting how the end result is a song whose style is difficult to attribute to any one era. Neither the sentiment nor the sound is retro, nor do they reflect current trends. RM: I, and our team, are, you could say, at the forefront of pop, so after I made “Bicycle” we wondered whether we should go with it. But that’s actually why I ended up doing it this way instead. Because that’s what my life looks like right now. It’s good for me just to get to know myself this way, but I don’t want to trap myself, either. On the other hand, I’m interested in artists from all around the world who are totally different from me. There’s even people who make music on a whim and who don’t care about the genre whose music I’m interested in now. It’s—how should I say this? Anyway, I’m at some place in my life, I guess. (laughs)

Last year, in an interview with Weverse Magazine, you said, “I’m just 27 in Korean age.” I think “Bicycle” might be your own response to that statement—the song of someone who grew up listening to Drake in Korea. RM: You got it. Exactly. Drake’s the one who made me think I could sing, too, back in 2009 (laughs) and that’s what brought me all the way here. In the past I wanted to do something just like Drake—he influences Western music as the musical style he’s after changes. But because I don’t live my life the way they do, I can’t make the exact same music as them.

And for that reason, I figured it’s the kind of song that would end up on the playlists of people like you, as it has a style that can express that sort of person’s overall feelings more than any specific genre can. RM: That’s how it usually turns out eventually. I sometimes think this way: Can’t I put “Bicycle” on the same mixtape as some songs that are made totally off the cuff, like I just talked about? I wish I had that kind of flare or image when I made songs, but nowadays I’m really slow at making them. I can’t think of lyrics as well as I used to, either. I have more avenues to absorb new things, and yet the output coming from inside of me is ridiculously limited, and extremely slow. They say there’s plenty of stories of artists from the past going up to their canvas and being unable to pick up their brush and screaming, “Who am I?” That’s sort of how I’m feeling. I’ve been working on a mixtape since 2019, but I haven’t finished that many songs.

Well, maybe it’s because the direction you want to take with your lyrics has changed. That is, that you’re trying to express the ideas you’ve built up inside yourself, instead of your experiences or social commentary. RM: That’s why I can’t write lyrics as fast as I used to. I don’t know what I’m doing, so I have no choice but to just write first. And that’s why I think Yoongi is such an amazing person. I mean, how does he make that many songs, and so well? Maybe it’s because he takes a producer’s point of view, but I can’t do that. Not only am I jealous, but I also think the starting point when I’m making music has to be the lyrics. I just—I hope I’m on my way somewhere. But that’s how I always feel (laughs) so when I listen to my stuff from two years ago now, it already sounds old.

You’re featured on eAeon’s “Don’t,” which boasts impressive lyrics as well—lyrics that start with the color of waves and end with an image of pebbles. It seem like it’s your interest in art that allows you to keep developing such visual images. RM: I can’t say for sure, but it’s likely a strong reflection. I had seen an article where an artist said that pebbles are the perfect form: a rock worn down over and over in a series of incidents and coincidences, made into some round shape in the end. It said the artist collected pebbles for a long time, saying pebbles are so perfectly smooth without any edges, although they’re neither perfect circles nor ovals. Also, I absolutely love Lee Qoede. I saw a quote in a book about his art: “Let’s become entangled. Let us stand united. Let’s not argue. And let’s become pebbles in the new leadership narrative of my country.” He wrote it in a letter while he was working during the country’s liberation period. I thought it was, what, a very modern way to express things, for someone who lived through the chaotic political circumstances of 1948 to want to become a pebble. I felt like his words still have meaning—like they live on. I guess those two artists’ use of the word “pebble” made a very lasting impression on me.

I was impressed how the relatively large waves give way to the image of small pebbles, and then you end the flow with lyrics like, “Don’t take that name away, the one only you know,” and “I hate being just any wildflower,” about a small presence that is defined by others. RM: Yes, it was fun. I once thought how people’s relationships are like crashing waves, and I think that mixed together with my thoughts about pebbles and it came out all at once. There’s a sentence I wrote down a long time ago while I was thinking by the sea. I thought, Is there any color in the waves? When people talk about waves crashing in, what waves are they talking about? The blue waves, or the white waves? I went completely overboard with emotion when I was thinking that (laughs) but again, that’s just me. So I wrote this one sentence—“I wonder what color the waves are”—and listened to the music eAeon gave me, and it sounded to me like fog rolling over the ocean. It was really easy to start writing the lyrics since the sensory perception of that sentence overlapped with what he gave me. It was a so-called “aha moment” (laughs) and whenever that happens, the lyrics come out of me all at once. It only took about an hour and a half to write the lyrics. I thought of more lyrics later on, but I ended up sticking with the first ones.

What are you looking for that you’re thinking that much? RM: In the end, it’s really important for me to ask about who I am, and I want to express who I found myself out to be, but I’m having a really difficult time because I don’t know if what I found is right. So for now, “Bicycle” is also the result of collecting the selves I found who I think represent the best of me. Even while making a song like “Bicycle,” I have to convey—how do I put this? It’s just about me, this kid from outside the big city—an essence that I can’t get rid of, I guess. I can’t let go of the kid who used to perform in Hongdae. It’s not really something I want to express or hold onto; it’s my essence, so I don’t really have a choice. (laughs)

You’ll just ride your bike, anyhow. RM: Exactly. Exactly that. (laughs)

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[val-aquenta]

Mace Windu Appreciation prompt: Friendship and Music

Here on ao3

1. 

In the creche, there is an emphasis on music as a symbol of harmony. There are lullabies that they sing and rhythm games they play. Mace can recall, very faintly as it is an early memory, his hands clapping rhythmically with Agen’s. Their hands were rather small, but they still somehow had managed to keep their movements similar enough to not upset the balance, the chanting word went faster and faster until they could not keep it up, and they missed a beat falling to the floor in uncontrollable giggles. 

Mace can remember memories of their creche master, Master Ye, singing softly to the younger children before bed. He had a gravelly voice, low and rough, but still soothing to listen to. It was wonderful to listen to the old nautolan read from books. His voice was rhythmic, almost as though he were singing. Ye had been on the active roster for missions, but an injury in his leg had meant he had retired to the Temple for archival duty. Eventually, the creche had drawn his attention enough for him to become a creche master. 

Master Ye also had a habit of humming lowly under breath as he completed mindless tasks. All sorts of songs from many planets were in his repertoire. Mace recalls sitting close to the nautolan as he graded some papers from an older year, humming some strange song where the notes vibrated softly if they were long enough. “Master Ye, where does the song come from?” Master Ye had blinked as though surprised by Mace’s presence. 

“It’s from Mon Cala. They live underwater there, so the sound travels differently.” Master Ye explains. They had been studying Mon Cala recently, so Mace understood what the old creche master was talking about. “I do not do the original song justice, Mace.” He murmurs before. Mace frowns, he wants to hear the music again. “Of course, young one,” Ye said, humour twinkling in his eyes. He begins singing again, the notes long and carrying. The notes begin to push Mace to sleep, his eyes closing and his body leaning against the nautolan. Small hands reach out to grab at Ye’s robes and, as a response to the child almost falling from his perch by Ye’s side, the nautolan’s tentacles shift and wrap carefully around Mace, cradling him in a protective embrace. 

2. 

As Cyslin’s new Padawan, Mace found himself constantly being exposed to mirialan culture. Although she might not wear the most traditional of mirialan dresses as Knight Aleen wore, she still had a multitude of other forms of mirialan culture in her quarters. Her tattoos, signifying her personal achievements and spiritual enlightenment were one of the most obvious. She’d let him press his hands against the small black diamonds to get a feel of them in the Force. Strangely enough, they had felt like peace. When he had told her this, she had laughed with twinkling eyes, hands holding his gently. “Well, my Padawan, I suppose they would…” She said little more on the nature of her achievements after that, vaguely citing her own Master and some kind of trial as a Padawan. 

In a corner of their rooms, illuminated by gentle sunlight, but not in its direct path, hung a beautiful tapestry of a bare grey planet, its borders intermingling black, green, and gold. Mace once asked what it meant, where it was from. Cyslin had smiled, a proud feeling settling across her shoulders in the Force. It was not pride in an arrogant way, simply an acknowledgement of her accomplishments and a joy that they had been reached. “I made it with my Master’s help,” she had said. “When I went to get my tattoos, we spent time making this tapestry. It was… a wonderful experience, being on Mirial”

“Did it take a long time?” Mace asked, leaning into Cyslin’s warm hand as it gently fell onto his shoulder. 

“Yes, but I think it was worth it,” she rubbed his shoulder, nostalgia pricking up in the Force. Cyslin’s Master had died a few years back, yet the mention of him still sent her into deep melancholy. “Don’t you?” 

Mace had looked at the tapestry somewhat critically before saying, “Yes.”

Today, Cyslin was seated in front of him with a pot full of tea. An upturned cup sat in front of him, a twin in front of her. She flipped it over with the Force before pouring the tea. Mace waited until she had finished and then waited some more before reaching out and taking a sip, nodding at her, allowing the host to drink the tea. “Thank you, Padawan,” She said, her hands curling around the warm cup. There was a pause before she spoke again, “I was wondering, have you heard mirialan music?”

Mace finished his sip. “No… not yet?” He finished, looking hopefully at Cyslin. He had not heard much of it, but he had heard it was one of the few cultures which really used the Force for much of their art. 

Cyslin took a long draw from her cup before placing it down on the table with a soft clink. “I do have a couple of instruments…” She began, a smile stretching across her face. “Mostly wind.”

“Can I… do you play?” Mace asked, a bit hesitant, his cup placed on the table as well. 

Cyslin’s eyes wrinkled in the corners as she smiled, “Of course I do.” She sat up with a soft sigh, moving to the corner of the room where a wooden box sat, elegant carvings across the lid and sides of the box. She took the lid off, placing it to the side gently before reaching into the box and pulling out a long cylindrical instrument. Elegant artistic swirls and designs covered it, painstakingly carved onto the instrument. Even from here, Mace could feel the pulses in the Force, a result of the love and time poured into the carving of the instrument. It was not a familiar presence though. “My Master carved this as an apprentice. I carved mine too. Perhaps… in time you will carve one yourself?” She held the instrument fondly in her grip before extending it to Mace, “Now, though, you can learn with his.”

Mace reached out to grab it, but hesitated, “Are you sure I can? I mean… I’m not mirialan…” Cyslin tilted her head, her short hair bouncing to the side with the movement. 

“Padawan… it is a gift, one I share with you.” She pushed the instrument into his hand, closing Mace’s hand around. “I know you, Mace, and I know you will respect it.”

Mace hesitantly gripped it, bringing it to him. He cradled it close, fingers running reverently over the carvings. They were intricate, tiny, and very detailed. “Thank you, Master,” he whispered, holding the flute limply in his grip. 

“Do not worry, Padawan,” Cyslin said before turning back and reaching into the box and removing another flute. Hers was longer and the carvings more geometric. “Now… watch the way I play, both in the Force and with your eyes.” And she began. Mace did not want to say that it was the best music he’d heard, poor Shaak would be saddened at having lost, but it was truly close. In the Force, her happiness could be felt somehow coming from both her and out the mouth of the flute. Her fingers danced effortlessly, playing a fast and lively song. Mace closed his eyes, hearing the soft notes as they plucked through the air, feeling the joy in the Force. Soon, though, Cyslin changed pace and the song became slower, more sombre. The notes were long and would vibrate as though cracking with emotions. After a few moments of her long mourning notes, the pitch moved up, and it became almost agonizingly caked with emotions. There were a few notes, high pitched and intense before there was a silence Mace did not dare break. After a few seconds, she lowered the flute, inclining her head in respect. Mace clapped respectfully. 

“Master! That was wonderful. I did not know you played so well.” He took in a deep breath to replenish lost reserves. Cyslin let out a chuckle, shuffling a bit closer so that they were side to side. 

“Well, my Padawan. I’m sure you will soon be as good as I.” She said, and then indicated he pick up his flute. “Now, here, your hand should be curved as though you have a sabre in your palms…” 

3. 

Depa had been gone for many months on a retreat to Chalacta to pass through enlightenment. She went every few years to learn about Chalacta, just like Mace had gone to Haruun Kal to learn about the Korun people. Indeed, Mace found himself rather nervous about this meeting as Depa had been taking the trials of enlightenment. The ship was coming soon. “Patience, my Padawan.” Cyslin murmured at his side, hand reaching out to press against his. The cane, a permanent fixture on her side, clacked against the stone floor. “She will be here when she gets here.”

“Of course, Master,” Mace breathed out, tilting his head, and walking with Cyslin slowly towards the docking centre Depa would be coming on. The injury on Cyslin’s hip, a blaster straight to the hip, meant her career as an active Jedi was over. However, she appeared to have found a new purpose in the archives. Mace often found her and Madame Nu in deep discussions about some obscure historical fact. “Aurek-5. Here we are.” Cyslin rested her hand in his elbow daintily.

“It’s five minutes late…” Cyslin frowned, unhappy with tardiness to any large degree. 

“Well, Cyslin, it seems we were also a bit late. It should be here in only a minute.” He said, patting the hand against his softly. 

She frowned at him, “Mace dear, we all know Corrie transport somehow thinks a minute is three times longer than it is.” Mace let out a chuckle. 

“Aren’t Jedi supposed to have faith?” He asked slyly, eyes catching her blue ones. Cyslin’s eyes sparkle in a familiar manner.

“I have faith, my Padawan,” She began, lips tilting into a lazy smile, “but even you must agree that the transport system seems to bend itself backwards to subvert our expectations.

Mace begins to speak before jerking as a ship begins to dock. “Master…” It appeared that, as always, Cyslin was right. The Corrie ship had come late, but not as late as they had thought. 

“I can see, Mace.” She grouched, though she too was smiling widely. She had a soft spot for Depa, always had ever since Mace had rescued the young girl from the pirate-slavers.

“You think…?” He trailed off slowly. 

“She’ll be Depa either way.” Cyslin offered, this time more serious. Her hand gripped his arm, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to be felt pretty clearly. Mace finds himself smiling softly as he feels Depa’s Force presence come closer, mingling with his joyfully. 

Mace sighed, relaxing into Cyslin’s hold, “That she will…” He trailed off, waiting a respectful distance away. As the ship's doors dropped open, Mace caught a beige blur going his way, weaving past other people on the platform before she’s standing in front of him. On the bridge of her nose, two bright silver spots stand out. “Depa…”

Depa smiled widely, “Master Mace, Master Cyslin…” She bowed a bit, something clashing in her bag behind her. She looked shocked for a moment before hurriedly opening her bag. “I… there was this musical instrument on Chalacta. So, I thought you two might like to have it? You’re both music nerds…” She trailed off as she revealed a circular metallic instrument. Little sticks on the corners were revealed as she pulled away the thin flimsi wrapping. “Here… you flick these and it-” A soft plink comes from the instrument. She flicks another and a lower plink, almost the sound of a water droplet falling into a pond, comes forth. “Lots of kids have them. They’re easy to play, you see?” She plucked another stick, an even lower noise making itself known. She looked up at the two. “Here.”

Cyslin opens her hands, receiving the gift and plucking a few notes. A dissonant noise rises and Cyslin laughs. It had been getting harder and harder to play her flute, so a new instrument, less reliant on breathing would be much easier for Cyslin to play. Mace and Depa traded smiles, their presences mingling in greeting as the months spent separated slowly melt away into their comfortable familiarity.

4. 

The music in Naboo was boisterous, a contrast to the sombre funeral march yesterday. The drums and chanting from the crowd, paired with the extravagant decorations gave an illusion of little having happened. Mace, however, could see the cracks in this facade. Every couple of buildings, damage from the occupation on Naboo was showing whether it was in busted down doors or somewhat crumbling buildings. He knew the worst damage was hidden from sight, the victory parade kept far away from the damaged sectors in order to keep morale up. Similarly, he could see the cracks in the young man, at the Queen’s side. Every now and then, the blue eyes would fog up, turning a glassy sheen before clearing quickly. His sadness hung around him like a cloud. 

Mace could not judge him. Losing a Master to a childhood nightmare at the cusp of knighthood was painful, to say the least. Losing a Master was difficult by itself. Force knows how long Mace had mourned before he returned to a normal point after Cyslin’s death. Depa had helped, as always, but there was only so much she could do, and she had also been grieving. Nevertheless, where Obi-Wan had fit in amongst the funeral pyre and mournful notes, he now stood out of place in the joyous victory parade.

Mace had been told the music would continue for a while, long into the night as the grand parade fractured into smaller parties. The council had been invited to the Queen’s party, and some had accepted. Mace thought that perhaps he should go after Obi-Wan, offer some kind of comfort after a loss. Yesterday, the man had needed some space to grieve by himself at his Master’s side, but today he could use some company or, at the very least a shoulder to cry on. The Queen grabbed the white orb of peace and gifted it to the king who lifted it to the light with a grand proclamation of, “peace!” If only, Mace mused, if only peace was so easy for us to accomplish.

The Queen and her retinue as well as the Gungans retreated soon after to the palace for a party. Most of the Council left with them, Depa turning back to give him a long look but, after a quick gesture, she turned and followed Plo up the steps. The young boy, Skywalker, followed the Queen, seemingly entranced by the girl. Mace turned to look for Obi-Wan, but the man had seemingly disappeared. He sighed and began walking towards the guest quarters they were assigned. 

The quarters were spacious, and as was becoming well known to Mace, elegant and aesthetically pleasing. His quarters in the Temple were still better, but the lovely swirling decorations and small pieces of art were a beauty to be sure. Obi-Wan had gotten a single room, small and in the corner of the wing, out of the way. The space between the other Jedi and him meant that Mace had hardly seen any sign of the man other than in the funeral the previous day, a few meetings today, and the victory parade. Interestingly enough, there is a faint sound of music coming from Obi-Wan’s room.

Mace knocks on the door and the music cuts off abruptly. There is silence in response, but Mace could feel the grief clearly. “Knig- Obi-Wan… Are you in there?” He winced, it was rather obvious that he knew the man was there. 

There was a sniffle before Obi-Wan responded, “Yes.” There was a pause where Mace contemplated opening the door, somewhat worried for the Knight. “Does anyone… need me?” He asks quietly.

“No…” He waits for a moment before speaking again, “Can I come in?” The question hangs in the air for a moment. There is a silence between them, only the light sound of horns blowing in the background. Then, an audible click as the door opens. It was unlocked. Obi-Wan presses his lips together, blinking and looking anywhere other than at Mace. He blinks at Mace unsurely before allowing him to enter the room. 

“Was there something you needed me for?” He asks hesitantly, closing the door behind Mace. The rooms are almost spotless. The couch, in contrast to the rest of the room, has a blanket haphazardly strewn across. On the low table, there is a speaker, probably the source of music, and a cup of tea, quickly on its way to cooling down too much.

Mace turns back to Obi-Wan, “Not really. I wanted to know how you’ve been.” He winces again. Of course Obi-Wan is not doing well, he’s just lost his Master. “Apologies. I know that it can not be easy and that it hurts, but know you do not have to suffer alone.” He offers a hand out, stretching it across the space between them. “If you wish it, I can keep you company, help you if you need it.” Obi-Wan shivers, staring at the hand for a moment before reaching to accept it. 

“Ok…” He sags a bit, allowing Mace to guide him back to the couch, allowing Mace to wrap the blanket around his shoulder tight. “Can I…?” He motions for the speaker on the low table. 

“Of course, of course,” Mace says handing the speaker to him before gesturing at the cup. “I’ll go warm this up, alright?” Obi-Wan nods absently, fiddling with the speaker in hand. Once Mace has left the living space to find a heater, the music starts up again. It is low and familiar, something Qui-Gon enjoyed playing when they were younger. He did not know the man had enjoyed it still. If he focuses hard enough, he can hear the soft sniffles and sobs as well. 

5. 

Ponds said that all different battalions had different music. Mace understood it. Obi-Wan said that the 212th had softer music, usually more sombre. They enjoyed lots of instrumentals. And many of the clones had learnt different instruments, often performing little concerts during long hyperspace rides. The 501st, by contrast, had rather boisterous and raucous music, involving lots of chanting and marching beats. The 187th music was popular. They enjoyed it so much that Mace would bring data files of popular music from Coruscant whenever he returned from the city. 

This time, he had brought back a Sy Snootles album. He remembered, vaguely, that the singer had killed a Hutt at some point, but he honestly could not fully remember. It was something of a gag gift, one well-received considering Pond’s face when he had revealed the file with a flourish of his robes. 

“Sir… ah, I can’t tell if this is a joke…” He trailed off, turning his face from the data file to look up at Mace incredulously. 

Mace chuckled and brought out a different datafile from one Radiohead, pressing it into Ponds’ warm hand. “Of course… Here… their latest hits.” The relief on Ponds face pulled a rare smile from him. These days were dark, and finding a reason to laugh was getting difficult. “Now… if possible, do you think I could listen too? I have not heard much of their music,” he admitted, hands folding into each other under the large robe sleeves. Ponds had called them impractical. 

Ponds’ eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise, “Of course, sir. I’m sure the clones would be happy to have you with us.” He looked at the two data files in hand, contemplating something before asking it, “General Billaba told us you were into music?” 

Force, Mace would never get used to these new titles. Nevertheless, he answered the question, “Yes… though I’m afraid that it is not exactly the kind of music you seem to enjoy.” He smiled apologetically. 

“Well, sir, I’m sure the clones would like it either way.” He paused for a moment before speaking again, “Do you think… you could teach some of us? Those that want to know?” 

Mace contemplates it for a fraction of a second, “Of course, Commander. Let’s hope your men are more adept at learning than Depa was.” He tacks on jokingly, smiling easily with his… friend. Yes, they are friends now, he supposes.

“Well, sir, You know better than most of their adaptability.” Ponds takes a moment, placing the data files into a pocket and shifting his helmet from side to side. “Perhaps… you could show us how you play? I’d want to hear it…?” The man’s fingers clench on the helmet and Mace can vaguely see his reflection in the white parts of the plastoid armour. 

“If I am not too out of practice, I will give a concert.” He pauses, thinking to the schedule he knows of Obi-Wan. “In fact… if the 212th really do join, we might get Obi-Wan to join as well. He plays the violin wonderfully.” Ponds blinks, a bit shocked.

“Of course, it’s only if you want to, sir. You don’t need to,” he is quick to assure, armour creaking a bit under the pressure. 

Mace lays a gentle hand on the clone’s shoulder after a moment of hesitation. “Commander, I would be happy to have a chance to play again, and I’m sure Obi-Wan feels the same.” He tries to bring the right words to mind, but he’s always found it somewhat difficult. Even with age, finding them is hard. “I would be very happy to perform for the men if they wanted it.” The man shifts underneath his palm, sagging a bit in relaxation, but only a bit. 

“Well… in that case, sir, I can try to find an audience?”

“Please, though Ponds, no holos if you will.” It has become a running joke between the two after a somewhat disastrous attempt at wartime press on the battlefield. The crew had been a bit shocked by the battlefield, and it had led to the strangest interviews Mace and Ponds have ever experience. 

“Of course, sir,” Ponds is quick to assure, a sly smirk catching the corners of his lips, “I will endeavour to keep you out of the press.” Is his response. Mace smiles, it is good that Ponds is by his side. A light in this sea of darkness. Ponds starts walking by his side as they walk to the mess, helmet under his elbow. Yes… it is good, if only for a moment. 

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2

Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier  (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k

Part 1 |

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research. 

Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.

With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.

Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week. 

This was my limit.

Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig. 

I’d officially hit rock bottom. 

It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop. 

Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press. 

Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed. 

It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile. 

Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like. 

The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers. 

Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me. 

If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one. 

From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero

Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project! 

By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette. 

Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie. 

Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to. 

Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?

Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)

Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?

Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August. 

Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that. 

Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying. 

A house don’t fall when the bones are good. 

The bones. 

Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?

Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so. 

Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance? 

Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.

Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?

Bishop: Yes ma’am. 

Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?

Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about. 

Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.

Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?

Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that. 

Bishop: I promise you I won’t.

Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?

Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.

Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. 

At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher. 

Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio. 

By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?

I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary. 

After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.

To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time. 

After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.

“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me. 

As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway. 

Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out. 

Immediately when I saw her, I knew.

“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation. 

“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”

“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.” 

For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now. 

“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped. 

Valerie. 

The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way. 

Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was. 

“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare. 

“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was. 

“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.” 

This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?” 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...” 

While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed. 

“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?

“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?” 

A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?

“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.” 

There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?” 

For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?

“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.

With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room. 

Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive. 

But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before. 

It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. 

“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?” 

“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer. 

“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.” 

“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.

“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe. 

“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”

“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me. 

As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body. 

She was so close. 

But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there. 

But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?

Was that my bones?

“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”

There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”

Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?

“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”

She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions. 

“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.

“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”

I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?” 

She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again. 

I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there. 

For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me. 

No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass. 

Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.

All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 3 COMING SOON!

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[alotsgonnachange]

Mystic Messenger Saeran’s AE Thoughts (.......And Prayers..) #Spoilerz

Hello, I just finished Saeran’s after ending and I have a lot of things to say and I am going to write it down while I'm still all keyed up about it.

First of all… Please DO NOT ask me how much money I spent to finish this as fast as I did…. I’m grown but my bank account is certainly going to have a good ole fashioned CHUCKLE at this….. It’s been a long quarantine I deserve a lil happiness as a treat methinks!

I have been playing this absolutely insane game since I think 2016? When I first started playing the deep routes had JUST come out I think? And I was just finishing up high school and am now a college grad...lmao

I’ve played all routes at least once except Jaehee but i’ve seen walkthroughs of her route (I’ve heard it makes you hate Jumin and he’s my favorite so um. hehe). V’s and Saeran’s routes I found to be so emotionally intense and just….a lot and I've been waiting a long ass god damn time for this after ending okay…. I would theorize and make up an ending in my head but i’m no writer so it was hard to figure out lol. I’m a Jumin stan mostly but I love everybody and yeah I should probably play that jumin dlc too but I need like a DAY to recover from Saeran’s AE. Enough about me HERE are my thoughts on it overall

Major Saeran AE Spoilers under da cut!

Can we please discuss V showing up to the C+R conference room with basically chloroform and made everybody Pass Out like??? I was alone in my room at like midnight just SCREAMING at my phone???? And the creepy ass CG ???? It’s like that gif of sarah paulson from ahs being like “I put arsenic in the wine….and the pasta”

Anyway I screamed at V a lot during this process!!

Loved RFA being sweet and kind to saeran (before V fucking drugged them…)

This is such common V behavior “I have to do it all myself...there’s no other way..” GIRL SHUT UPPP You do this every route....

SO many CG’s and I enjoy them a lot

Saeran’s sprite looks a little TOO crisp compared to everyone else but maybe its a glitch??? V next to him is in 480p while saeran is like 1080p

Hearing both Saeran and Saeyoung missing the other brother the whole time??? PAIN. All my homies know is PAIN

BOSS and his V for Vendetta ass guy fawkes mask??? I literally yelled “this game is TERRIBLE!!” several times at my phone

Their dad is so>??????? When he was sitting on the couch with saeyoung in that one CG while simultaneously telling him to kill himself?????????? Maybe chairman han is actually the best dad in this game somehow

When V and Rika were like we’re back together teehee teehee okay pack it up bonnie and clyde ..

When chairman han calls u and says hes jealous of u and saeran…..HUH????? I’m calling HR

When they go to the apartment and see boss and vanderwood and poor saeyoung is sitting there seeing his brother for the first time in years i wanted to D word sooooo bad like PAIN...PAIN….

Can we HAVE A DISCUSSION ABOUT JUMIN HAN BEING THE BEST CHARACTER IN THE GAME AND HE LOST EVERYTHING IN THIS AE……. he just took the blame and moved on jumin what the hell….. I love him so much r we serious? He watched his 2 closest friends betray him in the worst way and found out abt how Rika abused Saeyoung and Saeran???? I felt just AWFUL. Terrible ...Terrible….

Rika’s change in demeanor from Saeran's actual route is certainly a Choice. I find her much more bearable this time around and unfortunately i think I was too nice to her and ended up with a bad end LMFAO

I was happy to see Saeran stand up for himself and become stronger and confident. You go king!

The CG of Yoosung laying in Zen’s lap is everything to me…

HOWEVER YUP I sure did get a bad ending and I was so mad fdsafdskfdhsf ! (I would be happy to clarify how I got the good one the second time.) MAKE SURE To SAVE EARLY in days 2 and 3 bc the branches on day 4 is where the bad end will show up. For me it was the first day 4 chat and then a story mode titled “SAVIOR”.... If you see that RUN FOR THE HILLS!!

I was so mad! But I had saved in day 2 and replayed and MANAGED to get good end

I’m obsessed with everyone calling V and Rika “that psychotic couple” like…..its true its true…

No those two are so toxic… V’s route was torture watching them go on and on about the sun like yo can yall just call each other babe like normal people.

I respect straight people but not V and RIka that shit was just wrong… Straight marriage was a mistake

Oh lord i also FULLY Forgot Rika killed the twins’ mother…. Yeah that scene was um Certainly a lot but it needed to happen eventually

Like it’s good they know but damn that storyline is just so bleak

I think it was satisfying TO A DEGREE….To see Rika understand where she was wrong, why she was wrong, fess up and even APOLOGIZE! I was very surprised.

Saeran and Saeyoung are Certainly twins with the amount that those two self sacrifice in every route MY GOD…..

The scene with Jumin talking to his father and the other scene of him praying oh my god I cannot tell you how happy I was to see him begin to understand and address his own feelings in a route that was not his own. My main problem with Jumin’s route has always been the trapping MC in his penthouse aspect.. This way Jumin understands love and emotions without being overly possessive !!! YAY also loved seeing him be on good terms with his dad who was surprisingly profound

That last Story mode was Really a Lot…. and Strange things occurred which I will get into in just a minute

Jumin becoming a politician is so funny but ngl … i see it.

Yoosung going to france to study pastries ok king I see u! (it made more sense to me than the vet thing anyway)

Lastly Zen FURRY ERA

MY BEEF With the AE

I was happy with how they handled it for the most part. I think Cheritz heard our feedback about V’s after ending and was like okay….let’s try something different

HOWEVER

Saeran…. Sweet kind saeran… IS SO AFFECTIONATE HAHA….

He must have said I love you like 300 times…..very mushy gushy flowery language...and maybe that’s just his personality but for me it was like eating cake with buttercream cake. It means well, but god damn is it sugary and going to cause a stomach ache later.

He was just… SO MUCH! SO forward and ON all the time in his affections. I honestly felt kind of smothered and by day 3 and 4 I was sooooo over all the compliments… King you’ve come a very long way, but ur still putting MC on a pedestal and probably need to see a therapist.

Nextly….Rika and V….. Naw that knock out gas really ...that hurt lol. Coming from “I would do anything to protect RFA” V? Idk like…. EYE felt betrayed reading that. It was just hurtful. I can’t even imagine how the members would have felt as they were passing out. It was just so cruel. I suppose I understand why but like?? Just TERRIBLE

Them being in cahoots with the agency and the prime minister..HUH??? Also too much

V just felt so irresponsible like I do understand that he ended up in a weird web of secrets that’s hard to untangle but he’s so fucking stubborn he’s SO stubborn it makes me insane. Like sir… It seems like in other routes he wanted to try to protect Rika and the RFA.. But in this AE it seems more to me that he was like yeah i’m protecting Rika and That’s It… so fucking hurtful to me. Both of y’all apologize ESPECIALLY to the twins and Jumin..

The forgiveness thing…… Okay so I think some people will not like that Saeran decided to “forgive” the people who hurt him (Rika, V, Saejoong, his mother). I would point out that I actually think this was approached somewhat well. He says at one point that he doesn’t think they’re good or bad, just people. I think he sounded mature and like this was the way for him personally to accomplish his healing process. Would I have loved for Saeran to flip V and Rika off and kick Saejoong off a cliff? Yea I really would. But like…. If that’s what HE needs to do to heal then who am I to judge?

HOWEVER…. Everything Eye just said goes out the window when the scenes at the end with Saejoong come up… I was PERPLEXED. Like why did he HUG his deranged father who just kicked the shit out of him??? Also all the chat options that MC has with him r like blah blah you’re like this because no one loves you were so corny to me LMFAOOOO?

AND WHEN HE WAS IN THE ROOM LATER WITH SAERAN… i’m sorry but if that were me I would have called a nurse to deck his ass. Cool he turned himself in YOU SUCK SOOOO BAD AND I NEVER WANT YOU TO COME NEAR SAEYOUNG AND SAERAN AGAIN THANKS.

*scratches ass* I wish I got to see saeyoung and saeran finally sit down and have that first conversation after a long time and hug CG but the ending was fine I GUESS….. I dont care about ROMANCE I want those boys to be happy brothers together

Anyway that was really emotionally exhausting but I fr think I got it out of my system after literal years… And I can rest in peace knowing the choi twins are happy. THATS ALL I WANTED TO KNOW!!!!

[ushidoux]

Mae!!! Congratulations on 1500 followers! That is absolutely amazing and you definitely deserve all the love and recognition!

My fave is Asahi!

I'm an INFP.

Song: Toxic by Britney Spears

I think my most proud accomplishment is getting my associates degree in Biotechnology and graduated magna cum laude. Or being a temp at my job and being moved to be the team lead after only like 3 months.

Ah!!! HI!!! <333 Thank you!!! You’re one of my favorite moots but you probably already know this lmao 

Ooh, I notice we share the same Myers-Briggs, how very sexy of you... Anyway, I’m proud of youuuu, graduating with honors is super hard and I appreciate your love of STEM, to which I too am partial~

Clearly from your second achievement you’re meant to lead and it shows! I love hearing your ideas and you speak with such conviction and authority you can get me to believe every word you say (in the best way possible). But you are still willing to be goofy and down to earth, which is what I love about you! I bet you are incredible at rallying those around you, but it’s not so immediately evident, maybe not even to yourself. You don’t need to be at the forefront to keep things under control, you lead with your presence and bright smile alone.

It’s that confidence and savoir-faire that moves Asahi. Even if you share sensitivity to others and environments, and the uncanny ability to end up in one or more embarrassing situations, you can still come out with a solution and not get so bogged down in your own thoughts. He admires you for that, and he wants so much to be able to ride out the lows of small and large anxieties like you do. 

But thankfully you can teach him!

“F-fuck!” 

Your cry of distress is loud enough to draw stares from most of the coffee shop, but the only expression you care about is the look of shock of the young man who watches the contents of your spilled cup of coffee seep into the large sketchbook he’d brought with him. Your heart sinks as you watch the sheets of paper on which he’s worked on designs for hours start to shrivel as ink starts to bleed through.

He’s absolutely mortified, and so are you.

You’re begging for forgiveness as you grab his sketchbook and shake it out frantically, desperately, then drop it back down on the table, dabbing at the spreading puddle of caramel macchiato rapidly before working on the spill just besides his feet. Your cream-colored pants are ruined - honestly, you had been pretty bold in the first place to choose that color in your outfit and now this - but that’s the least of your problems.

“I’m so sorry, how can I help?” You offer, pathetically.

The young man hasn’t said a single word. He looks at you, mouth agape like a fish, fingers clutching the writing utensil in his hand nervously. Another hand runs nervously through his somewhat long hair, then rubs his chin as he bites his lip, trying to come up with something to say.

However, before he can come up with anything, you’re still trying to find a way to salvage the fact that you might have just ruined a stranger’s life, and unfortunately your emergency response is to talk a mile a minute.

“Was the book expensive? I can pay!” You pause, then remember you have somewhere to be, and clench your fist. “Ugh, I’m in a hurry though, here-” 

On a portion of the ruined page, you scribble down your name and your phone number.

You’re a whirlwind, and just like a storm, you bow out as quickly as you ran into his life.

--- 

Even if you had perseverated on the embarrassing thing you had done that entire day, and felt a pang of guilt when you didn’t see the young man sitting in the same spot the next day (mind you there could be a million other reasons a dude doesn’t go to a particular coffee shop), you’d still managed to forget the incident by the time two weeks had passed.

So your surprise was genuine when a strange number flashed on your phone, and you picked up the phone, expecting to hear from a coworker but rather the nervous voice of a man you didn’t recognize.

“Who is this?”

“I… uh, you gave me your number... after you, yeah...”

There was a pause on the phone where both of you seemed to wonder what exactly was supposed to happen next.

And then in a split second of realization, it hit you.

“Oh!” Him.

And the apologies began.

But before you could eventually sign away your life to him, he stopped you in your tracks.

“I.. uh… if you really want to make up for it, how about I, uh… hm…,” he trailed off, unsure, and your heart started to pound.

“I..?’

“Join me for dinner, p-please!”

[anon-e-miss]

Instransigence 9

There had been no movement on any of Mirage’s cameras, and Jazz could not decide if this was a positive or a negative. Perhaps it was a mix of both. Barricade would not be talking for a long time, if ever. In the mean time Jazz had questions he wanted answered. Nightstalker was dead, and the mnemosurgeons had not found much. The rusting processor of a dead mechanism was not a treasure trove that could be simply picked clean. It was generally only the last moments of a life that could be pulled out. All they had pulled out of Nightstalker was the thrill of the chase, and some deeply dark desires. There was no doubt in Jazz’s processor that Prowl’s attackers, at least that one, had intended on raping him before they killed him. He thought better of sharing that bit of information with Smokescreen.

He did not caution Smokescreen to watch his speed as they drove to the base in the early joors of the light-cycle. Jazz kept pace with his rookie, driving just a few kilometres over the speed limit. They did not come across any enforcers looking to fill their quota of tickets. Their number were probably in chaos. The Autobot Security Force had descended upon the Enforcer Command and were digging through every workstation and every vault in search of any evidence of a Decepticon infiltration. Ironhide would give his report to Prime and Prime would forward it to Jazz, and Jazz would pick it clean. That was not the only thing Jazz wanted to pick clean. He was certain there was something stashed in Prowl’s memory banks that could be of use. Likely many somethings, but with a recall like Prowl’s the small things and the subtle things could be easily... not so much forgotten as overlooked.

That would probably have to wait until Prowl was off the blockers. Jazz had an almost fond memory of Smokescreen. The dislocation had been an accident, just one of those things that happened during basic training. Though they had only been halfway through the second quartex of basic training, Jazz had already mentally tapped Smokescreen for Spec Ops during his observations. He had been there when an overly excited Tagonian had knocked a minibot recruit off the platform. Smokescreen had performed a wicked dive to catch him before he toppled off the edge. Jazz had been impressed by his moves. He had been less impressed by the Tagonian who had knocked Smokescreen and Volks both over the side as Smokescreen had been pulling the minibot up. One thing was for certain, that mech was not going near one of Jazz’s operations with a ten metre pole.

The dive had confirmed for Jazz that he had wanted Smokescreen for Spec Ops, and he had gone to see  Smokescreen in the medbay only to find the young mech out of his Primus damned mind. Had his medic been any but Ratchet, Jazz would have been reasonable to accuse them of overdosing the Praxian, but it had been Ratchet had he had explained that Smokescreen systems were sensitive to blockers. More sensitive that Ratchet had expected, though Smokescreen had warned him. Jazz had stuck around with the young mech until he had been called away by Hound. By the time he had gotten back, Smokescreen had been picked up by the friend he had commed when he had been dosed out of his helm. Someone designated Ore... Not Ore, Jazz realized now. Origin. Prowl.

Smokescreen had not returned to training until his doorwing had fully healed, a full quartex. Though he had returned to the parade grounds with his unit he had only stayed long enough for Jazz to come and fetch him. When Jazz had taken him back to his office, he had realized quickly that Smokescreen had assumed he was in trouble. Completely by accident Jazz had discovered the identity of the base’s betting ring’s founder. In just one quartex it had taken off. New recruits and seasoned soldiers all enjoyed the underground pool, and recognizing the value of a little distraction, Jazz had left it be. With that discovery and with a look and Smokescreen’s grades, Jazz had adopted Smokescreen as his personal project, rather than shunting him off to one of his seasoned agents. The Praxian was a special talent. He would serve Spec Ops well with a little time and training, and Jazz would be sure he got both.

“He’s groggy,” Ratchet declared when the pair arrived and found the medic waiting. “And grumpy. He woke up in the dark-cycle with some pain so I gave him another small dose. You don’t burn through them as fast, Mechling.”

“No,” Smokescreen replied. “They hit Origin hard but he burns through them fast. They hit me hard too but then they keep me on my aft for mega-cycles. Can I sit with him?”

“Sure, Smokescreen. I’ll give you a few breams before I come in to do another exam.”

“Shouldn’t you recharge?” Smokescreen asked. The tone suggested to Jazz that this was a question Smokescreen had asked before, though not of this mech.

“You just fuss over your Origin,” Ratchet replied. “Go be a pain in his neck.”

Jazz chuckled as Smokescreen scampered off to Prowl’s room. Ratchet had not requested to see the energon he had brought. Maybe Ratchet did not actually care, but Jazz doubted it. Smokescreen had merely distracted him with that sassy observation. From the cant of his doorwings, the young mech was plenty pleased with himself. He definitely had the makings of an operative, though Jazz had somewhat more complex plans in mind for Smokescreen. His rookie was studying psychology at the Academy of Science and Tech here in Iacon. When he had finished his degree he would have a whole different perspective to their operations, to their enemies. He had a two more vorns yet of studying to go before he finished his Bachelor’s. Smokescreen had suggested he was interested in getting his Masters, even a  Doctorate, if he could get the scholarships. There would be no need of that, not of the degree but of the scholarship. Jazz had tapped Optimus for a little bump to his department. Though he did not know it yet, Smokescreen’s education was now covered. Jazz had no doubt this expense would pay the Autobots rich dividends in the end.

“Ya didn’t comm Smokey,” Jazz said as he lingered with Ratchet as the medic polished a wrench.

“There was nothing to comm about,” Ratchet replied. “When I checked in on him he was online. He refused a blocker and I left him to stew. When I came back a joor later he took the blocker.”

“Don’t suppose he mentioned what he was stewin’ on?”

“No. I’m hoping he’s considering what I said about that mnemosurgeon. You’re probably hoping he was stewing on your investigation.”

“I’d take either,” Jazz replied. “Apart from the wiring, what’d that fragger hit?”

“Memory banks, the slash and smash has long healed,” Ratchet replied. “I don’t know what they were trying to accomplish. The base of the helm isn’t a conventional route for that surgery.”

“Wasn’t a surgery,” Jazz said. Ratchet stiffened and he slowly set the wrench down. There was fury in his optics.

“What did the mechling tell you?”

“His origin came home and claimed to be overcharged. He was stumblin’. Smokey mighta gone to his berth believin’ it but he saw the energon drippin’ down Prowl’s neck.”

“It would have been a sight,” Ratchet hissed. “He should have gone to the medicentre. He was stumbling because that wiring relates to his motor relays. If his self repair systems hadn’t grounded the wires, if they’d shorted, it would have been catastrophic.”

“Fatal?”

“Probably.”

“Don’t suppose ya told ‘m that.”

“We had a talk. I’d have had better luck trying to reason with a rock.”

“Smokey said Prowl told’m neither o’em behaved well that dark-cycle.”

“What do you think he meant by that?”

“Don’t know. Date gone wrong. Coulda been anythin’.”

“A date?”

“I told ya it wasn’t surgery.”

“Frag.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s worse, you know,” Ratchet said as he lifted his abandoned wrench back off the counter and set to polishing it again. “There’s no arguing the fragger had the best of intentions. It couldn’t be anything but straight up rape.”

“He told Smokey neither o’ them behaved well.”

“At least on some level he blames himself for it. The fact that he’s an enforcer...”

“Probably figures he shoulda been able to stop it,” Jazz guessed what Ratchet was thinking. He remembered what Smokescreen had said. Worrying what else the fragger had done to his origin. Smokescreen was still worrying. “Probably felt too embarrassed to sit down wit another enforcer to file a complaint.”

“Could it have been another enforcer?” Ratchet wondered out loud.

“That would fit. Smokey didn’t know the fragger’s designation. Don’t sound like he ever got serious wit anyone after his ‘genitor.”

“It’s been three vorns. He’s had three vorns to convince himself he had some part to play in what happened to him. Three vorns for it to fester. I doubt he’s going to give us a designation.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, ‘m thinkin’ the same thing.”

[29-pieces]

Whumptober Day 29 - Good Omens

Day 29: Reluctant Bedrest Fandom/setting: Good Omens, following the events of days 9, 11, and 13 - Crowley has rescued Aziraphale from the cult and finally brought him home for some caretaking. Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

[Part 1 starts here]

You guys wanted a continuation for the three-parter, so here it is! :D Told from the Bookshop’s POV. If you like Sentient Bookshop stories, be sure to check out Lady Wallace’s Good Omens whumptobers day 27 ;) 

I also have a full chapter fic with Bookshop and Bentley, Soul of Vellum, Heart of Chrome! Headcanon basics: the bookshop thought Crowley’s name was Dearboy. It can do little miracles of its own. Neither Azi nor Crowley have a clue 😂

~*~

PART 4/3

The bookshop watched Dearboy bring Aziraphale inside, fretting with so much fretfulness that the glass panes in the windows were rattling slightly. Neither the snake-eyed demon nor the bookshop's beloved angel seemed to notice, though the Bentley naturally pointed it out at the first opportunity, along with an admonition to calm down and take care of their beloved pair. The Bentley wasn't often the voice of reason—quite the opposite—but this time it was right.

Aziraphale was clearly alive and that was, of course, the main thing. As for what had happened to him, the Bentley couldn't give many details other than how the angel had been restrained when it busted through the wall of the compound to rescue him and Dearboy.

The thought of Aziraphale strung up on some horrid pentagram, muzzled and barely alive, made the bookshop quiver again with rage and alarm. As did the next bit of the story, how the Bentley had been in a terrible wreck on the way home thanks to the cult leader. But, as the Bentley pointed out in exasperation, it was obviously back in tip-top condition, else it wouldn't have made it back to Soho.

This was a good point, so the bookshop tried once again to wrench its attention back to Aziraphale and Dearboy.

The demon was getting Aziraphale up the stairs into his infrequently used bedroom; the bookshop saw Aziraphale shiver, so it cranked the temperature up a few more degrees.

"Easy does it," Dearboy murmured, settling the angel carefully down on the edge of the bed, then squatting down in front of him and taking his hands. "Angel?" he asked in that careful voice that always made the bookshop settle with a creak of content. "What- what do I need to do?"

"Oh, nothing, my dear boy," Aziraphale sighed, looking down at their hands. His face was tight with emotion, though. He would be needing tea, or else something stronger, so the bookshop quickly checked the cupboards to make sure it was well stocked with both. Maybe a bit of that Chateau Greysac it knew Dearboy liked so much, as a thank you for rescuing Aziraphale.

But first, it needed to know what had happened to the angel. The bookshop creaked in impatience, then immediately felt bad when Aziraphale tensed and jerked his head up to check the doorway.

"It's just us," Dearboy reminded him. "Alright?"

"Yes, dear me, so- so silly of me," Aziraphale chuckled weakly. "Afraid I'm a tad bit jumpy..."

"Angel... what- what did they do to you? Are you... are you hurt?"

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes. "Just drained," he whispered. There was a moment of silence, then he peeped his eyes back open to see Dearboy watching him. He took a shuddering breath then managed to choke out, "They took my power, Crowley... they just... took it."

"How?" Dearboy asked carefully. "You still had plenty after the accident, so... they didn't take all of it?"

"I don't know how it worked," Aziraphale admitted with a shudder. "But it was horrible. The pentagram was part of it, and- and there was a spell they used. I've never heard it before. But when they did it, it was like... I felt it, all my power, you know it's usually just a normal part of you, all through your being?"

Dearboy nodded, face unreadable.

"Well, I felt it... moving. Gathering. It was like the spell was pulling it all in on itself into a little ball, and that- that- oh that horrible-" He couldn't go on, a shaky hand releasing Dearboy's to rub over his jaw. He must have been talking about the muzzle that Bentley had mentioned. Tears danced in the angel's eyes as he whispered, "I felt it in my chest, then moving up into my throat, and oh Crowley it burned so badly... this corporation doesn't usually have so much concentrated power in one place, you know. And once it was all in my throat, they- they had some sort of syringe, I don't know what sort or where they got it, but- they... they just took it."

He closed his eyes and seemed to crumple a bit. Dearboy was off his haunches in a second, sitting on the bed beside him with his arms wrapping the angel in comfort and protection.

"You're safe now, though," Dearboy murmured, taking the words right out of the bookshop's, er... mouth. "And they're all dead. And they didn't get all of it, so that's something."

"They did, though," Aziraphale sighed as he leaned into the safe hold. "Or it seemed like it. Only once a day, and by the next morning it was all replenished but every time it left me more and more exhausted. If you hadn't come, Crowley, I- I think they intended to keep going forever. I'm an angel, I- I'll never run out of power, so long as I can recharge somewhat. I didn't know if you'd managed to escape that warehouse or how you would ever find me even if you did, I thought I was never getting out of-"

"Hey, hey!" Dearboy spoke up as Aziraphale grew more and more upset. "I did get out and I did find you. And you're home with your books and your- oh, look, see there's even a box of chocolates right here on the bedside table."

Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes but took the offered box with a watery chuckle. "That's very kind of you."

You're welcome, the bookshop thought, already knowing Dearboy would accept the credit for having brought the chocolates, but that was alright.

"And I'll fetch us a bottle of wine to go with it," Dearboy said. "While I'm doing that, you are going to put on some pyjamas and get in the bed, and you're not leaving it until you're fully recovered. No, don't argue," he said louder as Aziraphale opened his mouth to do exactly that. "You need rest, and lots of it."

"But- the store..."

"Is closed, just the way you like it," Dearboy pointed out.

"But-"

"No buts. You, pyjamas. I'll be back in a tick."

Dearboy fixed Aziraphale with another bossy glower then slithered down the stairs to the kitchenette. The bookshop had two glasses waiting on the counter, along with a corkscrew and the book Aziraphale had been reading before dashing out after Dearboy in such a hurry. As an afterthought, it piled another quilt on the chair beside all of this so the demon could take it back upstairs with him. Aziraphale tended to nest when he was upset, so the more blankets, the better.

With all of this accomplished, now feeling a little better for knowing the story and a little angrier for the same reason, the bookshop settled in to watch over its occupants.

O\[]/O

Aziraphale was a notoriously awful patient, always thinking he was quite ready to be back up on his feet long before he actually was. Dearboy was standing guard—er, keeping him company—but he did love to sleep, that demon. And so the bookshop would have to stand guard as well over the next few days, thwarting the angel on several occasions when he tried to sneak out of bed. The bookshop watched as, nearly a week from being rescued, Aziraphale stole a glance at Dearboy in a chair nearby that was tilted back against the wall on two legs. The demon was snoring soundly, as Aziraphale was supposed to be doing but of course wasn't. The angel pushed the blankets back and crept out of the bed. He started to tiptoe for the door as quietly as he could, which of course wasn't very quiet when the bookstore made sure to creak as loud as it possibly could with each and every footstep.

When that still didn't wake the demon, the bookshop waited until Aziraphale's hand was on the door before it knocked the chair out from under Dearboy with a crash.

Dearboy leaped to his feet with a shout, brandishing the wineglass he'd been holding like a sword until he saw Aziraphale with his hand sheepishly on the doorknob.

"Oi!" Dearboy grumbled. "Where are you going? Back in bed! If you fall down the stairs again-"

"Oh, Crowley, but I simply must mind the store. What if someone thinks I've gone on holiday for being closed so long, and tries to break in and steal my books?"

"No one is going to steal your books, angel," Crowley said with a groan.

It was quite true. A few people had been giving the store quizzical looks over the last few days, some even going to press their faces to the door. That had been great fun, as the Bentley projected some of Dearboy's demonic energy into the store in the form of monstrous specters right in front of the glass. So far two of the peepers had fainted, much to the bookshop and Bentley's glee.

"Besides, I..." Aziraphale broke off and looked away.

Dearboy frowned. "You what?"

"I just... I don't want to be trapped in the same room for much longer," he admitted softly. "Can't we at least go downstairs? Open a window? There's plenty of couches, you know, and after all I've been resting for days. Please, Crowley, I just don't want to feel like... like a prisoner in my own home."

Drat. The bookshop couldn't very well argue with that. Neither, obviously, could Dearboy, who slumped a bit with obvious guilt.

"Yeah, alright then."

But he still hovered right beside Aziraphale as the angel took step by painstaking step down to the main level, at the ready to catch him if need be. The shop had cleared off the comfiest couch of the books that had been piled on it, draping an extra throw blanket over the back for extra coziness.

"Shall I... erm... fetch some cocoa?" Dearboy offered as he got the angel settled onto the couch.

Aziraphale smiled up at him gratefully. "That would be lovely. Crowley," he added as the demon turned to go.

Dearboy turned back, waiting expectantly.

Aziraphale's smile softened, eyes growing warm. "Thank you," he said. "For rescuing me."

"That's the Arrangement," Dearboy said with a shrug. "Though if you're really starting to feel better, I'm going to shout at you for taking my place to begin with."

"Oh," Aziraphale coughed and leaned back on the couch with a rather larger than necessary wince. "I'm not feeling that much better."

"Hmm." The demon fixed a suspicious glower on him, but then hurried on to the kitchenette to fetch the cocoa.

At least Aziraphale's admission that he really wasn't all that better yet was cause enough for Dearboy to continue showering him with care and healing. It did the bookshop's heart good to see its favorite two beings on the couch, cupping steaming mugs for Aziraphale to drink and Dearboy to pretend to drink even though they both knew he didn't actually like it half as much as wine. To see the demon piling blanket after blanket on Aziraphale when the angel dozed off without meaning to, still more worn out than he wanted to admit. To watch Dearboy leap to defend him from imagined captors when a particularly bad nightmare woke him up.

To see the unspoken devotion the two had for each other, and to know that long after the bookshop was able to watch over its angel, Aziraphale would still be in good hands.

[fictionaffliction]

Better Forgotten

Chapter One

Pairings: Loki/OC

Summary: Dr. Ingrid Hansen is a respected psychologist struggling with the aftermath of the Snap as well as her own trauma from an accident she endured many years ago. Her world is thrown into utter chaos when she meets a dangerous man posing as a client. Dr. Strange is reluctantly tasked with protecting her, but in order to do so, he must first help her recover who she truly is. While she is grateful for his help, she has to wonder, are some things better forgotten?

Rated M

Warnings: Canon typical violence, eventual mentions of suicide and domestic violence (which will be tagged in the chapters in which they occur), memory loss, chronic pain

September 21, 2012

The brightly lit conference room was lively with chattering voices. Hundreds of scholars, dressed in the grey and beige that business casual dictates, wound their way through the rows of scratchy linen padded chairs. Some exchanged business cards, networking like their livelihoods depended on it, and for many of them, it did. Others were on their phones or had pulled out laptops and started furiously typing away, no doubt responding to messages from their various offices in the little time they had before the keynote speaker took the stage.

Ingrid Hansen had just finished responding to an email of her own before setting her phone to silent and tucking it back into her purse, trading it for a small leather-bound notebook and a pencil. She wrote the name of the keynote, “Neurosurgery as Treatment for Psychiatric Disorders” as well as the name of the speaker. She had double-checked the name on the itinerary when she wrote it down, shrugging off the unusual name. Certainly, he would have gotten his fair share of teasing as a child.

According to the short biography under his name, he was no less than a certifiable genius. He had been published in multiple medical journals, gotten his MD and his Ph.D. concurrently, and was now one of the most respected neurosurgeons in the country if not the world. People had been looking forward to his keynote the entire conference and Ingrid had made sure to come fifteen minutes early to get a good seat. She managed to get a seat in the middle of the second row. An older man with grey hair and glasses stepped onto the stage as the rest of the attendees found their seats. The man waited for a moment before speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said as a respectful hush fell over the room, “thank you all for attending this evening’s keynote address. We are, of course, very excited to welcome our guest speaker.” The old man licked his dry lips with a smacking noise in the completely self-unaware way that only old men seem to be able to achieve.  “He is an accomplished surgeon with a true passion for medicine and an apparent talent for music trivia.” He chuckled and the conference room laughed with him. “Please welcome to the stage Dr. Stephen Strange.”

The room applauded as a tall, slim man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties took the stage. His dark hair was neatly coiffed to frame his high cheekbones. He looked out over the crowd with discerning eyes and gave a tight smile. As the room quieted, his lecture began.

“Thank you all for the warm welcome. If only everyone greeted surgeons with applause,” Dr. Strange said in a voice that was deeper than Ingrid would have thought. The crowd laughed politely. “In the last one hundred years, neurosurgery and psychology have grown up together like distant cousins. Connections between the two have been known and studied, but never truly explored to such an extent as they are now. Now, technology is finally reaching the point where the two can be intertwined as they always should have been.” He gestured in a practiced manner as his gaze swept over the faces in the room.

Ingrid’s pencil was poised over her notebook, ready to strike down the moment he said something she wanted to remember. He went on for a bit about the potential for technological advancements to change brain chemistry without the need for medication, though it would require dangerous procedures to place implants on the affected parts of the brain. She dutifully noted his points, though she found the idea of experimental treatments morally precarious at best.

“Imagine the benefits for those suffering from dementia and other brain disorders that so deeply affect patients and their loved ones,” he said, turning his gaze to Ingrid as she leaned forward in her seat, her hand continuously taking notes. She stared back at him as he continued after giving her a small smirk. “Later this year, clinical trials for a pacemaker-like device for deep brain stimulation in Alzheimer’s patients will begin. This is an incredibly exciting time in medical history…”

She wrote her short-hand in a hurried hand as he soldiered through the rest of his speech. ‘ Brain stimulation for dementia-- recovery for amnesia?’ It stood to reason, though the mechanical differences for traumatic brain injury and dementia were vastly different. Still, there was hope.

After about an hour, Dr. Strange’s speech concluded and Ingrid packed away her notebook and pencil, her mind still mulling over the possibilities that he had proposed. As this had been the last speaking engagement for the day, a large number of people made their way to the hotel’s restaurant and bar.

She felt a bit sorry for the servers, who had been posted at the hosts’ desk like soldiers ready to rush into battle. They escorted several groups to tables and the noise escalated as menus were set out and drinks poured from glass pitchers reflected the low, golden light. Ingrid herself was content to get a drink at the bar and order room service later to go over her notes and make sure they were actually legible. She had just taken a seat on the soft black leather barstool when there was a small clamor of voices over the restaurant’s generic jazz music as a few people began to spout compliments nearby.

Ingrid turned to see Dr. Strange shaking a few hands as he passed a table of excited colleagues. He thanked them, though Ingrid noticed that his movements seemed stiff and impatient. The doctor passed the table as Ingrid turned back to face the bar. He took the seat next to hers. Not wanting to bother him, she kept her eyes on the drink menu as he reached for his own.

“Well, what did you think?” he asked, glancing at the list of cocktails.

Ingrid looked up. “Me?” she replied.

“Yes, you,” he replied simply, meeting her eyes. “You were taking a lot of notes. I thought you might have some intelligent feedback.”

Ingrid set her menu down and shifted to face him, straightening her navy blue pencil skirt and crossing her ankles. Dr. Strange raised his eyebrows as he waited for her to gather her thoughts. “Frankly, Dr. Strange, psychiatric surgery still has a long way to go before it’s practical, let alone ethical.” His eyes narrowed as he took in a sharp breath between his lips, looking ready for an argument. “However,” she continued before he had a chance, “I do think that it is a possible and even probable treatment in the future. It’s simply a question of how near that future is.”

He nodded, considering her answer. “Well, that is certainly a...diplomatic response.”

She shrugged off his somewhat curt reply. “The dementia treatments are certainly exciting though.”

“You think so?” he asked.

“I do.”

He considered this like he was measuring whether the conversation was worth pursuing. He seemed to deem it worthy of his time, because he asked, “What was your name again?”

“Dr. Ingrid Hansen,” she said, holding out her hand. His large hand enveloped hers in a steady grip.

“Dr. Stephen Strange, but I guess you already knew that,” he replied, keeping his hand on hers. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled and took her hand back, brushing a stray blond hair behind her ear. “I’d like that.”

He signaled the bartender, who came over quickly, having been eyeing them while he waited for them to decide on what they wanted.

“Scotch on the rocks for me,” Dr. Strange said, and then gestured to Ingrid.

“And a Moscato for me, please,” she said. The bartender turned to the back of the bar to fetch their drinks.

“White wine?” he asked, raising a skeptical brow.

“I have a sweet tooth,” she replied simply.

He chuckled. “So, you’re a doctor, you have a sweet tooth, and you are evidently British.”

“I am indeed, though I graduated here in New York,” she explained. The bartender placed their drinks in front of them and left without a word to attend to other patrons.

“And what are you a doctor of?” Dr. Strange asked, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Psychology,” she replied proudly.

The man heaved a sigh as he swallowed. “Of course,” he said with a somewhat disappointed tone.

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed, but she kept the corners of her mouth upturned in a practiced neutral smile. “‘Of course’?” she repeated.

He took another sip before answering. She didn’t break eye contact. “Well, it isn’t that psychology isn’t a worthy pursuit, but psychology is such a soft science it’s about as good as an English degree. I thought you were at least a psychiatrist.”

Her smile slipped from her face as suddenly as a bookshelf collapsing under its own weight. “I beg your pardon, but I am every bit a doctor as I would be if I were a psychiatrist. It’s not like I bought a certificate online,” she snapped.

He held his hands up. “Hey, you don’t need to explain it to me. But I do find it interesting that you were so intent on my speech if you’re not a psychiatrist.”

Ingrid rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers, trying to suppress the indignation that rose up in her chest. “It’s still relevant to my field, Dr. Strange.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” he conceded. Ingrid took a drink, letting the light flavors of the alcohol warm her chest. “So what is it that you do with that degree of yours?”

“Counseling,” she responded shortly.

“What kind?”

“All kinds, but mainly relationship and family counseling.”

He considered this for a moment. “And why the interest in dementia treatment?”

She paused mid-gulp of wine, watching him as his eyes traveled over her face. “Call it a personal interest,” she replied coldly.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his eyes, “no need to be touchy about it.”

Ingrid snorted. “God, you’re arrogant. Do you know that?”

He pursed his lips. “I’ve heard it once or twice. Is that your official diagnosis, Dr. Hansen? Arrogance?” He was baiting her and she knew it.

“No Dr. Strange,” she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. She took in the sight of him carefully, making note of every small movement he made, the way he presented himself, and how his breathing remained steady despite the conflict. “I cannot officially diagnose you at the moment, of course. Though I might wonder at your ability to maintain a relationship given your clear egocentric attitude.”

His mouth curled into a smirk. “Typical therapist. Non-committal answers and appeals to emotion. If you were a real doctor-”

The remainder of Ingrid’s wine doused his face. Sounds of surprise echoed about the bar area as she set her glass back down on the bar with a scowl and looked back at him with steely eyes. Dr. Strange didn’t say anything. He hardly looked phased as the wine dripped off of his long nose and down his cheeks.

“Thanks for the drink.” Ingrid turned to leave and a few sets of eyes looked between them curiously. Her black heels clicked against the tile as she strode out of the restaurant, fuming. Dr. Strange watched her go, assuring himself that he was not the least bit sorry for what he said as the bartender handed him a cloth napkin.

[nerv0usm3chanic]

CORRUPTION

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4

--

((NOTE - This is an introduction to a new PERMANENT AU feature exclusive to nerv0usm3chanic. Please see further, generalized information regarding this AU here: X

Be advised that each of these chapters are VERY LONG. The full content will be tucked under a read more after a brief introduction segment.

DO NOT REBLOG.))

--

“Arthur...have you been feeling okay?” Vivi asked, taking a seat beside Arthur as he focused on the project before him. He’d been fiddling with robotics for a while just as a hobby, but given how long and hard he’d been working, it looked like Arthur was working on an even more vital project than any before. He was clumsy with his right hand as he set down a pair of tweezers and looked at Vivi with tired eyes and a weak smile.

“I’ve been better, Vivi.” Arthur sighed tiredly. He’d been back from the hospital for nearly a month now - two and a half months since he’d lost his arm - and the blond spent nearly every day working on an intense project. “It’s...not too easy adjusting to not having something...” Arthur admitted quietly, staring at the metal bones before him.

“Oh, jinx! I’m sorry, Artie, I-I didn’t mean-!” Vivi started, backpedaling in her sentence before Arthur reached out with his right hand and touched her shoulder. He smiled at her softly, assuring her that it was alright.

“N-no, it’s okay, Vivi. You know it’s not your fault.” Arthur said gently, reassuring Vivi that what had happened was in the past and really there wasn’t anything she could have done. Except maybe not make them go to the cave in the first place. But Arthur refused to entertain that dark train of thought...it might wake him up. “It was just...a lot of crazy coincidences.” That was something he told himself over and over, day in and day out. It helped him feel better about the absence on his left side.

“Hmmm...well...are-are things going better?” She asked, tucking her hair behind her ears, “Is it easier with your cousin and uncle taking care of things?”

“Hmm...uh, well...to a degree.” Arthur answered, turning back to his project and carefully picking up the tweezers. Even after weeks of practice, Arthur still found it hard to adjust to being right-handed...among other things. “Lucan takes care of the front of the shop and does some fixing and Uncle Lance still runs the shop as normal. I help out with checking numbers and making sure bills and such get paid. So, I’m still working. It keeps me busy when I’m not sleeping or working on this thing.”

“So this is...” the blue-hared woman started, looking at the complex assemblage of metal rods, hinges, and wires, along with a lot of other things Vivi didn’t know the particular names of.

“Yep.” Arthur nodded, using the tweezers to carefully arrange a pattern of wires to eventually lead to sensors in one of the digits. He still had a lot of work to do before he was finished with his prosthetic arm.

--

“Okay um, yeah, um hold it there, for just a second.” Arthur directed as his doctor carefully positioned the first rendition of the blond’s new left arm. Six months had passed and this was going to be the first attempt to connect the false appendage to the specialized port. In that time, Arthur had spent so much time studying and using the nearby university resources, he might as well have earned an honorary degree with what he was attempting. Arthur knew this was going to hurt and he needed his cousin and uncle for support. The pale fingers of his right hand were grasping tight to Lance’s rough gloved hand in worried anticipation.

“Just take yer time, lad.” Lance replied in the softest version of his gruff voice. He wasn’t the most comforting of individuals, but the short-statured Kingsmen was practically Arthur’s parent with how much time he’d put into raising the boy. Arthur wouldn’t have asked anyone else to be there for emotional support. “An’ don’ do anything ye don’ feel ready fer.”

“We ken always do this later if ye need ta iron out some wrinkles.” Lucan offered, giving Arthur a pat on his whole shoulder. As his cousin, it was expected that Lucan would be somewhat close to Arthur. But seeing as the two had bonded so much more closely since Lucan moved to Tempo, the younger Kingsmen might as well have been brothers. All three men looked to the doctor preparing to attach the false arm.

“I wish I could numb the pain for you, Arthur.” He murmured gently, “But this is a prototype and...we need to gauge how well the adaptor works to communicate between the wires and nerves...” The arm had been through so many tests and iterations with the help of the local university and waiting for more tests wasn’t going to work anymore.

The doctor needed results for his paper. The university needed results to keep funding the specialist and Arthur. Arthur needed results...in the form of a new left arm. The chance that there would even be any kind of re-use of his left arm again was enough to motivate Arthur for this improvement.

“I’m ready...just...be careful.” Arthur nodded, gripping his uncle’s hand tighter as the prosthetic’s port approached the adaptor his doctor had installed two months earlier. There was that ominous tingle in the back of his mind, a dark chuckle rising up from the depths as the separated parts got closer. Amber eyes widened in fear as he noticed a small flux of energy and a tiny zap between the ports now just millimeters apart.

“W-wai-!” But he was too late. A pained scream ripped free from him, lightning practically erupting around Arthur’s arm port as everyone was pushed from the blond. Arthur would wake sometime later in a hospital bed, his new arm heavy and limp. He would cry out in angered frustration, causing everyone to leave the room as he pitched anything within reach at those nearby.

He had failed...again! There was nothing this metal arm could do but sit there! It was an arm-shaped paperweight...it was just good for looking like an arm...until he made a metal finger twitch.

--

“Alright, you ready to test out that coordination, Artie?” Lewis called over the short distance between him and Arthur while Vivi and Mystery watched eagerly. Arthur was going to be practicing more refined movement with his arm, this time it was catching and throwing a ball. A simple task for many, but Arthur had been so focused on preparing his arm, working on it days and nights for months. Vivi was proud to see Arthur regaining himself; the use of his left arm being the most important thing she’s noticed.

“I’m ready!” Arthur called back, flexing his robotic hand to prepare it to catch the baseball. He’s been working on getting back to being left-handed, but had found tasks much easier to accomplish with developed skill in using both his hands. Forced ambidexrty was interesting to accomplish - and he was exceedingly proud of his abilities - but now the point was to get his false arm’s motions up to snuff.

“He’s improved so much!” Vivi says to Mystery as she watches Lewis pitch the ball gently. “I was really worried about him for a while.”

“Yeah...it was a little shaky for a while there, wasn’t it?” Mystery added, internally still angry at himself for using such drastic action. It’s been a solid 11 months since then and still-! Mystery nearly bolted and then forced himself to sit back down with a huff; he was doing his best to contain the canine urge to chase the ball. The first few volleys back and forth were fine, no trouble at all for Arthur. Mystery felt a sudden strange energy in the air as Arthur caught the ball again and perked up as he smelt a strange singe.

“That had some real pep!” Lewis laughed as he ran to catch the ball and prepared to throw it back. He was so glad to see Arthur seemingly back to himself once more. For a while, Arthur had become a near-complete hermit, forgoing any kind of social engagement to get his arm made.

Arthur himself felt almost too relieved to be able to use his arm so easily. Physical therapy with the doctors was tough and mechanical therapy with the robotic majors at the local university was a nightmare...but it was worth it to have a functional arm once again. And the grant money to develop the appendage further wasn’t half-bad either. It was exciting, thrilling even! He almost could feel the electric excitement as he-oh...oh no. Arthur caught the ball and paused his adrenaline rush as he sees electricity dance over his arm again and hears the sizzle of the tennis ball’s singing fibers in his hand. Quickly he passed the ball to his other hand.

“Ah- uh, I think th-that’s enough for now. I think the arm’s getting a little overworked. Ah, um, st-static and all that!” He gives an awkward grin to ease Vivi and Lewis’s sudden confusion. “I’m ah, g-gonna go inside and discharge.” Arthur gave an awkward laugh and scurried to get inside the mechanics shop again, his trio of friends were left worried and confused.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” Arthur whispered in a hiss, glaring at his hand as a ribbon of green electricity coiled over the metal. The dark voice in his head merely chuckled as Arthur went to a specialized discharging station in his room.

‘I was bored. You live a very dull life, Kingsmen.’ The voice hummed idly, ‘If you would just allow me to take over-’

“Never! Just-just leave already!” Arthur murmured, sliding into his room and heading for the discharging rod. On the surface, it just let off static electricity. On the inside, there was a battery hooked up and storing the electricity Arthur would often unwillingly produce. He used the power to run a lamp attached to his desk.

‘If I could, I might...but at this moment, I can’t. So I will just bide my time, boy. I am very patient~. And when your friends inevitably abandon you for your behavior~.’ Arthur frowned, furious that he had to deal with this thing all the time. But what could he do? Exorcising a spirit was one thing, but he was sure this being wouldn’t let go after a few holy words, a splash of water, and some special tags.

Arthur might need to find someone who can offer more specialized help than a priest.

--

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [8]

Masterlist

~^*^~

The next time you saw Dracula was the next night when he casually strolled into your home as if he owned the place. Instead of taking his usual seat on the La Z Boy, he decided to pluck up your legs and settle down beside you, happily plopping then onto his lap.

“Hi, Drac,” you mumbled, clearly more engrossed in the TV than in his entrance to your home.

“Evening, [First].” One thing he had learnt over making your acquaintance was to not interrupt soap hour. That was a simple rule but too easily broken. He looked over at you, smiling softly at your concentrated face.

You did not reply to him, and easily ignored the buzz of his phone. He, however, pulled the device from his pocket. You could hear faint tapping. For a good fifteen minutes, every 30 seconds or so, he’d receive a message. At first, it was a mild inconvenience but as his chuckles grew louder, you finally found yourself flicking your ankle up, knocking the phone out of his grasp. His hand caught your ankle and he yanked you further down the sofa and more on to his lap.

“Drac!” You shrieked.

“Care to explain why you just kicked my phone out of my hand?”

You twisted in his grasp, but his large paws were holding you down with such force that you really struggled to turn to face him. 

“Because you were being annoying.” You explained, irked.

“Are you jealous?” He smirked.

“No I’m not jealous! Stacy is sleeping with Max even though she’s with Martin! It’s important that I keep watching!” You exclaimed, anger finally getting the best of you.

For a moment, there was silence. Your eyes locked with the vampires and you felt lost for a moment. His fingers edged up your legs, moving towards your thighs. He didn’t get very far up as the phone on the floor buzzed out and made you jump. You practically leapt off of his lap and cornered yourself on the opposite side of the sofa.

“Who the fuck is that?” You growled.

“Language, [First]. A lady never curses.” Dracula tutted.

“I’m not a lady. And you’re upsetting me. Turn it on silent.”

“I have no interest in paying it any mind anymore. It will stop now.”

“Good.” You mumbled.

“And speaking of you being a lady, I have a proposal.”

You finally realised that you would not find out how Stacy and Max’s affair was going to work out, and finally paused the TV. You turned to look at the vampire. He was smiling at you. Not his usual cocky, boyish grin, but instead just a simple smile. You tilted your head in question, waiting for him to go on.

“I was doing some reading - which all creatures wishing to be somewhat accomplished should do for fun - and came across some information about Whitby town. Although I don’t truly understand the culture of it all, there is apparently some Goth Weekend occurring on Friday through to Sunday...” he trailed off.

“Goth Weekend? What about it?” You inquired.

“Well, I’m sure you know as an inhabitant that there is usually a biannual ball to go along with this festival. Would you do me the honour of going?”

“Going to a ball...? With a vampire... ? What kind of cheesy fanfic is this?”

“What’s a fanfic?” Dracula looked at you with a similarly puzzled expression.

“If you don’t know, keep it that way. Why do you even want to go to a ball anyway? That’s like... a dog going to a butchers and not being able to eat anything.”

“I’d like to take you, of course. Besides, it’s been a long time since I civilised with people like that. It seems such formal occasions in the 21st century are a rare gem amongst mud of normal social occasions,” his mind wandered to the girl down in London. How she enjoyed to drink her alcohol by the bucketful and how people danced freely and with whomever they could grasp, “will you do me the honour, [First]?”

~^*^~

When you awoke the next morning, it was by your door being feverishly knocked. Somehow your groggy morning voice managed to reach all the way down to their ears, as you heard the door open and gently snap shut. You buried yourself further into your duvet and within 90 seconds, it had been torn off of you.

“Morning, [First], you missed two appointments.” Zoe was looking down at you frowning, behind her, standing in the doorway of your bedroom was Jack, “I believe you have quite the explanation to offer me.”

The next few minutes were a hazy rush, as you got dressed, brushed your hair and teeth and made tea for your visitors. When your rush cooled, you found yourself sitting sheepishly across from the two, unable to look Zoe in the eye at all.

“We’re waiting, [First].” Her voice was as stoic as her face and you could tell she was definitely extremely unhappy with you.

“I can explain... kind of...”

“[First], this needs to stop. Once Dracula has had his fill, he’s going to kill you.” Jack spoke gently, clearly trying to stay on your good side. After being your close friend for many years, he knew that you were never a friendly person long after waking up. He suspected it hadn’t changed in the years you’d gone without acknowledging each other’s existences.

“He... he hasn’t yet, though...” you trailed off, “I’m beginning to doubt that he ever will.”

“Of course he will. He did it to Sister Agatha, he did it to Jonathan Harker. You are no exception.”

“Zoe-“

“My god, he really has you cast under a spell doesn’t he? Are you in love with him?”

You had to scoff at the question which was sent with a sharp and jabbing accusatory tone. In love with Count Dracula?! The absolute absurdity of the words love and Dracula being uttered in the same sentence was enough to send you into a tear-inducing laughing fit. Of course you didn’t love him! This was your job. You had to gain the trust of criminals, of evil and corrupt people to learnt how they did what they did. The only difference with Dracula was that this had to be done on a much personal level.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I don’t.”

“Then why do you allow him into your home? Why do you take long walks with him? Why has he bought you an evening gown?”

“That’s because I- he what?”

“You didn’t notice the large gown hanging up in your living room?”

“No...”

You pushed yourself up, almost tripping over your feet as you rushed into the living room. Sure enough, hanging up on the curtain rail was a stunning gown. It was all black in colour and there was such an abundance of material that it blocked out most of the light. You couldn’t hold back your gasp, reaching forwards to inspect it a little more.

In the kitchen, a plan was brewing between Zoe and Jack. A plan to, in Zoe’s words, kill two birds with one stone. The pair had become worried that Dracula had already begun to feed on you, and would need to find a way to figure out if this was the case. They also jointly decided that you needed to get away from the influence of the aforementioned vampire for your own personal safety.

When you returned to the kitchen, Zoe abruptly announced her leave and you saw her to the door. Thinking nothing of her sudden odd behaviour, you plodded back into the kitchen and sunk down into your chair. You facepalmed the table.

“Am I am idiot, Jack?” You groaned.

“No, I don’t think so,” he told you, “but I do think you’re mixing professionalism with privacy and Count Dracula shouldn’t be crossing that line.”

“I know but...”

He didn’t need you to keep talking to end the sentence. He already knew it. ‘It’s my job’. And while that was true; your job required you to be close to such evil beings in order to figure out how they operated, there was no need for the closeness between you and Dracula. You knew that. Of course you did. He shouldn’t be allowed entrance to your house, he shouldn’t have so much of your trust that you’d gladly walk with him down an unlit and derelict path, and he certainly shouldn’t be taking you to balls.

“I guess having the attention,” you lifted your head to look at him, “was nice. I haven’t had so much attention since... well... Daniel...” the utterance of his name made your stomach stir.

“I know, [First]. It sucks. But so does Count Dracula. And once he’s finished toying with you, you’re going to end up dead, or worse, undead.”

“I promise you, once I figure him out, I’ll do whatever it takes to get away from him.” Jack smiled at your words. He was glad that you were beginning to see some sense, “man, I really had everything and here I am being accused of loving a vampire.”

“[First], there was always more to life than-“

“Than what, Jack? I had a First in my degree, the perfect boyfriend, the best friends anyone could ask for. Why the fuck did Lucy want to take that away from me?”

“I don’t know, [First].”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t talk about her like that given your feelings and all...”

“What?”

“You like her, right?” You asked, as if he were some kind of idiot who didn’t realise his own emotions.

“Well.. I mean... I didn’t think it was obvious...”

“Jack, anyone who’s ever seen you anywhere near her knows you’re in love with her. I do have to judge given her... hobbies.”

“[First]-“

“What? I’m just saying - I don’t know why you’ve got this little crush on someone who’d happily sleep with her best friend’s boyfriend.”

It went silent after that and Jack couldn’t help the glare that burnt through his features. He was mad. Mostly because you were right, but also because his crush on Lucy was so obvious yet you’d still talk down about her. She’d hurt you, yes, but it had been a long time ago.

Of course, time wasn’t all that healed wounds.

“If you’re so keen for attention...” he spoke up, voice suddenly a little shaky and quiet, “why don’t we go out to eat tonight?”

“Like a date?” You smirked, unable to hide your enjoyment of Jack Seward awkwardly asking you out.

“I mean... yeah.. a date..”

“I’d be honoured. You come back here at 7 and I’ll give you a night to remember.” You winked playfully.

~^*^~

After practically throwing Jack out, your day moved by slowly. You received one message from Dracula inquiring about your day, and you decided to ignore him, in favour of taking a long bath and preparing yourself for you most likely awkward date with Jack.

You weren’t sure what had overcome you when you agreed to it, but if it was too awkward, you supposed you could just call it two friends going out to eat.

And precisely on time, at 7pm the door knocked.

Your date somehow went very well. Being with Jack turned out to not be so awkward after a drink or two, and having so long to catch up on, there was more than enough to discuss. And when the clock hit 11:30pm, you decided it was time to head back to your home. Considering both of your tipsy states, you decided to catch a taxi and you offered for Jack to stay over the night (on the sofa, of course). Initially, like before, he refused, but you begged him after explaining you’d sleep easier knowing he was safe. That little guilt trip seemed to work, considering that you were both perched on the sofa, lips interlocking as your hands ran through his hair.

How this had happened, you didn’t quite know. His hands were tender on you, like you were glass that could shatter if he gripped you too tightly. His lips were soft against yours and fit almost perfectly and he didn’t mind the way you liked to take the control a little bit.

It was now or never.

His lips left yours and they instead attached to your jawline, leaving little kisses and he hoped to leave no marks on your skin. He worked down, moving over your neck, trying to feel for any scar or sign that the vampire had been sneakily taking sips of your blood.

He found nothing. And just as he was about to reconnect his lips with yours, a large hand gripped the back of his neck with so much force he lost his breath.

“Good evening, Mr. Seward. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take your hands off of what’s mine.” The voice was low and you hadn’t quite heard his voice like this before. It sent your heart into a frenzy and Jack’s face lost its colour immediately.

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @voidxngel @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom

[satoshi-mochida]

Tobyfox has provided a status update on the second chapter and beyond of Undertale sequel Deltarune in celebration of Undertale‘s fifth anniversary today.

First, here are the latest screenshots from Deltarune‘s second chapter:

Get the full update below.

Introduction

Hi everyone.

If you’re reading this, you must have been sticking around for about five years.*

I want to express my gratitude for everyone that has supported and encouraged me over this time.

Thank you.

I’ve said it many many times before, but I didn’t expect the simple game I made to receive so much attention. Because of that, many interesting things have happened, and now I can even spend my time making another game.

It seems both of us received a lot of happiness from this occurrence.

If it’s okay, I would like to keep striving to do things that make both of us happy.

Let me know what you think about that.

*Since the Undertale demo released in 2013, the game has really existed for 7 years. It’s already been more than 25% of my life…

Deltarune

I will make another.

I am making a game called “Deltarune.” It is the second game in the Undertale series.

The game will be released in many “Chapters,” the first of which I released two years ago on Halloween. Since that time, I’ve been working hard to figure out the rest of the game.

However, it’s a game that’s much harder to make than Undertale.

Graphics are more complicated and several times more involved.

Systems are more complicated.

Exposes the weak points of my creative and artistic ability.

Plot is much harder to tie together (more characters, more important locations).

Significantly more content than Undertale in one playthrough (especially cutscenes).

I have only made one game ever.

Unlike Undertale, this is the type of game that would normally have many designers working on each aspect of the game.

A story writer, a composer, an audio director, a map designer, a battle designer, a minigame designer, and an overall director. Instead, all of those roles end up handled by me.

The good news is that a few months ago, I completed a significant milestone regarding the game’s design. I completed readable outlines for every chapter in the game, including first-pass dialogue for almost all the cutscenes, examples of the music, etc.

Although certain details are still hazy, the flow of the game and all major events and battles that take place are now clear.

In summary, I largely spent the past two years writing, composing, designing, and drawing. However, that’s not the whole story.

We had actually attempted to develop the game since the time too. Development started around March 2019 and a 99% work was spent on investigating engines alternate to GameMaker, which I used for Chapter 1.

Without getting into the details, I decided a few months ago to go back to GameMaker after all. It still felt like the best fit for the project. So using Chapter 1 as a base, we’ve started creating Chapter 2 since May 2020.

A lot of progress has been made since that time. I believe we can complete this chapter, content-wise, before the end of the year (not accounting for translation, bugtesting, and porting).

I feel very confident. And the strange thing is, even though we ended up using the original engine, I don’t regret the lost time, either. Not only was I still busy designing the game, but during that long period, I was able to think of many ideas that make the game’s story and characters better.

I’m glad that I’m making the Deltarune that I have now and that we are making healthy progress.

Deltarune Status Estimate

■ Chapter 2 (04.15.20 – 08.13.20)

Phase 1: Design

Main Design: 100% (dialogue, etc.)

Initial Setup: 100% (stuff involved setting up people to make the game, adding debug tools, documentation, etc.)

Phase 2: Implementation (05.01.20 ~ 08.13.20)

Art: 90%

Cutscenes: 80% (90% are started, needs 2nd pass)

Bullet Patterns: 70% (enemies are mostly completed, bosses are about 40% done, needs 2nd pass)

Non-Bullet Battle Elements: 30% (Some ACTs are done and enemies are fightable, but interactive ACTs need to be completed and polished and the bosses aren’t programmed outside of bullet patterns)

Audio: 80%

Maps: ??% most are started or placeholder, most need 2nd pass. NPC interactions are completed in all spots where written.

Other: 65%

Phase 3: Finishing

Balancing: 0%

Bugfixing: 0%

Translation: 0%

Porting: 0%

(Honestly, a lot of stuff FEELS like 80% to me, but the truth is that what’s there is quite rough now. Polish ends up taking a lot of time, so the real actual time value may be around 50% done…? We’ll see what happens. It’ll be a lesson for everybody.)

■ Chapters 3 and Beyond

Phase 1: Design

Story and General Game Progression (first-pass): 100%

Cutscene Dialogue (first-pass, lacking cutscene instructions): 95%

Map Design (textual): 70% (varies per chapter, earlier chapters totally completed)

Map Design (drawn): 0% (this takes a lot of wrist energy so I don’t do it until we start programming)

Enemy Design (conceptual): 90% (all bosses are known)

Enemy Design (bullets / visual): 80% (varies per chapter, earlier chapters totally completed)

Music (concept): 95%

Music (completed): 50%

Visual Design:BG Concept (first-pass): 75%, Important Character, Bosses (first-pass): 100%

Phase 2

Sprite Art: 20%?

Other Content Creation: 0%

Phase 3

Release Readiness: 0%

(These numbers can be somewhat deceptive though. My true design style is to reach the moment where we have to make something, then suddenly think of something different at the last minute. This is always how it’s been with me and my work. It feels like no matter how much I plan, everything comes down to what I think of at the last second…)

Team and Disability

You may have noticed from my phrasing, but yes, there is a team helping me create the game. Other than me, there are about three active team members working day-to-day, with a few other people pitching in from time to time.

Their roles of the main members are overall content implementation and organization, bullet pattern implementation (part-time), and art (Temmie). Other than designing, I still have the role of system programmer.

I’m extremely grateful to have a team helping me carry out my design especially because of my disabilities, which have also made development more difficult.

Although I have long suffered from wrist and hand pain, about five months ago my wrist was the worst it’s ever been. I could not play the piano, use the mouse, and barely could use the keyboard. I navigated everything through voice to text.

Through weightlifting, exercise, and various equipment I have been able to somewhat increase the stamina of my wrist to an extent. Various solutions have included trackball mice for each hand, using voice to text whenever possible, using a foot pedal to click the mouse, etc.

Now I can use the mouse and keyboard for a certain amount each day provided I take frequent breaks. I wish I could work without stopping. Once the world situation improves I would really like to take physical therapy again and/or investigate surgery to repair my wrist.

Future Plans

Once we finish Chapter 2, I would like to use it as the base to create future chapters from. After gaining experience from this chapter, I think making future chapters will be easier.

Part of me wonders if we could make the game faster if we increased the size of the team and did something insane like create multiple chapters in parallel. However, another part of me understands that, adding more people doesn’t guarantee that the game will be created faster if it’s not done properly. I’m already just barely avoiding becoming a bottleneck on development even with a team of this size, due to my physical limitations.

To that end, I am interested in making a list of people that could potentially help me make the game. I’m not 100% sure if I’m going to ask anyone to help, but I think if I could find just 1 person that works well with me, it’s worth asking.

Chapter 2 is proceeding at a good pace, so if we do take anyone on, it will probably only be for Chapter 3 onward. So please understand that anything you send in may not have an immediate result.

People I Am Looking For

Feel free to send in your portfolio if you have the following qualifications:

Worked in the game industry before

Worked under NDA before

Have professional references

A degree of creativity while also being okay with just following directions

Fluent in English

People I Might Actually Use

Music Transcription / Basic Arrangement (Part-Time)

I usually start making songs by playing the piano and singing. An important step after this is to take this basic outline and transcribe it into melodies and chords. Though there are not too many remaining songs to transcribe, it would still help my wrist to have someone else start this process for me. Although I know many musicians, I’m sheepish to ask for help to them, because the main role is actually just to help me compose my own music…

Helpful qualities:

Good at transcription.

Can stand listening to me sing.

Optional: can use an old version of Fruity Loops.

Bullet Pattern Programming (Part-Time)

I’m looking for someone to help me program bullet patterns into the game. These people will work from text and visual designs to create fun battles that match the feeling of the game. I already have one person helping with this, but I think a second person would help a lot. You have to be able to use Gamemaker Studio 2 to manipulate objects on the screen / okay with using pre-existing scripts to accomplish this.

Helpful qualities:

Sense of fun and understanding of player perspective and gameplay balance. This aspect is [many times] more important than programming ability.

Reliable.

Able to make patterns based off of visual/text instructions.

Fine working with a poorly made battle system.

Able to sprite bullets.

Good visual / timing sense.

Minigame Programming (Part-Time)

There are a few minigames and small interactive events in the game, which appear in and outside of battles. These could take any kind of form… who knows what I’m thinking! Have you made a game before?

Helpful qualities:

Same sense of humor as me.

Some level of spriting ability is useful.

You have to have made a game that is fun.

Ability to work together with me.

Unlikely to Hire, But Send Me Your Information Just In Case

Cutscene Programming (Part-Time)

Besides the battles, the largest amount of content in the game is definitely the cut scenes. You will have to understand Gamemaker Studio 2, but the majority of the work is simply using a scripting system that I created to make characters move around the screen. The most important quality you can have here is not programming ability but the ability to efficiently use the system in order to create scenes with a good sense of humor, timing, and emotion.

I’d strongly prefer to hire someone I know to do this because it involves the story. So I most likely won’t hire anyone else.

Helpful qualities:

Can take text instructions and impart a proper sense of timing, humor, and weight to them.

Fine working with a custom scripting system (or smart enough to make something better that makes the game easier to make).

Art (Part-Time)

Sprite art—Temmie has already drawn a massive amount of art for the game, and continues to do so. And I actually already have a few other artists that have helped me that I’m more than happy to keep working with if things become more overwhelming. So currently I actually don’t need any more artists.

However, personally, I’d really like to build up a portfolio of available pixel artists and even concept artists. It’s not as if this is the only game I will make during my life. Anyone chosen for this game needs to be able to match the style of the game, but I’m interested in seeing people with different styles as well. Knowing that I have different options can open my mind up to different creative pathways.

Helpful qualities:

Can take bad looking sketches and turn them into art that looks good (magic).

Don’t mind if your work gets completely drawn over or thrown out.

Anyone that can draw cute or cool poses is good.

Uninterested in seeing people that have an art style outside of the scope of the game.

Write (Full-Time)

Someone needs to transform into a new wrist for me.

Helpful qualities:

Flexible.

Doesn’t hurt.

Musical sense.

That’s everyone I’m looking for. The only other kind of person I might hire would be a single jack-of-all-trades type that can do any sort of things such as cutscenes, bullets, or even system programming, with a good degree of visual flair. (But if you can do those sorts of things, aren’t you busy making your own game already!?)

Anyway, I’ll show you the e-mail now. Just make sure you read these rules first:

Don’t send in e-mails about anything else!

Don’t send to other team members, Fangamer, etc. about helping out!

Got it? Then please send your information to this e-mail address:

deltarunejobs@fangamer.com

Since Fangamer will be sorting through the e-mails for me, we’ll stop taking e-mails at the end of September so they don’t get overwhelmed. Ultimately, I’m only looking for one or two people, and to make a list of the rest of the potentially helpful people in the world.

Undertale is available now for PlayStation 4, Switch, PS Vita, and PC via Steam and GOG. Deltarune Chapter 1 is availble for PlayStation 4, Switch, and PC via Deltarune.com.