#gosh darn it these two need to stop haunting my brain

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Sunkissed for the prompt

Hemisi sighed in contentment and stretched in the grass. Her sunkissed skin was warm against his cheek as he rested his head on her, listening to her heart beat.

"It's so much milder here than the desert," she noted.

Link hummed noncommittally, lost in the peace of the moment, eyes closed as she lazily played with the tip of his ear. He turned his head just a hair more so his lips could brush a kiss on her collarbone.

Hemisi flicked his ear. "Easy, ding dong. You want to get some energy out, we should spar."

Link pushed himself to sit up a little, halfway laying on top of her, and smirked. "I'd win again."

"Like hell," she snapped playfully. "I beat you last time."

"But the time before, I won."

"We should spar when we get to the desert," Hemisi said with excitement glittering in her eyes. "Oh, I can't wait for Mother and Father to see you fight."

Butterflies started to flit about anxiously in his stomach, and Link sat up fully. "Do you... do you think they'll be okay with this?"

The Gerudo warrior pushed herself to sit on the grass as well, giving him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it. Mother will love you. Father..."

Here she trailed off, expression growing a little sheepish, and she shrugged. "Just... I know you like being called Link better than Orik, but let's just stick to Orik while we're there, okay?"

Link blinked, bemused, but he nodded. He wanted to make a good impression. He really... he'd never felt like this for anyone, and... well. He wanted to make a good impression.

"You also have to fight Merovar, my brother."

"Why?"

"Because you'll kick his ass and it'll be funny."

"Hemisi!" Link snapped as she laughed. "You're gonna get me kicked out as soon as I get there!"

"Oh, relax, it's all gonna be fine," she giggled, reaching forward sharply and laying back down, dragging him along as she had him a head lock. Link wiggled in the hold, hands scrambling up to pinch her nose, and she laughed even more, which sounded akin to a duck blowing a bugle as her nose was clamped shut. The sound pulled wheezes out of both teenagers, who quickly rolled away from each other and laughed themselves to tears.

[shipskicksandgiggles]

dialogue prompts

New Year, New Prompt List!

well, sort of. last year, I started writing down the weird or funny shit people said around me and that I occasionally contributed to and turned it into a prompt list, and since it's a new year, I figured what better way to celebrate? you know the drill, send in a number and a ship/dynamic/character, or reblog this and have fun!

(btw this is college prompts pt. 3, second year fall semester edition. the first two lists from this series are here and here)

have a good 2022 folks,I can't wait to see what you come up with

“Hey, can we get a fish?” “We don’t have room for a fish.”

“Look, I didn’t believe you were a heavy sleeper until I didn’t realize you were asleep and I accidentally slammed the door and you didn’t even move.”

“That man looks and sounds like Bill Nye the Science Guy.”

“Sorry I’m wearing a tuxedo shirt, I was doing close up magic earlier.”

“Yeah, I have a pigeon. She’s an asshole.”

“As long as it doesn’t catch on fire, you can have it, and if it does catch on fire, that’s none of my business.”

“My astronomy professor gave us dating advice.” “Is it good dating advice?” “I don’t know, do you want to go watch a meteor shower with me?”

“There’s a stop sign on that door.” “Yeah, the people who live there stole it.”

“I just heard a girl yell ‘stop’ at a guy squeaking his shoes and I am 80% sure they don’t know each other.”

“It ‘hit different’ as the kids say.”

“I’m going to murder Plato.” “Plato’s dead.” “You say that like it’ll stop me.”

“No, shut the fuck up. Did you just call me Nicholas Cage?”

“Who just casually speaks Russian? For what reason?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” “It’s 80 degrees and you’re wearing a sweatshirt.” “I run cold!”

“Okay so-” “Ooh they’re about to get into it.” “I'm ignoring you. Okay SO-”

“You ever have a dream so good you wake up with a low blood sugar?”

“It’s 40°, why do you have a fan running?” “The noise.” “You’re getting a noise maker for Christmas. I can't do this anymore.”

“I’ve been lying through my teeth all week and I’m not happy about it.” “You can’t lie.” “I know.”

“He’s from Indiana.” “Do I look like I care?”

“Hey can I borrow this?” “Yeah, what for?” “You’ll see.” “Are you doing something illegal?” “… No?”

“Never have I ever driven a pickup truck.” “Did you just say get hit by a pickup truck?” “No, I’ve done that before.”

“Do you have an Instagram?” *obviously scrolling through Instagram* “No.”

“I just blew on a pencil with my mask on like that was going to do anything.”

“Were you a band kid? Or a choir kid maybe?” “Yeah, how did you know?” “You have this specific look in your eye, sort of like fear. It’s obvious to someone who’s been through the same thing.”

“Look, am I stupid? Yes. Is the guy I have a crush on somehow stupider? Yes.”

“Don’t eat peacocks.”

“Shit!” “Gosh darn it!” “Sorry!” “I’ve never actually heard you swear before.”

“If you say the word ‘buttress’ one more time, I’m going to throw you out of a window.”

“That’s not what an obelisk is, shut up.”

“No, I can’t do this, I know French, I can’t listen to this-“

“Did you just say ‘raw banana’?”

“Permission to hug?” “Granted.” “Oh fuck my ribs.”

“We all know Zuckerberg isn’t human.”

“Can I borrow your brain?”

“Um?” “Oh, sorry, yeah, I can pick up weaponry and learn how to use it really fast.” “UM???”

“I don’t think we realized how much you talk until you physically couldn’t. Please get your voice back, it's too quiet.”

“Hey, want to cause some chaos?” “Do you need to ask? Obviously.”

“You said you weren’t going to be gay, and then you were. Congratulations dumbass.”

“Look, I listened to a podcast about skinwalkers in the middle of the night and I couldn’t sleep.” “Oh yeah, bad idea.”

“Where are you going?” “Evelavor’s haunted.” “What?” “ELEVATOR’S HAUNTED.”

[hanadolphieron]

flirt!ryujin~

warnings; swearing

genre; fluff

pairing; shin ryujin x fem!reader

word count; 1.1k

summary; ryujin comes into your diner and flusters you beyond belief

it’s only your second week on the job, and you’re already bored as hell.

despite it being friday night and the diner was packed, your amateur skills kept you out of the interesting jobs, like serving at the bar or taking orders from families with screaming children.

the bell rang as you were cleaning tables. not even sparing the sound a glance, you continued your labor.

why did you take this job again? you couldn’t even remember. all this cleaning has brain-washed you and you can’t seem to think about anything else except this vile, hopeless, pathetic, rotten, crummy, abysmal, horrendous-

“hey babe”

whirling around, you come face-to-face with a blonde. you put on your “i love everyone!” face, smile, and say “how can i help you?”

but it comes out as more of a stutter, as her words register in your mind halfway through the sentence and being called babe really throws you off.

“how could you help me? well, i came here to have a burger but hopefully i’ll be having a date too,” the girl whispers, smirking.

oh dear.

first of all, why is this chick speaking to you like the old men that shuffle into the diner and call you gross names, and second of all, why is your heart fluttering? you thought your gay panic phase ended back in middle school.

apparently not, considering the fact that you were still standing there, speechless.

“r-right away,” you say, turning around and begin to set up the table you just cleaned.

pretending like nothing happened, you give her a menu and ask “are you here alone? or is there someone else accompanying you?”

“just me, although hopefully that’ll change by the end of the night,” the blond says, winking at you shamelessly.

“employees aren’t allowed to eat during their work hours,” you say as dry and unaffected as you can.

“i’m sure they can make an exception for such a gorgeous girl like you,” she whispers.

clearing your throat, you say, “can i get you anything to drink?”

“sweet tea, please.”

“i’ll get right on that!” your voice raises a few pitches and you dart towards the kitchen as fast as you can.

“with extra sugar please!” says the girl, her deep voice projecting over to you.

you reach the kitchen. fricking frack patty cake whack. what the diddly darn dangly doodle are you going to do now. 

you consider your options: flirting back would be the obvious answer, but you’re way too flustered to even attempt it. writing your number on the receipt- plausible, but cliché. doing nothing- unproductive, doesn’t help either of you. screaming in fear- hmmm no.

you decide to not make a decision at all, and go back to the table with the extra sugary tea. 

“thank you, it’s just how i wanted it- as sweet as your charming smile.” 

another wink.

brushing the compliment off and getting down to business, you ask, “are you ready to order, or do you need more time?”

“well, i was hoping i could have this burger right here,” the girl says, pointing to something on the menu.

leaning down over her shoulder, you look at the name she’s showing you. 

it’s called “the whapping whale”. (gosh who made up these names) 

“alright, one whapping whale coming right up!” you try to stand up, but a hand catches your jaw, turning your face.

brown eyes. a perfect nose. lips that are chapped but still look softer than pillows. a wisp of hair falling down into her left eye. you realize her mouth has started moving and snap back to reality.

she laughs and repeats herself, “can i have cheese with it as well?”

“of course,” you mutter, still shamelessly admiring her divine facial features.

“like what you see?” 

“yes.”

shit. why did you say that. mission abort. mission abort. leaning back again, you half-sprint back to the kitchen, catching a quirk of her lips as you turn.

you hide in the kitchen until the “whapping whale” is ready. why do you have to be so awkward. “one whapping whale coming right up” what were you thinking? are you some yeehaw cowboy? coming right up? who? what? where did that come from? do you have some primal instinct to say weird things? blergh.

and then? you said yes!? who even are you. why. why. this is going to haunt you forever. say hello to waking up at 1 a.m. and remembering this exact moment.

you grabbed the stupid whapping whale burger and went to go give it to that incredibly annoying and overly attractive girl.

“why the unhappy face babes?” the girl inquired softly once you reached her table.

“oh, i just burned by finger on one of the frying pans, but i’m fine, thanks for asking, would you like anything else, i can get you some more water, we also have a desert menu, and-” you quickly lied, rushing through six sentences at one time.

“slow down,” the girl laughs a little as she interrupts you,  “maybe i could kiss it better?”

“no thanks...”

the girl grabs your hands and examines them. stunned, you don’t pull away. 

“which one did you burn,” the girl says, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“fine, i didn’t burn my finger.”

the girl continues to hold you softly, now rubbing the side of your left hand with her thumb. you realize she’s waiting for you to continue.

you don’t exactly want to tell her every emotion you’ve been experiencing for the past 15 minutes, but you might as well go for it.

“well, first of all, you’re flustering me and making me stutter and feel awfully light-headed and confused, then you ordered that stupid whapping whale burger, which i managed to use in a sentence that was considerably yeehaw and cringy. now you’re sitting here holding my hands and are going to get me fired for fraternizing with customers and not doing my job. and i don’t even know your name!”

you stare at her. she processes your response.

“i won’t let them fire you. my exceptional wooing skills will persuade them not to.” she winks, “and besides, you won’t need a job if you’re going to spend all day with me tomorrow.”

another wink.

she continues, “my offer still stands to kiss you better still stands.”

a wink from the other eye.

“you’re going to fall asleep with all the winking you’re doing”

“not if i’m looking at a beauty like you.”

two more winks. the thumb caressing your hand doesn’t stop.

“you never told me your name,” you say.

“yours.”

a sigh from you.

“it’s ryujin,” she says with a giggle. 

you start laughing too.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die - Chapter 4

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 4)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman discovers that even the power of a king has its limits--but at least he has the power to help Logan in one critical fashion.

Logan is a needy wreck, and can't figure out which way is up, and as desperately as he needs someone--one man--to hold his hand through it all? It only makes things worse somehow.

Meanwhile, through all of this, another chess piece steps out of the shadows and onto the game board--and he's not going anywhere until he gets what, and who, he came for.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Panic attack, but that’s it for this chapter. It’s mostly me having feelings, being TOTALLY UNABLE TO STOP WRITING WHAT THE HELL SOMEONE SAVE ME XD, and more self indulgent garbage that just felt good to write. So there. :P

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Lord Janus? I want this man dead.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty.”

“Please—mercy, Your Majesty!”

“Now hang on there just a gosh darn, berry pickin', mother lovin' moment, buster! Janny, if you know what's good for you, you will just stop with this nonsense and put the flippin' sword down!”

Roman would have burst out laughing if he wasn't fighting so hard to keep his composure. It could hardly be helped—Patton came up to Logan's shoulder, but only just, and was standing in his cell with his hands on his hips, glaring at the captain of the royal guard like he was a child being scolded for a broken dish.

Janus hardly looked intimidated—but the fact that he stilled after drawing his sword, leaving a terrified guard trembling against the bars of the cell next to Logan's was telling. Seven years, Lord Janus had served as the head of the assassins' corps before retiring to become the captain of the royal guard. Roman had heard stories, but never met the man until today, which was hardly unusual given that Janus was a drake—the son of a human and a dragon. They were notoriously gifted shapeshifters, even with a handicap like his.

Lord Janus was powerful, deadly, and highly skilled at remaining an enimga...but a hobbled child necromancer in a cell had the power to stay his hand.

Janus raised an eyebrow at Patton, but finally glanced at Roman.

Roman nodded. Janus refocused on the guard, pushing the tip of his sword against the hollow of his throat, hard enough to draw blood.

“Majesty, I beg you! I don't want to die!” the guard begged.

Roman let out a bemused little laugh.

“How strange,” he replied as calmly as he could manage, “I was under the impression you did, given the fact that you refused, a second time, to obey a direct order from your king.”

“The Necromata must be bound! It's the law!”

“I am the law!”

Storming up to the guard, Roman let his emotions fuel him—exhaustion, grief, anger, confusion, and the tearing, unspeakable ache that throbbed through him every time his gaze ventured too close to the open door of the cell where Logan still leaned.

The wail he'd let out when Roman pulled free of his grip to order the cell door opened was going to haunt his sleep. The way he stood now, so carefully still, features so meticulously schooled into calm, unfeeling lines, was going to rob him of that breath of life Logan had only just returned to him.

“I am the king now, and I am the ultimate authority.” Roman spat. “Now, I fully understand the need to shackle a prisoner being removed from his cell, but as far as I am concerned, this man is no longer a prisoner here.”

“You can't--”

“I think you'll find that I can.”

“Your Majesty.”

Roman turned at the sound of Logan's voice, cool and even but too quiet, hoarse and thick with the tears he'd finally managed to stop from streaming down his face.

“The law is such that the king cannot overrule it.” Logan declared with deceptive calm. “The Necromata, once imprisoned by the royal family, can only be pardoned for the crimes of their birth with the blessing of the people. A vote, if you will...and no such vote has ever been successfully passed.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have been here for ten years with little more to do than read. I have the entire legal code of the Kingdoms and the criminal rules of order memorized, along with the family tree of the royal family and all available star maps of the area.”

Roman wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something—for a terrible moment, he wanted to order Janus to proceed with the guard's execution for real, rather than just trying to make a point.

Then inspiration struck—bright, blinding, and blessed as it filled him with light.

“My order will still be obeyed.” Roman announced. “These two necromancers—they may not be pardoned, but they will be imprisoned at my pleasure...and it is my pleasure to have them confined to guest quarters upstairs. Have extra guards posted at all available palace entrances. They are not to leave the grounds until the vote has been passed. Successfully.”

He shot a look at the offending guard.

“And the first person to shackle either one of them without violent provocation will be hung at dawn.”

Janus lowered his sword and slid it back into its sheath—the cane he'd been carrying with him—before moving to Roman's side.

“Bit extreme, don't you think, Majesty?” he murmured once he was close enough to ensure that only Roman would hear him.

“My father is dead, Lord Janus.” Roman shot back bleakly. “I have yet to shed a single tear for him--'extreme' feels like an appropriate response right about now.”

“Touche. Of course—and it has nothing to do with the traumatized necromancer you're apparently well acquainted with?”

Roman didn't answer as he moved towards the open door of the cell. Standing before Logan, he extended his hand...

...then suddenly realized that was a bad idea as he put his hand back down again.

********** More.

Logan could hardly string a single coherent thought together around the constant chant in his mind, his marrow, his soul for the prince to touch him again. He couldn't let him, not when it was so agonizing, fire and pressure and somehow affecting every nerve in his body when it was focused on such a small area...

More. More. More.

He didn't understand why restraining himself was so hard. It hurt, it was clearly doing him some kind of physical and psychological harm...and yet he wanted. Needed.

He couldn't remember ever experiencing the sensation.

It very nearly caused another panic attack when the prince dropped his offered hand—and that was another problem entirely, standing before a cell door standing wide open, and the use of the word pardon being thrown around like it wasn't capable of changing the world as Logan knew it—but the pause that seemed to last for an eternity must have only been a few seconds long.

Because a moment later, the Green Man—the prince—was reaching into his pocket and producing a pair of pristine white gloves. A missing piece of the military uniform, how had Logan not noticed? He usually noticed things like that...

When he finished tugging them on, he offered his hand to Logan again. He said nothing...just waited.

Logan shook with the force of effort it took to reach, slowly, to accept the offered hand. The gloves blocked some of that heat from skin to skin contact—and when he gently folded his fingers around Logan's, barely any pressure, it was still intense...but better.

“All good, Berry?”

Logan looked into his eyes sharply, the name ricocheting around in his skull in a manner he hadn't experienced in literal years—not since he'd first discovered his power was awakening again, all concussive force and electricity crawling against the underside of his skin.

All at once, the years fell away, and he was asleep in his cell that first terrible night, dreaming of every monstrous shadow transforming into a protector as green eyes lit the dark.

He opened his mouth to answer yes, he was fine—then realized...

“I do not know which of the princes you are.” he admitted with a bemused huff.

That got a smile from the other man—too brief, far too brief before it fractured to pieces, a crystal goblet slammed to the floor, raining shards of razor sharp light.

“Roman.” he replied. “Pr—King Thomas Roman II, but you may address me by my name.”

“Hardly acceptable, is it, Majesty?” Janus mused.

“Given that my life is currently in this man's hands—and the future of my father—I'd say he's earned a few niceties, Lord Janus.” Roman announced, raising his voice to ensure everyone within earshot was aware of it. Logan had a strange feeling that Lord Janus spoke up for precisely that purpose, to make his situation known.

Logan's, not Roman's—Logan knew that anyone with a shred of loyalty to the king would probably kill him if given the chance. There was no question that someone would likely accuse a necromancer with ties to the crown prince of the murder. Fear for Roman's safety would keep him protected.

Janus was that kind of man, shrewd and shameless—Logan knew precious little about Prince Roman, but to discover that he was equally blessed with the gift of strategy was...intriguing.

“Lord Janus, see to it that Logan's cell mate is made comfortable, and shown around the north wing of the palace. That is where I would prefer they spend the bulk of their time.” Roman declared. “I will take custody of this prisoner myself. When you are done, I want you, the dungeon master, the head prison mage, and a heart healer in the war room, immediately. Send for my brother as well.”

“Yes, Your Majesty—but I cannot send you alone.” Janus replied. Surveying the guards in their presence, and grimacing with impatience, he finally took a few steps down the corridor and flagged down another guard.

“You! Fetch the cadet from the graveyard patrol, now! I want him on the king's detail.”

Roman nodded his thanks, finally turning his attention back on Logan. Between those green eyes and the warm pressure enfolding his hand, ravaging his nerves and making his chest throb with pure emotion, he wasn't sure he could stand it much longer without losing his composure.

“Are you all right?” Roman asked quietly, stepping closer and into Logan's personal space. Strangely, Logan realized he could feel that as well, radiant heat and buzzing static crawling across his skin, too close and not enough and everything.

More. More. More.

“I am not.” he admitted. “Hardly unusual, given that touch starvation is a common condition among the Necromata, to say nothing of the Claim.”

“The Claim? What's that?”

Logan's mouth snapped shut, very real panic rising in his chest again.

“Whoah—Logan? Logan, breathe. Look at me, you need to breathe.”

The Claim. He knew, knew what Logan had done, was holding his hand and Logan could feel it, but now he'd spoken about the Claim, about his power, and he was going to die this time...

...two...three...four...hold for one...two...three...four...five...

“That's it, Logan. There you go, can you do it again?”

...good job, now again: in for one...two...three...four...

Pressure. Pressure, pressure, pressure, everywhere, pressure pressure unrelenting pressure...

“Hey!”

Logan blinked, attention snapping to the young man suddenly standing in front of him. He was nearly Logan's height, with straight black hair that hung in dark eyes, flinty as stone.

“Name five things you can see.”

“I...what?”

“Do it. Five things.”

Logan shook his head, and almost immediately his gaze was drawn back to Roman.

“Green Man.” he managed to reply. Roman smiled, and Logan felt that mantra start tattooing itself against the inside of his skull, blotting out the fear and panic.

“Okay, keep going. Let's keep going.”

Logan only realized they were moving because Roman still held his hand, was tugging him with the barest of pressure—and Logan's traitorous body followed. Between the cadet, demanding Logan name more things he could see, along with touch, smell, hear, and taste, and Roman's silent encouragement, he found himself moving out of his cell and towards the stairs of the dungeon.

Moving up each stair. Moving through the gate, and into the palace...moving, traveling, with only Roman's hand to restrain him.

Then he was in the palace, above the dungeons...and if he never saw the outside world again, Logan still felt like he could call himself a free man.

********** “Thank you.”

The cadet flinched a little, looking towards the king. “What?”

“Thank you.” King Roman repeated, still crouched motionless by the chair the prisoner had all but collapsed into. He'd basically passed out when they reached the war room, but didn't seem to be in any distress—just exhausted and overstimulated.

“That trick, focusing on his surroundings—it's greatly appreciated.” he went on, his gaze never leaving the sleeping man's face. He still held his hand, like he might vanish if he let him go. “How did you know it would work?”

The cadet had to grit his teeth for a second, finding himself watching the sleeping prisoner despite his best efforts not to. He looked...well, he looked like shit, and it was hard. It was so hard to watch, but he had to do it.

He was finally here, and he had to make sure that he didn't screw up again.

“I have anxiety.” he finally replied, keeping his tone even. “Nightmares, panic attacks, the works. My brother used to help me through them with tricks like that. He'd have me focus on my surroundings, or make me pick out colors—he even made me a special blanket to help me sleep. It, uh—it might be good for him? The guard who got me mentioned that this necromancer can feel your touch? If he's not used to contact, it could...”

“You'd be willing to do that?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Go and fetch it, then.”

“Sir, I was ordered to stay with you.”

“I'm the king. I overrule your orders.” King Roman replied.

The cadet lifted his gaze to the king's face, his stomach sinking when he realized he was being stared at. Hard.

Ohhhhh, shit.

“You don't call me 'Majesty.' Why?”

The cadet tried to be discreet about taking a steadying breath as he shrugged. “You have a pet necromancer now. All due respect, but I don't think you'll have the job long.”

“What do you know about necromancers?”

“I know they're not evil. Only reason I'm still here is that you seem to know it, too.”

King Roman nodded, gaze flicking down before it returned to the sleeping necromancer.

“Cadet...do you know what a Claim is?”

The cadet swallowed thickly. No...oh no.

“It's a binding ritual.” the cadet replied. “The Necromata are capable of manipulating death, but when they can't? They take it.”

“Away?”

“No—into themselves. They take the victim's dying breath, infuse it with their blood, and return it to the person it belongs to. That way, when the victim's time comes, they survive it.”

The cadet looked to the necromancer again.

Gods, Loganberry—what did you do?

“And the necromancer dies in their place.”

To his credit, the king paled, his free hand lifting to touch Logan's hair like the cadet itched to—so close for the first time in ten years, but he couldn't even comfort him.

He had to stay put. By the door, protecting the king and his charge.

After a decade, Virgil was finally, finally within reach of Logan in every way that mattered, and he would die before he jeopardized his one chance to save him.

Virgil was the one who got his big brother caught and imprisoned in the first place—he was damn well going to make sure that he was the one to set things right.

[howtohero]

Uncontrollable Powers

Having superpowers is an awe inspiring thing. When before you were just a scrawny twerp who could lift at most one elephant over his head while breaking four to eighty nine sweats, now you can life at least sixteen elephants over your head while breaking zero to negative three sweats. That’s quite the upgrade. For some people going from zero to one thousand like that can be a bit of a jolt. There’s no shame in that. When Power Jones, the man with one million powers, first unlocked the power to destroy universe he actually destroyed all of existence like fifteen times before he got the hang of it. So the bar on losing control of your powers is set real low. You could destroy all of existence fourteen and a half times and still not be the biggest loser out there. But let’s talk about some of the things you can do when you’ve got a case of (power puking) uncontrollable powers. 

Cases of uncontrollable powers usually fall into two categories: Power usage that presents a danger to others, and power usage that presents a danger to oneself. (There’s a secret third category but we’ll deal with that later.)

Danger to Others This is like when you’ve just got so much concussive eye blast inside you that you can’t help but share it with the world. This is like when you sneeze and poison quills shoot out of your back. It’s when you can’t help but leak lava out of all your pores. Or when you turn everything you touch into gold. Until you get a handle on your powers you’re a risk to everyone and everything around you. Which is going to be bad for your morale. So try making yourself a nice happy song playlis- oh you’ve melted the music rectangle. Ok well then maybe you can do some nice relaxing yog- oh you’ve turned the yoga mat into spiders. You’ve turned everything into spiders. Gosh that’s pretty terrifying. Are you ok? Luckily it’s impossible to turn this guide into spiders. And you thought that was a waste of a genie wish, in your face. (That was a waste of a genie wish, we could’ve had a giant llama.) What the heck would we have done with a giant llama? (YOU JUST DON’T GET IT!) You’re darn right I don’t! 

Anyway, since your powers are going completely out of control, you can bet your last two pennies that have been fused together and also to your pants because you can’t stop fusing stuff together, that some superhero with a decent grasp on their powers is going to come fight you. Which is horrible I know, I’m sorry. Bad enough that you’re going to be punched a ton, but these super-nerds are also rubbing their mastery of the power to make rocks really big or really small right in your face. Which is really just rubbing salt in your wounds. This might sound like kind of a bum deal but I guarantee you that superheroes laying a smackdown on you is better than any of the alternatives which include:

A supervillain finding you and turning you into a weapon to wield against orphanages or siblings they’ve always been jealous of.

An enthusiastic civilian shooting you in the face for the greater good.

Aliens abducting you and then getting some incredibly off-base ideas about what the average human is. 

Destroying the world fifteen times because nobody came and picked you up. 

At least when a superhero picks you up they’ll probably come sporting some sleek power-suppressant cuffs and you can finally breathe normally without expelling live wasps from your throat. Sure they’re gonna throw you in a cell afterwards, but they’re superheroes, so it’ll be very comfortable. I was once in a superhero cell for reasons that needn’t be exposed (Karaoke related crimes. You know how it gets at the How To Hero office holiday parties. Last year, our in house exorcist Diego A. Wayghosts brought a haunted chocolate fountain from home for some reason and things got weird.) and it was really quite nice. There was a massage chair! And I think usually they play music but due to my special circumstance there was no music for me. (They started calling him the Karaoke Killer from the way he was just butchering those songs.) But I’m sure you’ll get music. You can finally listen to that happy songs playlist! 

Being locked up is obviously not ideal but it’s only until you can explain to the heroes that you’re a baby superhuman and you don’t quite have control of your powers yet. Once you do that they’ll be more than happy to help you. Superheroes are savvy enough to know that once a superhuman becomes active they have a very tiny window to prevent them from becoming a supervillain. (Gosh, remember The Wicked Window Widener? He became a supervillain because he saw a window that he deemed was just too small.) So they’ll let you out of your cell and they’ll get you to where you need to go to harness your powers. That might mean that they’ll keep you around and train you on site, especially if they’ve got a hero on their team with a similar power set as you. Or it could mean sending you over to OPG where they’ve got more experience with this kind of thing. 

If your powers are so unstable that it’s not a matter of self-control, OPG might develop some type of equipment to help you keep your powers in check. Whether that means special gloves to prevent you from turning everything you touch into gold. Or reverse engineering the magical properties imbued in this blog thanks to a genie to prevent you from turning everything you touch into spiders. You’ll be well-taken care of. 

Danger to Yourself This is type of power incontinence mostly affects mind-readers or people with one or more super-sense. These heroes are more susceptible to sensory overload which can result in terrible migraines or other mental stresses. When this occurs you need to be an advocate for yourself. Which sucks. Making an appointment with a doctor is hard enough. Now you’ve got to call your local superhero’s emergency hotline? That sounds so stressful. That guy saved the world. What has your doctor even done? Saved one life? Two? 40? That’s nothing. What’s even the point of them. What are you even gonna say? Ah I bet you’re gonna mess it up. “Hi hello, is this Ultiman? Five time galaxy saver and three time Emmy nominee? Yes uh, my name is Linda and I have a headache”? That’s terrible! Don’t mention the Emmy thing, he lost three times! Gosh you blew it. Now you have to listen to everybody’s thoughts all the time forever. And everybody has terrible thoughts. Your neighbor Tim has convinced himself that he is “one with the squirrels.” He’d never say it out loud but he thinks it all the dang time. The squirrels don’t even realize you exist Tim! Stop it! You’re embarrassing yourself. But only in your innermost thoughts! Gosh this is terrible you should not be exposing his secret shame gosh. 

Hopefully a more experienced mind reader or super-sensor will just stumble upon you, identify the problems you’re struggling with you, and just help you out without you having to figure out how to put “I smell everything that’s ever happened in the entire world” into a coherent sentence. People who can identify your problems are really the only people who can help you, so if you’re going through this, try stumbling towards the regular psychic hangouts in your town. Any restaurants, bars, or supermarkets labeled “silent spaces” are definitely rife with psychics. As is the psychic fish aquarium. Which is a huge waste of space since it is home to exactly one fish who yes, can probably help you, but come on. It’s a fish. These people will be able to help you deal with the sensory overload by teaching you to focus on specific things. Just stick with them and they’ll take care of you. Alternatively, you can try to purchase power-suppressant cuffs on the blackmarket, but that’s a great way to fall into a supervillain’s crosshairs. Supervillains are always on the market for mind readers and the like. So they definitely will kidnap you and figure out how to use you to read the minds of their enemies and their stupid older sister who’s like a lawyer or something but who definitely has deep dark embarrassing fears and secrets that an out of control mind reader like you can definitely glean from their stupid lawyer brains. 

And so there you have it, the two categories of uncontrollable powers. I guess the lesson here is that it takes a village to control a superpower. So if you’ve recently acquired superpowers, don’t hesitate to reach out to your local superheroes for help getting them under control. That’s all for today folks, be good to one another. And Tim, you go on believing whatever you want brother. I’m sure the squirrels think they’re one with you too. See you on Thursday! 

(Bonus: Danger to No One These are the uncontrollable powers that aren’t hurting anyone! Like the power to always smell good. Or that power the OPG calls “Always Thinking: Always Thinking is the power to always have an objectively good idea. Subjects are constantly coming up with good ideas for all sorts of things. Ideas that have been observed have ranged from delicious sorbet recipes to workable plans for wide-scale nuclear disarmament. The ideas seem to have no correlation to whatever is going on at the moment but they’re always objectively good. For example, even Grumpy Gernard from IT liked the sorbet we made from that sorbet recipe. And Grumpy Gernard hates sorbet. Remember when Jan brought in IT he said he’d rather eat cat poo than even look at it. She cried. It was rough. But he liked this sorbet! Thus is the power of Always Thinking. Combat Potential: It is likely that subjects with this power will come up with dozens of brilliant battle strategies that they can enact as needed.” These powers will either just have no effect on your life, such as the power to always have hair. Or will make your life much better, such as the power to always have a giant llama following you around. Imagine all the glorious things you could accomplish if you had a giant llama always following you around that you could never make disappear. You’d be king of the world with that much llama power. If only it had been me at the garage sale. I could’ve found that genie lamp. I could’ve had a giant llama. Curses!)  

[gam702mjordan]

Game 1. Part 1 (Ego is the naughtiest of private parts).

I have spent the first two weeks of this project running in circles, twisting myself into knots and feeling figuratively petrified by the prospect of creating something. The cause of stemming from many things; the fatigue of the mind that has been left idle for too long with the hyper critical inner voice that tell you that every idea you have is garbage on backing vocals.

Starting this project was particularly difficult for me. I was trying to generate ideas that would fit, and nothing was working. Why I found it so darn difficult is most likely because I have never created under constraints before, and while yes: thematic constrictions are there to push me as designer to come up the unique ideas despite having a strict outline to follow. For someone that has never done game jams or the like to have imposed on them for the first time is one doozy of a learning curve. The ideas that did come to me where pedestrian at best, and way beyond my technical expertise. Historically this has happened to many times, I should know the techniques to tackle it by now. Instead I unconsciously fell back on areas that I know I am adept at, which is note taking. Thus, I began a separate project which had little relevance to the project and was more akin to professional development; it was not conducive to project creation. I made pages and pages of notes on everything; narrative design, paper prototypes, writing for critical reflection, reflective language, beginning writing projects, outlining methodology, designing for boardgames, many notes in writing for interactive fiction. I was terrified of getting things wrong or not making something good enough that I just worked myself into a panic. That, right there is the thing, the ego gets in the way, especially since I’m now on a masters and working with people that are far further ahead than I in their technical, artistic and creative fields. You want to create works that mean something and show how gosh darn smart you are. And sometimes that not the case, you just must make something that works and is playable and stop trying to make everything have like 12 level of metaphor to it.

I played around with a few ideas at first, a board game involving some newlyweds that by a haunted house and as they try and move in and fix the place up they are confronted  by a poltergeist that grows in power as it gets more angry at the couple. It would be a game that would rely heavily on resource management, characterization and an emotion mechanic in which the player would employ a mechanic Comparable to hit points, but fear points instead, as the ghoul frightens them they lose points and gain them as they overcome and fail at obstacles in gameplay. While this might have been the easier choice, for someone who historically doesn’t play board games, I felt that this was the harder option for me to get on with as my frame of reference is zero.

The idea I really liked was an interactive fiction game in which the player takes the role of a women who inherits a house, a real fixer upper. Unbeknownst to the protagonist the house is alive and doesn’t want to change and will essentially try to kill her as she is fixing areas of the house. Having a simple win lose diverging narrative system wherein the player must pick the right choices to make it through to the happy ending or just die. The themes of the story obviously being about DIY. From this I came up with the idea that she should have just left an abusive relationship and using the fixing of the house as a way of cleansing herself and as a metaphor that infers that as she fixes the house, she fixes herself. Then before I know all these metaphors are crawling out of the woodwork (albeit organically), and then you have this massive pile of heavy themes, you want to use all of them because you like them and you wat to talk about them and sometimes you just can’t, or the story takes on a life of its own, and becomes to long to organically put into a small prototype without it being jarring or disjointed. Some stories demand to be told in their entirety otherwise it’ll be a downright injustice to the piece. I am annoyed with myself that I focused on this one area for some time and put loads of work into, creating scenarios and maps of the layout of the house and such, and I can honestly say that I desperately tried to make it work, it caused me a lot of anxiety, so I’m putting that idea in the vault for later, because it’s true and interesting and plays to my strength, but right now it’s unmanageable.

Then we had the ideation lecture and the techniques I learnt form it is what helped me come to my final idea. I felt I should keep it simple and play to my strengths, which Is comedy, in particular- dark comedy. Through a personal study session I came up with the idea of doing an interactive fiction game in which a teenage girl from stoke invokes a demon to help win her the heart of a boy in her year at school, but instead gets possessed and her father being the practical sort, attempts to do his own exorcism and from there it devolves into a farce. I know I can do farces, and while it may not say anything meaningful. I know I can make something that might maybe make at least someone laugh .

My single biggest problem is myself. I am a constant perfectionist. I am always trying to shoehorn ideas together so that the piece of work says something evocative, and sometimes that just doesn’t happen. This time I feel into that pitfall once again. I continued working on an idea because I felt I had put to much time into it to just give up on it, because of that I had worked myself into a frothy frenzy. While the notes may have helped me get to a place where I can start, they mostly constricted me into thinking that I needed to stick with the piece that I had put a lot of time into.

Next time I will trust in the myself and the knowledge I have accumulated. As I was reading and writing the notes my brain was telling me that I knew this stuff already and It was my ego that was telling me that I needed to brush up on the thing because I’ve been out of the any sort of creative endeavour for a fairly large amount of time.

And Sometimes you’ve just got to kill your babies and put them in a safe place for later.