#if anyone knows a make up brand or anything interesting that i should ask them to look for

[cyberstabbing]

my dad and little brother are flying to japan tomorrow so i get to ask them to bring a bunch of stuff back for me :))) i'd ask for some obscure manga but most of it will be in japanese (duh), so maybe not. although wait i would love the new edition of sugar sugar rune! and some make up!

[momodita]

snapshots. [—chilchuck tims]

TAGS / WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, modern au,       minor pining, background marcille/falin WC: 1,000 NOTE: divorced father of 3 save me... save me       divorced father of 3...

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Move over.”

Chilchuck’s voice startles you. The bowl in his hands is steaming: a hearty stew made with Falin and Marcille’s collective effort—(“Senshi’s tried and true recipe!”). A thick slice of bread perches on its rim. It smells just as heavenly as it did at dinner.

“Here?” you ask, stupefied. The armchair you’ve claimed is wide; there’s easily enough space to fit a Chilchuck-sized person, but your mind jumps—unbidden—to the reason he’d been late in the first place.

“Where else?” He nudges you with his knee. “As if I’m gonna sit near that love-fest over there.”

“You’re not welcome anyways,” Marcille tuts, midway through dipping the maraschino cherry from her sundae into Falin’s mouth.

“This is my apartment!”

You concede with a laugh: it’s just your bruised heart working overtime. The moment his body settles, shoulders touching, you stop being able to taste the ice cream Laios had scooped into your bowl. Existence narrowing to that point of contact with a familiar little rush.

It’s Laios’ turn to choose tonight’s movie, much to Marcille’s dismay—(“A documentary classifies! This is a really interesting one!”)—and he scrolls to find it as Chilchuck digs into his food.

Midway through, you engage him in a thrilling mock-battle of fencing spoons. Falin dozes, lulled from the careful stroke of Marcille’s fingers through her hair. By the time the credits roll, they’re folded onto each other, soft snores drowned out by music.

“They fell asleep again,” Chilchuck drawls, chin cushioned against his hand.

“Must be crashing after all that sugar,” Laios suggests, drapes a blanket over them.

“They were pretty high energy tonight. Eager to hear about how Chilchuck’s date went, I guess,” you tease, taking up the mantle with Marcille fast asleep. “You didn’t even tell us her name.” Keeping the tone casual despite the haunting little pit in your stomach.

(It’d been a shock to hear about it: for as long as you’ve known him, Chilchuck has been eager to keep his life private—even from long-time friends. And there’d been no signs of anyone—except you and your little group—coveting his time and attention; no extra, unexplained toothbrushes, no brands you don’t recognize in his pantry, no missed get-togethers.)

“Huh?” He gives you a look, confusion twisted in his features. The TV’s light illuminates a silver hair. “I wasn’t with any girl.”

Your brow furrows. “…His name? Their name?”

Chilchuck stares. This close—where the minuscule twitches in his expression are noticeable—it’s strangely evaluating.

“You know Marcille was joking when she said it was a date, right?” Heat sears along your cheekbones; embarrassment flushing hot under his gaze—the realization of your mistake.

“Of course I knew,” you say stupidly. Chilchuck’s eyebrow quirks. “Shut up. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, then if it wasn’t a date, who were you with?”

“Senshi,” he says. “He was—we, uh,” his eyes slide off to the side, “I asked him for a favor.”

“Oh?” you hum, relief and mirth creating a warm hum behind your ribs. “Looking to get a side hustle as a cook?”

“Not even close,” he grunts, looking away.

“Should we start calling you our little master chef?” You nudge him with a grin.

“Chilchuck is already quite good at cooking,” Laios pipes up without taking his eyes off the screen. “Maybe he’ll learn to make something else after mastering ramen.”

“Hey—”

“Ramen?” you ask, head tilting. “Like, the instant kind?”

Chilchuck splutters. “No!”

“From scratch!” Laios beams. “Senshi’s said he’s been making really good progress since his first day.”

“Oh?” you grin. “Our little master chef is gonna open a ramen shop?”

“Shut up. No way. Not ever,” Chilchuck grumbles, the high curve of his ear a soft pink.

“I hope you’ll make it for us one day—I love ramen,” you say. “Very tedious, though, so I’ve never done it myself.”

His face scrunches, mouth pursing together like he wants to speak, but doesn’t. His cheeks puff with air, releasing as a long, quiet sigh.

“Oh, hey, so after ramen”—you lean a hand on the chair’s opposite arm, boxing him in with a cheeky little smile—“you should look into French onion soup. It’s probably easier than ramen but caramelizing the onions takes so long—”

“You—!” he leans back, shoulders tense and eyes wide. “Don’t go making requests before I’ve even cooked anything decent.”

“Why not? I bet it’ll be great! You’re good with your hands, so soup is probably a piece of cake for you.” You watch—with no small amount of pleasure—as Chilchuck’s face flushes with vivid color.

“Get away from me,” he mumbles, but his tone is so insincere all you do is laugh. He knocks a loose fist against the inside of your elbow. A surprised noise jumps out; you retreat back against the chair, rubbing the spot.

“Mmh?” Marcille rouses with a sleepy hum. “What’re you requestin’?”

“Chilchuck is making us ramen,” you joke, relishing the way he knocks an admonishing leg against yours. “He’s our little master chef.”

“Oh, yeah. Did Laios end up spilling the beans?” Marcille yawns. Falin stirs, eyes fluttering. “Congratulations, you two.”

Chilchuck goes stiff beside you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Marcille pauses, head tilting with a drowsy look of confusion. “Huh? Didn’t you ask why he’s learning to make it?” she asks. Falin tugs her sleeve.

You blink. “No. Should I have?” Marcille doesn’t respond right away, head bent to put an ear by Falin’s mouth, expression pinched as they whisper. Then, with a sigh, she reaches up to stretch.

“No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Laios is quick to grab her attention.

“Hey, so are you actually opening a ramen shop?” you whisper to Chilchuck.

“You’re such an airhead,” he grunts against his palm.

“I’m great,” you reply. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. When next he speaks, his voice is soft—acquiescing easily to your jest.

“Guess you are.”

[luv4freddie]

The Mark - D.M

Reader comforts Draco after he gets the dark mark

Exactly what you think it’s gonna be like. Tragic backstory, mentions of voldy and war, so sad, angst/comfort, 776 words

Draco Malfoy was tired.

He was exhausted, yes. But he was tired of being the man of the family. He was tired of being a Malfoy heir, of being forced into boxes in order to make his family proud.

And now it was too late.

He laid in his four poster bed, fighting against the tears blooming behind his eyes and the stinging sensation on his forearm.

He shivered— he felt dirty. Disgusting in a way that wouldn’t wash out no matter how many times he scrubbed the spot where bony white fingers had grasped his arm.

He wanted to kick and scream like a toddler, but even now he couldn’t express the emotions building up in his chest— adrenaline, shame, fear, all joining in on his downfall.

He laid unresponsive, too tired to move but unable to fall asleep.

He can still hear his mother crying downstairs. She hadn’t stopped since the Dark Lord had left the manor, and taken her sons innocence and choice along with him.

Draco faintly registers the smell of smoke and a tumbling sound, but he makes no attempt to investigate, chalking it up to a clumsy house elf.

At least until he hears your voice.

“Dray?” It’s gentle in a way that makes all of his emotions perk up, fighting their way to his face as he finally moves; sitting up to face where you stand, freshly out of his fireplace.

He wants to talk— ask what you’re doing here, how you got there, if you still love him— but instead the most embarrassing thing happens.

Draco Malfoy starts crying.

Draco has not cried since third year, but a single look at you has him sobbing out into the stillness of the house.

Within seconds you’re next to him, pulling him into your chest and stroking his hair while you mumble reassurances into his ear.

He cries for a long time, giving his mother a run for her money with the his sobs echo off the walls, the silencing charm you’d put up to shield him from Narcissa’s ears only making them reverberate louder.

By the time he’s finally calmed down his voice is raspy and his eyes are bloodshot.

“They’re monitoring floo.”

“I know,” you hush him, “but that’s for the order members. They won’t care about us. They probably think I’m just sneaking out to smog you.”

He lets out a chuckle, but it’s airy and there’s no real humor in it.

He wants to tell you. But at the same time, he’s terrified that you’re going to be disgusted— that you’d get up and leave him just like everyone else when he inevitably disappoints.

You notice he subconsciously fiddles with the edge of his sleeve, and you grab his hand, bringing it up to place a kiss on his fingers.

“I know already.”

You want to cry with the amount of fear in his eyes when they meet yours.

“You- how?”

“Your mom was talking to mine about it.”

He lets out a scoff, “it’s a miracle she can get anything out with the way she’s been crying.”

You sigh, “can you blame her?”

“I’m the one that got branded, why’s she crying?”

You smooth a gentle finger over his sleeve, hating the way he flinches.

“Because you’re now a part of this war, a bigger part than anyone your age should ever be.”

He buries further into you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and appreciating the way you wrap your arms around him, squeezing just enough to press your bodies into each other.

“Do you still love me?”

His voice is so small and hidden from where he’s laying, but you hear it nonetheless, and your heart shatters into a billion tiny pieces at the vulnerability and disappointment in it.

He’s expecting you to say no.

Instead, you grab his arm, bringing it up to where you can see it. At first he refuses to let you move his sleeve, but he quickly tires, watching your every move with droopy eyes and resigned interest.

He inhales sharply when you do it— roll his sleeve up and press a soft kiss directly onto the middle of the mark, right where the snake winds around the mouth.

“The Dark Lord himself couldn’t make me stop loving you, Draco Malfoy. This doesn’t change who you are.”

He breathes a small sigh of relief.

He was still a death eater, still an heir, and still guilty—but you loved him, and you weren’t going to leave him because of it.

So maybe— just maybe— he could survive this war. As long as you were here

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Do you think that Voldemort/Tom Riddle could be redeemed or find redemption “through” anyone else but Harry? Obviously we are going with a very broad & loose canon divergence scenario here, but, assuming we try to follow canon as closely as possible, do you think that anyone else aside Harry might lend any amount of support for redemption? (I’m referring to the last scene of them with that remorse part)

Omph, okay, so, first of all, I don't think redemption is something that could be found "through" anyone. Redemption and remorse are processes Tom should go through. It's not Harry (or anyone) that leads him through it but Tom actively looking in and choosing to examine himself and his actions — something I don't really see him doing.

Like remorse requires a combination of two things:

A sense of guilt over your actions

Regret of said actions due to the aforementioned guilt.

Now, Tom, I think, does have his regrets. I think he regrets going after Harry, he regrets killing Myrtle to a degree as well, but not because of the effects on others, but because of how these events effected himself. He regrets going to kill Harry on Halloween 1981 because it killed him. He regretted killing Myrtle (at one point) because it ruined his chances to stay at Hogwarts during the summer, but he did not regret her death, or creating a Horcrux. So, Tom does experience regret, so that's no problem.

The guilt is a more interesting aspect. Guilt is defined as a feeling of blame, the sense that you are to blame. Now, I think Tom is definitely aware he is to blame for each and every death he caused, I think he just doesn't particularly care about most people. Not enough to feel anything about it. But, I think he does feel guilt for some things. I think him killing his father and grandparents was in a moment of passion and I think he does feel some remorse over it. Over killing them, not over making their deaths into a Horcrux or making the Horcrux.

The reason I keep mentioning the Horcruxes is because in the quote you brought up, Harry mentioned "remorse" as a means of destroying Horcruxes. I mentioned here and here how remorse could destroy a Horcrux: by regretting the creation of said Horcrux you'll break the oath that binds the Horcrux's magic. So, this specific brand of remorse would only happen if Tom decides he wishes to die (either now or eventually) but the moment he accepts his own death, he breaks the Horcruxes.

Now, I think that the final one is something Tom could eventually do. I mentioned here how Tom's behavior indicates he suspects he would wish to die, eventually, or that he at least wants that option open to him. Another person could help point the journey out to him, but it would still be a decision Tom would have to make. Otherwise, it won't really mean anything.

As for who, well, I mean, there is a reason Harry is the person we see asking Tom to try for some remorse. Harry isn't offering to lead Tom in his redemption, but he offers that path to him. He tells him he could try it, that he has another choice, which Tom, as we know, declines. But I think Harry is the only character in canon (definitely around book 7) who could or would offer Tom this alternative.

Ron mentioned in DH it's scary how well Harry understands Tom:

When Harry had finished speaking, Ron shook his head. “You really understand him.” “Bits of him,” said Harry. “Bits . . . I just wish I’d understood Dumbledore as much. But we’ll see. Come on—Ollivander now.”

(DH, 420)

Now, I don't think Harry understands Tom as well as I do, but he definitely understands Tom better than Dumbledore. I think it's striking how Harry feels he knows Voldemort better than he does Dumbledore, but I digress.

the point is, that Harry always showed sympathy towards Tom Riddle. When Dumbledore showed him Tom Riddle's memories, Harry didn't see a psychopath who was born evil, but a child, an orphan, not so dissimilar to himself, who ended up evil. Harry and Tom both remark on how similar their circumstances were:

Because there are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike. . . .

(CoS, 292)

On how, if Harry's gone on a slightly different path, they could've been even more similar, with how he was almost in Slytherin.

When we see Harry calling Voldemort Tom in the final book, it's in a different tune than when Dumbledore called Voldemort Tom.

Dumbledore called Voldemort "Tom" as a statement of power. To diminish Tom back to the student he was, to diminish his achievements, to remind Tom he is still the same boy and no lord. That he isn't as special as he thinks he is. When Harry calls Tom by his name, Tom is convinced he is doing the same, but I don't think he is.

I think Harry calls him "Tom" because it's his name. Because he's human like everyone else. For Harry, it's from a place of understanding and sympathy and not a taunt. Not really. The taunt is Harry knowing something Voldemort doesn't, Harry is taunting him over magic and information, not about his name.

Harry is the only character in book 7 that can claim to have a resemblance of understanding of Tom Riddle and who he is. More importantly, Harry is the only character we see who feels sympathy towards Tom Riddle. That's why I said Harry is the only one who would offer Tom another option, a chance at redemption because no one else would. The entire wizarding world in the final book, even Death Eaters, Ron and Hermione see Voldemort as a kind of bogyman, a figure of fear more akin to death than a mortal man. Harry calls him Tom Riddle because he sees him as a human being, something which is necessary to be able to offer sympathy and to tell him he could choose remorse — redemption.

I think Harry, who determines how he feels about people not necessarily according to their actions, but according to how much he cares about them (he doesn't mind when Hermione kidnaps Rita Skeeter but is willing to strangle, maybe kill, Mundungus for stealing from Grimmauld Place) and understands Tom too much to not care about him enough to make him this offer at the final moment. And I think Harry is one of the only people, if not the only person, who would look at Lord Voldemort and what he did, and decide that knowing Tom Riddle is enough to offer him a chance at forgiveness. Like, this decision is insane and shows Harry's insane compassion. Yes, his compassion is somewhat selective, but once he decides he cares about you, even the most minuscule amount (like Stan Shunpike) he'll go very far for you. Up to and including giving Voldemort the option to choose redemption. But this isn't something I think anyone else would've offered.

I mean, the Order lost too much to Voldemort in the first war (and the second one). They see him as a monster more than a man. The same goes for Ron and Hermione and everyone else, really. Even Snape doesn't really know Voldemort enough to consider himself his equal, to see Voldemort as just another human. But Harry does: "Mark him as his equal" and all that.

So, basically, I think it could've only been Harry to make that offer because no one else would. But, unless we drastically change the books, no way would Tom have ever said "Yes, I want to try remorse".

(As an aside, I think it could've been hilarious if Voldemort did say: "yeah, sure" and Harry had to explain to everyone Voldemort is alright now, because he's feeling remorse and Harry decided he can forgive him. I can see how well that's going to go)

[whoistartaglia]

come one, come all

there’s a fabulous magic show in town hosted by the two most famous magicians in fontaine. you unknowingly meet one of them—lyney, a man with a smile full of secrets—in a quiet bar in monstadt.

lyney x reader (pre-release)

there’s a curious man sitting next to you at the bar.

the tavern you frequent is located in a small village at the edge of monstadt, known to host the occasional traveler and adventurer, but none as peculiar as him. his clothes are clean and fashionable, and there’s a look on his face like he knows more secrets than you, has more tricks up his sleeve. moreover, what’s stranger is that he ordered only one drink and has yet to touch it, only observing it, faintly reminding you of a moth studying a flame.

“is something wrong with it?” the man breaks out of his hypnosis at your teasing question, and looks up in suprise. you explain, “i know the bartender, and he’s really great. if something’s the matter with your drink i know he’ll replace it.”

“oh, no,” he says dismissively. “it’s nothing like that. i was just interested in it—we don’t have this brand of wine where i’m from.”

“and where’s that?”

“fontaine,” he replies simply, and yes, now that he says it, you can hear the distinct accent.

“why are you in monstadt?”

“for the same reason everyone else is, i imagine,” he replies, taking a ginger sip from the glass. “for the show.”

ah, yes, the show. a magic show, famous in fontaine and most of teyvat for its impressive tricks and wonderous miracles. you’ve been hearing of it since the twin magicians announced their arrival to monstadt to entertain and wow the masses.

that’s why there are more than an abundance of travelers, adventurers, foreigners, in monstadt. some of them have tickets; many don’t. they hope the magicians will take pity on them and spirit a ticket to them in the middle of the night. or maybe they intend to steal one from actual holders. perphaps a bit of both.

“are you also going?” he presses.

you purse your lips and look down. “no, i’m not.” the tickets were too expensive and too difficult to get your hands on.

“did you want to?”

“of course i did,” you respond, the words coming out more bitter than you intended. it’s the closest thing to magic the world has to offer. tricks to make you forget it’s only an act; displays to dazzle even the most prudent of disbelievers. card tricks, doves from hats, sawing a lady in half and convincing the audience she’s actually been split in two.

of course you want to go. anyone in teyvet would, especially you, who comes from a small town in monstadt, who may never see anything like it again.

“i see,” is all the man says.

there’s an uncomfortable silence you feel obligated to break, and you ask after a second, forcing the lingering bitterness out of your tone, “are you going to watch?”

“yes,” he says, hesitating. “i am…going.”

“do you have a good seat?”

he smiles faintly.

“the best in the house.”

“i’m glad.” you swallow and stand up, placing down enough coins for you and the stranger. he watches you with veiled interest, especially the way you straighten up and conceal the frown creeping on your face.

“i should go,” you tell him. “i’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“yes, you do” he says faintly, agreeing with you. before you can opine on the strange statement, he smiles. “it was wonderful to meet you.”

you turn and leave, waving to the bartender wiping down the bar as you do. before you’re out the door, he calls, “i shall see you tomorrow!”

you pause and turn back around, intent on correcting the man, but he’s already gone—leaving nothing but a golden, shimmering ticket left in his wake.

•••

it’s a trick, a lie, a falsity. your subconscious screams at you that the piece of paper in your hand, that reads admit one in black inky letters, is a fake. it can’t be real—there’s no way.

yet you find yourself traveling to the shining capitol, with the ticket clutched in your hands. the wind begs to rip it away and the crowded streets tempts it to get lost and stolen, but you hold on tight, your grip only loosening when you hand it to the collectors at the front entrance.

they let you in without a second glance, and still in a state of disbelief, you find your seat, front row, center spot. best seat in the house. you look around for the man you saw last night but he is nowhere to be found, and a part of you wonders it he gave up your ticket for you. but that doesn’t make sense, you just met, it’s too peculiar, too much like a fairytale, a magic spell, come true.

your wandering thoughts are caged and tamed at the diming of the lights. you turn and face the center where a spotlight shines and a puff of smoke reveals two figures. the twin magicians. lyney and lynette.

the crowd errupts in applause, it’s the first trick of the evening, and you join in, until the smoke fades, and the magicians come into view. the sister with cat-like ears smiles adoringly at the crowd, and the brother does the same. but whereas lynette’s eyes are roaming, meeting as many fans as possible, lyney’s have yet to leave you.

at your shock and surprise, lyney dips his head slightly, and smiles, all too familiar from last night. turning back to the main crowd, he introduces himself and his sister, and announces to the crowd.

“come one, come all! we have a great show in store for you! magic will be casted, miracles with be had, and...” his eyes find yours again, and winking he continues, “hearts will be stolen, tonight.”

[vasito-de-leche]

I love how you write, your interpretations of characters are my favorite. If you're okay with it, may I ask for romantic headcanons of Horropedia (Reverse 1999) x Reader? I would love to know what he is like when he's developing a crush, how he confronts his feelings when he realized them, what he's like when in a romantic relationship, etc. Thank you very much!

;R1999 HORROPEDIA - Relationship Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons about Horropedia in a romantic relationship.

awe! i'm glad you like my stuff! and thank you for the lovely words and request, cause i've been itching to write for horropedia <3

i got a liiiiittle carried away with this one, hope that's alright!

Horropedia as a character is fascinating because at a surface level he's a mess and a walking stereotype - a "nerdy nerd" with a very specific hyperfixation on the horror genre, the tall guy with glasses who explains the plot and does his own thing regardless of how others view him, the first one to die in a movie solely because he's perceived as cringe etc, etc.

And yet, his medium is "logic" - he, better than anyone, understands the nonsensical laws that make up the concept of horror, he sees the patterns and the reason why some things are done this way instead of that way. Through logic, pattern recognition and analysis, Horropedia can pretty much understand anything and work his way around any problem, no matter how unorthodox his solutions may be.

In a sense, I'd compare Horropedia to Pavia. Both are characters who are subject to the stereotypes and images others assign to them - but whereas Pavia both fights and plays into all of these roles, Horropedia just brushes it off and continues doing his own thing, being genuine and unapologetically himself.

When it comes to romance, it's easy to assume Horropedia has no interest in it - they're two different genres that don't go together most of the time. It's also easy to assume that he would be a troublesome partner, due to the laser focus attention he gives to his interests. And the latter is partially true: his lackluster love life is entirely because romance hasn't entered his radar, at least not enough to pull his attention away from his one true love.

But I think this is where the aspect of "logic" comes into play. All Horropedia needs is that spark, to find something to truly become invested in when it comes to romance - once he finds it, he'll dedicate the same amount of attention to detail and care as the horror movies he loves so much.

On the subject of Horropedia developing a crush.

Similar to Click, Horropedia would need some time to start noticing the signs of a crush - the difference is that Horropedia is a little quicker when it comes to realizing he's fallen for someone. His forte is horror movies, but he still knows a thing or two when it comes to other genres.

When he cannot rationalize his behaviour around you in a way that makes sense to his current fixation or situation, that's when he knows. And given how straightforward (to the point of bordering on obliviously rude) Horropedia can be, I'd say he'd also be the type to address this crush right away. Now that there's this brand new thing in his life, he'd like to understand it better - to dissect and study the way romance is potrayed, explore how it feels and just analyze it to hell and back. Basically, he wants to know the rules, to figure out how to best proceed.

Of course, he wouldn't dream of confronting you directly, only an amateur would do such a thing. Instead, he asks his friends and pretty much anyone within his general vicinity. He wants to understand romance from every angle, to hear about it from all sorts of people until he feels like he knows enough to start forming his own opinions.

His questions are all theoretical situations that begin rather innocent, innocuous. What does the hero of a romcom do to get the romantic interest? Does it follow a three act structure? And should the third act climax start with a confession or the breakup?

Overtime, they become a little more specific. To the point where his closest friends might suspect something is up, until Horropedia finds himself asking about your interests so that he can figure out the perfect gift for you. Just in case. He finds himself watching romcoms and making extensive research and charts and essays into the genres.

The funniest thing to me is that Horropedia would be extremely casual about this whole ordeal, this crush makes him extremely intrigued in the concept of romance (an oddity for someone so themed around horror), he finds himself staring at you from across the room (this is the third time he's walked into a door because of it) and so on and so forth. But he's so chill about it.

When confronted about his crush - should Blonney or anyone else decide to tease him a little by prodding - Horropedia has no problem blurting out that he has, indeed, fallen for someone. But he'll take your name to the grave, not out of shame or embarrassment but because "he doesn't want to spoil the plot, as obvious as it might be".

On the subject of Horropedia confronting his feelings and some more insight into his mentality.

I'd say there is this small possibility of Horropedia feeling disheartened if he begins to neglect his real passion for the sake of his feelings - it's that sort of guilt and shock one gets when they realize they've forgotten their wallet the moment they're meant to pay for dinner, or when they realize they've forgotten to turn off the oven.

Horror is a huge part of his life and who he is as a person - literally look at the name he's chosen for himself - and given how heavily coded he is to be neurodivergent, I can understand this aspect of him. The feeling like one must choose between two things they enjoy, and all the other things that might come with hyperfixation, both positive and negative.

This is the biggest obstacle for Horropedia when it comes to finally taking the first steps into forming a relationship with you or confessing - the irrational thought that by doing so, he's prioritizing you and romance over horror, something that he holds very dear. One of his stories gives some insight about Horropedia's relationship with horror and how it's something he shared with (and possibly was started by) his grandfather.

I feel like he'll grow a little distant, as a way to set some boundaries for himself or draw a line between his identity and his feelings for you, separate the two so that he doesn't have to feel guilty for giving one more attention than the other. Maybe he simply stops bringing up films around you, because "you're probably not that interested anyway". Masking, he's masking.

But overall, I can see Horropedia being capable enough to get out of this mindset by himself - or with a little help from someone else. Either way, he simply loops back to realizing the obvious: you two were friends, before he realized his feelings for you. You were fine with the whole Horropedia Experience. You liked him for who he was. And he liked you just as you were.

Horropedia is the one who confesses first, the one who asks you out. 100%. And it's so unnecessarily dramatic.

I DO think that Horropedia would make sure to be the one who confesses, just so he can put everything that he's learned about romance into play. And he delivers the most award worthy performance. It would be all about redirection, an unexpected reveal - his skills and animations are also all about fake outs and misleading the audience, after all.

In my head, there's this whole scene about Horropedia asking everyone to help him out confess to you, and everyone is so excited for it - but then he just asks them to fuel this slow rift that formed between you and him, to act vague, distant and mysterious should you ask Blonney or Tooth Fairy about him. Again, unorthodox and weird, but he's cooking. This is all done with the intention of forcing a confrontation between the two of you, just so he can pour his heart out right there - it's all or nothing.

Again, I want to insist that Horropedia, despite being a logical man, still makes as many aspects of his life revolve around the things that he loves and is interested in - he likes films, he likes you. And while romance is not his preferred genre, he still wants to explore all there is about it all thanks to you.

That alone should tell you how much you mean to him. Even if his methods aren't the "proper" way, you know he's putting his whole heart into this. It's all over the top, there's fake rain, etc etc. Of course, your reaction to this is up to you!

If you're mad at him for such convoluted plan, he'll sit there and allow you to scold him to your heart's content - he's used to it as one of the many troublemakers that the Foundation failed to raise as model students. If you laugh at him because of how ridiculous this guy can be sometimes, he'll laugh along, trying to get you to tell him what he could've been done better to get a third act reconciliation. And if you start crying, jump into his arms and play along then he'll be over the moon, trying every single impactful one-liner from every romcom he's watched in the past few weeks.

On the subject of Horropedia and how he acts when he's in a relationship.

Dating Horropedia is pretty easy, because you're dating your best friend. However, it is very easy to misunderstand Horropedia's way of showing affection - those who are more on the insecure side or less receptive to his subtleties may feel like there's been absolutely no shift in the dynamic, that he's treating you the same way he'd treat Tooth Fairy or Vertin.

This is far from the truth! Once Horropedia finally settles into the relationship, he grows very comfortable and allows himself to just exist around you - which isn't saying much since he doesn't mask as much around friends, but it's all about the subtle things!

I like to think Horropedia is very particular about space, as in he makes a point not to invade people's spaces if possible and he'd rather remain in his little bubble. But when it comes to you, he's very casual with physical touch. He's not as cuddly and touchy as characters like, let's say, Matilda, Jessica or Pavia, but being able to rest his head on your shoulder means a lot to him, or just have you lean on him when sitting together. This is pushed to the limit when you two pull all-nighters, binging all of your favorite movies.

He's on cloud nine when you pay attention to his ramblings and makes sure to listen when you ramble to him as well. More than often, he'll do his own little research into the topics you like, just so you have someone to properly discuss things with! Horropedia more than anyone knows what it's like to be brushed aside for being too much or too weird, to have no one listen. Despite his confidence, he has had days of feeling like he keeps on talking to a wall, so he doesn't want you to ever feel like that.

It's all about sharing interests and recommending things that you may like, keeping up with the latest events and so on and so forth, having looong discussions at night about whatever topic you two are extremely invested in.

If these discussions get a little heated and end up as arguments, expect Horropedia to insist on arguing because he's just stubborn like that - it'll take him time to realize that he might've hurt your feelings, or that he might've be hurting too, but he'll come around eventually to talk it out.

Overall, dating Horropedia would be fun because he's full of surprises and excitement, but he's also considerate in his own way.

[imtrashraccoon]

Runs in but trips over my own paws, scattering some papers everywhere

So... I have a new thing that has been taking over my brain... Not sure if I'll end up doing all of the prompts and I know I won't have time to do them all on time, but I want to try!

I decided to take a similar approach to the fic I wrote from the last prompt list I did, Have Some Empathy, Dear. So, rather than write for Classic Papyrus all month, I'm going to split the prompts up among the four Papyri I have created. Some I haven't expanded on much or barely written anything in general, so this is exciting for me! First up, my Underfell Papyrus - Scar!

Thanks to @starlikeswomen for the awesome prompt list! (Let me know if you don't want to be constantly tagged for these...) (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ

Edit: I changed the title of the fic as I decided to only do the first seven prompts and I'm also finishing this outside of October.

Next Chapter

Chapter 1: I Guess We're Roommates??

Word Count: 1,884

It was a warm day today but rather than finish unpacking your apartment, you decided to go outside and get some sunshine. You were between projects anyways so it's not like your clients would get upset if you took a break. After grabbing your phone and credit card, you locked the front door behind you and set out to explore the city. Maybe you'd even try out a new restaurant for lunch if you encountered anything interesting.

It seemed like everyone was out and about today, either enjoying the warm weather like you or just going about their business. You didn't live anywhere particularly fancy, but there were plenty of new businesses in the area and your street had become a popular hang out spot for young people. It gave you some hope that you could start a new life here and make some new friends.

The sun was so bright that you almost wished you had remembered to grab your sunglasses but there wasn't anything you could do about it now since you didn't want to go all the way back home. For now, you kept your head down so you wouldn't have to squint constantly, at least some of the taller buildings occasionally blocked the sunlight.

A bus pulled up to the sidewalk up ahead and half a dozen people disembarked. On instinct, you moved towards the buildings so they could easily move past you, but in doing so, you noticed a very tall skeleton in the middle of the crowd. He seemed rather out of place but instead of asking for help, anyone who got too close received a harsh glare.

Despite Monsters being on the surface for quite some time now, they were still a rare sight since they tended to keep to themselves. The general public seemed to like them but you knew there were still many Humans who not-so-secretly disliked them. It just made sense for Monsters to stick together in a world that was still brand new to them.

You waited until most of the crowd had dispersed before attempting to approach the skeleton. He was dressed sharply, and thanks to his sharp teeth, that seemed to be a good word to describe him. Maybe his clothes were a bit too warm for the current weather though.

He had on a bright red scarf, a classy tan trenchcoat, dark slacks, and well-polished leather shoes. He was also wearing dark leather gloves, making his skull the only visible part of him. The most distinguishing features about him were the two jagged cracks that passed through his left eye socket and his scarlet eyelights that seemed to boil with barely concealed frustration.

Just as you were debating if you should bother talking to him or not, he seemed to notice your presence and turned sharply towards you. For a moment, you got the distinct impression that he was evaluating your appearance but he broke eye contact as soon as the thought occurred to you.

"Are you alright?" you asked carefully.

He stiffened and shot a glare at you. "Of Course I Am," he growled in response.

You weren't that surprised by his harsh tone but a part of you wondered if you should just excuse yourself and continue on your way. "I just wondered because I'm new to the city and I know the feeling of being lost quite well," you commented. "If I may ask, do you need help getting somewhere?"

His expression softened ever so slightly but his earlier frustration continued to hold on stubbornly. "No, I Am Not Trying To Go Anywhere," he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow but before you could say anything else, he let out a huff and crossed his arms. "But, If You Do Not Mind, What City Is This?"

You hadn't been expecting that question at all but you managed to keep a poker face rather than betray your bewilderment. "We're in Mountsburg."

His bonebrows furrowed and he propped his chin up in one of his hands in a thoughtful manner. After a moment he huffed again and turned back to you. "I... I Have No Idea Where I Am," he confessed.

You blinked in surprise and looked around but no one seemed to be paying attention to the two of you. So, you moved a bit closer to the skeleton before responding, "I can try helping if you want?"

He nodded, albeit hesitantly, and finally allowed himself to relax some.

Even though you had to basically crane your neck to look up at his easily seven foot frame, you smiled and introduced yourself before asking for his name in return.

He opened his mouth to respond before apparently thinking better of whatever he was going to say. "Scar. You May Call Me Scar," he answered.

A part of you wondered why he'd been reluctant to tell you his name but you decided not to pry for now. You were a complete stranger and he was in a bit of a tough situation after all.

"Would you like to go somewhere so we can talk? I was planning on getting some lunch anyways if you want to join me?"

"That Is A Good Idea," Scar started to say slowly. "Are There Any Good Monster Owned Places Around Here?"

You shrugged, "I don't know but we can find one."

After searching through some local review websites for a few minutes, you settled on one that was nearby with reasonable prices. It turned out to be a little hole in the wall place but on first impressions, it seemed clean at least. Other than Scar giving you the occasional odd look while you were looking for the restaurant, he had no complaints so you decided to give it a chance.

He picked a table in the far corner of the dining room and you noticed he chose to sit with his back to the wall, as if he didn't like the idea of not knowing who might walk in the door. After ordering, he leaned a bit closer to you, resting his arms on the table as he did so.

"I Am Not Sure Why I Am Here," he started to say in a low voice. "But A Small Skeleton With A Large Paintbrush Told Me To Find Someone With The Same Name As You. The Next Thing I Knew, I Was Here And Well, You Know The Rest."

"You just appeared here?"

Scar thought for a moment before nodding. "That Is The Best Way I Can Describe It."

"Can I ask where you're from then?" you asked.

"I Live Near A Place Called 'Surface Home'." When you have him a curious look, he added in slightly exasperated tone, "Our King Is Very Bad At Naming Things..."

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Considering everyone calls the East side of the city 'Monster Town', I'm not that surprised."

"Wait, Humans And Monsters Live Close Together?"

"Most live here in the city but I know some don't like living in the shadow of the mountain, which makes sense."

Scar nodded quietly.

"You know, I could try looking up your town or city on my phone. Maybe that could help you figure out where you are?" you suggested.

He only shrugged in response, although you did catch a glimpse of a curious glint in his eyelights but it vanished almost immediately.

Try as you might, you couldn't find anywhere that was called "Surface Home" or even any other instance of the former Monster King naming another Monster settlement. When you tried asking Scar about himself or anything else that might give you an idea of where he was from, he seemed to grow a bit uncomfortable, so you changed the subject and tried to make casual conversation instead.

You learned that he liked animals and owned a small hobby farm with his brother outside of their town. He used to be in the Royal Guard back in the Underground as well, which is how he got the two scars. You got the impression that while he acted tough, he really just wanted to be left alone, which was something you understood quite well.

Interestingly, you caught him closely studying you while you searched for his town on your phone. He attempted to play it off when he realized that you'd noticed his staring by complimenting the burgundy highlights in your hair. Then, the waiter returned with your orders so you brushed it off for now.

While eating, you noticed how he kept looking around at the other patrons. It was casual, as if he was only curious about what they were wearing or the occasional bits of conversation you could overhear. However, you began to notice that he was actually surveying the room for potential threats. When you asked if he was alright, he seemed a bit startled but gave you a gruff nod.

He insisted on paying separately when the bill came around and you noticed that he paid in Gold. It occurred to you that he could have requested a Monster restaurant for this specific reason but you supposed it could've also been for the food and familiarity.

When you stepped outside again, you turned to Scar. "Do you have any social media? Or maybe a phone number I can use to get in touch with you?"

He cocked his skull and gave you a confused look. "No? I Do Not Know What That Is..."

Well that put a spanner in the works. You should've guessed that he wasn't the type to care about what other people were doing online. That left you wondering what he would do next since he was alone in a strange city with no way of finding his way home. This led you to offer something that you normally wouldn't have if he was anyone else.

"You could crash at my apartment for a while until we figure out how to get you home."

He physically balked at the very suggestion. "No. You Do Not Need To Put Yourself Out On My Account."

"You were supposed to find me, right?" you pressed. "Maybe together we can find out why, but for now, I'd sleep a lot easier knowing that you have a roof over your head."

He frowned and looked away. "I Suppose You Are Right..." he muttered. "But I Do Not Want To Be A Burden..."

"Nevermind that," you huffed and planted your hands on your hips. "I've lived with roommates plenty of times and I doubt you'd be half as difficult to live with as some of them were."

Something about what you said got him to laugh. Maybe it was your tone of voice or maybe it was the sight of your much smaller frame glaring up at him like an annoyed chinchilla, either way he couldn't stop the smile that threatened to overtake his usual sneer. His laugh was very distinct, almost comical, like a truely maniacal villian, except he was a well-dressed skeleton who apparently hated the idea of being indebted to anyone.

"Nyah! Fine! If You Are Going To Be So Stubborn, I Accept Your Offer, Human," he huffed, although he still had a mildly amused look in his scarlet eyelights.

And so began the most interesting period of your life to date.

[ruinofchimera]

It’s more convenient for me to analyze these arguments in depth in a separate post, so here we are. 1.

This is almost exactly what I’m suggesting, but you’ve managed to twist it. I wonder what exactly was so funny about Severus being attacked, humiliated, and threatened. In addition to this whole very “comical” situation, he was her friend. Let’s not forget this little detail. If this reaction seems absolutely reasonable to you, well, I wouldn’t envy your friends. I would never forgive such a reaction to my public humiliation, but maybe we have different standards for what should be called friendship.

In fact, she did join the mockery. Doesn't the use of a derogatory nickname, in addition to the mockery of his clothes, illustrate this enough? No, of course not, because she was just acting on emotion.

2.

Yes, I’m implying that Lily should have handled this situation with complete grace. Why shouldn’t she have, if she is the saintly and morally pure person you make her out to be? Why wouldn’t anyone expect her to be completely calm and polite in this situation? You expect exactly the same from a guy who was bullied and threatened in front of everyone. What are these double standards? Let’s make up our minds whether people still have the right to let loose emotions when they are being mentally destroyed, or whether there is no such right.

You state that Severus' words are not just a random insult, but a full attack on her identity and a bold sign that Severus associates himself with blood purists. You believe that this outburst of anger defines Severus. It doesn’t matter that he’s mentally broken at the moment. No. He had to behave with grace. He had to remain calm and polite. However, how he acted instead is seen as nothing more than malicious intent and a calculated situation (lmao, him being a mudblood too—and yes, anyone except pure-bloods is considered a mudblood by blood purists—definitely only confirms that his insult was well-considered and all). But does Lily play by some other rules? Doesn’t the same logic apply to her? Interesting. And I ask you to stop underestimating the power of bullying and abuse. That’s hardly on the same level, huh? If you're going to go into the emotional damage that Snape caused Lily with his insult, I can do the same. Severus’s mental state, already fragile from years of bullying and struggles with identity, was crushed even further by the realization that his only friend used the same cruel nickname his bullies had used to degrade him for years. Oh, and somehow she even managed to come up with a brand-new mockery to double the pile of bullying. She witnessed his public humiliation but joined the abusers at the first opportunity. And, of course, Severus’s trauma doesn’t mean anything. Only Lily’s trauma counts, given your constant highlighting of her hurt. 3.

No, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t think she’s a hypocrite for rejecting Severus’s apology after everything. I implied that she was a hypocrite because she forgave James, who never even apologized for his behavior. And this whole idea that she started dating him only after he changed and became valiant is not supported by anything at all. Sirius and Remus pointed out that James continued his bullying—just not on dates with her, but behind her back. Anyway, I don't really care about Lily's love choices. She has the freedom to believe in James' redemption, just as she has the freedom to reject Severus' apology. And she was not obliged to stick around. I've written this I don't know how many times, and I have little faith that this will be the last time because you people are still ignoring it. I wasn’t talking about their reunion; I was talking about a sense of remorse. Whether Lily forgave Snape or not, he felt guilty about his behavior and apologized. Lily never did. She didn’t think she had done anything wrong, and this is a significant difference between them. They both followed their emotions and hurt each other, but only one of them repented. Such things, whether you like it or not, say a lot. 4.

I hate to judge something by how it’s talked about. Show, don't tell, you know? The characterization of anything will vary greatly depending on the narrator and their biases. We explore the story through Harry’s eyes and hear the perspective of his father’s friends. If we were to study the story through Draco’s eyes and hear his father’s perspective on the events, I’m sure many things wouldn’t match. And this is the natural state of affairs. So forgive me if I don’t remember a single scene where Lily behaved like a good friend, and therefore I’m skeptical when someone proclaims her to be one. The fact that she justified her friendship with Severus to others can have a very double meaning. The fact that she defended him is also very questionable if she did so in the manner shown in the only scene of her "heroism." For me, this is all unconvincing, especially when, in contrast, we have the precedent of Sirius and James' friendship, which in some ways mirrors the situation of Lily and Severus, except for the differences that actually define the concept of friendship. Both Sirius and Severus grew up in abusive families, both had dark tendencies that were just expressed in different ways. But Potter stayed loyal to Black after the Prank, even though James was forced to sort out the situation by himself. Apparently, for James, the bond with Sirius was more important than punishing him for his recklessness, and this bond wasn’t broken. When Sirius finally decided to run away from home, he ended up with the Potters because he knew that James was fully aware of his family’s atrocities and, more importantly, ready to shield him from it. I could go into this for a very long time, but my main point is that I have no doubt James was a good friend. And I don’t even need to hear Sirius praise him for this. Show, don’t tell—this is exactly the case. Everything that has been shown of Severus and Lily’s friendship seems disturbing, and not just because of Severus' actions. That was the point of my previous post. 5.

Well, I started my original post with the phrase, "If you want to talk about her toxic friendship with Snape, don’t try to erase her contribution to the equation." Toxic friendship (mind that I didn’t say that only Lily was a toxic friend) and contribution to the equation (not her fault for ruining their friendship) are the key words. Lily Evans was the focus of my thoughts, but not the scapegoat. Don’t confuse these things. I didn’t delve deeply into Severus' contribution (though I haven’t ignored it in my post) because I’m not new to the fandom. In the more than 12 years I’ve been here, I’m well aware that the incident with the slur has been covered as much as possible.

Moreover, it is actively used as a way to shut down any discussion about Snape, conveniently omitting that Lily was, in fact, an active participant in this unhealthy dynamic, not a victim. And yeah, she wasn’t a good friend.

Although it depends on everyone’s understanding of friendship, I admit that some may consider her approach to friendship to be worthy. But again, you need to make up your mind: if Lily has the right not to be held accountable for her emotional outburst, then Severus does too. If the circumstances don’t mitigate words spoken in a state of distress, then Lily is responsible for her sudden bullying. Otherwise, it’s hypocrisy. I’m not going to be convinced that Lily was a suffering friend, if only because I’m fortunate enough to know what real friendship and support look like. Their friendship was toxic, but not solely at Severus' hands. He misstepped, and so did she. He apologized, she did not. That’s pretty much the whole story.

[whyareyouhere66]

Omg cool I have an angsty request 😈(if you’re comfortable writing it<3)

Kind of Tom!Peter Parker x Male!Stark!reader x Tony Stark(platonic obviously) ??

Reader has a rocky relationship with his dad Tony, just wants his attention, to be seen by Tony etc. but once Peter joins and takes Tonys full attention reader just automatically hates him for ‘stealing his dad from him’. As time goes on reader just gets more hateful and jealous of Peter, maybe getting into fights with Peter on purpose. Suddenly there’s a new villain/anti-hero (??) that’s been interfering with there plans or just wrecking havoc to go after Peter. Plot twist when they finally catch them/they’re too hurt to keep fighting, it’s revealed as reader. You can make it as angsty as u want!

(A.K.A. Reader is Loki, Peter is Thor and Tony is Odin lol)

 AHH THIS

I love this trope-

So glad you requested this, (and thank you for checking stuff first) and enjoy

Also note that I’m not too fresh on the marvel timeline, if you notice anything that doesn’t exactly align with the movie than I’m sorry just brush past it- this also might be the longest fic I’ve ever written so 

Implied to be set around the start of Peter’s Spider-Man stuff. 

x

Look What You Made Me Do

Male Stark Reader x Avengers

“If I loved you, was a promise….

Would you break it, if you’re honest?” 

[idontwannabeyouanymore, Billie Eillish, 2017]

Cw: violence/fighting, Tony being a bad dad, slightest mentions of drinking, angst Kind of jumping straight into it too- 

I’ll fix a few things later I’m tired I want this one to be out and about

X

If you were to ask anyone about the wealthiest men in modern day New York, it’s inevitable for Tony Stark to appear somewhere on that list.

He’s rich, handsome, a superhero. New  York’s knight in shining armor. 

Most believe his life is a dream, somehow oblivious to the fact that maybe a superhero doesn’t live life in the dream house. But when he’s made his brand through money, fancy houses, big parties, and shiny military weapons it’s easy for people to see no further than surface level.

That isn’t the case for his son, though. 

From a wealth aspect of it- the young Stark knows how grateful he is, how grateful he should be, for his father.

If it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t be currently sitting in this large bedroom, with a view most would pay a couple grand for, wouldn’t be surrounded by the various expensive objects linked to his little interests. It doesn’t even matter how much Y/n would insist on paying- he never seems to think much of it. Maybe it’s his way of showing affection.

That’s what Y/n hopes, at least. 

Because if not- there’s not much there. Tony Stark has never been much of an affectionate person, some may blame it on his own father. Others would blame it on the business- no time for distractions on a long days work.

But neither of those reasons matter- for all his son ever wanted is for Tony to love him the way he wants him to.

-

Static crackles through Y/n’s small speaker, and quickly the boy perks up. A short glance  over and he finds the old Queen record spinning aimlessly, with the tone arm at the end of its songs.

Pushing himself off the bed, he walks over to the stand where Tony’s old record player sits. Taking the arm off- he flips the record over to side b, before returning it to its place. 

The intro of Queen’s “Hammer to Fall” begins ringing from the speaker, and a small, satisfied smile grows on Y/n’s face.

He hums the beat, nodding his head with it while turning back to his bed- but something catches his eye.

Outside, there’s two figures standing out front. One eyebrow raises, Y/n slowly steps closer to the window. 

“Who-?”

Recognizing his dad, dressed in his best suit, Y/n leans closer. The other figure isn’t quite as tall as Tony, and looks quite obviously nervous. 

Y/n furrows his eyebrows. 

….That’s Peter Parker.

What the hell is he doing at Stark’s house?

***

The sound of a backpack falling to the ground echoes through the foyer- and immediately it’s a sigh of relief. The sweet, sweet air conditioning here is heavenly in contrast to the one at school.

Y/n faintly feels a vibration in his pocket- grabbing it only to see multiple notifications coming from a group chat. 

‘What are they on…’ he wonders, scrolling through countless messages worth of nonsense. He goes to reply, when-

“Y/n!”

His head snaps up at the voice, echoing out from the couch.

‘didn’t realize he was home…’ he looks back at the window, finding his father’s car parked in the driveway. 

“Oh.” 

Deciding the group chat can wait, the teen wanders to where his father sits. 

“What’s up?” Immediately Y/n sees the  scattered papers piling on top of one another on the coffee table, the short crystal glass filled halfway with rum. You’d think he’d wait until at least five, but that’s not the Stark way.

“I found a uh, form on the coffee table,” his voice sounds bored, tired, “something about textbooks for school?”

Y/n notices the forms sitting at the edge farthest from Tony, as if they’d been pushed away as far as they could go. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He says awkwardly, looking at the dirty laces of his shoes, “it’s fine, I got it.” 

“Well I can pay for them, if that’s what you’d like.” The eldest Stark shrugs, finally looking at his son from over the rim of his glasses.

Y/n almost feels embarrassed- when had he asked for that? He shakes his head, though it doesn’t hide the surprised look on his face.

“No, no you don’t have to-“

“Oh please, I got it, education is our future or something, right?” Tony shrugs, taking off his glasses and beginning to stand up from his chair, headed for the black leather wallet he’d left on the dining table. 

Y/n isn’t quite sure why he’s now rushing to step in front of his dad- there isn’t much harm in the gesture after all. Maybe he just doesn’t want the weight of depending on his father for everything to lay on his shoulders. Either way, excuses are already falling from his mouth.

“You really don’t have to, dad-“

“You’re acting like I’m handing you the presidents treasury,” Tony deadpans, “besides, you don’t have a job.”

Y/n pauses. 

“Wha- yes, I do-“ does his dad really not know about his job?

“Look, it doesn’t matter, I can get them used anyways-“

Before he can take one step closer, a nervous voice quips up from the doorway and ends the race for the wallet.

“Um, Mr. Stark?”

Curiously, Y/n and his dad snap their heads to see who has just joined them.

“Peter-?”

Peter Parker stands in the large door way, curled into himself with his backpack strap folded between his fist. His eyes are wide and questioning, looking between his classmate and his idol as if he had walked into the wrong room. 

Suddenly, Tony’s shoulders drop- and he’s no longer interested in any textbook or wallet. 

“Ah, Parker, didn’t think you’d make it.” He says bluntly, strutting away from his son and towards the obviously nervous boy. 

“Here, sit down kid.”

With the man’s hand pressed into his shoulder blade, Peter has no choice but to follow him towards the various seats lining the dining table. And from the side- Y/n watches, absolutely lost.

After he had seen his father and Peter talking, he kept it to himself. Knowing the boy, he had simply assumed Peter was asking for an autograph or a picture, just like half of the city. 

But now, he is in his house. At his table. 

What the hell is this?

“Um,” Y/n’s voice sounds blunt, almost too similar to his father- who’s already sitting down across from Peter with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, as if this was a press conference. 

Peter looks at him first, while his father throws a glance over his shoulder. 

“What’s this?” Y/n asks, pointing to the strange teenage boy sitting down in his seat. Tony tiredly leans back in the chair, twisting to the side just slightly so he could look at Y/n head on. 

“Y/n, this is Peter, Peter, this is Y/n.” 

“Uh, yeah, we know each other.” Peter pipes up, giving Y/n the shortest, most awkward smile it seems he could muster. Y/n’s face stays blank.

“Yeah, I meant what is he doing here?”

Tony doesn’t seem at all phased by the rude undertones of Y/n’s question.

“Peter is gonna work as my intern for a little while, I’m training him.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow. 

“For what-“

“Hey, quit interrupting, will you?” Tony dismisses him with the wave of his hand, turning around so he’s fully facing Peter. And Y/n lingers there, processing. He doesn’t like feeling like a shadow, not in his own home especially, but that’s the feeling that begins to overtake him.

Intern…? 

He tries understanding what that means- there’s many possibilities. Assistant, maybe. But when he looks between his dad and his classmate one last time, seeing that he’s been nearly forgotten in the room (aside from the short glances from Peter’s end) he turns around to retreat, fists clenched. 

His dad has had interns before, Peter likely won’t be much different. Possibly.

***

It’s been 5 weeks.

And multiple times, for each of those weeks, Peter has been somewhere mixed into the tangle of Tony Stark’s extensive schedule, far more entangled than Y/n has been for the past few years.

He shows up to dinner, trains at the Avenger’s tower. He comes knocking on the door randomly asking for life advice, or something- he’s everywhere.

It wasn’t even until week 4 that Y/n discovered the truth behind his sudden presence, when he saw the suit for the first time.

He has his own suit, god can you believe it?

Y/n watches on as Tony seems to easily bring Peter under his wing- hating how he has to avoid the burning green envy that burns his ears. How has Tony managed to take on the father figure role to Peter, when he barely manages that role with his own son?

‘It shouldn’t hurt this bad,’ y/n will think to himself, ‘you’re independent, relying on him will only make it harder in the long run.’

But he couldn’t help the hardened glare that arose every time he saw his dad, his own dad, bonding with someone else the way he had been wanting for what- 16 years?

Even now, sitting at the table, while the teen stares into the bowl of cereal in front of him, it’s just so irking to think about. 

His spoon scrapes the edges of the bowl, gathering the now soggy cheerios into a cluster in its silver dip. Then, they get lost in his mouth. Rinse and repeat- he does it over and over while staring a blazing hole into the wall. 

What is Peter doing that he can’t?

“Mr. Stark-“ 

Speak of the devil. 

Y/n’s grip on the spoon tightens.

Peter comes stumbling into the room, out of breathe as if he sprinted all the way here. He doesn’t even knock anymore, Y/n thinks, he’s made himself at home.

“Kid? What’re you doing here?” 

The nickname sends a shivering twitch through Y/n’s already sore muscles, tugging his face so he can’t control the annoyed look that comes through. 

They’re talking to each other now, Peter trying to tell a story far too quickly for either of them to follow. Y/n blocks their voices out.

His chair scrapes against the floor, and he grabs his bag to leave. 

“I’m going to school.” He says loudly, cutting off their conversation. 

“Oh, I guess I gotta go too-“ 

“No,” Peter freezes, looking at Y/n curiously, “no, no stay here longer why don’t you? Practically your house.” Venom leaks from his words, the sarcasm so loud it makes Peter flinch. 

“Y/n,” Tony groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Y/n’s stare only hardens.

“What?” He snaps, now looking at his father. 

“Really?” Is all that Tony manages, before Y/n is rolling his eyes and spinning on his heel.

“(F/n) is waiting for me.” He grumbles, snatching his phone and stomping out of the room. 

How does his dad not get it? Is he so blind he can’t even see his own blatant favoritism? 

The look of exhaustion displayed on his face would make you think hes working day and night having to put up with Y/n’s attitude- yet he’s unaware he’s exactly what’s causing it. 

Y/n doesn’t want to blame Peter, in the back of his mind he knows that it’s his dad’s fault. But it feels like his father is being stolen.

But can it really be theft if there wasn’t much of him in the first place?

Y/n knows that he’s picking all the fights, starting all the arguments just so that twisted part of his head gets some satisfaction. 

It shouldn’t be working so well.

.

The young Stark doesn’t return home until it’s just about dark outside, his backpack hanging loosely off his shoulders. 

He walks the long halls of his home, past the doors that could either be a guest bathroom or a weapon closet. Even if there’s more entryways than doors, his father opting for large empty frames, he walks the length of it with no specific destination in mind. 

He isn’t too sure where he’s headed anyways, considering he’s passed the way to his bedroom already.

Through half lidded eyes he guides himself through this maze of a house, bitter jealousy bubbling in his lungs. It’s such a haunting thought, a looming presence, and he wishes he could push it down the drain but it seems that he can’t. 

“Stupid, stupid Peter…” he mumbles, hand grazing the wall beside him. 

Ned’s voice still rings in his ears, breathy from how he had been exercising for most of the class.

“You don’t know what he looks like- what if he’s like seriously burnt?”

“I wouldn’t care, I would still love him for the person he is on the inside.”

Of course it caught their attention- Peter’s little crush on Liz wasn’t hard for most to notice. 

“Peter knows Spider-Man!”

How horrible. 

Across the room, Y/n’s head snapped to where the pair was on the gym floor- Peter’s jaw slacked. It didn’t matter how much he tried to quickly say otherwise- Flash already had slid down the climbing rope with another remark slick on the edge of his tongue.

And Y/n watched on, eye twitching, feeling how his  friends slapped his arm in amusement. 

“I can’t tell if he’s for real or not-“ F/n mumbled from next to him. Y/n’s eyes never tore away from the scene playing out ahead, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah,” and his eyes squeezed shut, “me neither.”

Y/n’s fists curl together, knuckles scraping the wall for a moment before he’s pulling away.

It’s so frustrating. 

He’s walking further down the corridor, eyes sliding open just in time to catch a door left slightly ajar- and he pauses.

He’s passed the door many times, no doubt, but this time it’s different. There’s something pulling him inside, an unknown source that’s too intriguing to walk past.

Slowly, he pushes open the door. And there it is.

Old bins and cabinets with junk gadgets shoved inside- worn blueprints from his fathers old work. One eyebrow raises, cogs turning and grinding in his head.

There’s some things still in tact, some that have been broken apart and scattered about. Y/n kneels down to observe closer. 

He feels the smooth surface of a metal clasp against his fingertips, grazing the jumbled objects. 

This is his answer.

The backpack slides off his shoulders, thumping on the ground beside him. This room is one that his father doesn’t visit much anymore, now much more caught up in other things such as the Avengers, Peter, the scattered piles of paperwork that seem to constantly consume him.

And in the corner, there’s a bend in the wall partially hidden by a cabinet- if you were to tuck something inside, no one could see from the door frame.

Y/n already feels his mind blooming with ideas as he skims over the various parts and pieces in front of him.

If he can’t live up to his fathers standards, his fathers name, 

then he’ll make his own.

***

Multiple nights pass, weeks go by and Y/n finds himself spending the time after dinner until midnight cooped up in Tony’s old gear room. 

He likes to think it’s a family trait, something tying him to the Stark name, also known as his skill for parts. He can take a few glances at both his own notes as well as the old blueprints and suddenly have the necessary concept for a retractable weapon, built to strike out of an arm piece. And when he’s done, he simply drags it all into his tucked in corner- hidden until night falls again the next day. 

Time not spent at school, occasionally in his room, or in his new lab- is now spent taking full advantage of the gym on the higher floors. 

The Avengers don’t question it, barely even using it at the same time as him anyways. He’s planned it so no one is around to see the training he does, the work put in to not only muscle- but also skill.

He doesn’t have a vigilante name just yet- but perhaps that’s the fun in it. He’s totally anonymous.

And as the firm punching bag jerks beneath his incoming fist, he feels the creeping joy of power.

Y/n puts lots of thought into the first strike against the city- building an elaborate yet somewhat reckless attack plan, a formula. 

No citizen will get hurt- it’s only the churning, growing need for revenge he wants so badly to be satisfied. Among the jumbled emotions, and new discoveries, he knows what he wants, and he knows just who he wants to be.

Y/n Stark may never be the millionaire superhero his father is- but he will be something. Something that no one will ever expect.

***

“A new vigilante seems to be on the loose, unidentified. They’ve struck many times already, but police have noticed that, interestingly enough, among the pattern of crime scenes none of the main public areas or citizens have been hit. Could this be the work of an Anti-hero, perhaps? Down at the Avengers Tow-“ 

The anchorman’s voice is cut off, mid sentence, and Tony holds the remote firmly. 

Around him, on the expensive couches sit the Avengers themselves, but their faces are dulled by distress, their knuckles tense from a firm grip. 

“We gotta find this guy,” Bruce sighs, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. Beside him, Natasha agrees.

“If we don’t catch them soon, people will start doubting us.” She says it like it’s so simple, lips pressed into a thin line. Steve groans.

“They aren’t gonna start doubting us-“ he tries, but no one seems to believe him. 

“Oh really? Sounds like you’ve got some superstar solution then, huh?” Tony, always packed full of sarcasm, looks absolutely exasperated. He’s been looking tirelessly for this new ‘vigilante’ of the sorts - they don’t even seem to have a name. They work quickly and precisely, yet go at it with a powerful vengeance. Their skill- it’s almost something he wants to respect. 

The group begins to speak again, switching between civil turn taking and overlapping words. They don’t even notice the figure standing by the door. 

Y/n peaks his head around the door frame, watching these strong, powerful superheroes stressing over him. Oh, they just have no clue.

As they’re still talking, planning unknowingly within earshot of their own enemy- Y/n takes his notes. He listens, until finally he slips past the door and walks quietly down the hall as the sick, strong feeling of triumph sinks into his stomach. 

He’s got them.

***

The rumbling fill of chaos echoes from all around- machines jittering, codes breaking, and a light flickers down the hall.

Y/n stands at the center of the room, looking around at one of his father’s many warehouses from all around- this one being stationed north of his own home state- Maine, USA.

His dad brought him here only a few times as a kid, once or twice perhaps. He always hated it- still does, actually, hence the small bombs scattered across the place. 

It would be funny, to think that not even the Avengers have caught on to his pattern- but that may be jinxing it. Plus, he knows the common traits of each area he’s hit so far, the places holding the unjust power. This stop, though, he’s been waiting to finally hit.

“Stark Enterprises” - a sign once strung together in big letters, now laying at Y/n’s feet broken into pieces. The boy crouches down, picking up a chunk from the “E” and crushes it in his hands. 

Under his mask, he grins. 

His suit, not quite as advanced as those made by his father, fits him well. The sleeves are tighter, snugly wrapped around his biceps with streaks of purple running through the black material. Padding, like thin layers of armor, protect his torso and the pants are the most loose- cargo, with big pockets.

A mask is what pulls the whole thing together, though, concealing the entirety of his head underneath its black and purple coloring. 

Littering his hands, and even weaved into the material all across, are the gadgets he’s spent so many hours on. Rings sealed into the gloves have enough sharp metal twisted together inside that when activated, spread into blades. In the pocket around his waist band- is a button, the button, that with one push turns this warehouse into a cloud of orange and yellow. 

Y/n is still watching the crumbling sign fall from his palm, like grains of sand, when the door caves in behind him. 

“Put your hands up, tough guy, we caught you.”

Captain America, confident as ever, bursts in at the front of the group with his shield held high. Behind him, Tony, Peter, Natasha and even Bruce waltz right in after him. For a second- a glimmer of pride washes through Y/n’s body, they brought 5 to a fight against 1- he must be special.

“Yeah, times up buddy.”

Seeing his father, dressed in the famous Ironman suit, reminds Y/n of the whole reason this started- and another twisted feeling knots itself in his stomach.

The moment he’s been waiting for.

They can’t see him as he smirks underneath the mask, deciding to toy with them just a bit. He doesn’t speak- no one’s heard his voice when spoken through the filtered material yet. It seems they’ll be the first.

Y/n’s head cocks to the side, and raises an eyebrow- something the Avengers can see through the imprint of his mask. A challenge. 

Bruce’s battle cry cuts through the air- and suddenly the Hulk is charging. It startles Y/n for a moment, but quickly he steps to the side and lets the green giant crush the ground beside him. As Hulk gets back up, snarling and growling, Y/n is already grabbing a long beam, bent from where it fell with the rest of the Stark Enterprise’s sign, and strikes Hulk right in the gut.

The giant man stumbles slightly, yet still stomps forward. But Y/n isn’t in front of him.

“Hulk!” Natasha yells out, watching from across the room as Y/n comes from behind, mid air, wielding the same beam from before. Hulk is barely able to tilt his head an inch before the metal is crashing down into the area just below his head, and bruising his neck. 

He’s out within a few seconds, stumbling around clumsily while black dots tease his vision. Then, he falls to the floor.

“Well shit.” Steve mutters, bending his knees like a bull preparing to charge. He should’ve known sending in Hulk with no preparations would be a bad an idea.

“Sending the big one in first, huh?” Y/n looks at them cockily, “do you see me as a threat, Ironman?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, “oh look at that, he can talk.”  He doesn’t even skip a beat as his suit begins to whir, the arm unfolding so a mini blaster pokes out from the forearm. 

The vigilante barely has time to react as strings of energy are thrown his way, jumping and dodging each of them narrowly. Tony doesn’t wait for him to regain his footing though, flying straight towards his figure.

Steve eyes Natasha, gesturing for her to move. The woman obliges, creeping around the fight so Y/n’s back is in front of her. 

Ironman grabs Y/n by the shoulders, pushing down with such strong force that the latter is forced back a few steps. He holds the metal sleeves with a firm grip, and at first Tony doesn’t notice as the boy’s rings begin to scrape against the surface. Sparks fly like the touch of a welding torch, grazing the edges of Tony’s mask just in time for him to realize mini blades are beginning to prod at his suit. Y/n doesn’t hesitate to take the opportunity and shove the man away from him. 

Natasha watches closely, seeing how Y/n stumbles from the impact. She jumps at him.

Y/n extends his arm in her direction, not even turning all the way around, and his rings grow from small blades to a sharp spiral of metal pointing right at Black Widow’s chest.

She freezes, he smirks.

Of course, it’s not his intention for someone to die. That’s not what he does. This, well, is simply defense.

“How about we get right to the point.” He says, slipping his free hand into one of the pouches around his waist band. Out with it comes a cylinder- black and sleek with some sort of dial built in, a bright red button on top. 

Steve feels his stomach drop. 

“Pick a number.”

Tony, seemingly unaware of the detonator to have just been introduced, rolls his eyes, he’s growing impatient. 

“Alright, fine, 5- you wanna quit it with the games now?”

Big mistake.

Without skipping a step, Y/n is scrolling through digits on the small screen built into the detonator. It’s almost too quick for any of the Avengers to realize what he’s doing- and it’s far too late by the time they do. 

“Alright, then.” Y/n presses the button.

Steve goes to lunge forward, tries to make a grab for the device, but he waited too long. The whole room rattles, and the section just to the left of them suddenly bursts. Bombs. 

Y/n watches with a special glint in his covered eyes as everyone stumbles, yet his feet stay firmly planted in the ground. They’re startled, bits of the wall flying around and clattering against the floor. Peter snaps his head towards Y/n in shock.

“Who’s next?”

“Oh my god.” Peter mumbles, wide eyed. It’s the sound of his voice, his first time saying a word, that catches Y/n’s attention right away.

His teeth grind together, thumb smoothing over the button’s smooth surface. His mind mumbles, Do it again.

Staring into the large white panels of Peter’s mask, his guard is left fallen for just a moment too long. Tony sends one more blast his way. 

A jolt of pain seers through Y/n’s thigh. The energy was strong enough to surpass the material of his pants, leaving a heavy ache in the area. Y/n glares.

“You asshole,” he grunts, spinning the dial with his thumb before slamming down the button.

Above them, part of the ceiling crumbles.

Bits of concrete come tumbling down, Peter and Natasha diving for cover. But Y/n is no where near finished.

“How many bombs are there-“ Peter asks to no one in particular. His question is soon to be answered.

“Let’s not wait to find out,” Steve grunts, sprinting to where his opponent stands at the opposite side of the room. Y/n feels the previous feeling of confidence, the smooth and cocky facade, slipping away. He wants to win.

Each of Captain America’s hits clang against metal couplets clasped to Y/n’s wrist- chaos ensues around them. Tony firing shots, Peter surrounding the fight, Natasha running for a hit at close combat- and hulk just starting to stir from his little nap. 

But Y/n doesn’t let up- not until it’s too late.

A fiery blaze heads straight for him, straight for his face. It’s beginning to sizzle against his ears, he can feel it coming. But he doesn’t react in time, trying to defend himself from too many things at once. 

The blast, coming from his own father’s hand, hits him.

His mask begins to spark, edges curling into themselves as slowly, Y/n feels the right side of his face being revealed. 

His hand meets the wall, holding him up as he recovers from the impact. They haven’t seen him yet. 

He hears Steve’s heavy breathing from behind him, something so familiar it almost tricks his mind. Then, Tony’s voice.

“It only takes a few hits, huh? If I knew that’s all it took I wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”

More sarcasm, Y/n almost laughs.

“Who are you.” Natasha doesn’t even make it sound like a question, her voice strong and firm. 

Silence ensues, just for a moment, Y/n’s head is swimming. 

Yet, over all the thoughts and noise, one thing screams loudest over the rest. 

“Do. It.”

“Don’t you recognize me?” Y/n’s voice, no longer protected by a filter, is raspy and hoarse. He slowly turns around, head peaking out of the shadows.

“You know me already…”

.

.

Holy shit.

A loud clang echoes through the now dead silent room, the red white and silver shield rolling across the floor. 

“…Y/n?” 

Tony’s helmet folds into itself, revealing a sweaty face with wide eyes and a slack jaw. 

A bitter smile is what he receives.

“Dad.”

Tony looks around, dumbfounded. 

“I-“ he stutters, nearly speechless, “what- what the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Y/n steps forward, voice dry yet dripping with venom. 

Tony chokes, “being an absolute moron, that’s what-“

Y/n barks out a rough, quick laugh. “Ooh, rough.” He rasps. Steve steps forward, putting a hand onto Tony’s shoulder and pulling him back. It’s like a warning, silent communication because next, he’s the one to step forward.

“Y/n…” the words die on the tip of his tongue, throat running dry, but he still tries, “what- I mean, why?”

Y/n has begun to pace slightly, taking slow steps around the shocked group. He peels the mask away from his face.

“Yknow, most people tend to turn to the worst of their options when in a dark time,” he says smoothly, feeling each and every set of eyes watching while he walks. Hulk watches through blurred vision, completely disoriented. 

“I mean, hate to give you the classic origin story and everything, but…” 

“Hold on,” the thoughts are almost visible, loud and heavy in Tony’s head, “is this about something I did?”

So he’s finally getting it.

“What could Tony have possibly done?” Asks Natasha, and Y/n looks at his father directly.

“You don’t care, ok, that’s what-“ his voice is breathy, and he scowls, “You can’t even talk to your own kid, Stark. It’s like you don’t realize what I am, to you- what you are to me!” Anger rises with each word that shoots like poison from Y/n’s mouth. 

Tony gets defensive, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s not true, I know damn well you’re my kid-“

“Oh really? Cause you seem to have it a bit mixed up.” Y/n’s eyes flicker to Peter’s frame, and everyone tenses.

“Is…is this about Peter?”

At the mention of his name, Peter tears off his mask, a concerned, heavy look on his face. 

“I, Y/n it’s not like that-“ he tries, only to be interrupted.

“Yknow,” Y/n’s voice sounds so pained, “I always thought maybe you aren’t too upfront with your affection. For years, ok, I would wake up, go to school, come back, and go to bed all without saying more than a few words to you. Years, dad.” A lump is forming in his throat, but it’s too late to turn back now. “But then, out of nowhere, someone else comes into the picture and suddenly you’re taking him to lunch, you’re picking him up from school, basically spending way more time with him, than with me.”

Bold, bitter, and wavering- Y/n doesn’t stop. Even as his father, his classmate, the people he’d grown up with thinking were like family, just watch with feeling burning in their eyes. 

“Y/n,”

“You made it look so easy with him.”

“Hey, kid, c’mon-“

“Are you serious?!” Y/n yells in disbelief. “Are you gonna tell me I’m wrong? Is that it? I’m just exaggerating, or what-“

Tony straightens his posture, swallowing hard. 

Y/n’s face almost crumbles from the way his fathers face wavers. But he just doesn’t stop. 

“You can be the greatest hero in the world,” Y/n breathes, sweat sparkling around the frame of his face, “you can put on a face for the interviews, and train Peter to perfection,” a step closer, “but don’t forget that I’ve always been here too.” 

Y/n’s voice sounds so dark, unfamiliar and breaking, it’s gone raspy from the pounding drum of his heart beat. 

Ringing silence once more. 6 melting souls standing in the waste of their own troubles. 

Y/n feels budding tears threatening to spill.

“And now look what we’ve done.” 

[greattigerssimp]

~I'm opening up Punch Out roleplays!!~

---

Yep, y'all heard me. As someone who loves writing and roleplays, I will officially be opening up roleplays! You can play as your OCs, self inserts, etc. alongside any roleplay starter I list below (or your very own!) Ofc I'm going to be using my AU of the characters (as seen pinned to my profile) in order to play as said characters (mainly from the Wii version of PO).

Rules:

- No racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc.

- Please engage! Write at least 2 sentences per response so I'm not just role-playing by myself ;-;

- I will do nsfw/f*tish roleplays (I'm an adult after all) buuuut you need to NOT be a minor + you need my permission

- OC/self insert x canon roleplays are allowed!

- Please let me know if anything I write makes you feel uncomfortable (I'm autistic lmao idk when I cross boundaries)

- Have fun!!

I tend to use a variety of different roleplay styles, typically script-style and standard, but you can use any style you'd like! ^^ Anyways, with all that said and done, let's go over some roleplay starters!

Starters:

Starter 1: The new boxer in town!

"You/OC has recently moved to NYC in order to participate in the rising boxing league, the World Video Boxing Association! You came from *insert country/state here* and are excited to meet your new co-workers. The first night of your job sees you invited to a small welcoming party held at the WVBA gym near where you live."

Starter 2: The mysterious anomaly!

"You and the other boxers find each other stuck inside the WVBA gym during a thunderstorm. The power is out, and everyone is stuck hanging around the locker rooms. After Bear Hugger tells everyone a spooky story about "The anomaly" (see AU for details), everyone is placed on edge for the night, as everyone quickly realized that all the exits of the WVBA have been blocked off. What will you do?"

Starter 3: WVBA Anniversary vacation!

"Tomorrow morning is the 30th anniversary of the WVBA, and the network higher-ups have offered to take the boxers on a little fun trip to commemorate the occasion. But the boxers have to vote on what to do... should they cruise to an exotic island? Go to a fun theme park for a day? The choice is anyone's suggestion... perhaps yours!"

Starter 4: Uncovering Dreamland!

"After overcoming Lil Mac and Mr. Sandman and becoming the pound for pound champion of the WVBA, you get a special invitation to have dinner with the CEO of the WVBA (and the network)... Mr. Dream! Will you uncover something nefarious about the millionaire CEO? Who's to say..."

Starter 5: Box-con!

"Box-con is an annual event where the WVBA brings all of its boxers together at a special event (similar to comic con, but for boxers). All the boxers ever featured on the WVBA (which means the SPO boxers) are attending. Who knows what may transpire?"

Starter 6 (oc/self insert x headcanon only): The secret admirer!

*insert love interest here* has been on your mind the moment you two have met... after a difficult match, your love interest is exhausted and beaten down. You decide to help them... and possibly ask them out or such. Either of you could take the helm! (NSFW is allowed)."

Starter 7: WVBA World Tour!

"The WVBA is airing a brand new special, involving matches taking place in each boxers home country! From Paris, France to California, you join the boxers as they each reconnect with their roots and family's, all filled with drama and heart before the tour brings your OC/self insert to their native country."

Starter 8: The new trainer!

"You've been employed by Mr. Dream himself to become a personal, dotting trainer for all the boxers. Your goal as a trainer is to support and help each boxer prepare for their fights against one another, and to just look after their wellbeing in general. You'll learn about each boxers, their past, their fighting style, etc. You may even fall for one of them, hehe~"

(I might post more starters in the future!)

[theredofoctober]

MANNA FIC— CHAPTER ONE: PAPRIKA

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham fic, TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, mild Daddy kink (it'll all make sense).

Chronologically this is the first chapter in the series.

Keep reading after the cut

Later, when you reflect on your first meeting with Dr. Hannibal Lecter, you will marvel at the Sybilan apprehension that had wreathed the merest detail of that night: the oppressive colours of his office, grey and vermillion from window to wall, the very choice to have you see him at an evening appointment, penning you in by way of the darkness.

Yet, as you sit across from Hannibal in a low leather chair, you contain only a spiteful rancour, one foot jouncing testily as the doctor attempts to extract answers from you beyond a penchant for grudging monosyllables.

“I understand that you have seen therapists in the past,” he says, in a neutral tone.

You stare at the curtains in their dissected oblongs of red and ash, like bloodied teeth against the wall: anything but meet the eyes that seem to have already picked you apart in the mere minutes you have been before him.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “A couple of times. CBT stuff. I hated it. Doesn’t work for me.”

Dr. Lecter offers you a smile so imperceptible that he might not have moved at all.

“Understandable. Cognitive behavioural therapy is a better fit for anxiety and negative thinking— it has its place, but for patients with deeper trauma, their illness may prove too complex for it to be effective. Dialectical behavioural therapy would perhaps be more suitable, in your case.”

Shrugging curtly, you do not ask him to elaborate. There is no therapy in the book that you would warm to; you had set out tonight only to put an end to familial begging, in its absence of dignity.

You resent the nakedness of your secrets before this stranger, before anyone, your suffering made public domain. Like a brow-beaten captive, you are moved to defend your self abuse against all those who seek to extract it from you.

Hannibal watches you with a dry intensity, his gaze rarely straying from your face. He is a lean, polished figure in an impeccable red check suit, dark hair swept back from a face of meticulous and rather interesting beauty.

His brows are low, almost invisible, his eyes small, and as dark as tree flux, the nose—straight, and as debonair as the rest of him—leading down from two furrows that suggest an earnest and curious whimsy.

His air, thus far, has been both tactful and polite, unperturbed by your close-mouthed unwillingness to yield to quizzing in even the most inoffensive line. You should like him, you suppose, yet you have already branded him an enemy.

He is a man; how could you ever be expected to open up to him?

“How long have you struggled with your eating disorder?” asks Hannibal.

You cross your arms over your chest, barring him out, a theological defence against the vampire of such dreaded questioning.

“You’ve read my records. You already know.”

“Certainly, but I would like to hear your experience in your own words. Such documents may represent only the most objective truths, and reveal very little of you, or what you are feeling at any given moment. Besides, they are as fallible as the professionals that create them. If there are any inaccuracies, your answers will bring them to light.”

The implication that you may share, with him, an honesty that you have refused previous therapists bears a quiet arrogance that might have won you over, were you not set so resolutely in your hatred.

“Fine,” you say. “I’ve had it since I was a kid.”

‘IT’; the word may as well be in baleful capitals, the introduction to some eponymous beast. You will give your ailment no other name aloud, have never done so, except in clandestine internet entry, forcing the thorn further beneath the nail.

Dr. Lecter digests your simple answer, finding flavour in its enigma.

“You have no intentions of recovery without intervention. What served you in your formative years, you will continue to savour.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get better,” you retort. “It’ll always be there, so what’s the point?”

The question had shaken previous professionals into stumbling objection; not so Hannibal Lecter, whose ambiguous calm nevertheless bears the same imperceptible threat as the night.

“Would you say the same to an alcoholic?” he asks. “Many live out their lives through a succession of losses and victories, and likewise, many emerge fulfilled and content in having struck out on the path of self-betterment. Yet, by your logic, you would condemn them all in their relationship to illness.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you object; your foot bounces so violently over the arm of the chair that Hannibal glances at it, his focus unbalanced by the distraction. “It’s different for me, okay?”

“In what regard? What prevents you from regarding your own struggles with the same grace?”

“It’s... it's not the same. I don't want to talk about it.”

Panic makes you feel almost buoyant in the room, a kite with your string cut, to be devoured by the wind.

“You have not yet reached the point that recovery seems possible, or even desirable to you,” says Hannibal, across your distress. “That is quite normal. For many individuals with eating disorders, recovery can take up to ten years to achieve— a long and difficult road, yet while there is no permanent cure, there is still reward in that destination.”

This you have heard before, in other iterations; he loses you a little, a mistake that he seems to catch in your reply.

“You don’t understand.”

“If you mean that I cannot directly empathise, that is true,” says Dr. Lecter. “I do not share your struggles. Food is a great pleasure to me. Still, I comprehend the crux of your illness— that you once seized a handhold in a rock when you were falling, and still refuse to let it go when there is earth to hold you.”

You continue to jiggle your shoe in a pattern of agitation.

“You’ll never be able to hold me.”

Hannibal leans forward and places a hand upon your foot, guiding it soundly still again.

“That remains to be seen.”

Your breath peters in your throat. It apalls you that he has touched you without asking, that his hand—so warm through the leather of your sneaker—makes you imagine it within the wet turncoat of your cunt.

Suddenly you’re standing from your seat without acknowledging the motion that led you there, like a frame scratched from an old tape.

“I’m leaving,” you say, abruptly. “I’m sorry. This just isn’t for me.”

Hannibal looks up at you, and the still, smooth planes of his features alarm you in their lack of urgency.

“Please,” he says. “Sit down. You will not be leaving here today.”

He is so slim and unassuming in his tailored suit that you feel yourself the red-capped girl of fairy tale, entering an elder’s cabin to the appetites of a wolf.

“What are you talking about?” you whisper.

Dr. Lecter leans forward, speaking with a low and graceful regret.

“I must inform you that your parents have signed a written agreement for you to enter inpatient care, overseen by myself and a colleague.”

Betrayal breaks across you in a death bed sweat: how could they? What have they done?

“No!” you say. “You're lying.”

Dr. Lecter pats a folder resting on the arm of his chair.

“I would be willing to show you the paperwork, if you insist upon it.”

“I don’t care,” you say, your voice a shrill of indignation. “They can’t just send me away without my permission! It’s illegal!”

“As guardians to a vulnerable adult, it is entirely so.”

You don’t believe him, although your parents evidently did, pressed by their earnest desperation to reverse the agonies of time.

“Whatever,” you say, coldly. “I’m not staying.”

Hannibal tilts his head at an angle of frosty amusement, and suddenly you grasp that this is no ordinary intervention, but incarceration, for reasons yet unknown.

Terror snarls through you like thunder, and you run for the door, wrenching at the handle to find it locked against you.

“What the fuck?” you cry, though you had known in your most basic, animal senses that this man—this room—would be your undoing.

Dr. Lecter has gotten up from his seat and is striding towards you, seizing your arms at the wrists, as firmly as a father; you turn your head in a feral reflex and attempt to bite him, stalled by the wool of his jacket in your teeth. He turns your writhing figure towards him, your skirt bunched up to your waist in the struggle, his palm a blacksmith’s tool on your bare skin, a scarring heat.

His expression is scarcely altered by the struggle, his breathing slow, even. You are no threat to him; he has surely restrained patients like this before, a necessary training.

You will not go quietly, as perhaps others have, before you. You bring your knee into his groin until you hear him grunt in the desired pain, but he does not lose his grip upon you, only drives you back against the door, his eyes churning with a wild satisfaction.

“You will learn not to disobey, little one,” he says, and before you can absorb the threat there is a needle at your neck, and chemical night.

You half-wake some hours later to the voices of two men, one of them Hannibal, the other unfamiliar, speaking in a curt and cautious rhythm.

“This is her?” asks the unknown man— through fluttering eyelids you see him, all rumpled hair and scowling good looks, an image from some obscure Brontë novel. “The patient you talked about on the phone? What have you given her? She looks out of it.”

“A mild sedative,” Hannibal replies, “with some additional compounds. It’s alright, Will. She will revive soon, likely in a confused state. This will pass.”

Will hangs back, his mouth an angle of uncertainty.

“Forgive me, Dr. Lecter, but I’m a little confused as to what I’m doing here.”

“Your role will be paramount to the healing process,” says Hannibal, touching a hand to his colleague’s flannel sleeve with familiar tenderness. “Together, we will each be whatever our subject requires from one moment to the next. A healer, a father, a lover, a friend—”

“All while crossing the boundaries of what could be considered valid treatment into an inappropriate relationship,” Will cuts in, sharply. “Surely that’s only going to make things worse.”

Dr. Lecter approaches you, adjusting a pillow behind your head; you are too out of it to object, unsure whether it is a chair or a bed you occupy in your prone state.

“What is appropriate is not always the most effective method of healing,” says Hannibal. “This patient requires complex support. Decisions to be made for her that other professionals would not be comfortable making.”

Will shakes his head, grimly amused.

“And you are.”

“Certainly. Over the years I have seen results from the most unorthodox approaches. I have an interest in observing how she will respond to mine.”

You watch the two men exchange glances, and blearily wonder if they are merely friends, or something more.

“Dr. Lecter, I have no idea how to connect with her,” says Will. “And frankly the idea of trying isn’t something I’m particularly enthusiastic about.”

“Your discinclination to be involved may work to her benefit,” says Hannibal, smoothly. “While my part is to provide gentle guidance and compassion, you will offer the firm hand required to leash the chaos of her disturbed mind and behaviours.”

Will scoffs in disbelief.

“The good cop, bad cop routine? That seems a little obvious for you, doctor.”

“And yet it may be precisely what she craves. Stability. Discipline.”

At this, there is a certain change in the air of the room; one day, you will know it as hunger, so many appetites contained between two men.

“Well, which one is going to come first?” asks Will, relenting. “Stability, or discipline?”

“When she is fully awake, we will know," say Hannibal. "And we will deliver it.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told my mother her book covers are bad?

I (20s F) used to design book covers for my mother, who is a self published author. I've recently stopped, both due to time conflicts because of work/school, and because it was a pain working with her (she never knew what she wanted and I would have to BEG her to give me enough information to work with, but then would ask for random additions to completed covers because new ideas suddenly came to her head; would give me deadlines for covers to be completed and then complain if I was doing personal hobbies instead of working on her cover even if the deadline was weeks away. also I don't know if this will be relevant, but yes I was paid for all covers I made for her). I did a handful of covers for her over the past few years, all of which she said she loved and would excitedly show to anyone she could. However I recently noticed she'd had some of the covers I'd done for her remade by a friend of hers. Some of them are Fine (not the best, I think the friend just throws stock photos into Canva) but others are very bad. Not quite Chuck Tingle bad, but close.

I love my mom, and she loves writing. It's been her dream to pursue a writing career for decades, and I want her to succeed! But no matter how much we say don't judge a book by its cover, a good cover can mean the difference between readers snatching a book up immediately and skipping over it without a second thought. Especially for self published authors who can't pull readers by name alone. I think it's important to note that she has explicitly asked for my help in this regard in the past (in addition to helping her design her website/developing an "brand" identity for her). She self admits to having no artistic eye and not knowing the difference between what looks "good" or "bad" (yes I know these are subjective, but you could slap a stock photo on a white background with comic sans and she wouldn't understand why that's not a Good cover she should be paying possibly several hundred dollars for) and has asked for my help both when I was a teenager with an interest in art and in the past few years as I'm currently in college for art and design. However she hasn't asked for my help recently, and that's where I fear I may be TAH. If this was her hobby I wouldn't care at all, but she's actively trying to make a career off her writing, and I believe some of her covers (in addition to things like poor web design and other miscellaneous stuff) reflect poorly on her because they look unprofessional, lazy and just. bad. From the way she's spoken in the past, I think she doesn't care/doesn't want to focus on anything that isn't actually writing, and while I understand that sentiment, I think it'll do more harm than good to her career. If it weren't for the issues mentioned above, I'd offer to work with her again.

WIBTA if I told her these covers were bad, despite her not explicitly asking for my input?

What are these acronyms?

[ebonysplendor]

Infatuation 💰🏞️

TL;DR: What's worse than running away from one psychopath? Running away from six psychopaths. Even worse than that? They're rich psychopaths, with shmonies. Also, can we make a damn plan and stick to it please?!

Game Link: https://aspenglen.itch.io/infatuation

Notable Features: Self-Insert, Customizable (somewhat), Multiple Endings, Multiple LIs, Yandere LIs, 4+ hours of gameplay Spiciness: 2/5 -- It can get a little flirty and a little spicy here and there, but the main "spice" is when there's an unwanted advance from some of the LIs LI(s) Red Flags: 3.8/5 -- Kidnapping, drugging, nonconsensual sexual advances, tied up, branded, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, physical force

Wanna know more? Meh...I say not unless you're at least 16. There's not an age restriction, buuuuuuuuuut I don't feel like anyone's 12-year-old sibling should be playing this. That being said, I can't do much from behind a screen, so let's get into it!

Just a heads up, the game was long as shit, so this review is going to be long as shit;;

Oh hey. Didn't see ya there. Oh this? This is just my first post in about a month. Thought I'd just...sliiiiide on in here, get thangs swangin' again. Lol but no seriously. It has been a pretty crazy month, but I've finally got enough time and rest at the same time to finally make this review, and aha...

Respectfully...I understand that all good things must come to an end, but damn, I really miss that phase where I was running into all the really good visual novels...

That being said, I know what I said, but hear me out! The game isn't...awful...but I didn't really vibe with it. Like, I know why I didn't vibe with it, but I'd rather wait and get into all of that during the review portion. Hopefully, based on the summary I give you, the review and criticism I have will make sense.

Anyways, this game, interestingly enough, is actually a rendition -- am I using that word right? I believe I am...? -- of a story that was written on Wattpad, and don't act all brand new like you don't know what Wattpad is! You know damn well what Wattpad is because here you are playing and reading visual novels and reviews of visual novels about toxic ass men being a (forced) love interest. Don't try to play me. I'm getting distracted though!

So the name of the story on Wattpad, like the game, is Infatuation, and it's about...well actually, I'm gonna give you a summary of what it's about because this visual novel is based off of it! I was going to give the actual story a read after I finished the visual novel but, uh...

Almost a 24 hour read???? Yeah, no thanks, and you'll hopefully understand why I didn't have much motivation to give it a read after my review.

I'm pretty over yapping in the intro, though, so let's head into the actual game, yeah? As per the usual, I'm going to tell you as much about the game as possible without ruining the game itself. Without a better transition sentence, let's get into it!

So boom.

We're on our way to school, and we meet up with our -- quite frankly -- thirsty ass friends. They're pretty much raving about this new group of boys that had just transferred to our school, because, not only are they super rich, they are, apparently, extremely attractive.

We pretty much brush this off, though, because we're not looking for anything romantic. Honestly, we're barely looking for anything platonic; however, we agreed to be their wingman since we're essentially God-tier at picking up men that we don't want.

That being said, by some weird stroke of luck -- or misfortune, considering we know that this is all going to go very left as the story progresses -- we proceed to run into every single one of them. And I mean

every.

single.

frickin.

one.

of.

them.

Well, kinda? The blond one had a class with the blue-haired guy, us, and the bestie. The purple haired one -- even though it's more of a burgundy? -- was in the vicinity after we had pretty much asked the other boys about him because this was the one that the besties were simping over the most. But the rest? Pretty much had a one-on-one moment with all of them, even if one was extremely douchey.

Anyways, we're kind've going about our days and the besties are still thirstin', and, admittedly, we're getting closer to these guys -- too close. One of our other friends -- his name is Hiroko -- pretty much warns us about them because something just seems real sketchy to him about these guys. That being said, we just kind've brush him off, because it's, like, sir? Who are you to talk about someone being sketchy? Like, lmao mans is a full on delinquent with a whole ass gang and a criminal history with the police, and they can't stand his ass.

He's a good sport about it, though, because even though he's like "You're a full blown dumbass for that", he's like "True, true..." and just warns us to be careful around them. Now mind you, his concern is totally fair, because it's discovered later on that they pretty much fucked up this one kid's world -- you'll have to discover how during your own playthrough, though. I ain't tellin' you all that lmao.

Now, fast forwarding a lot here, shit lowkey starts hitting the fan because the bae comes back in town -- not official bae, but still bae -- and conveniently enough, he is the brother of our two besties

Everyone. This is Kenzen; the man that we're pretty sure is gonna be our husband and baby daddy one day, maybe not even in that order, but those things exactly.

Now, the reason why shit starts hitting the fan is because all of a sudden, the school boys are starting to realize that we already have our future husband picked out. Shit proceeds to get super tense once this knowledge it learned, and the boys are start to slowly but slowly lose their shit. Allow me to show you

Exhibit A: A most vicious side-eye competition

Exhibit B: The OG death grip and growl

and Exhibit C: The comply or choose death, but drunken

Oh, and let's just throw this one in for some added flair.

And definitely this one.

And why would we not add this one?

Yep, the fan was pretty much hit with shit so...yeah lmao. Go ahead and give it a go so you can see how we ended up with the most romantic gift of a necklace and a finger.

Lmao I wasn't joking about the finger by the way.

And now to air all of my grievances...

Lol nah, I'm joking, but also...there's a lot to unpack here.

First off, let's talk about the good!

So...our psychopathic LIs. Can we just acknowledge the diversity? Like, you had your pale guy, your dark guy, your tan guy, your fair skin guy, like...? I seriously appreciate that time was taken out to actually make all the LIs look different from each other and not some copy-paste, change the eye color and hair thing. I absolutely LOVED the diversity of the LIs.

Not to mention, the MC is diverse a well! Granted, like typical, we can't really SEE it except in the occasional CG, but it was just dope that there was even an option, ya know?

Also! The concept of the story was actually pretty solid! Some of the things that happened were interesting, and I definitely had a "...Well, damn ._." moment here and there.

Now for the...not so good.

This flowed like a stereotypical Wattpad story. That's obviously no fault of the dev, but, for me, the point of renditions is to take something and make it a little better or give it some extra flair without ruining what the OG creator intended -- that didn't really happen, and that was honestly what bugged me the most out of everything.

I didn't really care that there'd be strings and strings and strings of dialogue before the next choice finally came up nor did I care that, while it appeared to be choice heavy, it was actually just an illusion on choice where it didn't really matter how you responded to certain things; it just was. But yeah, the pacing was...well, let me expose myself a little (don't come after me. I'm a tiny and cozy blog lol)

If you make posts on tumblr, then you know what this is. For those that don't know and/or can't guess what it is, this shows the interaction that my blog gets or my "activity" more accurately. The reason why I brought this out was because...this was how the story's pacing was.

First, it'd be on a steady progression, and then it'd drone on and on and on into a plateau, but then -- out of no where -- shit will randomly escalate and just take off into this fit of drama...but then it'd quickly drop. There was no real flow, and when there was, it'd be super inconsistent. Not to mention, the wishy-washiness of the MC and the unpredictability of the LIs (which duh, right?), the pacing would just take off and then would come to a dead stop. It's like there was no balance between the narration, the drama, and the transitions to the next scene. Like, yeah, you've gotta story tell, obvi, but don't drone on for-- actually I can show you that as well.

Did you notice how long that clip was? Imagine how long it took to read...

That was just straight up narration, and there was multiple times where this happened. Nothing really happening, no choices to make, just straight up narration. Well, no, I lied a little. Things did happen, but once again, it'd come out of no where. It, quite literally, will go from having a normal conversation, and then the yandere side just comes out totally unprovoked. Like? It's honestly more for shock factor than for story, and it got to a point where I was honestly just tired of the game itself and was wanting it to end...but it ended up being 3 hours longer, and I'm not even joking about that. Once again, I can show you.

This was the point I started getting ill with the game but felt that I was towards the end and pushed on to finish it out

This was when I realized that I was clearly wrong about that being "almost the end" and took pretty much another 3 hours to get through.

And yes, for the most part, I played it in one sitting with the exception of when I got me a little snacky snack and went to pee. Oh? You're curious about what time I started playing?

Around 5 hours beforehand...

Notice that that all says 19 June 2024. I have never been so glad to see the ending screen...

It wasn't even because it was bad! It was just. so. extremely. long. And for, what felt like, no reason to be that long. Granted, I could've stopped and saved and came back, but it always felt like I was either getting to the end or to a good part, and it just never came -- not that there wasn't any good parts, but...never mind, I feel like I make it worse the more I try to explain...

Anyways, the game wasn't awful by any means, but it definitely could use some improvement. The whole thing had good potential, the pacing of it really just killed it for me, and had that been better executed? This would've been a great game, but it's honestly just...decent. It had multiple endings, but outside of each of the yandere LIs' ending? I didn't bother trying to get the others.

Even still, while I don't recommend the game, I think it's still worth giving it a casual playthrough! There's plenty of material to read, and there are some interesting parts! Like I said, it's just a pacing issue. Not to mention the MC was pissing me off with that wishy-washy bullshit. Like, bro, survival is at the top of the list. Why are you making a plan and doing the exact opposite of what you were gonna do? Like, what the fuck is you doin'?!

You'll understand it when you play it yourself so...give it a fair try? Here, I'll even put the link here! Heck, and give the dev some encouraging words and, even though I didn't see it, some monetary support! The game itself was honestly fine! It was just the storytelling needed some work, which lowkey isn't even their fault because it was based off of a Wattpad story (I'll link that again here, by the by).

Okay, this review is about to be the same length as the game. I'm going to go ahead and head out of here. Just to reiterate, the game is free! Giving it a casual playthrough never hurts! I mean, what've you got to lose except about 4 - 6 hours?

Okay, really, I'm out of here now! Remember! Drink water, don't be dumb, and hope to see you around~!

Infatuation

[arkhammaid]

Hi, I hope the writing has been going fine.

One of my most favorite works of yours is of girl Charles, have you ever thought about how would you go about writing a girl Max of you ever tried to? Honestly Max's life would be 100 times more difficult as a woman, people would have hated too much on his blunt and no-nonsense nature (something which they already do)

Also how was Deadpool and Wolverine, going through a movie burnout right now do you think I should try watching it?

hi there anon! sorry for taking some time to answer this. i haven't written so much the past few days, i just enjoyed the time being back home :) but i do hope it will go well once i properly start writing again!!

it has become a bit of a yap fest answering this ask so, more below the cut!! please excuse any grammar mistakes, i've been typing this on my phone

and as for fem!max... yes i have but i have no particular plot line/ship in mind yet. the idea didn't... dunno, grab me properly like fem!charles, not yet. i hope one day it will, because i know i could write something interesting.

while yes, i agree to what you said, i also have to disagree. fem!max would have her father throwing his weight around, a man who has many contacts, including the schumacher's. fem!charles had none of that, not even jules could've brought her so far like a father who is established in the motorsport world would have.

and of course, fem!max wouldn't be very different from actual max but do you really think red bull would just not do anything? they would be the team, who have the first woman who won a race, won several championships (later), they would invest in her and they wouldn't just idly sit by and watch everyone rip her apart

red bull would invest in her because 1. they see her talent, they see what she can do and they don't want that to go wasted, because they also see she can use that talent, 2. getting a woman like fem!max as a driver would fit their mentality, the motto of red bull. they advertise their drink not with typical advertising, they do it with world records and crazy attempts in all kinds of sports. it's their essence, it's captured in the "red bull gives you wings". having someone like fem!max would fit perfectly. 3. now the former two reasons, make up the third one. red bull does NOT want a pr perfect athlete/driver, like charles for example. they want someone rough around the edges, someone bullheaded, so with fem!max, they don't want a blond princess. considering max's personality, it's perfect (in some degree) for them, because they don't have to fake the toughness!!

rb pr would work so much harder to show who fem!max is. to show the world that max is an athlete, one of her kind, not just any woman within motorsport, she is THE woman. she's blunt, does not lie, values honesty and hard work (because she does it herself), is absolutely obsessed with racing and cars, and has some weird quirks like everyone else! red bull pr doesn't want a humble female driver, they want someone who represents their brand, so everyone immediately associates them with their driver, when they just hear the driver's name.

does this make sense? i really hope it does 😭 if anyone has any questions or wants me to elaborate (because i cut it down a bit), send me another ask!

and now, finally, deadpool and wolverine! yes, i can only recommend the movie. if you like deadpool 1&2, you will like this movie. if you like wolverine, you will also like this movie. and if you like marvel but think the mcu fell off ever since endgame, you will probably also like this movie 🤭

[anarchyrpbook]

FALLOUT (TV SERIES, 2024): Episode Five Feel free to edit the sentences, places, pronouns, etc, as you need. NSFW TW: Mentions of violence, drugs, cannibalism

“I thought I was dead meat.”

“Wait, you should brand me.”

“Don’t leave me in here!”

“I kill you! I swear I’ll kill you.”

“That was you, right? Back in [location]?”

“Please, can you please let me out.”

“Believe me, I really want to trust you, but I’ve had a rough week.”

“Hey, you’ve got radiation sickness.”

“You can have it if you let me out.”

“I really want to believe you but practically every person I’ve met out here has tried to kill me, so.”

“Listen, hey, if you don’t get this medicine, you’re gonna pass out, okay? And if you lose consciousness, we’re both gonna die.”

“Trust me, please. Please.”

“I’ve seen these in old engineering manuals, but never in real life.”

“Look, you could have been lying about the medicine, and you weren’t. And you could have killed me when I collapsed back there, and… You didn’t.”

“I get that trust doesn’t come easy here, but you can trust me.”

“I’m from a place where the worst someone can do to you is forget to say thank you.”

“Sounds like a nice way to live.”

“I just feel that in times of crisis, you need someone with experience.”

“Hey, its your vote, no hard feelings.”

“Oh, who am I kidding.”

“Hey, can I ask you for a favor?”

“Also, you thought you would just show up to a warlord with no armor, and no help, and just expect them to hand over a hostage to you?”

“Okay, uh, I think we’re all feeling some tension. Yeah? A little stress? Uh, so why don’t we all take a deep breath?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“We already said we don’t have any weapons.”

“You’ve been shot.”

“It’s just a scratch, happens all the time.”

“What’s a Fiend?”

“It’s people who eat people.”

“I hate it here.”

“I don’t know why, they just do.”

“If it’s not at all worrisome, then why are we whispering?”

“Gee, I don’t know.”

“Maybe the mashed potatoes were a little better.”

“Must be true then.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, it didn’t work out.”

“It’s the same thing that always happens. Everyone wants to save the world, they just disagree on how.” 

“I wonder if anyone survived.”

“This is more than just a graze.”

“We are the lucky ones, we are the light burning in the darkness.”

“Find anything interesting?

“It’s okay, we’ll be alright.”

“What is this place?”

“We’re in the best place in the world, we’re in a vault.”

[donnerpartyofone]

We are now entering the holiday season, more or less, which starts early for my family due to a birthday, and I wish this didn't fill me with ambivalence. I like my family, they have interesting things to say, they're great hosts, they can create an idyllic sort of environment; but meanwhile, there is the exhausting obligation to somehow promote oneself, to find something to take to market, and I don't have anything like that and it causes problems. I'm the only person in my family who isn't outrageously accomplished. I had all the same opportunities as everyone else, it was just never going to happen, I'm not good enough. Which sounds self-pitying but honestly it only sounds that way because our ears are conditioned to hear it as some kind of criminal admission of an unacceptable circumstance, instead of a casual acknowledgement of a completely normal circumstance. I think I would feel a great, cathartic relief if it were socially acceptable to just concede that you're a loser, that you're not going to amount to anything due to personal limitations. I mean, I feel like this should not be controversial actually, but it seems to make people feel frightened and confused and angry and if you even come close to saying "This is about it for my personal potential, nothing really worked out"; anyone who hears this will immediately go to great pains to try to force you to take it back, even if they believe it themselves.

I think this might be more true than usual in my family. I think they're embarrassed to know me, but admitting such a thing could make anybody feel like a bad person even though they shouldn't, they have a right--but to avoid feeling guilty (about something they shouldn't feel guilty about), there has to be this endless, exhausting game of make-believe where we all pretend to like me and to be interested in what's going on with me. So I have to like "bring something to the table", I can't just say I have nothing going on; I have to describe one of my dumb little hobbies that I kind of just nominally get paid for once in a while, and they don't understand what it is or what is the context or why any normal person would care, is so I have to describe it in a lot of boring detail, and then by the time I finally get through clarifying what the service/product is everyone's eyes are totally glazed over but they still have to find the energy to respond as if they are somehow impressed. And then the next time it comes up, we have to do the whole entire process over again because no one ever remembers what I said because they didn't really get it the first time, and it's really something they wouldn't even have to know about if it weren't for me, and it's at least as exhausting if not more so.

Recently I tried out a strategy of just saying less. I thought that if I just clammed up and didn't draw attention to myself, then that would put everybody at ease. (Asking other people about themselves only gets me so far, they always seem a little annoyed, like when you're trying to explain fashion to your uncool aunt or something) Sometimes it's like I'm not really there anyway; when I got engaged they threw a dinner for me, and there was about twenty minutes of discussing the wedding before the rest of the evening was devoted to someone's restored, vintage BMW and the drama of where to park such a beautiful and valuable object. Then there was the birthday outing where nobody asked me any questions, the whole afternoon was devoted to someone else's brand new Audi, which distraction prevented them from attending a super important professional event I had actually-on my birthday. The deflection to someone's fancy car whenever I require attention has become a private joke between me and my spouse, who frankly I sometimes think they are not nice enough to because he's married to me. He's an interesting person with a serious career that tells him a lot about how the world works, but sometimes I think they kind of see him as another stunted child because marrying me reflects poorly on him.

Which could totally be a projection on my part, but anyway. The point is I tried out my policy of only speaking when spoken to, or at least not saying anything personal, and everything indicated that this should have worked out, but it seemed to just make people even more mad at me. Admittedly there was an extenuating factor, that someone's famous friend came over and immediately challenged me to say that I was a professional writer like everyone else, and when I confessed that I was just unemployed, he kept trying to put words in my mouth about how successful I must be in some other way, and it was mortifying for me but more importantly it was mortifying for him that I couldn't reward this behavior. Meanwhile, another relative asked me exactly one question about myself--a career question--and when I didn't have an answer, that was the end of all conversation until we were all departing and she accused me of refusing to commune with her even though she missed me and was dying to talk to me. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do.

I feel the need to defend these people. I'm certain it's true that they care about me in that deep-down, fundamental, blood ties way. That's a lot more than many people get from their families. And it's mostly true that they have not been openly hostile or insulting; I mean this is absolutely not true historically, some pretty fucked up things have been said to my face and in front of groups, but this hasn't happened in long enough that I think it's right to try to let it go. In some ways it would be easier if everything were just bad enough that we could all give each other the finger and part ways. What I'm grappling with is this feeling that if I don't work really hard, I'm going to become estranged, which I think would be bad both spiritually and strategically, if you have a family who doesn't actively harm you I think you should keep them around for many different reasons. But it's an established thing that if one family member pulls away, there's a loving conspiracy to draw them back, whereas if I seem to become a little distant, I'm going to get accused of something, like even in writing sometimes. So I have to be on my best behavior all the time, and I have to keep playing this game where I pretend that big things are happening for me and I have to do a whole marketing presentation on this total lie even if everyone is bored to death and not a little embarrassed. I don't know, I guess it's nobody's fault. There's no way we would ever know each other if everybody weren't forced to be related to me, I might as well try to make it easier for them. It's just hard because there is nothing about me that would make it ACTUALLY easy for them to be associated with me, so I'm dutybound to kind of just laboriously smile and make shit up for the rest of my life in order to keep clinging to the fringes of our existence.

It just sucks because I love the fall, I love Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's. And it's not NEVER fun to be with my family. But the season I love is just tainted with this anxiety because it's like illegal to admit that you're just sort of a loser, and my family could never admit that they just basically kind of dislike untalented, unsuccessful people, because there's a cultural prejudice that that's a moral failing--which it isn't, it's just a personal preference, but I guess we're all saddled with the same baggage. Everything would be so much more relaxed and intimate if we could openly accept the way things really are, but it's definitely never going to happen. Stress.