#just to be safe I don’t really give details for any of them except Worm

[this-is-getting-silly]

I’m going to preface this by saying that I’m not a professional critic or reviewer, and these are just my subjective opinions. There’s no need to get upset that someone on the internet has a different opinion than you.

Now, with that out of the way- I THINK WORM SUCKS

Okay just kidding. It’s good, I like it a lot… but for the most part, I like it despite its protagonist, rather than because of her. And not just because I think the story contorts itself around her in a frustrating way, although it very much does do that. It’s just that, at the end of the day, I don’t think there’s much about her that makes for an interesting viewpoint character.

At the end of the day, what actually motivates Taylor? She starts off wanting to ‘be a hero,’ but gives up on that pretty quickly, yet never really commits to ‘being a villain’ either. It’s not saving the world, either, that’s just basic self-preservation. Her real motivation is simple- protecting her friends, and having them continue to like her. She continues being a villain explicitly for the latter reason (once Coil is dead and Dinah is free there’s no real reason for her to remain a villain other than that), and does most of what she does in service of the former.

Self-preservation and the desire to protect one’s friends are fine primary motivations for a main character… in the right context. For the former, we need only look at Blake from Pact, whose life is in constant danger through pretty much the entire book, so he never gets the chance to develop any goals beyond ‘stay alive,’ and instrumental to that, ‘get stronger.’ That’s fine- it would be weird if Blake was really preoccupied with some other goal considering all that’s happening to him during the events of that story.

Likewise, in the latter case, you have Sylvester from Twig, whose desire to protect his friends is important because their lives are considered expendable, so wanting to protect them motivates him to act proactively and pursue other goals. He even extends his definition of ‘friends’ to basically all experiments, which eventually pushes him to take on the entire Academy and Crown, because he’s got a problem with what they do to his fellow experiments and him. That’s a great motivation for a character! (Twig is the best thing Wildbow has ever written and I hope it never gets a sequel.)

On the other hand, Taylor wanting to protect her friends is a much weaker motivation, because they are almost never in any danger that they didn’t put themselves in. I can’t really cheer for her beating up on Protectorate heroes to save her pals because they chose to take over an entire city. That’s on them. Of course, Taylor is incapable of not perceiving it as unjust persecution, because she has a literal victim complex, and rightfully so, she was a victim for a long time, but not for most of the events of the story itself.

So when it comes down to it, her motivation is basically ‘me and my friends should be able to do whatever we want, and get to kill anybody who tries to stop us.’ Which isn’t an especially compelling motivation from an outside perspective! If she was really driven to be the best parahuman criminal in the city, and supplanting Coil as a crime lord was her plan all along, that would at least be interesting, but she just kind of gets dragged along into everything, and then retroactively justifies it in her mind by deciding the people opposing her are ‘bullies.’

As a consequence of this, Taylor doesn’t really stand for anything, either. She does plenty, but in many ways she’s still basically a passive protagonist, going in whichever direction the flow of the narrative takes her. It just so happens that the narrative flows very quickly, so she never ends up spinning her wheels too long (badly mixing metaphors there, I know), but if things weren’t constantly happening for her to respond to, Taylor really wouldn’t end up doing much on her own.

So- we’ve established why I think Taylor makes for a weak protagonist. Let’s take a look at who I think would make for a compelling replacement.

Number one with a bullet, it’s your boy Theo. I’ve touched on this recently elsewhere, but I want to make a more comprehensive pitch for him now. You might say ‘but isn’t Theo also largely reactive and motivated by self-preservation?’ To a degree, yeah- most of what he does in the story is motivated by not wanting to get killed by Jack Slash. But even if you take Jack out of his story completely, he would still have a more interesting motivation than Taylor. The heroic scion (heh) of a villainous legacy trying to atone for his parents’ misdeeds is a way more interesting story than whatever she has going on. The thing with Jack is just a cherry on top.

(Atonement is a great character motivation in general, which is part of why Rain would have been a far superior protagonist for Ward than Victoria, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.)

Obviously you’d have to rework the story somewhat significantly to make him work as the protagonist, but I think it’s doable. If you wanted to keep things as much the same as possible, you’d probably start with Theo already in the Chicago Wards, and tell the story of how he got there in recurring flashbacks. Taylor could also still be in the story, I actually kind of think she’d work better as a supporting character (as long as you got rid of some of the truly ridiculous shit she did like killing Alexandria). Seeing her training Theo from his perspective would be very interesting, since canon Worm skips pretty much all that stuff.

Next pick: Weld. You might think you’re detecting a theme here, but not so much, actually. Weld’s story is more about him becoming disillusioned with the Protectorate, and even with being a hero in general. But unlike Taylor, who gives up on being a hero roughly three chapters into Worm, that would be a slow arc, starting with him as a true believer, who over the course of the entire story loses his faith and quits to found his own team. It’s worth noting too that the Irregulars weren’t just an independent hero team, but mercenaries, which suggests Weld has soured on the ‘hero’ thing overall.

Plus, Weld has a very solid motivation- finding out who the hell turned him into a Case 53. That’s an actual goal he could pursue over the course of a story and get closure for! We could see his relationship with Sveta actually develop, watch him try to manage the internal tensions of the Irregulars, and go up against Cauldron, which Taylor only really interacts with incidentally until the very end of the story.

Third choice: Faultline. We know a lot less about her than any of the others I’ve named so far- her interlude is so unmemorable I actually forgot it existed before writing this. We never learn her actual name (I’d keep ‘Miss Fitts’ because I like the pun but modern wildbow is a joyless monster so he’d probably change it) or even her trigger event, but I still think she’d make a solid choice. Clearly Wildbow agrees because she was the protagonist in an earlier draft of the story.

Much like Weld, she has a strong motivation in wanting to track down Cauldron, and I think the cast of characters surrounding her is more interesting than the Irregulars, and arguably even the Undersiders themselves.

My next choice is gonna be controversial, but… Armsmaster. Yeah, he starts out as an antagonistic force in Worm, but only because Taylor perceives literally every authority figure in existence as her enemy. His actual story is really compelling, not least because I firmly believe he was framed for the armband thing. That interpretation isn’t canon, but the facts fit, and I think it makes Worm a hundred times more interesting, so I choose to believe it.

So you have a kind of autistic, extremely driven but also somewhat self-involved hero, who gets framed for something he didn’t do, loses everything, and has all the people whose respect he was hoping to earn turn on him. And he comes back from that! Tell me that isn’t a more interesting story than Taylor, who never meaningfully loses a fight or has anything taken from her.

Bonuses for him include: getting to see him fight Leviathan one on one from his perspective, getting a better look at the inner workings of the Protectorate and Guild, giving his relationship with Dragon more development, and seeing a Tinker actually do some tinkering, which is something we’ve basically been completely denied across two books.

And finally, we have the wildcard option: someone else entirely. There are vast swathes of Worm’s world left entirely unexplored, and I’m sure there are plenty of more interesting protagonists hiding somewhere in them. People with more interesting powers, histories, and motivations than the protagonist we actually got. Or Victoria. Goddamn do I wish we got someone other than Victoria for Ward. Rain was right fucking there, hoW DO YOU FUCK THAT UP AAAA

okay that’s it, post over, thanks for reading. bye

[starlightsoulwriting]

Ghost-blood//Revenant: 2

Khonshu, Marc Spector, Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Maybe some Layla x Reader later if you guys are as Bi as I am

AO3

Chapter List, Including Prologue

Rating: PG-13/T, for cursing and later violence

Warnings: None

Summary: Steven meets a certain someone at the museum.

A/N: Being an Art Courier is a real job, and it's really cool! My dad met one on a plane during a business trip, and that's the only reason I know it exists. So thanks to That Guy for making this meet-cute chapter happen lol.

“C’mon, Scotty, I told you they’re getting the new pieces set up in there.” J.B. sighed as he looked at Steven, getting his name wrong for the nth time and simultaneously crushing his hopes.

“The memo said employees could watch if they wanted to.” He gives the security guard an uneven smile while gesturing to the sign and ropes stating that the exhibit’s currently closed while the new displays are unpacked and installed. “I’m an employee.”

“I’m pretty sure they just meant the curators and such, but have at it.” J.B. shrugged, but unhooked the rope anyway. “Seems boring to me, bruv.”

“Well… that’s your opinion.” Steven muttered awkwardly even as shoulders slumped with relief that he hadn’t come in off-shift for nothing, and hurried into the room just to find it unexpectedly quiet despite the crowd, an increased security detail and a  number of guides and curators surrounding the perimeter of the room, all staring tensely at the knee-high crate in the center of the room that hadn’t yet been opened as the curators surveyed it for any signs of damage, little clipboards in their hands as other set up a variety of tools and trays on a little other off to the right, and still others exchange paperwork and cheek kisses over laughter.

So he hadn’t missed it!

He shuffled his way as close as he could without intruding on the wide bubble surrounding the team that included the head Egyptology Curator and -

And a woman that gave off an aura unlike anyone he’d ever seen, wearing a multicolored, fine-woven scarf around her neck, held together by an intricate golden scarab pin, feathered wings outstretched wide to either side. Her hair lit up from behind because of the extra lights brought in for the job, making her look otherworldly, like a halo forming around her. An angel.

An overwhelming wave of mixed emotions hit Steven all at once, something familiar and warm and longing overtaking his chest at the same time as a horrible, throbbing ache. That alone was nearly enough to make his step falter, but - “Don’t go anywhere near her, worm.”

Truth be told, he let out a girlish, embarrassing scream as his left foot landed wrong and he couldn’t catch himself in time to stop him from eating tile.

…Silence interspersed with chuckling was all he heard for several moments.

“Are you okay?” Gentle hands lifted his shoulder from the ground as he groaned, pain radiating through his face, even though his hands took the brunt of the impact, stinging in the back of his head. Though, the last dregs of his morning tea had been splattered over the glossy floor, almost to the feet of the installation crew.

Except for the pair of comfortable-looking shoes that rested in the spillage, right in front of his nose as the owner helped him up.

Oh. It was her. As if he wasn’t blushing enough.

“Yeah,” he said weakly, the word half-way lodged in his throat. “Good thing the crate wasn’t open yet, yeah? I heard from Teresa you have one of the only intact depictions of the Daughter of Neith?”

“Well, they’re safe and wrapped up in plastic, but yeah,” She graced him with a cheeky chuckle as she pulled him to standing, nodding to one of the people around her to get a towel or something. She smiled at him, and his heart sped up in his chest. “Wouldn’t have been good if I’d been inspecting them.”

    “You’re the handler?” His breath stopped. "So you've studied Egyptian art at a real university, then?"

God, he wanted to pick her brain so bad.

She nodded, head lifting in slight pride. "Yup. Two Masters from Columbia." Her face dropped slightly and she looked at him apologetically. "I do need you to take a few steps back though."

The words brought him back to himself much the same way ice poured over his head would. "Right. Sorry, you must be busy."

"No problem." She shook her head and patted him on the shoulder. "It's not your fault you fell." She leaned in conspiratorially, tone laced with humor. "Darn invisible rocks just don't know when to get out of the way, do they?"

"Oh, yeah, never." At least it sounded less like she was making fun of him and more like she was trying to make him feel more comfortable. "Out to get me, really."

“You can call me Iris.” She giggled at his response, telling him a name that didn’t match the one on her visitor's badge. Iris. As in the Greek goddess of rainbows? "Talk to you more later?"

!!!!

"What, me?" You plonker. "I mean sure. Totally. I'm Steven. With a V."

Oh, stuff it, she doesn’t care how you spell your name!

She gave him a cute wave goodbye, other hand happily flapping at her side before she turned to return to her work.

The rest of the unpacking and installation went smoothly after Iris took the crowbar and cracked open the crate herself, taking out each of the stone tablets with delicate touches and gloved hands, inspecting each carefully for signs of transit damage, a sweet smile overtaking your face as she told the assistant next to her that they were in the same condition as when they left New York.

It took only a little while longer for the curators to set up the displays in the center of the room, on a pedestal that allowed guests to see both the front and the back.

The room broke out in applause when they lowered the glass, and declared them officially installed.

He tried not to be crushed in the small crowd that encircled the new arrivals, instead waiting in the wings of the room as Iris laughed and playfully shoved at her crew.

A bit of him welled up with envy - at the ability to relax and socialize so easily with people he’d never met. He had half a mind to just leave right then and there, the ache of loneliness settled in long ago driving him to want to hide in his flat once more. After all, why would she want to talk to him anyway? She was probably just being polite. She seemed busy.

Still, his feet wouldn’t move, even as he shuffled his weight awkwardly from one to another.

Wait, she’s walking over to him, why was she walking over to him?

And she smiled wide, and his breath halted in his lungs.

“Why don’t I buy you some more tea and we can talk some more? I have another few days in London until I get shipped back home, mind if I pick your brain for some good spots?”

How is this happening? He could only nod. “Not at all. I don't mind some brain picking.” He cringed at his phrasing but your lips just lifted wryly. “There's this place around the corner from here that has good pastries…”

“Well, then, lead the way~” She gave him a theatrical bow and held her elbow out for him to grab.

“I told you to stay away.” He gingerly gripped the crook of her elbow, jumping as the deep voice in his head returned, an unnatural wind flowing through the halls of the museum and ruffling at his hair, and even worse when they stepped outside, but Iris didn’t seem to care, simply placing herself between him and the brunt of it.

Well, mysterious voice, you can stuff it. He thought, an unfamiliar tang of spite and rebellion coursing through him.

I’ve got a date with the pretty art courier.

Don't forget to comment/reblog if you liked it! It helps a lot!

Things might slow down a bit as my summer classes start, but I'll still be working on it :)

[thewangshuinn]

May I request platonic Diona big sister relationship? Perhaps reader helping her with drinks and they both decide to sabotage Diluc's wine but Diluc catches them? This is dumb sorry lol

A/N: hey anon how does it feel to be the most inspiring person here I love this sm. I would also like to make clear I have never seen a wine cellar in my life please just go with me on this. Also I'm so sorry about the long wait! I've been busy and unmotivated.

Diluc shampoo commercial when?

Thank you so much for your request, and I hope you enjoy!

Exclusive Specialty

Pairing: PLATONIC Diona x reader

Warnings: none really, a few alcohol mentions? Non-proofread we die like kazuha's friend

Diona Kätzlein was certainly a force to be reckoned with.

This was nothing new to anyone who visited the Cat’s Tail- the feisty little bartender was clear about her hatred of alcohol, and those who consume it, since the beginning.

And as a part of the wait staff, you got to hear her remarks more than most tavern-goers in Mondstadt.

It is in this way, that you had come to be close to her. You’d immediately taken a liking to the small child from Springvale who’d wormed her way into the patrons’ hearts, despite her hatred to be called cute. You were one of the few who were willing to listen to what she said- you let her ramble on and on about everything she thought because no one seemed to take her seriously.

After all, she was just a kid who ran away from home. She was just a child, alone in a big city with dreams she was too small to reach.

Diona, though she’d never say it, adored you. Her father didn’t listen to her anymore- he barely did anything with her, really. No one else wanted to hear what she had to say. They’d laugh and they’d pat her head and tell her she’s adorable and to go back to her mixing now.

But you were different.

You got supplies that she asked for, and persuaded Margaret to give her free reign. You tried her drinks when she asked, and always acted like you despised them.

Even if you didn’t.

You offered suggestions and she taught you how to help her. The two of you would stay up late with mugs of warm milk against Mond’s chilly nights, and she would gleefully mix horrid ingredients together as you watched over her shoulder and built off of what she gave you.

You would have interesting talks, then. You could mention something offhandedly, and she would ask about it.

You’ve exchanged stories and songs, in typical fashion for citizens of the Jewel of the North. She knew every detail about you, and offered you every detail about her in exchange.

But it was also within these late-night meetings that the two of you schemed. Whether it was simply how to make it through the next day or sneak out during festivals to celebrate, your plans were generally hazy and laced with sleepiness.

That is to say, they were never very good.

You didn’t know that, though, which is why you made a very daunting proposal one night.

“Why don’t we just sabotage the Dawn Winery? Wouldn’t that get rid of the most successful wine tycoon in Mondstadt?”

Diona shook her head, punctuating the motion with a yawn. “I’ll never step paw in the Dawn Winery! I can’t deal with anyone or anything so ridiculous!”

“...But if we destroy the winery, we destroy the wine industry. The ends justify the means.” You shrugged.

She appeared to mull over this for a bit.

Silence stretched between the two of you for a moment.

And then she positively lit up. “Let’s go! Let’s go right now!”

Dragging you out the door, the little bartender ran into the night.

~

You’d planned everything out on the way there. Diona had gathered a ton of ingredients on the way, and was also to be responsible for getting inside. She was a great climber and a silent crawler, and one of the bedrooms on the third floor left the window open for fresh air.

Since the wine cellar was attached to the house and you were both exhausted, it seemed like the best bet.

Except that she landed on the bed.

You didn’t know it, and she scurried off too quickly to see if there had been anything in that bed in the first place.

Your job was to keep watch outside the wine cellar until Diona opened the door for you, in case any guards, servants, or otherwise restless inhabitants came with suspicions.

You smirked to yourself when Diona opened the door. “For the greatest tycoon in Mond, someone isn’t too worried about security.”

Diona giggled triumphantly in response, dragging you inside.

And then you stopped short, tugging the child’s hand so that she was behind you.

Standing before both of you, looking annoyed and sleep-deprived, was Master Diluc Ragvindr.

The owner of the Dawn Winery.

You took an unconscious step back, but Diona had stepped before you into a fighting stance.

Both of you anticipated an attack.

But Diluc just looked annoyed at being woken up. He dragged a weary hand over his face, highlighting just how luxurious his unbound red hair was.

“Just go.”

His voice was soft and tired, but it was not unthreatening.

“Leave. And don’t come back.”

You heeded his words immediately, eyes only on his pyro vision, and dragged a hissing and kicking Diona away.

Perhaps you can take down the wine industry some other day. For now, you were just glad your little companion was safe.

[thebadgerclan]

SFW Alphabet: Severus Snape

Requested by Anonymous

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Severus is quite possibly the most affectionate man to ever live.  I HC that his love language is physical touch, so he always has an arm around you, is holding your hand, has you in his lap, in his arms. Severus always wants to have you near him, always wants to be touching you in some way.  Kisses on your hand and cheek in public, on your forehead and lips in private.  He’ll also give you small gifts: a new quill when you need it, a book you’ve wanted to read, things like that.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Severus is a loyal friend, regardless of your house or blood status.  He’s kind, funny, caring, always willing to help you with anything you need; homework, personal issues, he’s always willing to listen.  It starts after you’re partnered up for a potions project and Severus realizes that he has a bit of a rival in that class.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) Cuddles are one of Severus’ favorite things in the world.  Your arms are his favorite place, he loves holding you or being held by you.  When he holds you, he likes to lay on his back with you tucked into his side with your head resting on his chest, arms around your middle, or spooning you (he’s the big spoon)  When you hold him, Severus likes to be on his side, facing you, with his face buried in your chest, arms wound around your middle, keeping you close to him.  He also likes being the little spoon (even though he’s tall)

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Severus does want to settle down with you, he dreams of a cozy little home somewhere with you, where you can just live your lives.  He wants to marry  you more than anything else in the world, he gets you a ring as soon as possible and pops the question.  The war keeps you two from having the wedding you want, but you make an Unbreakable Vow to each other, swearing to always love one another.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) The mere thought of breaking things off with you almost gives him a panic attack, but if he had to do it, he’d likely put up his Occlumency shields.  If he didn’t, he would break down and sob through it, unable to get through a single word.  He’d be brief and to the point: “Y/N, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this any more.  I’m so sorry, love.”  

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Severus is a very committed lover: once he’s yours, he’s yours forever.  He never has eyes for anyone but you, you are the only person he will ever love.  After about 4 months into the relationship, Severus is thinking about marriage, but he knows it’s too soon.  He does start looking at rings at around 7ish months, and about a year or so into the relationship, he asks you to marry him.  The ring is simple but beautiful: a silver band with a princess cut diamond, flanked by a few small emeralds

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Severus is so gentle with you, physically and emotionally.  You are one of the very few people that get to see this side of him: he could be raging about something Potter did, but he melts when he’s around you, sweetly taking you into his arms and holding you close.  He’s very emotionally available, he treats you with reverence and respect, never taking his anger out on you.  He does sometimes get angry, and sometimes, you make him angry, but he will NEVER raise a hand to you, NEVER hurt you.  He might shout a little when he’s angry, but he apologizes immediately after.  Severus tries to never shout at you, but he’s human, and it happens sometimes, but he never takes his anger out on you

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Oh yes, Severus Snape LOVES hugs, he hugs you at least 15 times a day.  He’ll legitimately get sad if he goes a day without hugging you.  Severus will pull you close to him, wrap his arms around your middle, and rest his chin atop your head.  If he’s feeling a bit more emotional (sad, angry, frustrated, anxious, etc.), he’ll stoop down and bury his face in your neck, still holding you tight.  HIs hugs last for at LEAST 40 seconds, and he’ll pout when you pull away.  His hugs are warm and welcoming, making you feel safe and secure

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) Severus wasn’t the one to say it first, mainly because he’s afraid you’ll leave him.  But when you say it, about 3 months into the relationship, Severus bursts into tears, burning his face in your chest.  “I love you,” he repeats over and over again.  “I love you, Y/N, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”  After that, he tells you at least 20 times a day.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) Severus is a fiercely jealous man.  When he sees someone checking you out, chatting you up, or heaven forbid, touch you without your permission (and I mean arm, shoulder, hand touches).  He sees red, coming to your side immediately and wrapping an arm tight around you.  People know how jealous and possessive Severus tends to be, and he doesn’t even have to say anything, all he has to do is glare at the other person and they know they’ve overstepped

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) All encompassing, all consuming, world changing, that’s what Severus’ kisses are like.  He kisses with passion, with love, with devotion, yes, with lust too.  Obviously, he loves to kiss you on the lips, and when he does, he pulls you flush to him, kissing you with everything he is, pouring every ounce of his love and adoration into it.  You tend to wind your arms around his neck, sometimes threading your fingers through his hair.  Severus doesn’t do “pecks”, he either kisses you for 30 seconds straight or not at all.  The exception to his is when he kisses your hand around others.  He loves to kiss your forehead as well, as he can just bend a little to reach.  Severus will kiss your neck too, especially when things are getting steamy.  He likes to be kissed in the same places as he likes to kiss you, with the addition of his left forearm, directly over his Mark.  It just makes him feel extraordinarily loved

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) The way Severus acts around the students is completely different than how he’d act around his own children.  Severus would be a doting, adoring father, loving his children almost as much as he loves you.  He would cherish them with everything he is, crying the first few times they cry, sleeping on the floor next to their crib, showing pictures of them to anyone who will look.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) Most mornings are early because Severus has classes, but every morning, Severus wakes you with a kiss on your forehead before the pair of you dress in comfortable silence.  Breakfast in the Great Hall is spent with Severus’ hand in yours, pressing kisses to the back of it every so often.  After that, he walks you to your classroom, kissing you sweetly before going down to the dungeons

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Evenings are spent in your shared rooms, in each other’s arms, reading, grading, talking, or just enjoying each other’s company.  It doesn’t matter how stressful or bad Severus’ day was, having you in his arms (or being in yours if it was a really bad day) makes everything better.  Often, you’ll share a shower or bath (which may or may not lead to sex) before getting into bed and cuddling until you fall asleep

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) It takes Severus a while to be comfortable to truly open up to you, but when he does, it’s an hour and a half of Severus telling you every single detail of his life.  You listen to every word, taking his hand when he cries, offering console when he needs it.  And when he’s done, when everything’s laid out at your feet, you take him into your arms and soothe him as he cries.  “I love you, Severus,” you say stroking his hair.  “I love you more than anything in the world.”

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) Once again, how he acts around the students is different from how he acts around you.  Around the students, he’s snippy and short, but with you, his patience is endless.  He hardly ever snaps at you, and on the rare occasion he does, it’s usually because something else is bothering him.  And this is because you, simply put, don’t piss him off

  Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) Everything.  Literally everything.  Severus remembers every single thing you tell him, from your favorite shirt to your favorite books.  He does not forget, and he uses this to surprise you.  You mention you want something for a snack?  It’s on the coffee table the next day.  You said you liked this book you read 4 years ago?  He gets it for you.  Severus remembers every little thing you tell him

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) It’s not a super sentimental memory, it’s not connected to a major event, but it still makes his heart skip a beat.  Severus got out of bed at 2 AM to use the bathroom, and when he came back, you were tossing and turning, features twisted into those of discomfort and distress.  Severus was concerned, but when he got back into bed and pulled the covers over himself, you wormed into his arms, nuzzling into his chest.  At once, you relaxed, face going slack, sighing contentedly.  The fact that you not only noticed and missed Severus’ presence while asleep but made your way back into his arms and that soothed you while asleep makes him so happy.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) Severus is a very protective man, as Voldemort’s servant, he has to be.  He hates letting you out if his sight, hates it when he has to leave you when he’s Called, hates the thought of anything hurting you.  Severus teaches you defensive and offensive spells, some of them Dark, so you can protect yourself if Severus isn’t there.  At the height of the war, Severus also likes for you to send him a patronus every hour or so (even if you’re both in the castle), just so he knows you’re alright, and he’ll do the same for you

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) Severus putsa decent amount of effort into dates,especially at the beginning of the relationship.  Nice restaurants, candlelit dinners, champagne,the works.  He doesn’t put as much effort as the relationship goes on, but not because he’s slacking; quite the opposite, he just knows that he doesn’t have to “wow” you as much as he felt he had to in the beginning. That being said, Severus goes all out for anniversaries: fancy restaurants, champagne, candles, romantic music.  Gifts are much the same: jewelry, books, clothes, things that he knows you’ll love

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) He’s very hard on himself, thinking he’s not good enough, not handsome enough, that you can do better.  His self consciousness about his looks, the fact that he sometimes bottles up his feelings.  But he’s working on it.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Not very, he keeps himself presentable and clean, he shaves a few times a week, keeps his hair at his signature shoulder length, but beyond that, he doesn’t do much.  Apparently (according to Severus) he looks good enough for you, and that’s enough.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Absolutely, 1,000,000%.  You’re a part of his soul, when he’s apart from you, Severus is half a man, a shell of himself.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) Severus smells like sandalwood, leather, and fresh parchment

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) He doesn’t like it when people interrupt, him, you, or anyone else.  It makes him feel like they don’t care about what he or others have to say is important.  In terms of a partner, Severus can’t be with someone who’s not emotionally available.  He understands not opening up completely all at once and maybe keeping certain things to yourself, but he needs to feel like he knows you and what you’re feeling as well as being heard and understood himself.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?) Severus is a light sleeper, has trouble falling asleep, and he suffers from nightmares, but when he’s with you, he’s able to sleep 8+ hours and have far less nightmares.  They don’t go away completely, but there are waaaaayyy less, maybe 1 or 2 every month.

[piratewithvigor]

Eldritch Horrors Anonymous: A Wrestler Fic

Dr. Shelby's led plenty of support groups before and helped plenty of people in them. But these people aren't exactly people...

(I spent the last two days binging matches and assorted other videos to try and get the characterizations right, so let's see how this goes)

Plenty of bad crack below

When Dr. Shelby had been approached with the idea of running this group, he’d been… unsure. Possibly even apprehensive. He’d led groups for violent individuals before; anger management was the most memorable, but the coordinator nearly begged him to start this one. She’d had some of these individuals in other groups, but none of their problems truly seemed to stem from the focus of the groups they tried. They had a unique problem. A unique struggle that needed support from others just like them.

It was the night of the first meeting and he wasn’t quite sure what the outcome might be. The community center had been advertising it for the last few weeks and he’d heard about some interested parties, but the exact number was a little unsure. He’d been told a ‘handful’, which wasn’t frustrating as an imprecise number until it came time to set up the chairs in the room. Six seemed like a good number. A couple, but not too many. Colder drinks were set out on a table along the edge of the room. Nothing too hot. A lot of those coming had problems with heat. As well as with machinery. Some of them had habits with… well, with making it explode.

God, he hoped nothing exploded during this meeting.

The flyer stapled to the bulletin board said the meeting started at 6 and it was 5:55 when Dr. Shelby sat down in his chair opposite the semi-circle. The noticeably empty semi-circle. A part of him was disheartened that the room was empty, but a much more selfish part was deeply relieved. He’d spent a few days reading articles about these individuals and how best to help them. Unfortunately, not much research had been done besides describing the pain they inflicted in such gruesome detail that Dr. Shelby had felt the need to make himself a cup of tea.

But those were laboratory settings. This was a friendly support group. No one was being forced to be there, or even being paid. They were coming because they wanted to.

By 6:03, he was tempted to just start packing up. Maybe no one was coming. Maybe the group was a bad idea in the first place. He’d been told to wait until 6:05 for people to arrive, but even just two more minutes seemed like too many to just sit there.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the large metal door on the other side of the room creaking open slowly. A hand gloved in black leather wrapped around and Dr. Shelby tensed for a moment until the owner of the hand appeared. A pleasantly-dressed gentleman in a neat sweater, a short beard and his hair pulled back looked around the room before spotting Dr. Shelby and seeming to relax.

“Excuse me, is this Eldritch Horrors Anonymous?” He asked, smiling warmly.

“Uh, it’s supposed to be,” Dr. Shelby nodded. If anyone had shown up, he wanted to add, but bit his tongue back.

The man’s smile widened and he turned back from the room to call over his shoulder. “Found it, guys! We’re supposed to be in here!”

Guys? There were more?

Maybe the night wouldn’t be such a bust after all.

The man stepped inside the room and pulled open the door politely. Dr. Shelby couldn’t see the people until they entered, but it didn’t truly matter; no amount of time could have prepared him for the group joining him.

The first one to nearly skip through the door looked like a child at first glance. Definitely not an eldritch horror. She wasn’t much taller than one and with her long blonde hair pulled into pigtails and a doll clutched to her chest, she looked even more like one. She paused long enough to thank the man holding open the door before taking a seat in the middle chair of the semi-circle, directly across from Dr. Shelby. It wasn’t until she was fully seated that he got a proper look at her face. Her strikingly icy eyes were surrounded by thick black rings and every time the hairs in front of her face moved, Dr. Shelby swore he saw black liquid dripping from her scalp. The chill that went down his spine was either negated or enhanced by her wide, jubilant grin. He wasn’t sure which.

The man who sat beside her also seemed confusingly normal at first glance. A plain black t-shirt and leather jacket. Perhaps a little more… edgy than Dr. Shelby would have preferred to dress, but he seemed like an equally charming young man.

Unfortunately, a pattern of three seemingly normal people did not necessarily mean the group would be.

The next one to enter the room had to quite literally duck to pass through the door. Dr. Shelby guessed him to be seven feet tall, give or take a few inches. He was wearing a black suit that covered most of his body, save for his face, which had its own covering of a deep red mask. He didn’t smile like the others had so far. Not even a polite half-smile of acknowledgment. Just sat down in one of the chairs that looked like it might prove to be a little too small.

Dr. Shelby had been so focused on keeping his expression steady while watching the masked member of the group that he hadn’t noticed one final member sneak in through the door and sit on the other side of the circle. He had an oversized alarm clock clutched in one hand, a paper bag in the other and a steady, intense smile in Dr. Shelby’s direction. Though his face was just as covered in red, he seemed to be the exact opposite of the stoic masked member.

“I think that’s everyone,” the man holding the door declared, taking one last glance down the hall before starting to let it go. He was intercepted by a gloved hand pushing back against the door.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” A final member slid in, face covered in white and black paint and a long leather coat stretching to his ankles. “All the hallways here look the same.”

“We had that problem too,” the man holding open the door nodded. “Kept walking around in circles trying to find the room. And it didn’t get much easier after the flyer got a hole burnt through it right where the room number was listed.”

“I said I was sorry,” the masked member grumbled.

Oh God, he burnt things unintentionally?

“Don’t worry about it, you’re all on time,” Dr. Shelby interjected, hoping to avoid any conflict between the members before the meeting had even technically started.

The final two men took their seats. Six? Not a bad turnout. Might as well get started.

“Welcome everyone, my name is Dr. Shelby.” A collection of polite nods came his way. “Now, you’re all here because you face the same struggle every day and you wanted to meet people like you. Am I right so far?” Everyone nodded again. “Good. I’ve led a lot of support groups just like these and almost everyone in them has felt major improvements knowing that they have a safe place to share their feelings every week. Why don’t we go around the circle and introduce ourselves and share what brings us here?”

It was always a risky move. Especially with brand-new groups. Some of them were bound to be a little more shy or wouldn’t really want to participate until they felt more comfortable with the other members. Dr. Shelby hoped there would at least be one outgoing one amongst them.

Dr. Shelby knew he wasn’t masking his fear very well. He’d perfected the perpetual smile; it was necessary when leading support groups, but he couldn’t always control his eyes.

The group all looked amongst themselves before the man in the sweater held up his hand.

“I can get the ball rolling,” he smiled, standing up. “My name is Bray and for the last few months, my body gets periodically taken over by my dark half named The Fiend, an entity whose sole objective is to cause as much pain and suffering to those around him as physically possible.”

“Thank you, Bray,” he tried to say with as even a voice as possible. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go,” the girl smiled, standing up with a flounce. “My name’s Alexa and this is Lilly.” She spun the doll around to reveal the most grotesque face Dr. Shelby had ever seen. He wasn’t certain from across the circle, but it looked like the teeth sewn into the mouth were real. “The Fiend showed me the way into the darkness, and Lilly took it from there.”

This is normal for them. It’s not going to help anyone here if you start looking like you’re scared.

But darn, is that doll ever creepy.

The man with the red face paint stood up next.

“I’m the Boogeyman!” He grinned with wide eyes, looking around at each member of the circle erratically. It was only as he began to move around that Dr. Shelby noticed the paper bag he was clutching seemed to be dripping some kind of dark liquid.

“Thank you for introducing yourself… Boogeyman. If it’s not too personal, do you mind if I ask what’s in your bag there?”

“Worms.”

“Worms?”

Boogeyman unrolled the bag and pulled out a handful of dirt-covered, very much alive earthworms before shoving said handful into his mouth. No one around the circle seemed all that disgusted. Like it was a regular Tuesday evening for them. Except for the man with the white face paint who seemed like he was as pale as a ghost underneath.

“I’ll, uh, that’s fine for this week, Boogeyman, but I’ll please ask you to leave your… worms at home next week. We’re not really supposed to have food in this room to keep it peanut-free,” Dr. Shelby explained, holding back the sick feeling knotting his stomach. “But if anyone is thirsty, I’ve got bottles of water and juice boxes on the back table. Feel free to help yourselves.”

Boogeyman nodded and carefully put his worms back into his bag as he sat down. The man with the white face paint immediately raised his hand.

“Yes, your name is…”

“I think I might be in the wrong place.”

Dr. Shelby looked him over. He didn’t look eerily normal like Bray, and he didn’t seem to have brought a bag of worms as a snack. Looked like he fell somewhere in between.

“You seem like you’re in the right place. This is Eldritch Horrors Anonymous; I don’t know where else you’d be tonight.”

The man’s expression changed from nerves to sheepish understanding. “I thought this was Troubled Goths Anonymous. I couldn’t find the flyer and followed Boogeyman in. My mistake.”

Dr. Shelby nodded understandingly. “Right room, wrong day. Troubled Goths Anonymous is Monday nights.”

The man stood to leave with his hands up apologetically. “It was great to meet you all, but I don’t belong here. Best of luck to you… eldritch horrors.”

“Oh, be careful when you come back on Monday. That’s also when they host Troubled Punks Anonymous. Very similar groups, but people seem to have very strong preferences of one over the other.”

The man nodded and left the room as Dr. Shelby turned back to the remaining members. “Some of you came here from those groups, right?”

“Troubled Punks Anonymous kicked me out a few days ago,” Bray sighed, his perpetual smile dropping for a moment. Everyone murmured their sympathy and Alexa patted him on the knee. “It’s alright, though," he continued. "You all seem like a much better fit so far.”

“That’s the point of this group,” Dr. Shelby smiled. “Now who’s next?”

The man in the leather jacket looked towards the man in the mask before shrugging and standing.

“M’name’s Finn. Sometimes the rage o’ battle brings out the Demon King Bálor from within me ‘n with the openin’ o’ his great eye, enemies are laid to waste a’ his feet,” he explained, about as casually as one would talk about what they did over the weekend.

“Glad to have you here, Finn.” It was getting easier to digest the stories of the people around him as he heard more. Maybe he’d even be able to hear the last one without faking the comfort of his smile. “And last, but certainly not least…” He turned towards the masked man expectedly. There was no smile, polite or otherwise. But he also didn’t seem like he was hesitating because he was shy. Just… grumpy.

“You don’t have to introduce yourself if you don’t feel comfortable, but we’re still a small group and as far as I can tell, all very friendly,” Dr. Shelby pushed a little further. The other members nodded in agreement. Even Boogeyman, who had snuck another worm from his bag into his mouth.

“Fine,” he grumbled, standing up. “I’m Kane. I’m the devil’s favorite demon. I grew up in a basement, suffering severe psychological and emotional scarring when my brother set my parents on fire. From there, I shifted around a series of mental institutions until I was grown, at which point I buried my brother alive... twice. Since then, I’ve set a couple of people on fire and abducted various co-workers. Oh, and I once electrocuted a man’s testicles. Years ago, I had a girlfriend named Katie, but let’s just say that didn’t turn out so well. My real father is a man named Paul Bearer who I recently trapped in a meat locker. I’ve been married, divorced, broke up my ex wife’s wedding and attacked the priest and for reasons never quite explained, I have an unhealthy obsession with torturing Pete Rose.”

Okay, maybe they can get weirder.

“Thank you… Kane.” He paused a moment before remembering back to the list that he’d been given a few days before. “That name sounds familiar; I think I was told to expect you, but they said you might be coming with your brother.”

“Probably won’t happen.”

“Why not? Is he not an eldritch horror?”

“He is. He just won’t come. Has better things to do.”

“Like what?”

“He said ‘watching paint dry’.”

“Maybe when you see him again, you can tell him we’re more fun than watching paint dry,” Alexa suggested, bouncing Lilly on her lap.

“That’s right. And that goes for all of you,” Dr. Shelby mentioned. “If anyone knows someone who might need a support group like this, go ahead and invite them. This isn’t Fight Club; it doesn’t have to be secret.”

The group chuckled a little at his attempt at a joke. Even Kane cracked a small smile.

Dr. Shelby relaxed a little in his seat. These people might dress strangely and have bizarre interests, diets and backstories, but deep down, they were just like anyone else. Maybe he could help them after all.

[singtotheskiies]

a single word // bruce banner x reader

request: Nothing would make me happier than a Bruce Banner X reader. He doesn't get nearly as much love as he deserves and he is adorable and smart and one of the many loves of my life. If you can make it a soulmate AU it would be even better and you would be my very bestest friend. But you don't have to write this if you don't want to.

summary: your soulmate’s emotions are written on your forearm. sometimes it’s only a single word—anger—and a news feed of New York being destroyed starts you on a mission to find him.

words: 2301

warnings: slight angst, but otherwise lotsa fluff:)))

a/n: i’m so sorry for the delay in writing! i was sick for a few days and found it really difficult to write. for that reason, this imagine may not flow as well or have as detailed writing as others, but i still hope it’s enjoyable!!

✖️✖️✖️

Your soulmate’s emotions were—complicated, to say the least.

Most people had multiple words on their arm based on what their soulmate was feeling at the moment—it wasn’t uncommon to see entire forearm-lengths of words like curious and fearful and hopeful. Sometimes your arm had a normal, long list like that, but over the past few years, things had begun to change.

Sometimes, the writing on your arm would fade away to one word—ANGER.

It was menacing—red and in all caps. Sometimes it would only last a few seconds, your arm flickering from ANGER to fear or attempted calm. Sometimes it stayed for hours before fading to confusion and regret and self-hatred. Your heart went out to your soulmate, mourning their seeming lack of stability. Sure, it was more interesting than a typical soulmate bond, but it seemed as if they had a hard time dealing with life and controlling their emotions. You hoped that if you ever met them, you’d be able to provide a much-needed constant of calm.

For your whole life, though, you were left clueless as to who it could possibly be. Someone who had such blindingly intense emotions was surely one of a kind—but no hints presented themselves until the attack on New York.

You were working like any other day when your coworker suddenly barged in, babbling about something horrific and otherworldly that was happening on the East Coast. Standing up in alarm (and, quite frankly, slight disbelief), you grabbed your phone and quickly opened your news app only to have your friend’s story confirmed. You clicked on a news feed, watching in utter shock as entire city blocks were torn down by what looked like otherworldly spaceships. They twisted through the air grotesquely, resembling some sort of worm or insect. Clearly, they were not from Earth.

A reporter was attempting to interview a shaken citizen—a young woman who seemed to be on the point of crying. The reporter wasn’t having much success, as the young lady’s voice was too choked with tears to get much out. However, after several painful moments, the woman’s face changed as she looked up. The camera pivoted wildly to show a small group of individuals making their way purposefully down the street. As it zoomed in, you got a closer look—the people looked intimidating and like they had a purpose.

All except one. The camera was slightly fuzzy and the chaos going on around it didn’t help, but you could tell a few details about this odd one out. He looked to be shorter than many of the others, with curly salt-and-pepper hair and a look of terrified confusion. He was unarmed with any weapon or armor, dressed only in work clothes. Your arm itched and burned as you looked at him, and you looked down at it in surprise.

Unsure, afraid, determined, disbelieving.

“No way,” you breathed, and your friend looked at you sideways.

“I know! Who are these people? I have no clue what’s going on anymore.” You didn’t have the energy to tell her that you were most stunned by the fact that the seemingly unarmed man may very well be the soulmate you had waited your whole life to meet. Although you did agree with her that you wanted to know who he was.

Before you could get a better look at the group of people, your maybe-soulmate spoke to one of the others and turned around to fight. However, as he did, he grew several feet taller, huge new muscles bunching together as his shirt ripped away to reveal—green skin? You couldn’t believe your eyes, staring at the screen in almost catatonic shock. Your arm started stinging again, and as you looked down at it, it shifted into that all-too-familiar word: ANGER.

“I have to go home,” you told your friend, packing up your things in a rush.

“Are you okay?” she asked you.

“Don’t feel well,” you said. Several other people were heading for the doors. You figured a disaster of this scale would cause more than a few changes in schedule.

Getting home in record time, you turned on your television and sat, not even bothering to toe off your shoes. You watched in utter astonishment as New York continued to be trashed by an otherworldly army. The news feeds gave as many updates on the team attempting to fight the aliens off as they could. Your eyes were peeled for any flashes of green, and you were occasionally rewarded with a few seconds of whoever-he-was fighting off creatures singlehandedly. Was this beast of a man the same timid person who had walked with the other fighters at the beginning? Maybe he was possessed or something. Hopefully he wouldn’t die fending off the alien attackers—possibly finding your soulmate and then having them ripped away from you on the same day was something you’d prefer not to happen.

After hours of battle, all the attackers had been taken out and the cube of energy—the Tesseract, it was called—had been taken to a government facility. You hadn’t seen any more of your potential soulmate, but the words on your arm had gone back to small black words: exhausted, relieved, frightened. He was still alive, thank goodness, but your only hope of finding out who he was was through news of some sort, so you kept your television on and scrolled through news websites as you ate dinner. After an hour or two, you began to feel a little hopeless—you couldn’t find anywhere that was listing the names of the group who had fought back—the Avengers, as they were being called. Eventually, you gave up and decided to call it a night. Maybe you’d find out more in the morning.

To your surprise (and relief) there was an article titled “Just Who Are the Avengers?” that seemed to list a few names. It was scant information (unsurprising, since they seemed to be spies or government workers of some sort), but it was something. The name that you were looking for seemed to be Bruce Banner—the Incredible Hulk. You felt a surge of adrenaline as you typed his name into your phone, pulling up multiple sources about your potential soulmate.

You discovered that he was a top scientist, a man who had underwent a freak gamma radiation accident that caused him to turn into the Hulk when he didn’t have control over his emotions. He now worked to understand radiation as well as countless other fields of study—the man had seven PhDs! He seemed to be quite the extraordinary person, and the pictures available of him painted him out to be quite the handsome man as well.

You looked down at your arm and sighed. Terror and hopelessness. Judging by the blue ink, he must be having a nightmare. You set your jaw and resolutely looked for some way to contact him. Yes, he had just saved America, but you had a feeling he needed some actual good things in his life. You wanted to help if it were at all possible.

The best you could do was find an email address, so you started a draft and stared at your screen wondering out loud what to say.

“Hi, I’m your soulmate—probably. Saw you turn into a big green guy on TV—that’s something else! No, that’s stupid. Uh—you seem to have a lot of trauma going on, maybe I could hel—no, I’m not his therapist. C’mon, think!”

You eventually settled on a message that stated your awareness of who he was, an admiration for how bravely he had fought, and the possibility that you may be each other’s soulmates. Breathing deeply, you sent the message and left your laptop open for easy refreshing.

It took him almost 36 anxiety-ridden hours to respond back, but his response made you smile.

Dear (Y/N),

I was so surprised to hear from you that I nearly dropped my phone—in a good way, of course. I appreciate your compliments, and your description of what happens on your arm would certainly be a good match for me. You seem to be a wonderful person, and while I would love to meet you right away, the rest of the team and I have a few post-battle things we need to take care of. Does coffee about a week from now sound good? Let me know, and we can work out the details.

Sincerely, Bruce

You emailed him back saying that coffee sounded wonderful, including your phone number because texting would be a little easier, you thought. He texted you about a half hour later, giving you details to a coffee place that was far enough away from downtown to be safe. Can’t wait to see you there, he said, and you grinned as you sent back a similar message.

Putting your phone down on your kitchen table, you hummed in satisfaction—finally, after waiting for years and years, you were meeting your soulmate.

✖️✖️✖️

You were a little nervous, to say the least, but it was tempered with a great deal of excitement. As you neared the coffee shop, you touched your hair almost self-consciously, but then took your hand away quickly. All you could do was hope for the best—if the two of you were really meant to be, things would go well. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door and went inside.

You found him almost immediately, and he stood up as if by instinct when you entered. He was at a small corner table, and his eyes met yours with a look of astonishment and admiration.

“(Y/N)?” he asked with near disbelief.

“Bruce,” you beamed, and without thinking, you threw your arms around him in a hug. He returned the gesture, arms wrapping tightly around you.

“I—I can’t believe you’re here,” he spoke into your hair. “I mean, really here. I always thought—“ he trailed off and you pulled back, looking in his deep brown eyes again.

“Of course I’m here, Bruce. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling softly, and said “Shall we?” as he pulled out your seat for you. Thanking him, you took a seat and began studying his face as casually as you could. He had a strong jaw, full lips, lovely brown eyes, and the same curly brown-and-grey hair you had seen on the news. You had a very strong urge to reach out and slip your fingers through it, but resisted somehow. He noticed your eyes on him and cocked his head at you, a slight, sweet smile on his face.

“What?” he asked, his voice grinning along with him.

“Nothing, you’re just—really handsome,” you said, blushing. “I think you’re wonderful.” He blushed with you, and you smiled at each other for a long moment before discussing what you would order. After settling on a few things, you placed your orders and began chatting right away. He told you about his work in the science field (he shocked you with his intellect), while you told him about your job. You shared little facts about each other, and as you talked about your interests, he watched you intently with awestruck, loving eyes. It gave you more than a few butterflies, and you could still hardly believe that you were there with your soulmate.

After you finished your drinks, Bruce offered taking a walk outside. You nodded enthusiastically, wanting to spend as much time with him as you could. There’s a park nearby, fairly large for a city, with lots of pretty flowers and trees to enjoy. As you walked, you continued talking about all sorts of things.

Eventually the topic of his alien-fighting experience came up, and something in his eyes shifted. Looking down at your arm, you saw the words nervous and hopeful and worried etch themselves into your skin. You furrowed your brows in concern, and without thinking, took his hand. His fingers moved nervously under yours, but latched on with clear relief.

“I’m sorry,” he nearly whispered. “I just feel like—well, I can’t offer you normalcy, dependency, consistency. Sometimes he just takes over. I try, I really do, but I’ve still got a long way to go before I learn to control or even coexist with him. I could hurt you, I could break things, and it scares me, (Y/N). You’re very likely the best thing to ever come into my life, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Bruce,” you answered, tears welling up in the bottom of your eyes. “I don’t need consistency or perfection or anything close to it. All I need is you. We’ve been put together for a reason, and I’m going to fight for you, no matter what tries to stop us. I’m here for you now, and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”

He really did whisper now, your name softly under his breath. As his eyes met yours, you began to move a little closer, head tilting towards his as if magnetized. He raised his other hand to brush across your face gently, a question, and you smiled in response. With a soft tip of his head, your mouths fell together, eagerly gentle. Your hand came up to ruffle through his curls, and they felt just as lovely as you had imagined. The two of you stayed that way, together, touching, for several moments. As he came up for air, he rested his forehead against yours, kissing you again until your smiles outgrew the spaces between you.

“Thank you,” he murmured again, and as you looked into his blissful eyes, you noticed your arm—only a single word was on it, different from the one you typically saw by itself.

Smitten.

[goose-books]

whoa, it sure is about time around here for a post, huh!

today i offer you 1.7k words about cressida and rory simply being soft. that’s all. this is the happiest thing i’ve ever written in the darkling canon and making this moodboard reminded me that it’s because these two are the only kind and friendly people in the entire book.

more details about cressida and rory’s home WIP, darkling, can be found here! (short version: it’s a speculative fiction king lear; there’s magic but it’s weird about being magic; half the characters are gay trans and neurodivergent because i said so.) this takes place about a year before the story starts; the two of them have just turned sixteen and seventeen, respectively!

also, i wrote all of this while listening to “kentucky” by hippo campus on repeat. the lyrics aren’t quite as relevant as the vibe. if you catch me yearning on main mind your own business /j

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

Beside them, Cressida is soaked, long golden hair and long white dress dripping. Rory rocks up onto their toes and back down, anxiety worming along the back of their neck like an itchy coat. This was not the plan. The plan was not “get caught in the rain and run through a storm for two blocks.” The plan was for the two of them to go walk by the river and - who knows, talk about Joan of Arc or the Kennedy assassination or something. Swap special interests. Maybe swap spit. Probably not, though. It’s not a date. It’s not not a date - but, like, Rory still does work for Cressida’s dad, so who knows how awkward things could get. Plus Cressida’s hard to read. She doesn’t really make facial expressions, and that’s usually fine, because Rory can’t really read facial expressions so it’s about the same to them, but in this particular situation -

“I trust you,” Cressida says, squeezing their hand, “but where are we going?”

The rain’s left Rory’s glasses fogged up enough to render them effectively blind. They take their glasses off and squint at the elevator buttons. They are still effectively blind.

“Is that a five or a six?” they say, pointing.

Cressida peers over their shoulder. “Which one do you want?”

“Five.”

Cressida presses the five button with her free hand. The elevator, which is about the size of a broom closet, jerks into unsteady, fitful motion.

The thing is that the apartment building is kind of - well, not a dump. It’s not horrible. There aren’t cockroaches. But Cressida lives in a manor, literally. Stayer Manor. Capital S, capital M. And there was never any sort of plan for today, even in the wildest of circumstances, that involved Rory bringing the city’s golden girl to a building the size of a shoebox. But then it was raining, and Cressida kept saying she didn’t mind the rain despite clearly minding because if she ruins her dress her dad will go rabid-dog on her, and Rory’s cognitive wheels were spinning like they were powered by a well-greased hamster, and none of the restaurants close enough to duck into were appropriate places for them to safely freak out about the thunder, and their apartment was only two blocks away.

So.

Here they are.

“Sorry,” Cressida says. “Where are we going?”

Rory attempts to dry their glasses on their soaked-through sweater, to little avail. “We are going,” they announce, “to a world of pure imagination.”

Outside, thunder cracks the sky. They know Cressida sees them flinch, because she squeezes their hand again.

The apartment is 505. Cressida waits as Rory digs around in their jacket pocket, shuffling past loose coins and two pairs of headphones and four melted Starbursts and way too many scraps of paper until they finally unearth their key. Their lock sticks - their lock always sticks - so once they’ve turned it, they have to drop Cressida’s hand and plant one wet Doc Marten on the wall and yank. The door swings open.

“Voila,” Rory says, performing jazz hands. “Willy Wonka wants what I have.”

Their apartment is purple. Not startlingly purple. Gently purple. Purple like it creeps up on you. Purple like you don’t realize exactly how purple it is until you realize everything - walls, gauzy flower-patterned curtains, plushy armchair, compass-rose-shaped clock, old-fashioned record player on the table - is the same shade of soft lavender.

There is at least one nail sticking up out of the hard-wood floor. Rory snags a sock on it every time they dance around with their headphones in.

Two people have been inside since Rory started renting the place a year ago. And that’s them and the landlord. This is their place, their safe haven, their nook, and it’s the size of Cressida’s bathroom, and rich pretty Cressida Stayer is standing, dripping, in the threshold.

“Don’t touch anything,” Rory says. Cressida draws her hands in like the walls might electrocute her. “That was a joke. You can touch things.”

“This is your apartment,” Cressida says.

“Indeed.”

“You live here.”

“That succeeds the first!” They give her an encouraging smile. “Subsequent statements! How cogently lucid of you!”

Cressida looks down. The hem of her dress is dripping onto the floor. “I don’t suppose you have a vent I could sit on…?”

“In fact I do!” Rory directs her, aircraft-marshall-style, to the heating vent on the floor. They’re jittering. They’re using way too much arm movement. They can’t get their heart to stop skidding around, because normally! They do not! Let people in here!

They stand and drip. Cressida sits and drips. She gazes around, and Rory gazes with her, trying to see it through her eyes.

“Where’s your bed?” she says.

Rory skips over to the closet and pulls the door open, with the grand gestures of a magician presenting a trick. The inside of the tiny closet is lined with a thick downy comforter; there are sheets and pillows scattered around atop it, and there are glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up all over the walls and ceiling.

Cressida gazes at it. “On purpose, right? Not because -”

“On purpose. Yes. I could have bought a bed. I just think it’s cozy.” Oh, Rory is going to lose it right here. Their foot is tapping the floor at about a million miles an hour. Granted, being in their apartment helps the overstimulation a little - just being where it’s safe and everything’s always the same and they control their space. That always helps. But it’s not like they can just curl up in their closet with their headphones in and the door shut, because Cressida is here -

Cressida, for her part, looks a little impressed.

“It’s nice,” she says, wrapping her arms around her knees. “You just live here? By yourself?”

Rory shrugs. “I’m emancipated,” they say, which isn’t strictly true, but they work for the most powerful man in the city, who has their back if anyone actually looks into their files, so it’s as true as it really needs to be - and then thunder roars outside again and Rory skitters sideways and falls over their armchair.

“Oh! Oh my God -” Cressida jumps to her feet.

Rory scrambles up from where they’ve tumbled to the floor. “Sorry sorry sorry!” they say, except really they yell it because they have their shaking hands over their ears. “Sorrysorrysorry, I - I really don’t like loud - I d-don’t -”

“Can I -” All of a sudden Cressida’s in front of them. Rory doesn’t move away, just stands there, chest heaving, and Cressida slides her still-damp hands very gently up both of their arms, and she very gently pulls their hands off their ears.

The thunder, again. Like a cannon blast. This time Rory yelps a little. Cressida pulls them in close to her and sits both of them down on the vent, which, at the very least, is warm and also on the floor, so Rory can’t really trip over anything when they flinch.

“You don’t like loud,” Cressida repeats. She’s a good deal taller than they are - Rory’s exactly five-foot in their Docs - and so it makes logical sense for her to settle down with her chin on their head, probably.

“I don’t. I don’t. I really don’t.” They’ve started fluttering their hands a little; their voice is getting that shaky tilt it gets when they’re in sensory overload. “Fun story, back in high school we went on a field trip to this play where they used gunfire blanks for sound effects and I had a full-on crying-and-screaming public meltdown. I like to tell fun stories from high school like it wasn’t actual purgatory, because I cope through humor!”

“I know,” Cressida says simply, and she wraps her arms around them so they can lean back into her chest. The next thunder crash comes, and she tightens her grip. “Is this helping?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. A lot. Like a weighted blanket.” Rory tilts their head back to give her a shaky upside-down grin.

They don’t like making eye contact, so they don’t, but they are aware that Cressida’s gaze is resting pretty solidly on their face, which is - fine, and normal behavior for friends, and the fact that they’re cuddling on a vent and they can feel her heart beating against their spine is, like, normal also, probably -

“Rory,” Cressida says tentatively, “can I…”

Rory tilts their head. “Can you what?”

Cressida hesitates; then she leans in. It is a very very gentle kiss, almost hesitant; she pulls away after a second or so, to find Rory staring at her dumbfounded.

“Whoa,” they say, face assembling itself into what they’re fully aware is a stupid doofy grin. “Whoa. Hi. Hey. I - yeah! You can do that!”

They both cling to each other’s hands for a second; they both let out a breath that is, Rory thinks, equal parts relief and euphoria.

Then Rory leans in and kisses Cressida again, and this time neither of them pull away, and when the thunder crashes overhead Rory thinks they’ve never felt safer than they do right now.

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 14/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Martin tells Tim everything that’s happened to him and Jon, and about the fear entities that now inhabit this dimension.

Read above at AO3 or read here below!

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Damn.” Tim stood up and looked down at Jon lying on the bed, where he and Martin had just deposited him. “He is really out of it.”

“Yeah. That—that happens.” Martin decided it was a little cool in the bedroom, and pulled the blanket over Jon. When he looked up again, Tim was staring at him in a very specific way that he decided to ignore. “Thanks for helping me get him back here.”

“Well, you definitely weren’t getting any help from him. So… are we still doing this?”

“Yeah.” Martin took one last look at Jon; at least he still looked peaceful. “Let’s, um—let’s go to the sitting room. Can I get you some tea? Or—”

“No.” Tim shook his head as they made their way back out of the bedroom. “Can I ask—are we doing this now because Jon is knocked out?”

“No,” Martin said immediately, then thought a little more. “Well—mostly no.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means—” Martin tried to think of the best way to say it. “Look, he knows we have to tell you. I just don’t get the feeling he—I think it’s better if I do it.”

“Better for who?”

“I—” Martin sighed. “Look—we can wait until he wakes up, if you want.”

“Nope.” Tim sat on the couch and turned to Martin. “That’s all right.”

Martin grabbed the chair from Jon’s desk and brought it over to face Tim. As he did so, he realized he’d thought through how to tell certain parts of the story quite a lot, but others not nearly as much. One thing he hadn’t really thought about at all was how to start.

“Are you sure you don’t want tea?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Fine. Ok—ok. So.” He took a deep breath. “Five years ago—about—we all started working in the archives together. Sasha applied for the head archivist job and she got it; she asked you and Jon to take assistant positions, and I interviewed for the third one and—well, Sasha gave me a chance. Right?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Right…”

“And since then—I mean, we’ve done, like—pretty normal archive stuff. And sure, the Institute is a bit off, like—the stuff people want us to store for them and the research and all that, but it’s been fine, right?”

“Um…”

“I mean compared to what’s been happening since—since Jon and I disappeared.”

“Yeah, ok. I’ll give that to you.” Tim continued to look at him expectantly.

“Ok. Ok. Well—it happened a different way, too. Some—somewhere else.”

“Ok.” Tim sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“And look—no matter how I tell this—it’s not going to make sense until I really get it all out. So—”

“I’m listening.”

“Right. It’s just that it’s—”

“Martin.”

“Ok. So five years ago, in this—other place, we all started working in the archives. Only—only Sasha wasn’t the head archivist, Jon was.”

Tim shifted his weight on the couch, but didn’t uncross his arms. “You know he applied for the position? I’m not supposed to—no one knows I know that, actually. Not even Jon.”

“Huh.” Martin hadn’t been aware. “I mean—I didn’t know either, but that makes sense.”

“Does it? We all knew Sasha was applying, and she was way more qualified. Nothing against Jon, just—objectively, she was.”

“I mean that it makes sense given—well, ok, we’ll get to that. So you know the people here that started coming in to talk to us—the interviews and the—the statements, the written ones—the thing is, there, that was what we did. It was what we’d always done at the Magnus Institute, in the archives. The written statements, they went back years. Like, two hundred years and then some from before the Institute existed. And we researched them and filed them and we all just—it was normal.”

Tim was listening, which was all Martin could ask.

“So we—we didn’t necessarily believe all of them—though maybe we did more than we said—but then—Jane Prentiss happened.”

Martin told him everything he could remember about it, everything that he could organize into sentences, and Tim’s expression stayed almost the same the entire time. He realized Tim was still trying to decide what to make of it when he got to the part about Sasha being replaced, because even after hearing about what happened to him and Jon with the worms, that was really the first time Tim’s face changed.

“Wait.” Tim finally interrupted him. “This—this happened, or—”

“Yes,” Martin said, “and I know, it doesn’t make sense yet—”

“But—this happened to you? Us? Sasha?”

“Yes.”

“When, though? When you—disappeared, or—”

“No. That happened at the end. Just—”

“Ok. Ok—but Sasha, she—she changed? She became this—”

“No. She—she was replaced. Sasha—” He didn’t like thinking about it now any more than he ever had. “Sasha died. She was gone. And none of us knew.”

“But if none of us knew—”

“Well, that’s not entirely true, Melanie knew, sort of. And then later Jon figured it out, but—well, there’s more. Just—just listen.”

“Does this come back to—to now, though?”

“Yes. In the end, it—it will.”

Martin took another breath and continued; Tim seemed much more invested now than he had been initially, and that unfortunately made it a little harder to tell the story. He eventually got to the part about Tim and what happened to Danny.

“Wait.” As soon as Tim realized where it was going, he leaned forward, uncrossing his arms. “Start over again.”

So Martin started over again, and this time he got all the way through to the end before Tim interrupted him.

“Why Danny? Why would that happen to him?”

Martin shrugged, then regretted it as he realized what a casual gesture it was. “I don’t know. It’s not really clear why—why anyone.”

“But what did he do? Why?”

“Tim, he didn’t do anything. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Why didn’t I stop it, though? Did I say why I didn’t at least stop him from going back? I mean, he came to me.”

“Tim—” Martin stood up from his chair and sat next to Tim on the couch. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have.”

“But if this happened—this happened?”

“Yes. It happened.”

“I would have known something wasn’t right. He came to me. How hard would it have been to—to just stay up with him?”

“Tim, that’s not how they work.”

“They. The—the fears?”

“Yes. And the people and the—things—that serve them.” Martin ran a hand over his face before continuing. “They manipulate you. They—they trap you. Like they trapped all of us at the Institute.”

“So you said. So what—I just let it go? I went to work at the Institute but then just forgot about it?”

“No. Not at all. Actually, after that, you—well, ok.” He told Tim everything he’d learned about the Unknowing, everything that Basira and later Jon had told him about it.

“Good,” Tim said, after Martin told him how it had ended. “At least I knew how to go out, anyway.”

Martin cringed as the memory of cleaning out Tim’s desk after Peter Lukas took over the Institute hit him all over again. Tim might have seen it, or maybe he didn’t, but either way he sat back on the couch again and seemed to collect himself.

“Go on. I still don’t know where this is all going. And you still haven’t said anything about why Elias was doing all this. Why he was trapping everyone into working at the Institute for the—the Eye?”

“Yeah. Right. Well—he wasn’t. Not really.” Martin continued the story, explaining how he had done his best to try to protect everyone after Peter had taken over the Institute, but ultimately hadn’t done anything at all except fall into another trap. He explained how Jon had woken up and his abilities had been stronger, how Jon had done everything he could to keep everyone safe and to prevent any further rituals—but in the end, that too had all been a manipulation. He told Tim how he and Jon had learned that Jonah Magnus had been operating through the successive heads of the Magnus Institute.

“So—Elias, then—”

“We never met him. Not really.”

“Ok—go on. So Jon came after you, and then what?”

“We left. We went as far away as we could get quickly.”

“You and Jon—together?”

Martin had left out some of the more personal details of the story, but Tim had read between the lines. Martin nodded.

“Fair enough. Go on.”

“Well—it wasn’t far enough. Jonah knew where we were—”

“Well, yeah—”

Martin sighed. “—and he used Jon to trigger an apocalypse. It turned out that everything Jon had been doing—all the avatars he’d confronted, all the things he’d done to try to save us, the rituals he’d been trying to stop—they’d all marked him. He’d been marked by every single entity, and Jonah used that to start an apocalypse. He unleashed all the fears.”

“What?”

“Like—the world ended. It was just fear. Everywhere. People were trapped in these domains and they couldn’t leave them and they just lived their fear. And the Eye—watched it all. Through Jonah.”

“What? I’m sorry, I just—”

“Literally the end of the world. I can’t really say it any differently. Like there was one where everything was on fire, and another one that was just a giant carousel but—well, never mind that—and oh god, once we had to jump off the side of a cliff—”

“All right, I’ll just—accept that, I guess?—I did not think that was where this was going—but ok, how did you say Jon started this exactly?”

“He didn’t. Jonah did.”

“Ok but—he used Jon—how?”

“He sent a statement. And Jon read it. He still needed to do that. Obviously we didn’t know it was from him—we thought Basira sent it—”

“Fuck. Really?”

“Yeah, well.”

“And you didn’t stop him?”

“I wasn’t there. Just—for a moment. I told you, they always had this way of—”

“Never mind. But I still don’t get it. You said this all happened. So… why are we here?”

“It didn’t happen here. It happened—I’m getting there.”

He skipped most of the journey through the apocalypse; he picked up again when they got back to London and reunited with Melanie and Georgie. He explained how they had found Jonah, and how Jon had realized he had the option to take over the apocalypse in Jonah’s place.

“And—what?” Tim asked. “End it?”

“No.” Martin shook his head. “He couldn’t do that. We weren’t sure what he could do exactly, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He could maybe—shift things around. Maybe make it not so bad for—for some people. For a while.” He deliberately didn’t explain exactly what that meant, and very deliberately left out the other option Jon had eventually arrived at.

“So—did he?”

“Not—not then. We didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye on—that.”

Tim nodded.

Martin decided to skip some other details too. “Well—not long after, Annabelle Cane—”

“The—the spider person?”

“Yeah. She told us about another way. A way that we could end it. By—by letting the fears out.”

“Out? Out where?”

“There was a—a crack. A gap. Um—between dimensions. That place—where all this happened—it turns out it was just one of who knows how many realities.”

“Ok. Why would she tell you that, though? Didn’t they like it there?”

“She said—she said at the time that, eventually, that whole world was doomed. In the end, the—well, Death—the fear of Death—would kill everything, and the entities would remain alone with nothing left to—to feed them. And obviously she didn’t want that.”

“Oh.” Martin could see that the wheels in Tim’s head were starting to turn; he’d have to pick up the pace a little bit more if he wanted to tell it himself.

“So—we voted.”

“You voted.”

“Yeah. And we voted to let them out. To end it.”

“Right. Ok—makes sense, I guess, but—what did that mean? I guess you would get rid of them, but—then where would they go?”

Martin paused a moment. “We—we didn’t know. We talked about it a lot but in the end—we couldn’t know, and we knew the people in that place were suffering. And the other option was Jon taking over. Given that he couldn’t stop it, that didn’t seem like it should be a real option to—to most of us. Well, some of us.”

Tim glanced back in the direction of the bedroom. “I can see that. Ok—so you voted to let them out. Did you?”

Martin considered what he should say; he opted for the short version. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

“And what happened? Did the apocalypse end?”

“Jon says it did.”

“What—what does that mean?”

“Jon and I—we—we ended up here.”

“Here? What do you mean?” Tim narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Martin.

“Jon and I ended up here. On the—in front of the Institute. And you found us. Eventually. After a couple of months, I’m guessing.”

Tim didn’t move for about thirty seconds, then his eyes went wide and he jumped up from the couch.

“No. No no no no—”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to the Jon and Martin that were here, then? Where did they—”

“We’re them, too. It’s really hard to—”

“Wait. Did they—the—fears, the entities, whatever you call them—did they come here too?”

“Yes.” Martin looked down at his feet.

“And that’s why all this—no. No. Did you—did you know? Did you know they would end up here?”

“I told you we didn’t.”

“You didn’t know what would happen and you all just decided to send them on out? Like a big goddamn gift to—to—”

“We didn’t know. And—” Martin took a breath. “We didn’t all decide that. Jon—Jon didn’t want to.”

“But he let you. And anyway, it doesn’t count if he only didn’t want to because he got to be some kind of—what, apocalypse god?”

“It wasn’t like that that.”

“All right, what was it like then? Explain.”

“He didn’t really want to do it. It was—he would have—”

“I would have ended it.” Martin on the couch, and Tim in front of it, both turned their head toward the hallway where Jon was now standing.

Tim answered faster than Martin could. “Martin said you couldn’t end it.”

“I couldn’t make it go away. There were other ways to end it.”

“Jon—”

“Don’t protect me, Martin. Not—like that.”

Martin looked at Tim’s face again; he was deep in thought.

“It was your decision, then?” he finally asked Jon.

“Yes.”

“Why did you let them out?”

Martin interrupted. “I told you, we voted, and—”

“Martin,” Jon said gently, and Martin stopped.

Tim waited.

“I tried to keep them there, but I didn’t—I didn’t plan for everything. And in the end, there were—sacrifices I wasn’t willing to make. That I still wouldn’t make.” He met Martin’s eyes, and Tim also turned slowly back to Martin.

“Jesus Christ.”

Martin continued to hold Jon’s eyes, but he could see Tim furiously typing into his phone next to him. For the first time ever, he vaguely wished that he could know what Jon was thinking. It would have almost been worth it.

“Jon—”

“It’s all right.” He was still speaking in the same soft voice. “It really is. It was time. But I am—I am going to have a cigarette.” Jon walked out to the balcony, and a few moments later the faint smell of smoke wafted in through the door. Everything felt like it had slowed down for Martin; Tim seemed able to move at an impossibly fast pace as he answered his phone and started shouting into it.

“Just—just come over here,” he was saying, as Martin began to make sense of his words. “No, you need to hear this from them, there’s no way I can—well if they’re closing the place, it sounds like you have to leave. No, just come straight here. Sasha—no, believe me, none of it matters. None of it. Just leave.”

He hung up his phone and looked blankly at Martin for a moment; he started to say something, but then shook his head and held out a finger toward Martin.

“No. No, there are some things I need to hear from him.” He started out toward the balcony, and Martin stood up.

“Tim—leave him alone. He’s—”

“It’s fine,” Jon called into the flat. “I’ll—I’ll talk to him. It’s ok.”

“Damn right, you’ll talk to me. I need to—” One of them closed the door to the balcony and Martin could only hear Tim’s general intonations; he could barely hear Jon at all. In a moment he gave up trying to listen, and sat down on the couch. He leaned back and closed his eyes, and tried not to have too many thoughts for the moment; he didn’t open them again until he heard an anxious knocking at the front door.

“Come in,” he shouted, and Sasha opened the door just wide enough to poke her head in; once she saw Martin, she walked in and closed it behind her.

“Tim said I should—” She stopped as she focused on Martin’s face over the back of the couch. “Martin, are you all right?”

“No,” he answered.

“Look, I’ve—” she came around to the other side of the couch and set her bag on the coffee table as she sat down. “They’ve closed the entire Institute while they’re investigating the—I just have no idea what to do right now. Tim called, and he’s been sending messages since then, but to be honest I don’t understand any of them. I’m lost.”

“Yeah.” Martin nodded, then dropped his forehead into his hand. “I just told Tim about—everything.”

“I gathered that,” Sasha said. “He seems—upset.”

“Yeah, well, he should be.”

“That’s him outside with Jon?”

“Yeah.”

“Hang on.” Sasha walked to the back door that led to the balcony and opened it. “Tim, I’m—”

“Oh god. Sasha. Oh shit.” Clearly whatever they had been discussing had not calmed Tim down at all. “We are so fucked.”

“Tim, I can see you are upset, but—”

“No. Upset does not even begin to describe what I am right now. I am—I am leaving. I need to leave.” He walked toward the front door.

Sasha started to follow him. “Tim—”

“Let him go,” Jon said.

“Fuck off,” Tim said, then turned to Martin. “You too. Screw both of you. Sasha, just—call. Call later.”

He left, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Sasha said, sighing. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but—”

“No,” Jon said, “he’s right to be angry.”

“Do you—think you can tell me whatever you told him?” Sasha asked.

“I can tell you,” Jon said, and then looked to Martin. “Are you all right?”

“No,” he said again. “How are you feeling? You were pretty out of it.”

“I’m—I’m all right, actually.” Jon took a seat next to Martin on the couch, and picked up his hand. “You don’t have to stay here for this. If you—”

“Yes, I do.”

Jon nodded. Sasha went to sit on the chair Martin had brought over earlier, and Martin protested. “No, Sasha—I can sit there—you can—”

“No, stay there.” Sasha smiled weakly. “I’ll be fine here.”

It wasn’t quite like listening to a statement—Martin could have interrupted if he’d wanted to—but Jon’s voice held that same contradictory combination of emotion and detachment it always had when he’d been reading a statement. The end result was that he seemed to explain everything twice as well in half the time that Martin had, and Sasha had remained drawn in and silent until the end.

“Tim should have heard it from you,” Martin mumbled, while Sasha took a moment.

“No,” Jon said. “I think—I think Tim needed to hear it from you, actually.”

Martin started to ask him what he meant, but Sasha broke her silence.

“So—now what?”

“Wait,” Martin said. “Aren’t you mad?”

“I’m—” Sasha considered. She looked tired, maybe in shock, but not angry. “I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, this—sucks—but… I don’t know. What would I have done? I mean—” She laughed awkwardly. “I guess I would have died—”

Martin flinched.

“No—no, I’m sorry. I just meant—I really don’t know how to deal with this—there weren’t any right answers, were there?”

“If there were, I never chose them.” Jon absentmindedly reached for Martin’s hand again, and looked at him briefly when Martin held on to it harder than expected.

“I mean, I know why Tim’s angry,” Sasha continued. “But in the end, you—you really did save all those people.”

“I’m not sure I’d say—”

“But you did,” Sasha said. “Yes, they went through something awful, and I’m sure they were worse for it, but—their lives still had value. They still wanted to live, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Martin said.

“And here—I know it’s already cost a lot—but we still have a chance. Don’t we?”

Neither of them answered her.

“Fine, but—I have to believe we do,” Sasha said. “I mean, Jon—even the—the Eye—it can’t see into other dimensions, right? And the Web probably—probably didn’t really anticipate all of this, right?”

“No,” Jon said. “It doesn’t work like that. At least not for the Eye.”

“So maybe—just maybe—things are different enough here that—I need to think.” Sasha pressed her knuckles to her mouth for a moment. “Jon, I imagine you still have some—influence over this situation?”

Martin looked at him, and Jon nodded. “Some. Yes.”

“How exactly do you plan on using it?”

“I don’t know,” Jon replied. “One way or another, I don’t—I need to make sure they don’t get out again.”

“Understood.” Sasha continued to press her hand to her mouth. “But we have time, right? Some, at least?”

Jon nodded again. “Yes. Of—of course.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand again.

“All right. Give me—give me a day or so just to—to really absorb all this. Then we’ll talk it out. Tim—oh, hang on.” She checked her phone, and scrolled down through a few messages that had gone unchecked while she’d been listening to Jon. “He says he’s going to visit Danny.”

“Good,” Jon said.

“Anyway, he’ll come around.” She thought a little bit more. “And I guess we should tell Melanie, and—and Elias.”

Jon stiffened. “Do you really think he—”

“After what he went through today, he—he deserves to know.”

Jon didn’t exactly relax. “Yes, fine. All right.”

“Will you two be all right if I go? Just—like I said, to gather my thoughts?”

For some reason they were both looking at Martin.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll be all right.”

“I’m glad you told us,” Sasha said, standing to grab her bag from the table. “I know that took a lot. And Tim—he really will come around.”

Jon walked with her over to the door and she said something quietly that Martin couldn't hear; then she left, and Martin crumbled into the couch.

***

“Come to bed.”

Martin, who had been doing his best to bury himself between the cushions and the back of the couch ever since Sasha left, turned over to face Jon. “I can sleep out here tonight, if you want.”

Jon knelt to be at eye level with him. “Why would I want that?”

“I don’t know.”

Jon sighed and crossed his legs to sit on the floor. “Martin—what did you think would happen when we told them?”

“I don’t—I mean, of course Tim is mad, but—Ok, I guess I really wasn’t actually thinking about how they would react at all. I just thought it would be better to have it out. That it would feel better.”

“Does it?”

“Obviously not.”

Jon nodded, and reached out to touch Martin’s face. His touch was comforting, which Martin had somehow not been expecting.

“I mean, Tim was bad—but at least it felt—”

“It felt right. That he was angry.”

“Maybe. It’s just that when I was telling it to him, and I was hearing myself say it—I’d really forgotten how bad it was. I mean, I hadn’t forgotten, but—I guess I’m not living it anymore. And that’s not fair. It’s not fair to the other Sasha and the other Tim and everyone else we left behind. I just guess I feel—”

“Guilty.”

“Hm.” Martin closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Jon’s hand. “And then Sasha—it’s like she just didn’t get it. I mean, no—I think she got it. She heard all of it and I think she believed it, but she should have been angry? At least—a little.”

“She still might be. They both have a lot to process.”

“Sure, but—she was so optimistic. She just doesn’t know. She never felt—”

“She just said what you’ve said.”

“I know. And when I heard her say it—it made me wonder if that’s how you think about me when I… I mean—we were both there, but you went through so much more than I did. I felt—I felt sorry for her.”

“Martin,” Jon said, “I have never once felt sorry for you. Worried, or—or sad, or—but no, never pity.”

Martin opened his eyes to look at Jon again.

“Are you mad that I told them?”

“No. I told you I understood. It was time.”

Martin sat up, and Jon moved to sit next to him.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

“Go to bed,” Jon answered.

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Jon touched his leg. “We let Sasha think. She tells Melanie and Georgie and—Elias, and Tim makes up his mind about what he wants to do.”

“And then what?”

“We talk.”

“Jon—” Martin sighed. “I don’t want to push, but—how does this all end up different from before?”

Jon pulled his hand back. “I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t.”

They sat a little while longer, until Jon stood up and held a hand out for Martin. “Let’s go to bed.”

“All right.”

“Wait,” Jon said, after Martin got up. “Would you—would you eat something first? I didn’t want to interrupt you earlier. I thought you could use a moment.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You know, Martin—you are a bit of a hypocrite.”

“Yeah, I know.” He put his arm around Jon’s shoulders and kissed his head, and was briefly pulled back in his memories to the day he’d cut his hair for him. That was all he wanted; just that—or, well, a future where some days got to be like that one.

Why was that so much to ask for?

“But I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jon answered.

[renaxwrites]

Eleven

.07 - Night Changes 

synopsis: the number Eleven had always appeared in milestones of your life. it was a constant, and you didn’t know why. but you would soon find out when you study abroad in japan and meet Him.

pairing: tsukishima x fem!reader

warnings: none!

masterlist: here :)

a/n: hello again! it’s been a minute, and I haven’t been posting as much due to spending most of my spare time keeping informed on everything going onion world. it really has been stressful and overwhelming at times, I’ll be honest. however, if ANY of you need anyone to talk to or rant, don’t hesitate to message me! the best thing we can do is support one another as human beings. sorry if this chapter is long btw, lol. hope you enjoy <3 (English will be in bold) (here’s a link to the song in this chapter)

previous || next

Moon is lighting up her skin. She's falling, doesn't even know it yet. 

Tsukishima was the most difficult person you’ve ever tried to read. Silent but deadly. It was the things he wouldn’t say that would leave you both curious and afraid all at once. 

Yet you were falling deeper into his schemes. 

You weren’t sure what to make of your short, yet intimate, moment with the boy. And it wasn’t helping that the number Eleven kept conveniently popping up more often, as if trying to send you signs about the situation. Tsukishima, being the wild card that he is, wasn't helping either. However, as time went on, you began to learn to read between the lines of his behavior. 

At home, there would be light brushing on shoulders. Stray hairs being tucked into the back of your ear. The way he can’t seem to look you in the eye when he acknowledges the quality of your photos every so often.

At school, it was just like nothing happened between you two. However, even though he kept up his salty demeanor, the others could tell there was a smidge of a soft spot reserved for you. 

As the trip to Tokyo was getting closer, the team started to kick their practices into high gear. You had decided change your photography time of the boys a bit shorter than normal from then on, so you can help out Yachi and Kiyoko. 

The boys were on their break, and many of them went outside to indulge in some energy drinks being passed out. You sit on the sideline and begin to zone out, not noticing Suga saunter over and plop down next to you. 

“Sounds like something’s troubling you. You alright?”

You turn to see a him offering a curious smile, with a light touch of concern. 

“Sound? Did I say something out loud? Aw man, that’s great,” you sigh, suddenly embarrassed.

Suga shook his head. “No, you didn’t. Thinking can just appear very loud at times. Wanna talk about it?”

You ponder for a quick moment, deciding it was safe to confide in the vice-captain. “Just...boy trouble. Basically the summary.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I can relate to you there,” he tips his head back and sighs. 

You flinch in disbelief. “What? You’re joking, right? And why would you be having trouble? I can’t believe it.”

He laughs. “Me either, sometimes. But yeah...”

There’s a beat of silence before he suggests, “I’ll share if you do. That is, if you’re comfortable. If not, totally understandable.”

“Actually, it would be nice to confide in someone with a different perspective. I mean, I love Yachi, but I don’t want to keep bombarding her with my guy troubles. So, sure,” you admit. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while for me too. So, go ahead.”

You explain the whole spiel with the number Eleven. You were careful when mentioning your family’s background. Although the conversation was light-hearted, you trusted Suga with your past, and were rewarded with comfort as he held your hand in support. He didn’t give you the familiar pity you usually got. Instead, he intently hung onto your every word. From the very beginning with your parents, to the linked pinkies with Tsukishima, Suga nodded along, waiting until you finished to offer his insight. 

Once you were done, you heave a big sigh. “Whew, that was a lot. Sorry for just dumping the whole shebang on you.”

“No need to be sorry, y/n-chan. I’m glad you trusted me. Now, regarding Tsukishima, I definitely can see something’s happening. Not just me, either, the whole team kinda figures he is feeling something about you that he doesn’t with others. But, now that you explained it, it makes perfect sense.” 

He places his hand on his chin in contemplation. “I totally feel how you do with not being able to ‘figure him out’. There are signs that I feel are really special with this guy, but then I overthink it, which then leads me to wonder if it’s simply signs of being nothing more than a friend, ya know?” 

You nod, “Exactly. Do you mind if I ask who it may be that’s leading you in circles?”

He chuckles. “Want to take a guess?”

You tap your lips, trying to recall any details he might have given. “Well, the only people I see you consistently hang out with outside of the club is the other thirds years. Definitely not Asahi. And you’re not pining for Kiyoko-chan like Nishinoya and Tanaka, so I’m assuming it have to be...Daichi?”

Suga playfully shoves his shoves his shoulder against yours. “Well look at you, big ol’ detective, you. Your first try. And yeah, it is.” He sighs. “At least that explains a lot that I’ve mentioned, huh?”

“Yeah. Seems like we’re both in a rut.”

You both laugh, then sit in a comfortable silence for a moment. 

He lights up. “What if...there was a way...to tell them how we felt...but without actually telling them?”

Confused, you look at him with furrowed brows and curious eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, next week the whole team and a few players from other schools are all going to get together at this little place downtown, just to have a ‘last hurrah’ before the tournament. Arcade games, karaoke, food bar, all kinds of fun stuff!” he starts to ramble about the place.

Gently cutting him off, you question, “But what exactly does this have to do with ‘confessing our feelings without actually confessing?’” You gesture little air quotes.

He goops your nose. “Did I not mention there was karaoke? Every year there’s a little tradition between everyone of having a karaoke session. Everyone has to sing at least once. Managers don’t have to, but there’s always exceptions!”

“So? Oh wait, don’t tell me...Suga noooo...”

“Suga yes.” he counters, knowing that you both know where this was going. “You and I will be up there together! Confessing without confessing! Is that a great plan or what?”

“Sure, Suga, but I don’t sing,” you try to worm your way out of his plan.

“Oh hush! Not everyone knows how to sing, but everyone knows how to karaoke. And besides, I’ve heard you sing before. You’re awesome! Those vocal chords could give an angel a run for their money.” he gives his blinding smile. 

You flush a deep red. “You’ve...heard me sing before? Where?! When?! HOW?”

He puts his hand up in defense. “It was outside the gym. A few days ago. You and Yachi were singing your favorite Ariana Grande song because you were both loudly trying to decide which album was better.”

You hide your head in your hands. “Oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing. Let me just launch myself into the face of the earth real quick.”

“Y/n-chan, you sing beautifully, there’s no need to be embarrassed. Suga takes your hands and makes you look up. “How about this. Today we were going to Ukai’s store to get some meat buns anyway. Let me walk with you and I’ll sing for you. I heard you sing, so you can hear me. We’ll be even that way. Okay?”

You consider it before agreeing. Once you said yes, Suga engulfs you in a hug, which you wholeheartedly reciprocate. 

“Alright, seems like the break is over. See you in a bit, y/n-chan!”

You break the hug just as the team walked back in the gym. A few people saw, but didn’t think much of it. 

The ones who did think of it were the two boys you and Suga just talked about. 

           ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The whole team was in spirits for the most part. Who wouldn’t be when Coach Ukai was treating them all to meat buns?

Most of the boys were following close to the coach, eager for their treat. Especially the freak-quick duo, who obviously felt like they needed to have a race to the store.

Most players were walking in their respective groups and pairs, but the you and Suga managed to fade to the back of the pack, almost unnoticed. You both decided to slow your pace, to widen the gap a little between you and the others.

“Well, I promised you a song. Which one should I do?” Suga asked. You remember that he heard you sing but don’t remember what song it was that day.

“Sing the one I did when you heard me that day?” you suggest.

He laughs and puts a hand on the back of his neck. “You were singing it in English, so I only understood a couple words...would you translate maybe?”

Suddenly you remember. “Oh! It was ‘Moonlight’ by Ariana. Some of it I could only do in English for some reason.”

Suga let’s out a noise of realization, forming a small ‘o’ with his lips. “I know that one! My classmate showed me that song, it’s really good! But I don’t remember much to be honest.”

Feeling a tad bit braver, you suggest you sing it together, you with what you know in English and him Japanese.

“Good idea! Then we can kinda see what we sound like together. Okay let me hey look up the song on my phone...”

By this point, the team was way ahead, so it was assumed they wouldn’t hear you two. You both designate your respected parts to be organized in the vocals. Once you thought it was safe, the audio starts.

Suga begins the first verse.

“The sun is setting, and your right here by my side...And the movie is playing, but we won’t be watching tonight...”

To say he sang beautifully was an understatement. His voice was velvet, light feather tips tickling your eardrums. The soothing tones of his voice washed all your fear away, giving you the courage to continue with your verse.

“Every look, every touch, make me want to give you my heart. I be crushin’ on you baby, stay right where you are...”

Once you started, he eyes sparkled with wonder. Seeing his reaction be full of awe encouraged you to keep going.

“Cause I never knew, I never knew... You could hold moonlight on your hands, till the night I held you...”

Suga joins in to harmonize as you hold out: “You are my moonlight...Moonlight...”

The song eventually ends. Just in time for you two to arrive at Ukai’s store, where the rest of the team was already chowin down on there snacks.

You and Suga flatter each other with praise, with you even throwing in a pun of how his voice was like ‘suga’.

Your loud compliment-competition caught the eyes of the teammates.

“Well, that’s new,” Daichi states before biting into his meatbun.

The second-years, first-years, and Asahi glance over to the two of you intensely conversate.

“Do you think something’s up?” Asahi suggests.

“I’m not sure. It’s not bad, I’ve just never seen them talk one-on-one, so it’s surprising to see them together like that, that’s all.”

“You don’t think y/n-chan and Suga-senpai...like...like each other. Do you?” innocent and naive Hinata says.

Nishinoya and Tanaka immediately go on defense mode. “Not our precious manager!! She must not be tainted with the sins of men!! We must protect her at all costs!!”

A big sigh is heard, and the boys turn to the culprit, only to find Kiyoko and Yachi look exasperated.

“They’re not into each other. Just because they’re having a conversation about something they’re both passionate about doesn’t immediately assume that they’re into each other,” Kitoko shakes her head, causing them to second-guess their assumptions.

Yachi also shares her piece. “Boys. So gullible.”

“Agreed.”

The two girls turn and head home, leaving the boys to reconsider their assumptions.

“Probably not that big of a deal.” “Yeah she’s right, what’s the harm.” “Eh.”

Tsukishima, although he didn’t offer any comments, only showed his thoughts when you two walked home. Short answers. Slightly colder silence than usual. Bidding you a short “‘Night” before going to bed, instead of his usual “Goodnight y/n”.

You were unsure at his sudden change in behavior, but once you tucked yourself in, you see that Suga sent you a text: “So, are you in on the plan?”

The time on your phone changed to Eleven o’clock.

“Let’s do it.”

Does it ever drive you crazy...Just how fast the night changes?

taglist: @jiminslonglostjams @fantasymirror @shewastheriot @lukes-princess @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @its-bnha-babe @desi-studys @shootooooo @noya-senpai-imagines @animefan7420 @anpancari @tsukkx @cadabby @thoebe-fly @it-was-just-a-ship @imconfusedanditsok @alexa360b34st @delicious-peaches-blog @shinguchi @creammy0 @fandoms-on-main @smellybananaz @keikink @tsukiak4ri @skyguy-peach

[paradiselostbythedashboardlight]

Quarantine, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Wrote 430,943 Words of Prose in a Year

As we are coming up terrifyingly fast on a full year of quarantine with no end to the pandemic yet in sight for most people, I’ve been taking some time to reflect on the last year of my existence in a state that most people now refer to as quarantine. Since March of 2020, I, like most other sane people in my country, have stopped traveling, going to stores, seeing all but a limited group of other humans, and begun having recurring nightmares about being in crowds without a piece of cloth over my nose and mouth.

Suffice to say, it has been a bit stressful.

The other thing that I have done since COVID-19 began rapidly spreading across the globe last year is write over 430,943 words of fiction. 

The number seems insane to me still. That is (approximately) one Gone With The Wind, one entire Lord of the Rings series, or the first four Harry Potter books. That is still sadly not yet War and Peace (but who knows… the pandemic isn’t over yet).

So now that I am looking back, I find myself with one question: how did this happen? Why did I do this? What does this mean about my life this year?

Since apparently I answer best by writing a lot, let’s begin at the beginning. Let me tell you a story. I’ll keep it short, I swear.

Part 1: Blast From the Past

In March of 2020, I was still in the midst of an academic semester. There was a long academic document to write and a class to teach. However, as quarantine abruptly robbed me of most of my usual commitments, I was suddenly thrust into the position of having more time on my hands than I knew what to do with. Consequently, I decided to break out the Nintendo Switch I’d gotten for Christmas and revive a childhood interest in video games.

And boy did I. I played the games I owned for all they were worth. I played them during the evenings when I had no social engagements to attend. I played them during the Zoom meetings I was already struggling to pay attention to. By the end of March, I had finished one game, and it had set the wheels turning in my brain.

Here’s a fact about me: I don’t usually tend to write or read a lot of fanfiction about things that I consider really really good. Basically, fanfiction for me has always been an impulse born from incompletion or imperfection. I see no need to add to a perfect story (although I happily consume and create fanart). But for something enjoyable and yet slightly unsatisfying? That’s fanfic territory, bud.

So by April, I had developed a sort of epic fanfiction for this video game I was playing. It was one of those magnum opus kind of ideas, a grand retelling of the story with a huge sprawling plot and Themes (™). 

At first, it was merely a thought experiment that lived only in my head, a sort of entertainment to ponder in the hours before falling asleep. What changed? Well, a friend of mine decided to also write a fanfiction on the same video game and she kindly consented to let me read it.

Suddenly, I was ravenously hungry to read and to write and to share and to consume. I wrote a hundred thousand words of this fanfic in April and into early May, sending each chapter to my friend and being spurred onward by her kind comments. 

The fic became a gargantuan endeavor full of strange little challenges I set for myself. It was a canon-divergence, requiring plotting, worldbuilding, a darker and grimer tone. For some reason, I decided to write each chapter from a different character’s perspective, making the final product into a series of essentially short story character studies which together formed a plot.

By the end of May, the story was published for the world to see. It was well-received, although not particularly popular by fandom standards. And that was the end. I had gotten out my pandemic crazies, the semester was over and now I could move on. I had made my peace with the source material, plumbing all of the little details that I wanted to examine and creating a narrative that I found satisfying.

It was over.

Part 2: Summer Lovin?

Except that it wasn’t.

Confession: as I had been posting my giant fanfiction, I had also begun to explore the fan community itself, mostly curious to see some nice art and gather a bit of demographic info about what was popular within the community. As a result, I found a fanfic recommendations page. Among the recommendations was one author who kept popping up and i finally decided to give the fic a read.

Woah. It was good. Like, really good. Like, professional quality writing and themes that seemed designed to appeal to me. I devoured everything that the creator had posted in a week and then subscribed to eagerly wait for more.

As June rolled around, I realized that I had a problem on my hands. My great big gen masterpiece was finished, but this author had gotten me hooked on something else, something with a nefarious reputation online: shipping.

The term du jour for this seems to be “brain worms” so let’s just say that reading other fanworks had given me some brain worms. Inspired this time not just by the source material of the game, but now the fan community itself, my mind began to develop another idea.

I wrote the fic, about 11k, in a single afternoon of frantic writing. When I finished it, I knew it was one of my strongest pieces. It had just come together, a combination of all the thought that I’d been brewing up and a stylistic execution that just worked with the story I wanted to tell.

I posted it on a new account. Shipping seemed vaguely shameful to me still and my mom reads the other account.

To my surprise, the fic blew up. It got so much more attention than my long fic ever had. Even more significantly, a fan artist actually drew a gorgeous comic of the pivotal scene, completely out of the blue! I was essentially thunderstruck. Honestly, it was probably the first time in my life that I’d ever received so much positive reinforcement from a piece of writing.

While I’d written short stories for undergrad workshops, they’d never been particularly good and I’d never gotten particularly great feedback on them. I’d applied and been rejected by more MFAs and literary magazines than I could count. I’d pretty much resigned myself to writing for an audience of me and me alone (which I don’t mean to sound tragic about, writing for you is great and fun!)

But receiving so much support and praise and feeling like I’d made other people happy or sad or moved? There’s nothing better.

This makes my decision to write another fic for the ship sound vaguely cynical, the action of a person driven by an addiction to praise. I mean, no lie, aren’t we all a little addicted to approval?

But my next fic was another long one, an 80k passion project modern AU that I dreamed up while spending a slow summer alone with my books and only able to leave the house for long rambling walks in the woods. The premise was essentially about characters attending a five year college reunion, something that I myself had missed due to COVID in May of the same year. The fic quickly became a way for me to process thoughts on a lot of topics in my life ranging from relationships to politics to mental health to classical literature.

This fic was also received with far more attention than I was used to and, as a result, I finally joined the notorious Twitter dot com where I found people talking about my fic unprompted, eager to follow me and like my every random thought.

I can’t say that this process was not without its ups and downs. Fandom has changed, in many ways for the better, since my last engagement with it during the 2013 Supernatural days on Tumblr. While fan friendships are often idealized or demonized, they are pretty much like any other human friendship (okay, maybe a little bit more horny on main). There is potential for amazing connection as well as pettiness. But in a year where many people suddenly had no social spaces that were safe anymore, I’m glad that I found a new line of communication with the world.  

So I kept writing fics for the ship, producing a lot of work that I am genuinely proud of and making connections with other people who enjoyed it enough to leave a comment.

To conclude this section, I was in fandom again. While I had not seriously engaged with a fan community since around 2014, I was back with a vengeance. And I had discovered an important truth about what unlocked my ability to write more than I ever had before: community support.

Not simply the kudos and the views. It was the comments. The discourse. The discussion. To add and contribute my thoughts and ideas to a greater network of thoughts and ideas that fed off of one another.

Often I had seen people complain about there not being enough fanworks for particular media or characters. Now I knew the secret. The comments and the community created the works. If I commented on other people’s fics, the more likely they were to write more. I made a resolution I have tried to keep, to comment on any story that I legitimately enjoyed reading, even if I had no particularly intelligent thing to say about it.

Part 3: A Novel Idea

By late October, I had produced a considering oeuvre for my ship of choice and was enjoying slowing my pace as I planned a few future projects.

Remember, though, how I mentioned not having engaged with fandom for the past 5 years? Well, that didn’t mean I hadn’t been writing.

For the past 4 years, I have won NaNoWriMo and completed 4 novels of over 100k each in length. These projects have been massively fun and improved my confidence with executing stories at the scope that I desire.

And so in November 2020, I settled down to write another novel. November is always a sort of terrible time write a novel if you work in academia, but this year, I had more time than usual. I set out to write a comedy fantasy novel, something mostly lighthearted and full of hijinks in order to pretend away some of the quarantine blues (which by this point were well established in my psyche).

This year in particular, I was reminded that writing a novel is… harder than fanfic. That seems like a very obvious point, but I’d written novels before. Suddenly, though, I was realizing how much a novel requires you to set up the world and the characters, while fanfic can be pretty much all payoff all the time.

While the fanfic flowed in wild creative bursts of energy, the novel required diligence of another sort. I wrote 2,000 words every day for two months. It was a grind. Sometimes, it was a slog. 

And sometimes it just wasn't good. The thing about writing your own novels is that the first draft is way more likely to be not good. You’re balancing a lot and it’s easy to let a few balls that you have in the air drop for a chapter or two, with no recourse but to go back and edit later.

I finished the novel by writing a final speedrun of 6k on new years eve, ending my 2020 with another project under my belt. No one has read it. Not even I have reread it.

I’m still glad that I wrote it. I’ll write another one next year. No one will read that one either.

Sometimes, we write for ourselves and no external validation is necessary.

Part 4: Where are they now?

January of 2021 is somehow now behind me, which is terrifying. I’m still writing. Mostly fanfic, although occasionally I go doodle around with some original ideas that are more conceptual sketches for the next novel.

As for the fanfic, I think I still have a few more good ideas left in me, but  I will probably leave it behind before the year is out. That feels a little bittersweet, a sort of temporary burst of fun and friendship that I wonder if I’ll ever experience again.

Coming to the end of this reflection, I suppose I should make a summative statement about what it all means.

In the end, it might not mean a lot. There are some small takeaways. 

It turns out that encouragement makes you write more! Who knew? Also, more free time makes you write more! Wow!!!!

The point that I think this reflection exercise has shown me, the point that I think matters more than any other, is that writing is a way to process my thoughts. Even if it is through the lens of ridiculous video game fanfic or novels about sad wizards, my writing is my way to make sense of my own mind. 

And sharing that is special. If you share it with online strangers, with your family on Christmas Eve, with your close friend who has become even closer and dearer to you since she let you read her work, or just with your mom (the one personal legally required to read your damn novel if you want to share it). To share writing is to give someone a little peek at your beliefs about the world.

And right now? When we’re still isolated and bored and scared and in desperate need of distraction? Binge some TV, play Nintendo, read a book. Take in other people’s thoughts.

But put down your own somewhere as well. It’s a conversation.

And for once, it’s a conversation that doesn’t have to take place on fucking Zoom.

[the-l-spacer]

Promise all you say is true - Chapter 2

(Ch 1) (ao3)

Summary: Lloyd wakes up one morning to discover that, on a whim, the Metaverse had decided to release him and Raven from the Lovers archetype they had been locked in for as long as either could remember.

In the process, however, reality became… just a little screwed up.

Now, Raven is gone, and in his place is David Adams. David Adams, who had never left Ashland, working middle-management at Justacorp. David Adams, who had never heard the anvils, never jumped off Warner's Peak.

But Lloyd remembers everything, and he makes it his personal quest to win back the love of his life.

...No matter how many 'strictly professional' coffee dates it took.

Chapter summary: Over carrot cake, the two hash some things out

Y’all… I seriously didn’t expect this scene to happen or get as long as it did but. Here we are. With this chapter, the setup for the fic is officially DONE and we can get into the stuff y’all came here for (aka Lloydven angst). In the meantime, enjoy Lloyd and Han getting in some awkward bonding time!

- 

“Feeling better?”

The man sat opposite her simply sighs. “Yes. Thank you, Han.”

Over a tray of tea, cakes and sweets (for Lloyd, his first meal of the day), the two go over, in painstaking detail, every narrative visited, every jaunt taken through the CU, every significant location in Raven’s life. As minutes, and then an hour ticks by, marked by the comings and goings of those around them (and the increasingly resigned expressions of the waitstaff as they drag out their meal as long as possible), they scrawl out possible places the missing Postie could be on a steadily depleting supply of napkins, provided generously by the small bakery in New Camden, a joint quickly becoming synonymous with Serious Talk Time.

When it comes to names and places, Han can’t be of much help, but that is to be expected, her having only known the man a scant year. Instead, she simply offers the obvious, locations Raven and Lloyd had spoken of the most around her; the first and second Playhouse, New Albion, even entertaining the idea that he was here, in this narrative.

“Impossible,” Lloyd insists for the second time, though Han notes that he’s sounding significantly less certain than before.

“How are you so sure?” Before Lloyd can respond, she quickly adds, “Waitwaitwait don’t tell me. The both of you have… a psychic link. From your weird wizard powers. Or something.”

“I remind you that you too have, as you so eloquently put it, weird wizard powers.” He replies, one hand spearing a forkful of carrot cake, the other forming air quotes. “But that aside, you’re not completely wrong.”

Han raises an eyebrow. “Huh. I was going out on a limb there. You two are seriously linked together?”

“That’s actually the other thing I have to talk through,” he says. “Have Ravey and I told you about the Lovers archetype yet?”

“Give me a second.” Han takes a long sip from her cup of Earl Grey, mentally sorting through everything her mentors-slash-great-grandparents had taught her about Posthumans and the Metaverse. “It’s… the thing where you and him are basically bound together, right? I thought that was metaphorical.”

Shaking his head, Lloyd says, “It’s very much not. After spending enough time in each others’ company -and back then, we had nothing but time to spare- we began embodying the Lovers archetype.

I shan’t bore you with the details, but you have the broad strokes of it. Essentially, we became irreversibly bound. As trite as it sounds, we had a sixth sense, of sorts, around the other. When we were apart, I would feel his absence like… a missing limb, so we always knew when the other was close by.”

Only half-listening to his explanation, Han lets Lloyd ramble. God knows he needed it. He was one of those people who absolutely had to talk through their problems, a tendency that annoyed her on any given day, except this one. Extenuating circumstances and all.

Huh. Deja vu.

Her mind wanders to the first time she had been here, it was just her and Raven back then, him having invited her out after the Singularity left New Albion. It really was a memory, a story for another time, but it had been surprisingly nice, even if her eyes were still red and puffy in a way that makeup just couldn’t conceal.

They had shared a slice of (what else) carrot cake, speaking of narratives and what she had learned of the art of finesse, and then, as they talked more, coping mechanisms, sacrifice, loss, and a rambling (but utterly sincere) apology from Raven.

It had ended with a hug, and granted, it was kind of awkward, Raven having to get up from the corner chair he was squeezed in to give her a half-embrace, as close as he could get to her side of the table (the bakery was as renowned for its carrot cake as it was infamous for its tight quarters). But Han still remembers the feeling of his arms around her shoulders, warm and almost reassuring.

And now he’s gone. Gone along with the rapport they were just starting to build after their disastrous first encounter. Just when she was finally beginning to see him as family.

The only questions on her mind are how and why.

She tunes back in as Lloyd finishes his explanation. “So you’re saying that because you’re locked into this archetype, if he was here, you’d know.”

What? She could multi-task just as good as anyone else!

Lloyd sighs tiredly. “Yes, but there’s the rub. I don’t think that him and I form the archetype any more.”

Well this raises more questions than answers. Still, Han pats his arm. “Drink your tea. You’ve been talking for way too long as is.”

She waves off Lloyd’s apologies over his loquaciousness, sweeping a hand as if swatting an imaginary fly, then realising this was a gesture she had ended up incorporating into her movements after seeing it time and time again from Raven.

Dammit. Even when absent he finds a way to worm into her head. The guy was just infectious like that. Is. Is infectious. She refuses to believe that he’s truly gone. Speaking of…

“If what you’re saying is true, I guess that answers the ‘why’ aspect of things, He’s gone because the Metaverse decided to release you from your archetype.”

Over the rim of his teacup, Lloyd’s mouth quirks into a half-smile, the first Han had seen from him all day. “You always find a way to make things sound so simple.”

“It’s why you keep me around,” Han jokes, feeling a responding grin spread across her face.

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Lloyd says, leaning forward with sudden seriousness. “You do have a good head about you, and I… admire the speed at which you’re picking up your Posthuman abilities. You successfully mastered in a matter of months what took me decades to learn, and-”

Han can’t help the rush of pride that comes at his words. Lloyd was always the more critical of her two mentors, and nigh impossible to please (she was still rather sore over his snide comment over the tunnels). She almost misses what he says next, but catches it just in time.

“-and you’re a perfectly charming person. I had my doubts before, but it’s clear that you’re Isabel’s kin. You remind me a lot of her, you know.”

Han softens. “I had a great teacher. Two great teachers, as a matter of fact.”

He winces at the mention of his missing boyfriend, and she impulsively reaches a hand across the table to grasp his. “We’ll find the other one together, okay?”

Lloyd grips her hand, giving a tight nod, steely resolve in his eyes.

“Okay.”

- 

They exit the bakery as afternoon fades into evening, the gas lamps that line the pavements igniting one by one, illuminating the streets of New Camden.

“Just to go over the plan one more time,” Han says, “I’ll stay here and try to scout him out. If he isn’t here, I’ll try New Albion. Then, where the First Playhouse used to be.”

Lloyd hums in affirmation. “I’ll keep you updated on my whereabouts as well. If you find him, let me know.”

“Of course, and you do the same.”

“I will. Keep safe.”

“You too.”

They stand there, then, regarding each other in the lamplight. Finally, Lloyd reaches out a hand, as if to administer a firm handshake.

Nah, fuck that.

Han bypasses the hand, and wraps Lloyd in a tight hug. After a moment, she feels his arms wrap around her too.

“It’s going to be okay,” Han says once they break apart, gripping him by the shoulders.

“I… can’t thank you enough for your help, Han. I’ll make it up to you if- once he’s found.”

“Psssh, that’s not necessary,” she retorts with a smirk, already walking in the opposite direction. “Your acknowledgement that I’m more talented than you is more than enough payment.”

Lloyd bristles. “I was being nice. Don’t push it.”

“You said it! It’s been set in stone! I’m gonna tell everyone I know about this!” She calls over her shoulder, disappearing into an alleyway.

Determined not to let her have the last word, Lloyd yells, "Only if you admit to everyone that I'm a great teacher!”

"Never! Also, screw you!"

Shaking his head and chuckling, Lloyd begins making preparations of his own, mentally steeling himself to make the narrative jump, and going down the mental list of places he was going to search.

The hunt would begin in the Collective Unconscious. Then, the different narratives the lovers (now lowercase) had frequented. Finally, once all other options had been exhausted, he would return to Ravey’s home narrative. The one place the two had never been to, at the insistence of his missing half.

Ashland.

[luciferpens]

Loved You Once || Aurora & Kass ft Zoey

What: Another accidental run in -- except this time... more people get hurt.  Where: Poseidon Beach  When:  March 25, 2021 Who: Aurora, Kass (@kassmeifyoucan), ft Zoey (@icarialex)   TW: Abuse, death, breakups, lies, 

Pacing never seemed to actually help any kind of situation but here she was.... Pacing. She was nervous, and not just because of everything that had been going on as of late. No, it was also due to the fact that she had planned out something special. A date. An actual date where she called it a date and they both knew it was a date and—look. It was a date. Granted, she hadn’t exactly told Zoey that it was a date. She’d just said it was a surprise but... Maybe part of the surprise would be that it was actually a date? To her nerves and utter horror, Zoey wouldn’t be off of work for another half hour, maybe less depending on how long it took her to close up shop. A whole half hour for her to be alone with her thoughts. To worry over every detail. The campfire was lit, the guitar and the food basket and blankets were hidden behind a large piece of driftwood. The blonde would be none-the-wiser! It was perfect! Until it wasn’t. Because there she was. And no, not Zoey. Aurora. What the hell was she doing walking on her beach? ....Okay so it wasn’t her beach. But still. The fuck. Without missing a beat, Kassandra crossed her arms over her chest and called out to the other woman. “Um... Hey?”

—

Aurora was not used to Island life or Island time, everyone here seemed to move at a different speed, a slower one, a less get up and go sort of speed. And when you come from the chaos of LA and the FBI anything other than 100 seemed like a snail's pace. Though…. She was slowly learning to enjoy it. Those she met were slowly convincing her to take things a bit slower and enjoy the view. So she decided to take their advice and enjoy the view of the ocean. She slipped out of her shoes and laced them over her fingers as she started to slowly walk up the coast line, just letting her mind wonder and flutter between all the things going on. Running into Kass and then running into Juliette, she really should just leave. Leave them both to their lives without her showing up and being a bomb. There was so much to be done too… with Jane being taken she needed to keep her safe and then close the file; there were still other files on her desk back home, other people she needed to find; other things she needed to do -- and yet she couldn’t leave Icaria yet. Not until she was 100% sure Jane would be safe and had everything she needed here. So she was stuck. Stuck with these thoughts, this place and the anxiety of knowing every moment here meant so many other things she wasn’t ready to deal with. Lost in thought she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a familiar voice. Her hand, not the one holding the shoes, flew to her chest. “Oh -- hey.” She said with a tiny, tiny smile but as the tone of Kass’ voice registered in her head it faltered and she glanced away, “I uh -- didn’t even see you there, I can go back” she tossed her thumb over her shoulder indicating she could turn back around and walk away, give her space. “I hate to intrude or -- anything.”

—

"Its a beach, Aurora. You're allowed to be on it. I just... Sorry, I guess I find it funny and also kind of like the universe is.." Kassandra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment before she held up her hands in a surrendering motion. "Look. You can be wherever you want. I'm not going to force you to leave. It's just hard seeing you. Logically I know it shouldn't be because you're not even.... Nevermind." Kassandra breathed deeply for a moment, trying to calm herself down. The good part of this whole interaction was that Zoey wasn't here, something she was super incredibly thankful for. That would be a whole can of worms that she didn't think she was ready to explain. Mainly because Zoey, Gods bless her, was the sweetest human bean to ever exist. She'd probably be so nice that her and Aurora would become friends and -- Nope. No. Do not think like that. It was then that she realized she'd been stuck in her own head and that she should probably say something that came off as completely awful. "Enjoying the weather?" No. Not that, you absolute fucking disaster of a human-ish being.

—

"It is." Aurora said with a slow nod, she wiggled her toes into the sand trying to use it to ground herself and not get upset. She was normally so good at keeping her cool and not getting emotional, but apparently that could be thrown out the window when it came to her ex-girlfriend. Clearing her throat she tilted her head to one side. "I'm not even?" she asked eyebrow shooting upward rather curious to know where Kass's mind was taking that sentence. But when no answer came quickly she realized Kass was lost in her mind and just cleared her throat hoping the noise would snap Kass out of her thoughts.

"The weather?" She asked glancing up to the sky, the ocean then to Kassandra again, "It's a nice difference from the places I've been lately. Not having to wear a ton of layers is -- a nice change of pace.”

—

Small talk. She could do small talk. On a beach. With her girlfriend not girlfriend planning on showing up at any minute. While she was talking to her ex girlfriend. Of course, totally fine. This was normal, right? Yeah, super normal. "You're not even gay." She finished her earlier thought, hoping that Aurora would understand. "So it's not like I should be upset about that. I'm not. But that's neither here nor there. Glad you're liking the weather though. It's a lot different from Portland." Kassandra sighed, rubbing the back of her neck before taking a cautious step closer to Aurora. "Look, I'm sorry. About my behavior since you've seen me, I mean. I'm not sorry for past me because honestly... Past me is still hurting which means... Present me is also hurting." She could slap herself. "I don't know what I'm saying. You make me forget how to function and it's annoying the absolute shit out of me." Kassandra put out into the open in probably the most honest thing she's said to Aurora in a long time. "But I'll manage.... So uh. You and Brandon? Still together?" Saying his name left a bitter taste in her mouth but she pressed on, wondering if she'd genuinely felt happy for her ex or not.

—

Aurora slowly tilted her head not understanding why in the world Kass would think she was straight but as Kass continued to talk the pieces fell back into place and she slowly nodded her head letting out a huff of a laugh. "Let me -- first clear up some misconceptions." She said running her free hand through her hair and tossing it to one side. "I am not gay, this is true, but I'm also not straight. I'm demi -- well, pansexual. Have been since we were children." Aurora swung her arms behind her back and looped her fingers together. "Two, you never need to apologize to me about your past or what happened between us. I know I fucked us up and hurt you and I take full ownership of that. Yell at me if you need to, tell me you hate me or slap me if it will make you feel better. I deserve it." She shrugged.  She honestly knew she deserved it, she knew she had broken Kass when she did what she did; and while she would have done it differently knowing what she knew now -- she knew that in the moment young Aurora was doing the best she could to protect herself. "As for Brandon, no. We --" She shook her head, "Weren't ever seriously dating, after we were," she motioned between them with a free hand " he basically -- was a beard and he knew it, I knew it. It was a safety thing." She shrugged. That sounded bad, but Brandon knew something bad was happening in her house and he just -- never questioned and did what he could to give her safe spaces to come to instead of being at home where her mother was.

—

She wasn't meaning to see red, but here she was. Listening to every word that came out of Aurora's mouth and letting it cut her deep, just like her words had when they were sixteen. "You're fucking kidding me." Her arms crossed over her chest, staring incredulously at her ex. "Do you have any fucking idea how much internalized homophobia I felt because of my mom? Because of you? I get that you couldn't have told your mom. I fucking understand. But you could have told me. I spent the next two fucking years of my life hating who I was because of who I loved." Kassandra felt sick to her stomach, taking a few staggering steps away from Aurora as she bent over, hands moving to her knees as she gulped in air.  Before Aurora could potentially make a move towards her, she held up a hand. "Don't you fucking dare come near me. I can't... You.. He was a beard. And you're..." Kassandra swallowed thickly, wishing the bile away. "You're pan. So you..." Green eyes tore upwards, looking at Aurora with such a broken gaze. "What was I to you? Was I some kind of fucking joke to you? An experiment? Because clearly whatever we were didn't fucking matter if you couldn't tell me the truth. You let me believe that I wasn't..." Tears flooded her vision, nausea ramping up in her belly. "Am I worthless to everyone I try to care about?"

—

Aurora felt her heart ripping from her chest. Why she still had it she wasn't sure; her heart had been ripped out -- well now three times. Twice by the same woman. It was a useless item, only seemed to cause her pain. Gods she should just go back to Quantico. Why was she still fucking on this gods forsaken island? Seeing Kass crying, seeing her in such pain made Aurora want to throw up. She never meant to hurt her. "I --" she shook her head, "I don't think you totally understand why couldn't tell my mom, why I had to do what I did." she swallowed, looking away and stopping herself from moving to comfort her ex love. "I'm so, so so, fucking sorry about it all, about hurting you, about -- all of it, Kass, I really am." She sucked in her lips tears welling in her eyes. "You are -- were the one person on this planet I love--d more than anything" She caught herself caught the present tense and while sure, it was still true she didn't need to hurt Kass more.  "I couldn't tell anyone the truth. I didn't even tell my own father until I was already 18 and about to graduate highschool. I didn't tell a SOUL about all the abuse I suffered through until I was 23 and -- honestly since then you're the only other person I've even mentioned it to." she shook her head thrusting her hand down to her side before stepping forward, anger in her movements but determination as well. "Don't you fucking dare Kassandra." She didn't curse often, but here she was, cursing and angry too. "You are not in any way worthless Kass. I didn't -- break up with you because I didn't love you. I loved you so much that I had to to keep my crazy mother from literally killing one of us. You have never -- ever been worthless and I am so sorry I ever made you think you were."

—

All Zoey had to go off of was a cryptic text from Kass telling her to meet the woman at the beach after she got off from work. Typically she’d worry about not having her bathing suit on her that day, but since the brunette didn’t like getting in the water, she didn’t worry so much. Zoey would rather spend her time with Kassandra than swim anyway. She could do the latter anytime. Still, she wasn’t used to being antsy to close shop. The artist loved her work, but she’d be lying if she didn’t love spending time with the mysterious and sometimes juxtaposing woman as well. When five o’clock finally came around, Zoey closed everything up and then began her short walk to the beach. She checked in with Noreen on the way to make sure everything was okay at the Inn, and then followed Kassandra’s directions on which street entrance to take that was closest to her destination. The blonde was so engrossed in her phone that she didn’t notice how close she was to her desired spot until she heard Kass yelling. The pain in her tone caused pain in her heart, but Zoey stood back and waited. It seemed important, and the illustrator didn’t know if she should interfere. 

She had no idea who the other woman was until she heard her mess up between love and loved. Then, Zoey’s heart stopped. Aurora. That’s who it had to be. Not being ready or able to hear what Kass’ reaction to that would be, she turned back around and walked away. Zoey wouldn’t go far because she’d seen the effort Kassandra had put into setting everything up in the background. So, she found a nearby bench, sat down, and did what she always did when she was upset or anxious. Zoey began to sketch.

—

Her brain had turned off as the rage and nausea consumed her, Kassandra staring at Aurora as she looked at her with that unreadable expression. It all shifted in her face when she stumbled over her words, stumbled over that word. Her eyes narrowed, she wanted to challenge that. Because no. No. Aurora didn't fucking get to do that to her. Not after a decade. But before she could even get out a word edgewise, the other woman was rounding on her. Kass visibly flinched, taking a step back as she wrapped her arms around her torso. It was then that she heard footsteps from behind her, causing her to turn around to see Zoey's retreating form. No.... No no no. Fuck. She wanted to go off after Zoey but she knew she had to deal with the woman who was right here, in front of her. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to come back into my life and stumble over that word, Aurora. I loved you. Loved. Past tense. I thought... I thought that a part of me would always love you. But I don't know how I could ever..." Love someone who hid the truth from me. She couldn't even say it, realizing how much of a hypocrite that would make her. "You were my first love. And I want to one day not hate you. But you don't get to insinuate that you still love me. Not after... Not after everything. Not after twelve fucking years." A tear fell down a cheek, Kassandra quickly wiping it away. "I need to go because that woman you saw walk away? Unlike you..." She locked their gazes, taking another step backwards in the direction of where Zoey had gone. "I can't let a good thing slip through my fingers." Kassandra turned to walk towards where she'd seen the blonde head off to, stopping for a moment to turn her head just enough so it was barely looking over her shoulder. "I need time.. Time to process what you've told me. Just please don't... Don't hurt me again." And with that, she walked away.

—

Seeing the flinch made Aurora recoil, to fold in on herself. She never wanted to be scary to people she cared about; those she was hunting for work, sure 100% she'd be fine being seen as threatening. But Kass? No she didn't want to do that. She took a couple stumbling steps backwards as Kassandra spoke. There was a stab of pain in her chest. She knew better than to not calculate her every word, when she let her mouth run she got hurt. This was just more proof of that. More proof she needed to slow down and think before she spoke.  As Kassandra continued, as she laid into her, saying she didn't know how she could ever her stomach dropped. She didn't connect the dots, didn't totally realize there was more to be said and instead took it as a sentence. A statement. Kass, in Aurora's mind, didn't know how she could ever have loved her. Right. This -- this was. She deserved that. She didn't deserve to say the things she did, even if some part of it still felt true to her. Nope. The muscles tightened in her jaw as her fists clenched and tears threatened to spill. Another jab as she mentioned the other woman; some blonde who had walked up looked confused, hurt and then walked away. She just nodded and watched as Kass started to walk off. She was unmovable. Frozen as still as a statue as Kass slowed for a moment to say one last thing. She didn't look up, didn't dare even breathe. She waited a few moments until she could hear Kass's steps fade and she finally let out a breath. With that breath the tears came, the anger flowed and she felt an intense level of fear and hatred towards herself. She turned on a dime, kicked the sand creating a small cloud before she walked off, eyes down.... only to stop ten feet forward and see what Kass had been hiding when she first walked up. Oh. She had messed up a date with -- that blonde girl and now -- she felt even fucking worse. She slipped her shoes on and started to run, exercise  being the only thing to clear her mind.

[bluejaytaco]

More DND with Jay

(long post is long)

(A session where Ticket Master; our chaotic god friend(?) transported us into another world where shit ain’t so bad. And our team actually works for BBEG. Also, he transported us while he himself fought BBEG. We’re trying to retrieve a sword for him.)

Alternate selves: (See us) who are you guys?

Art(panicking): We’re the improv group!

DM: Is that really what you’re going with?

Me: guess so....

Everyone else: (agreeing that Art’s panic induced call is the way to go)

-

Me: You know what? Imma try to seduce myself.

Koejin’s player: (gasp) yessss!

(low roll)

DM:.... Alright. So, Art goes up to himself and feels like they just had a moment, leans in to kiss himself and the other Art backs up and says “whoa whoa whoa. What the fuck are you doing? I mean, I’m pretty sure I can do better than me.”

Art: I mean.... fair...?

Koejin: Holy Shit, their Art’s an asshole!

DM: No, this is completely in character for both. Art hates himself.

Me, nodding: hardcore.

-

DM: So, after asking you guys all your jobs, the coordinator leads you all down the hall. He stops, turns to Art, and... kisses him on the cheek. It’s Ticket Master.

Art, exasperated: For fuck’s sake....

Ticket Master, grinning: Did I trick you?

Art: Yeah, you did.

Ticket Master: Well, now you guys have to put on that performance. Good luck! (vanishes)

Theodora, sick of his shit: So, how’s that fight going with Mrs. Red?!

DM: A piece of the ceiling breaks off and hits Theodora right in the head.

Theodora, unfazed: Oh, not good, eh?!

Art: ....fuck just... please don’t die...

-

(We ended up corrupting that world’s Hennessy, who then turned and attacked Ticket Master with the sword. That only opened the portal to our home on Ticket Master himself. Art gets thrown through when he tries to stop Eltbalm from attacking Red. Eltbalm then gets put in a “cube of holding” Alabaster’s been carrying and everyone else jumps through the portal after shouting for Good Mrs. Red to follow us to get Eltbalm back.

Before she can jump through the portal too, Mrs. Red gets her head cut off by a force we didn’t see and the portal closes. Our Mrs. Red is still pissed and still ready to kill us all.)

Ticket Master, freezing time to reappear right before Art gets fucked up: Alright, now if you want me to reverse time so you can save that clearly dead girl (gestures to Art’s sister laying on the ground) you need to give me my sword. After that, you never have to see me again.

Alabaster: (Standing tall and defiant)

Art: givehimtheswordgivehimtheswordgivehimtheswordgivehimthefuckingsword.

Theodora: Don’t do it, Alabaster...

Ticket Master: Look, I just want my damn sword. Give it to me and I’ll be on my way.

Art:.... Alabaster, please....

Alabaster: (Deep sigh and a pained look to Art) Here... (tosses the cube to Ticket Master.)

DM: Ticket Master pops the sword out of the cube and straps it to his back. With a quick snap of his fingers, everything is back to the way it was right before Mrs. Red burst into the cabin. Everything’s still frozen but Rieta is still alive and in one piece. He looks at all of you, tips his hat, and disappears.

(This is definitely something we won’t regret.... And I highly doubt the relationship between Art and Alabaster will be exploited in any way shape or form.)

-

Art, to General Green once he’s back: So.... sorry about my memories and all...

Green, possibly remembering the whole Ticket Master thing: (grunts)

(Later, he makes it verrrrry clear he has no faith or trust in Art. He blatantly states this to Alabaster.)

Me, singing: Nobody trusts Art, nobody trusts Art.

Alabaster’s Player: Except Alabaster, who met Art before anyone else and immediately imprinted on him like a baby duck.

Me: lol true.

-

(Art gets into a little fight with Ticket Master and pretty much sleeps with the first woman who shows interest; a bartender in the tavern owned by our leader.)

DM: So, Art; as you’re having sex with Shia, her eyes go pitch black and start oozing. She then starts to attack you. What do you do?

Me: ....uhhh, scream. Loudly and a lot.

Everyone else: (rolls to see if they can hear Art.)

Theodora: Did you hear that? Sounded like Art.

Koejin: How do you know it’s him just by a scream?

Theodora: How do you not? All Art does is scream.

Me: Hah, yeah....

-

DM: Everyone bursts into the room to see Art in a corner just screaming “dude, dude, dude, dude!” Shia is pissed off and points at him, then yells out “You will never get answers out of me!” Just before she attacks him, the wall breaks down and Rieta comes bursting through. The two of them starts to fight and break through to the outside. They make their way down the hole where the giant worm popped out before.

Everyone:.....

Theodora:.... What just happened?

Art:.... I am never having sex ever again...

-

(Hennessy runs downstairs in a faux panic to get everyone out of the bar.)

Thia: What’s going on?! What do you mean we’re under attack?!

Hennessy: Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just your employee turned out to be evil. You really should do a proper background check!

Art, coming down the stairs: Yeah, sorry. I think I turned your bartender evil...

Thia, eyeing Art: It’s okay. Would you mind putting on some pants?

Art, forgetting he was naked: Shit, right. (runs back upstairs)

-

DM: Did no one check on the tiefling boy? (His name is also Art.)

Me: Yeah, I’m gonna check on Little Art after I put on pants.

DM: Okay, so Art gets dressed and sees the boy sitting on the bed in the other room. He looks at Art and says “What happened? Where’d Mom go?”

Art:... Um, your mom went to take care of something. I’m also gonna go take care of something. We’ll be back soon, okay? You stay here and stay safe.

DM: The boy nods and settles back into the bed as you leave.

Alabaster’s player: so wait, this is Art’s...?

Me: Nephew, yeah.

Alabaster’s Player: Awww, Uncle A!

-

(Running gag in our campaign: If we roll really high on analyzing something that doesn’t need that much detail, the DM will overdo it. By like a lot. It’s most common when rolling on a door to make sure we’re not stepping into a trap.)

DM: So, you analyze the door and notice the knob is made of a beautiful brass. (goes on and on and on about the doorknob.) oh, also, the rest of the door is made up of gnome skulls...

Me: Feel like the gnome skulls were more important than the doorknob.

DM: fuck you.

In game:

Art, the one who checked this door:....um (looks at Wreybar; the gnome barbarian).... maybe they’re human... baby skulls? (DM: Roll deception on...yourself??)

Koejin: How is that any better?!

- 

(Party is in the dungeon. Alabaster could not join us for this particular session. We find a gnome who is a part of Wreybar’s backstory. His name is Hector. He is being pulled around by air elementals.)

Me: Can I try to grab Hector before they can drag him back to the barrels?

DM: Roll for it (Cue shitty roll) So, Art tries to grab Hector but then trips over a rock and falls flat on his face.

Hennessy: Air elementals are always trying to get something and don’t stop until they have it.

Wreybar and Art(In unison): Looks like they’re trying to get a Hector (Both gasp and look at each other) Eyyyyyyyy! (finger guns)

Me: Wreybar and Art are having a moment

Wreybar’s player: (laughs)

-

Koejin:(Having dealt with air elementals before) So, we need to get all the oxygen out of the room. 

Hennessy: (eyes the barrels of gun powder in the corner) I have an idea. (makes a copy of Hector for the elementals as Theodora grabs the real Hector. Everyone runs for the door we came through and Hennessy throws a fireball at the door then slams it shut.)

DM: Remember, the door is made of brittle bones.

Theodora: I put up my shield for everyone to hide behind.

DM: So, the flames bellow around the shield. Art, you stick your head up and come back down a second later.

Art: (the only one who’s fireproof) Yep, that’s fire!

-

DM: (going on and on about the next door and the history of its wood and the doorknob, which had a dent in it from a kid who was then verbally abused by his mother and grew up to be an accountant. It took five minutes to explain.)

Koejin, fascinated by the door she checked: wow... this door has some history...

Art: Huh, there’s a dent in the knob. Wonder where that came from...

Koejin: Well, let me tell you! (retells the story to an awestruck Art)

-

DM: So, at the end of one hall, you all see a body slumped against the wall wearing armor and holding a sword.

Theodora: I call out to the person.

DM: There’s no response.

Me: Okay, I want to investigate the body.

DM: How close are you getting?

Me: Uhhh.... like... ten feet? I don’t want to get too close.

DM: Okay, so you move closer and check it out to see that he is very dead.

Me: Okay, I’m going for the sword and armor. (Rolls a decent Slight of Hand)

DM: So, you go to pry the sword out of the hand and it just opens for you. Then, you go for the armor and his head pops up. His eye sockets look into your eyes and he says “oi! What you think you’re doing?!” He’s undead.

Art: (Still holding the guy by the armor) Oh.... uhhhh. Just... taking your stuff...

Undead guy: Like Hell you are! (DM: He goes to headbutt you and (Rolls)...dammit! His head falls off!)

Art: (watches the head roll away) Yeah, I’m taking it.

Undead guy: Oi! Stop it! (DM: He prepares to punch you in the face and (rolls) Fuck! His arm falls off!!)

(A series of failures later)

Koejin: (to Theodora) Can we keep him?

(His name is Skelly and he wants to kill gnomes. Hector in particular. But it’s okay; Hector’s a douche who’s trying to kill Wreybar. We promised him Hector and a world of adventure if he helps us... Our DM gave us actual NPC children and our party adopted a skeleton named Skelly who wants to go on adventures because he’s never seen anything other than that hallway.)

-

DM: It’s getting late. Do you guys wanna keep playing? I could wrap it up here with a cliffhanger.

Koejin’s player: Yeah, might as well. If we keep going, Alabaster might end up a little too lost. We’ve already got a lot to explain.

DM: Okay so, Theodora. You open the door to the room with the void. Inside, you see a floating map and a key. But you also see something else. A portal you’ve seen many times before. You know by sight, it’s a Ticket Master portal. But the person who steps through is wearing a wizard hat. You see it’s Hennessy from the alternate universe. His eyes are blacked over.

Hennessy B: (smile) Hello... friends.

DM: From the portal, you can see hands. It’s all of your hands and they are pulling themselves through.

Theodora: uuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..... (roll credits)

Hennessy’s player: seems like things are coming back to bite us.

Koejin’s player: huh.... it’s almost like our actions have consequences...

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #111

UPDATE 111: Set Skitter on Fire

Last time Calvert had done the betrayal. Using the technology he has access to in his new position and thanks to the stuff his new parahuman villain pals made for him, he teleported Skitter into a trap where he’ll now shoot her. Oh this is going to be a tough one to get out of. Let’s see how she’ll do it!

So, the very last line last update was that Calvert shot. She doesn’t even get to move out of the way before the bullet hits her. Is the costume bulletproof? I once heard that the silk, if tensed properly, could resist bullets, but I imagine that’d require some rather specific tuning and positions. Also more than one layer of thread. There’s a chance her costume can be bulletproof, but...

Getting hit, the smallest part of me could only think costume can’t stop a bullet after all.  Except it wasn’t even a complete thought.  Just a momentary disappointment as I felt the impact of the bullet passing through my chest to my back.

Golly! If I wasn’t aware there are like fifteen arcs more and by now it’s unlikely Skitter will die in the middle of it all to pass the baton to someone else, I’d actually be freaking out. What is it she’s feeling, if not a bullet? The force of the impact? I also have heard bulletproof vests don’t protect you that well, it only protects against the bullet itself. The impact can break your ribs and leave you bruised like you don’t know.

The last thing Skitter needs right now is a few broken ribs, that’s for sure.

Skitter falls, and all of her bugs start flittering around, distracting everyone. Even Calvert is forced to aim away, protecting his face from the bugs, knowing some of them must be covered with capsaicin. Doesn’t seem like Skitter managed to sting anyone, but she’s not hit by any further bullets, so that’s good.

When he spoke, his voice was raised to be heard despite the muffling effect, “Out of the room.  Fill it with bullets… no.  Scratch that.”

He’s coming up with counter-counter-plans before I even have a strategy in mind.

“…Set her on fire.  Her costume is bulletproof, and I want this done.  I need to attend to other matters.”

Naturally he’s using counter-counter-counter-counter-counter plans. Maybe he’s even using his power right now, using one plan in this timeline and a different plan in another. It’s possible the ‘fill it with bullets’ plan is for the other timeline. You know, that makes things even worse! It means Skitter has to escape alive in two different timelines, or else she’s screwed because Coil will get rid of the timeline she survives in! As if things weren’t difficult enough, haha

You know, I know it should be kind of common sense, but it kind of blows my mind bugs have senses of smell and taste.

Calvert leaves the place, possibly going to deal with how he’ll explain to the Undersiders Skitter was teleported to who knows where, and two of his soldiers advance to fulfill his orders and burn everything. Skitter finds a crushed bullet on the armor on her chest, showing it was the armor what saved her, not the tensile strength of her costume. Now she has to deal with two men here about to blaze everything with Molotov cocktails. Her immediate idea is to use her pepper spray and try to light one of them on fire.

It wasn’t the brightest move, trying to stop someone from lighting a fuse by setting them on fire, but I wasn’t in a position to be picky.

Look, if it works, then it wasn’t a stupid move. No move that works is stupid, that’s my life philosophy. It has gotten me in so much trouble in the past, but when it works, it works!

Merely setting one on fire seems to have bought her some time, because she got time to tie the other soldier’s hand to the Molotov, making sure he wouldn’t be able to just throw it with no problem at all. Calvert, who apparently stood around in the other room instead of leaving like he said he would – just go already, man, dontcha trust your mercenaries? – takes the Molotov cocktail and doesn’t light it on fire. He tosses it into the room, breaking and spreading the incendiary contents around.

Ah, so that was his idea! He knew Skitter was doing something to stop the bottle to be thrown adequately, so instead he spread gasoline around and used the burning soldier as the lighter. In other words: Skitter pretty much delayed the cocktail from being lit, she didn’t save herself that well. On the other hand, she didn’t get two flaming cocktails shattering all over her, so it must have been for the better.

You know, while I was skimming the next few paragraphs, I realized Skitter must be hearing through her bugs, she has quite some detail about everything that’s happening in the other room, even though there’s a fire here right now and fires aren’t really a silent thing when you’re close to them. Also, I just remembered she’s supposed to be temporarily blind. Absolutely nothing of what’s going on in the story hints she has any sort of eyesight problems. It’s amazing how handicaps and health problems are forgotten in life or death situations when it’s fiction, eh? Not that I can complain, it increases the odds she’ll get out of this...relatively unharmed.

The situation is tough: there’s containment foam over here, cornering her onto one side of the room. Beyond the containment foam there’s fire with accelerant in it, meaning if she steps on it, she’ll get fire on herself and that’s a death sentence. The door is getting barricaded, so it’s pointless to even think about going over the containment foam and the gasoline, and I imagine there are no other ways out. I bet the soldiers will set whatever place this is on fire from the outside, just in case, so...her only hope would be to extinguish that fire, getting enough time to try to undo the barricade on the other side of the door? She’s in trouble, then. Last I checked, she’s not carrying anything for extinguishing fires.

Well, she does have something on her side now: she subconsciously called all bugs in the area to her. That has to be useful for something, she’s been able to use her bugs in creative manners before. I doubt the fire can be gone by using the bugs themselves, but perhaps they can do something about the fire? Somehow?

The situation outside is rough. This is an abandoned neighborhood; the area was prepared so there wouldn’t be eyewitnesses. There’s also a legion of soldiers outside, with spotlights towards the house and all kinds of weapons and containment foam. Escaping the perimeter seems impossible. Hmmmm...did Calvert make everyone drive everything here? Maybe, once Skitter escapes the room, she’ll find something related to teleporting and manages to use it to teleport away.

Oh, there are windows. They’re boarded up, and from what Skitter can feel with her fingers – what a time to remember she’s kind of blind right now, Mr. Wildbow – they even have uncommon screws keeping everything intact. This means they’re boarded on the inside, no? Instead of the outside? That may have been a mistake on Calvert’s part, because the boards are on Skitter’s side. That’s just giving a chance for...something. No idea what, but it’s something.

This would be a perfect time for a second trigger event.  Hadn’t Lisa said that my mind-power link was enhanced whenever I felt trapped?  I doubted I’d ever feel more trapped than I did right this moment.  I couldn’t see just how far the fire reached, because I was blind, and the heat of the fire was killing the bugs I needed for sensing my surroundings.  I had only a minute or two before the room became an oven and killed off the rest, leaving me blind and roasting to death.

Heck, maybe her bursts of listening and seeing through her bugs are her second trigger event on the verge of happening. It’d make sense, that her power would intensify so much she’d effectively be able to use her bugs as an extension of her senses. I’ll be surprised if Worm ends without she getting a second trigger event, by the way.

Skitter manages to find black widow spiders in the area and stings Calvert with them. Say, is North America filled with black widows or what? I swear Skitter finds them around all the time. The thought such poisonous spiders must be around you all the time must be terrifying.

Getting bit with these spiders only serve to annoy Calvert, who orders them to burn everything – order I’m sure he’d have given anyway. What Skitter did pretty much hinted Calvert she’s still feeling well enough to fight back. Many Molotov cocktails crash against the house Skitter is trapped in, the fire’s only going to get more intense from now on. Calvert, satisfied, gets into the car.

Calvert glanced over his shoulder, then confidently strode over to a car and took a seat in the back.  He didn’t have the driver take him away.  No, he’d be more interested in watching, in verifying that things went according to plan.

Didn’t you have other matters to attend somewhere else?! Geez!

I considered waiting for the fire to weaken the floorboards before leaping over the foam and plunging down to the lower level, then dismissed that idea.  I wouldn’t last that long, for one thing, and there was too much chance of me being injured.

Thankfully she rejected that idea. The floorboards won’t weaken for no reason; they’ll weaken because there’s fire. This maybe could work if it wasn’t because there’s accelerant. It’s just too much of a risk, getting gasoline on you and being set on fire, no? Still, this means she’s not on a ground floor. Even if she escapes through the window, she’ll need some way to get safely outside – and unnoticed, too. I remember it was mentioned there were lights pointed at this place. Escaping this room is going to be merely the start of a troublesome ordeal.

It’s a tad puzzling Calvert took into account the possibility Skitter was carrying a screwdriver, but didn’t account for the possibility she might have a gun. Personally I’d have thought it was more likely someone would carry a weapon than a hardware tool. I don’t remember if it was ever mentioned she had a distaste for guns or something, but if she did and Calvert found that out, then it’d explain why he didn’t consider she’d have a gun, I guess.

Skitter uses the gun to weaken the boards’ hold onto the windows. Turns out Calvert boarded up both in the inside and the outside, so that solves the problem I had mentioned before! Nice! Skitter, not having expected the strong recoil, drops the gun and therefore wastes some time. Hmmm...say, the soldiers must be far away enough to not hear the gunshots, no?

The gunfire had attracted attention.

Nevermind, they weren’t. I must have overestimated the noise of fire and underestimated the intensity of a gunshot.

This caused the soldiers to use their ammo against the house, a flurry of bullets breaking through the walls and floor. Say, that means the intensity of the bullets must be diminished because of the obstacles, right? She may be safe. One of the bullets does hit her on the back, and that hurts, but she’s not dying from a gunshot. She is running out of time, though. The place is getting worse and worse.

Aha, finally something goes well for her! Skitter had managed to send cockroaches onto the vehicles that are aiming their headlights at the house, turning them off. Is it a preparation for an escape, perhaps?

It was! Skitter gathers as many of the bugs as she got, and uses them to form decoys. One goes through the window, getting shot immediately and slumping over. Then comes another, and another, until Skitter can’t handle anymore the heat inside the room, forcing her to go outside already before she faints. As expected, she’s shot when she’s on the windowsill and she falls down to the ground, in what I hope was an identical move to the rest of the swarm decoys. Hm...I wonder if she’ll have enough strength to make a few decoys more to make them fall from the window, as a distraction.

She does have enough strength to move her decoys like they’re truly getting gunned down and injured, just to stand up again. Given her costume is bulletproof – as far as Calvert and his soldiers know – they can’t afford not to shoot anything that moves, so it really is just matter of time before the real Skitter is shot again. Could she do something with bugs to disable the machine guns? At least to stop the endless barrage?

One of the decoys arrives at the fence surrounding the perimeter, and since Skitter had done a well enough job making it look like it could be her, they keep shooting at it, until someone got the idea of throwing a Molotov cocktail on it, obliterating the decoy. Hm, this settles it, they’ll do the same to any other decoy that gets to that area. If she’ll get to the fence, she’ll have to think of a way to make sure she won’t be set on fire.

If Thomas Calvert was using his power to guide his men, to give them an advantage and give them directions that would help narrow down the decoys, then I’d inevitably face the same fate as the decoy had after I got to the fence.

But he wasn’t giving directions. He was in the truck, watching.  No radios were sounding with instructions, not yet.  He had to protect his perimeter, keep me from getting to freedom… but he was in a reactive position, not an offensive one where he could command an attack and then make it so it never happened if the attack went awry.  No, I’d weathered that initial attack.

He’s not giving instructions...perhaps he did use his power earlier? And he can’t use it again because it’d meant putting himself at disadvantage, in case this timeline is the one where Skitter escapes again? Calvert is not forced to use no more than his considerable cleverness and craftiness! Haaaah...that’s still a big threat.

Are the soldiers starting to deal with the approaching decoys by throwing Molotov cocktails at them? Then it’s only matter of time before one hits Skitter, this can’t be good. To try to stop that from happening, she decides she’ll need a distraction to sow some discord into the enemy lines. Her distraction is to use her swarm to talk to the soldiers’ ears, saying creepy stuff to unnerve them. She’s going to need to do that to everyone here if she wants to distract them enough to run away, I’d say! Good thing there are plenty of bugs here.

Calvert’s voice sounded over a dozen radios in the area, “She’s playing mind tricks.  She’s still near the house, and she’s never killed or tortured before.

Oh, I see Calvert isn’t aware Skitter freaking took Lung’s eyes out. I’m pretty certain that has to count under the word ‘torture’! Yeah, I’m not getting over that little incident. Hah! Either way, even if he was aware, I’m sure he wouldn’t tell his troops Skitter may actually do some pretty messed up stuff. Why give validation to Skitter’s creepy threats?

Maintain the perimeter and do not use grenades.”

Again, with the refusal on the subject of grenades.  A reminder, even, this time.  Was this a point where he’d split the timelines, bombarded the house with grenades in one reality and stuck to the guns in another?

It’s not a bad theory. In which case, in the other timeline Skitter will have to survive grenades in close quarters. Being trapped in one end of the room, with nowhere to go, with a couple grenades thrown at you...how would she pull that off, really? Or had that gone catastrophically bad for him, even if he managed to kill Skitter? Hm, I wonder...

Then there was the possibility that this tied into his alibi, that he didn’t want the Undersiders or even the Travelers to know he’d gone after one of them, and the use of several grenades would be too easily traced back to ‘Coil’.  He would stick to an over the top arson, maybe hide the police reports and suppress the media.  If I was in a territory owned by the Travelers, maybe they’d accept a price for keeping this quiet from the Undersiders.

...I don’t know...I find it hard to believe that Calvert, with all his power and everything, wouldn’t be able to hide a few grenade blasts inside a house. He could burn the house away and get rid of the remains, and it’d be like there was an arson all along. No, I’m more inclined to think that something went wrong with using grenades against Skitter.

Thinking about all this leads to Skitter remembering how she escaped from the hospital bed after the Endbringer attack. Oh...I don’t remember at all how she escaped. Using her bugs, Skitter checks the soldiers’ equipment, searching for stuff she could use, until she finds the cords and bandoleers for the grenades. Ah, there’s an idea: force the soldiers to use the stuff Calvert told them not to use no matter what!

Using her spiders, she manages to trick a soldier to throw grenades, having loosened the pins. Hmmm...let’s hope none of the grenades falls near the house! Thankfully, thinking ahead, Skitter also put the ring of the grenade string onto the fence, making it swing back and explode there, destroying some of the fence and forcing other soldiers to back off. Nice! Skitter is managing to make some progress here! Calvert must be so annoyed right now.

Some other soldier realizes what Skitter is doing and panics, shouting about how the pins are being pulled. Hah! Great, that’ll be of help! Everybody starts retreating, giving Skitter more leeway to advance. Since the headlights aren’t working, someone starts firing flairs to illuminate the area. Skitter will have to hurry before one of the flares gets too close to where she is.

The psychological pressure she’s mounting is pretty good. She’s appealing to the sense of ‘ew gross’ that’s hardcoded in our psyches, and I’m sure it’s especially effective when it’s talking about gross stuff happening to you. That’s just terribly unnerving. In the meantime, Calvert keeps insisting them to not throw the grenades, but when the other option is to hold grenades and wait for them to explode on you, can you really obey that order?

Skitter had been almost out when she made a little too much noise, alerting one of the soldiers. Hurrying to act, she runs to pull anything she can get her hands on. It’s not a grenade – luckily for Skitter, really – and it’s not a flashbang. Still, what she did get will call so much attention to the area: it’s a smoke grenade. Everybody’s going to look at the sudden burst of smoke, won’t they? Especially if the soldier starts alerting everyone Skitter is there!

Scavenging used silk from previous attacks, my bugs arranged to pull more pins for smoke canisters.

Oh, nevermind. The entire area is going to be covered in smoke at this rate. Skitter is doing a fantastic job against a squadron of trained mercenaries, it’s impressive. Having fun watching the show, Calvert? The soldiers can’t even shoot around due to the risk of hitting an ally through the smoke!

I sensed Calvert’s truck pulling away.

Calvert could use his power to prune away possibilities that didn’t work for him, but only if he was aware of me, aware of my movements and how I was mounting my attack.

His retreat left me wondering if he’d deemed this situation unsalvageable.  Had he deemed this a loss?

Sucks to be him! I wonder if, in the timeline grenades were being used, something like this happened. I find it unlikely, but...who knows!

Knowing Calvert is leaving, Skitter wonders what his plan will be now. Shall he look for leverage somewhere else?

My dad.  The others.

I suddenly felt the urge to get away, and get away quickly.

If it’s for leverage I think it’s more likely he’ll go for Dad Hebert. Calvert is ruthless like that, I’m sure he’d play dirty and target Dad Hebert.

Escaping now is somewhat easier. The soldiers seem to be unaware she’s so close to the fence, because they’re still focusing on the house, throwing the smoke canisters in that direction so Skitter wouldn’t be able to use them against the troops. Skitter manages to overcome the fences and goes to the trucks, managing to obtain the keys through some subterfuge and getting onto the driver’s seat.

It sure is a tad nightmarish filling the enemy’s mouth with bugs and letting them choke for a while is starting to be one of Skitter’s moves. I wonder how much longer it’ll be before anyone facing Skitter will make sure to have some protection over their mouth and noses? Knowing Mr. Wildbow, it shouldn’t be much longer, haha

All in all, that was a pretty daring escape. I liked pretty much all of it! The only thing that kind of bothers me is that, well...Skitter sure can’t be blind right now. I mean, she’s driving a vehicle. Even in desperate situations as this one, this just wouldn’t end well. Luckily for Skitter, if she still is blind, she has the author’s favor, so she won’t crash three hundred meters away from the burned house due to the sorry state of the roads and what not.

Skitter has no communication right now, so she won’t be able to alert the rest of the Undersiders Calvert is a traitorous snake. She has to think her next move now: which weak point of hers will Calvert strike?

I was struck by an ugly connection between two thoughts.  Calvert had mentioned he had other matters to attend to, and if Chariot’s teleportation device mimicked Trickster’s power, they’d had to swap something or somebody in. If he’d replaced me with a body double, he would want to stay in contact with her and help ensure things went her way with the other Undersiders.

That’s a good point, yeah. He’d need someone ready to pretend to be Skitter, right away. If there’s a trained body double with the rest of the Undersiders right now, then they’re in danger. Now that his plan to get rid of Skitter is starting to fall apart, he’s going to have to take action, and since the Undersiders are turning into a liability if they ever hear Calvert’s betrayal, it may be safer to get rid of them altogether, no? It’s not like he needs them anymore. Heck, he may even twist it as the PRT being especially effective, and delay the Travelers’ departure for as long as it’s needed to keep the public story going according to his plans.

On the other hand, if Calvert was looking for a way to get leverage over me, my dad was one very vulnerable target that he was aware of.

Frankly, it’s matter of time before a villain hurts Dad Hebert to make Taylor suffer. I’m not expecting him to survive this story. Maybe Coil will be the one to do it.

It would have to be the Undersiders and Dinah.  I hated to admit it, but if my dad was attacked and I had the Undersiders there by my side, they could only help.  If the opposite were true, my dad would hamper me.

So, all in all, what I’m getting here is that she’d have to get in contact with the Undersiders one way or another, no? If she can get in touch with Tattletale everything should go okay. I hope so, at least. Last I heard, Tattletale and Regent were going to do stuff for Calvert, so they’re...not in the safest of situations right now, really.

I’d seen how involved Calvert’s maneuver had been at the debate.  He had a grand plan, and it wasn’t necessarily the one he’d shared with us earlier.  I was now a glitch in his system, threatening to unravel everything he’d put together.

My opinion is that he’s proven to be too inflexible when it’s about Dinah. Does he not have a strong enough structure in his plans for them to continue ahead safely even without Dinah? Is Dinah the big cornerstone, somehow? He really should have prepared things to be able to continue without Dinah and acquiesce to Skitter, if only to have her at bay so she wouldn’t wreck his plans. In exchange, he’d have someone skillful working for him. I don’t doubt sooner or later he’d get tired of listening to Skitter, buuuuut by then he would have a way to squash her, no?

So yeah, I believe the unraveling of his plans is his fault.

No option but jump ahead, face Coil’s plans, and try to succeed without casualties or injuries. But that will be for next time!

Next time: in two updates

[filmhell]

I'm gonna go on a long rant about Stanley Kubrick.

Stanley Kubrick was kind of always a manipulative abusive person tbh. And the one time he did a decent job at accommodating an actor, the next time they worked together he tormented him relentlessly.

Honestly? A director tries to get the best performance out of their actors. A director ensures that all these moving parts that are the cast and crew are working cohesively and harmoniously. That's what a good director does.

Listen I know we all love The Shining and Dr. Strangelove is one of my favorite movies but Stanley Kubrick is a bad director.

Let's take a look at Robert Altman. For those of you unfamiliar with him, he did a bunch of films like M.A.S.H., Nashville, Brewster McCloud, and Three Women (which is an excellent psychological drama starring Shelley Duvall and Sissy Spacek) all of which are excellent but there's something different about them. The acting is much more naturalistic. You can tell a lot of care went into these movies. You can tell that the people who worked on them had fun doing it. Altman discovered Shelley Duvall, and he wanted to bring out the best in her and show the world her range. He cast her in a HUGE variety of well-written parts.

But Altman was nurturing. He encouraged actors to improvise around an outline so the dialogue and reactions would be authentic. People crack up mid-sentence, they laugh at each others jokes, they stutter, they talk over eachother, and it's all so natural. He had the actors write their own songs for Nashville. He trusted his actors to make choices and overall was generally a really great guy to work with. He wasn't Hitchcock or Kubrick. He didn't thinj of actors as "talking props." This is a good director (my favorite actually but nonetheless).

You don't need to ruin the personal lives of actors in order to make them give an 'authentic' performance. I think we're all familiar with what he did to Shelley Duvall. If not, long story short, he forbid anyone on set from talking to her or sympathizing with her, and he made her do takes over and over and over to the point where she was so stressed that her hair was falling out and she actually suffered from dehydration from crying so much all the time. She had to do that scene where she's swinging the bat while slowly backing away on the staircase over 100 times if I correctly recall. Nobody needs that. Nobody deserves it (except maybe Kubrick who's probably in hell now but anyway).

Like. If you watch her in Three Women, you KNOW she was more than talented enough to do what The Shining required. Kubrick just liked to abuse people.

Case in point, he made Nicole Kidman do nude scenes on an open set, and made her do nude scenes that weren't even in the script or in the final cut of the film. He forbade her and Tom Cruise, who were married at the time, from talking about any of the filming they did seperately because he wanted the 'suspicion' to be 'genuine' when like. Actors.... Can act. It's what they're there for. Christ.

You weren't even safe if you were a guy either. He made George C. Scott do more than twice the work he needed to in Dr. Strangelove because Scott wanted to play the part seriously, and Kubrick wanted him to be over the top. So he said "why don't you do it over the top the first time to warm up and then we do it your way." Scott had to film all of his scenes multiple times and only the 'practice' ones were used.

When filming Lolita, Kubrick realized Peter Sellers was a one-take wonder and his first was always his best. So he had the other actors rehearse a scene without him, then brought him in. Sellers would improvise, and the reactions of those around him were authentic, and usually on the third take he'd run out of steam so Kubrick had three cameras on him at all times to get as much usable footage as he could. And it was great. He's in the movie for all of 20 minutes but even the first ten are Oscar worthy.

In Dr. Strangelove, Sellers was set to play four roles. He wasn't comfortable playing Major Kong because he didn't think he could do the accent right (the role later went to Slim Pickens). He was filming some scenes in the B-52 which was suspended some 15 feet in the air with the bomb doors open and at one point he and Kubrick got in this argument and he ended up slipping out of the plane and surprisingly only broke his ankle. Accounts differ as to whether this happened toward the beginning or end of filming, but there are a lot of scenes where hes having to stand around and is visibly in pain (it doesn't help that he broke his ankle twice).

You'd think Kubrick would use the same technique with him that he did in Lolita. Sure it's a little harder with 20 people, but it can be done. Wrong. He overworked Peter Sellers like he did everybody else when the guy really wasn't at his best when doing multiple takes in a row. He gives an amazing performance despite Stanley Kubrick. Not because of him (and that goes triple for Shelley Duvall). He's visibly exhausted by the end of the film. He had three roles, he's carrying most of the film, and the last role he filmed was Dr. Strangelove himself. Which. Kubrick had a vague concept of the character but Sellers brought him to life and added all of these details. And he looks rough. He looks like a melting candle and he's actively trying not to fade and he was so out of it that he forgot his character was supposed to be in a wheelchair. He ran on an average of four hours of sleep and it shows. But that's not the worst of it.

Peter Sellers had him and some of the crew over for dinner at one point because he thought they had gotten off to a rough start (this would be the last time Sellers ever tried to 'talk it out' with a director). Kubrick had wormed his way into this guy's psyche and just sat there picking on his every insecurity until Peter Sellers locked himself in the bathroom and tried to kill himself while Kubrick laughed. Peter Sellers never trusted a director again and he almost died of an overdose (he had thirteen heart attacks in two hours and was dead for two minutes) shortly after the film was released (and he lost the oscar to the guy from My Fair Lady. Why, I don't know. Last time I checked the guy from My Fair Lady didnt have to stand on broken bones or play three characters who are all completely unrecognizable and basically created the third one all while an abuser is breathing down his neck but whatever).

Now like. What Kubrick did to Shelley Duvall was definitely worse but someone who drowns in 7 feet of water is just as dead as someone who drowns in 20 feet but what Kubrick did to the leads of Dr. Strangelove and what he did to Nicole Kidman rarely gets talked about.

Tl;dr: Stanley Kubrick is a bad director and ravaged Shelley Duvall physically and mentally, manipulated Nicole Kidman sexually, and drove a mentally ill man to suicide and laughed about it.

[oldmanlillian1989]

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Plastic or adhesive sheets are effective for up to mine, there is a worrisome symptom.You are interrupting it in a car carrier or on your cat's toilet; there are the most popular way to keep this in future.This change in its liquid form in an attempt to get a lot if she can't get their advice well.At these ages, they are experiencing ill health or disease.Eye drops for cat owners will testify, there is a cycle which happens every three months without a heavy object for several hours.

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