#muse ∆ VENTURE [ Dash Games ]

[fragmented-tales]

Which rage language are you?

open the floodgates

your frustration turns into tears quickly. the strength of your fury is so potent that it sets off the waterworks out of pure rage. you hate it, because whoever's pissed you off thinks it's funny, like you're not tough and you can't defend yourself. you can, you just need to get through the haze of emotions first.

Tagged by: @hyaciiintho (Thank you!!!)

Tagging: @hyliagenesiia and anyone else who'd like to do it <3

[inksandpensblog]

AvA Sticktober 2023 | Prompt 1: Sticks

"And this," Orange proclaimed, flourishing the object in his hands, "is the master stick. Whoever picks this one up can use it to move other sticks during their turn. It also has the most points out of all the colors."

"Oh," Yellow's brow furrowed. "It's not just one point per stick?"

"I thought the colors were just so we could tell them apart," Red chimed in.

"Nope." Orange glanced at the rules. "It says that each individual stick has a set value of points, based on color: yellows are one, greens are two, blues are five, and reds are ten."

Yellow frowned, staring at the collection of sticks on the floor between them with a thoughtful hand held to his chin. 

Green seemed to be of a similar mind, pulling out his phone and swiping his hand across the screen. "Greens are only two?"

"Uh, yeah? Why?"

"Are you mad that yours aren't worth as many points?" Blue guessed, a smirk dashing across his face at Green's answering pout.

Orange stared. "What? They're not- the colors aren't assigned to players. Anyone can pick up any color; otherwise there'd be a way to eliminate players. And there aren't any orange sticks, so I wouldn't be able to play if—"

Orange cut himself off when Green scowled at his phone, swiping at the screen with more vigor.

Red leaned in, peeking over Green's shoulder. "Huh, different variations?"

Green pushed him lightly away. "Yeah, I was just checking the numbers. There's other versions of the game where the colors are a different amount of points."

"But it's the same order every time," Red persisted, trying to lean back in as Green kept shoving at him. "See, look, red is always the most, and—"

"Shush, you're ruining this!"

"Green does have a point," Yellow ventured.

"Yeah, I do!"

"No, he doesn't," Blue maintained. "You two are just grumpy that you aren't more points."

"Guys," Orange insisted, "the colors have nothing to do with you."

Yellow shook his head. "I didn't mean like that! I mean it doesn't make sense that some colors are worth more when the game has the same number of sticks in each color!"

"Oh," came the answering chorus, followed by everyone joining Yellow in squinting at the collection of sticks on the floor. 

"...huh, that is a good point..."

"Yeah, shouldn't the sticks that are worth more be rarer, or something?"

"That is odd..."

"...maybe we should just play it as one point per stick, then?" Blue suggested.

Orange scratched his head. "But where's the challenge, that way? If everything's worth the same value then there's no reason to not just go for the easiest ones every time." 

"And speaking of easy, what about all the ones that end up outside of the pile?" Red gestured at the floor around which the collection of sticks lay. "Whoever goes first can just sweep all of those up on their first turn, they'll have a head start." 

"Oh, we don't need to worry about that, actually." Green looked up from his phone. "This says that a lot of people have it so that those loose sticks are removed from play before the first player goes." 

Orange nodded. "Okay, I like that, we'll do it that way."

"Hey, what if we use that to determine the value?" Blue volunteered. "We look at those loose sticks that get removed from play, and measure the value of each color based on how much of each one got taken out?" 

"That...that could work, actually," Yellow mused.

Orange nodded again, a smile beginning to form on his own face. "We'll make it so that whichever color is present in the greatest volume is one point, next two, then five, and then the least-available color will be ten. If any of them tie, we can just re-drop the pile."

Green grinned. "Well, since you brought it up...this also says that there's a version where, on their turn, a player can decided to re-drop the pile instead of picking up a stick."

Orange froze. "Uh, I don't know if I want to worry about the value of each stick changing partway through the game."

"Oh, fine, play it safe."

"I'm not being safe, I'm trying to keep it fun for everybody. Including the scorekeeper."

"Eh, fair point."

"How many points is the master stick worth?" Blue piped up.

"None, right?" Yellow reasoned. "It helps you pick up more sticks; that's it's value. Oh, but wait," he frowned again, turning to Orange. "You said it had more points than the others, didn't you?"

Orange winced. "Yeah, actually. It's, uh, twenty-five."

"What?!"

"How is that fair?!"

"It's- it's not an automatic win! If it's at the bottom of the pile then—"

"But what if it isn't? What if it falls on the top?"

"Oh forget it just falling on top, what if it's one of the ones that rolls away? If we were keeping those in play, whoever had the first turn could sweep it up with the rest of 'em and then they'd have it for the whole game when they already have a head start!!"

"But we already decided we're not keeping them in play!" Orange raised his voice, waving his hands. "Why is it an issue then?!"

"Because points!"

"There's only one! It being more points is actually justified!"

"Maybe it would be, if that was all it did. But it also helps you pick up other sticks. Anyone who picks it up is already gonna be getting more points, even without it having twenty-five pre-attached! You have to admit, that's a little unfair."

"Well, I'm not hearing any better ideas! What, should we just set it aside and not have it in the game?"

"No, no!"

"What? Oh, no."

"No!!"

"Nobody's saying that."

Orange blinked at the sudden shift. "...no?"

"Yeah," Red insisted. "It's the only stick that can move the other sticks."

Green nodded. "Having it to obtain during the game is, like, it's own prize, regardless of who has the most points by the end. That's why we don't think it having its own points is fair."

Orange considered, taking a moment to breathe. 

"Okay...what, then? Should we just have it be worth no points?" 

They all spent a moment in thought.

"...what if we passed it around?" 

Everyone looked at Blue.

"You mean," Yellow inquired, "once it's picked up, it has to be passed to the next person at the end of the turn? That kind of takes away that challenge, if everyone has it. And the prize-aspect."

But Blue shook his head. "Not quite; I mean, what if it gets passed around every time another stick is picked up?"

There was a pause, then everyone leaned forward.

"That way, it can't be used on every turn," Blue elaborated, "so whoever picks it up first isn't just guaranteed an easier time picking up sticks as the game continues. It'll be up to chance, whether anyone has it when their next turn starts." 

"...I think...I like that," Orange murmured cautiously. 

Blue nodded excitedly. "It also means that whoever is holding it by the end of the game will also be up to chance."

Orange's eyes widened. "So, it could still have the twenty-five points?"

"And it wouldn't be unfair," Green caught on, "because it wouldn't go into effect until the game ends."

"You know, if the master stick is only passed along when a stick is picked up, then if someone holding it were to purposefully botch their turn, they could prevent the person next to them from having the aid of the master stick at the start of their turn..." Yellow grinned.

"Ooh," Red wondered, "what if instead it starts at no points, but then has another point attached every time it's used successfully?"

"Whoa," Blue marveled. "So you can botch your turn and keep the master stick from your opponents, or increase the overall value of the master stick as you pass it along."

Orange felt his own grin form. "Oh. I do like that. Alright, are we all agreed?"

The quartet nodded enthusiastically.

"There's just one more thing: we need to repaint it."

"Huh?" Orange looked at Green, then at the others, then down at the black stick still in his hand. "Repaint it?"

"Like you said," Green teased. "There aren't any orange sticks in this game. Let's fix that."

[indomitableblackdragon]

I can't figure out this spacing thing and I'm not about to find out. So hey! I'm Allul (They/Them, trying to figure that thing out)! I'm that fucking creature that's flooding your dash with posts about a boat girl and whatever other shenanigans my mind decides to get up to. I'd say I should apologize but really the longer you know me the more you realize this is just how I live my life

I'm 26 (Not for long) and a terrible chronic gacha addict that probably should've stopped a long time ago. But since i haven't I now have adopted boats (as this blog shows) along with....

androids

horse girls

very bisexual prisoners

food personifications

goblins

cinnamon rolls

and plenty of other random things that go in and out of my mind on the daily. This may come at a surprise to plenty of people but I literally haven't even been here a year yet (shocking I know). Most of my writing career has been either super bad fanfics, skype rp (yes this sadly was part of my life), and forums of recently. Only after being dragged here by a few friends did I realize what I was missing out on and I'm glad I joined! I promise you I'm not intimidating as I may seem (If I even come off as intimidating) and really I'm a DM away from blowing your eardrums off about whatever you want. Like lets be real my first blog here was a goddamn pokemon. I think that says everything you need to know.

Anyway next is checks notes about myself and that's problematic. Because I have no idea how to do that :3. According to my friends this meme explains it best

But as expected writing is my hobby (go figure) and beyond that is probably video games. A lot and a ALOT of RPGS, Fighting Games, and whatever is out there to get my serotonin running. Currently I'm down in the mines playing Granblue Fantasy Relink, Granblue Fantasy Versus Rising (are you noticing the trend), and dabbling in some other ventures (Gundam Versus if you want to know how niche my tastes get. I also collect plushes!

in line with my crippling Granblue addiction music CD's!

But yeah if it wasn't obvious I love talking about literally anything. My interests are kinda all over the place but most people can vouch that I'm a damn good listener. And that includes plotting even if my mentality usually is just a "fuck it we ball one" rather than really planning it out (I do love planning too! But sometimes you really just gotta go off and never stop). If you don't find me here on NJ's Blog well don't worry I have like 11 more as well. Featuring...

Morgan le Fay (Fate) (@talesofrainandstars_

Melusine (Also from Fate) (@robustdragonheart)

Nian (Arknights) (@unfetteredfreedom)

Mika ("Archive that may be Blue") (@witchoftrinity)

Architect (Girls' Frontline) (@explosivedesire)

Fenie (Granblue Fantasy) (@sourceoftheflame)

Miyoi Okunoda (Touhou) (@geidonteispostergirl)

"Sparkle" (Honkai Stars Rails) @sparklingsplendor

Hiroi Kikuri (Bocchi the Rock) (@sickhackbassist)

My OC Protag from Armored Core 6 "Raven" (@echoesofcoral)

Beyond that I'm always in Discord if you just want to chat or anything else. You can also find me on twitter where I rant about the most craziest things and cry when my favorites in gachas actually get content (it doesn't happen often). Other then that I have no idea how to end this so here's a picture of my dog

anyway I think I've ranted long enough. Looking forward to talking with everyone more and anyone else who is willing to put up with my muses!"

[wastheheart]

tagged by: @newbrn | tagging: whoever hasn't & wants to steal from the dash!

—    BASICS.

▸     IS YOUR MUSE TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ?

Short/average — 5'3".

▸      ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ?

Yes. It's not really something she's ever worried about until her first marriage, and even then it concerned her only in the way that her height put her at a disadvantage. It wasn't hard for Charles to really throw her around when he wanted to and there was little she could do to prevent it unless she used her nails.

As a child, she loved her stature as it allowed her to get into smaller places others couldn't fit. She often was tucked away reading or climbing trees, so being on the shorter side allowed her to be more nimble in these ventures.

▸      WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE ?

As a child, she was very blonde. Her hair gradually got darker as she got older, but her time spent outside maintained caramel highlights which naturally occured throughout her hair and complemented brown eyes.

▸     DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ?

It has a loose curl pattern to it which, if she puts the effort into it can become far more obvious and pronounced, but she tends to throw it up into a messy bun while painting or working. Having worked on a farm, she knew the importance of keeping it out of her face and it's a habit that's followed her into this life, too.

If she's really trying with it she might use a curler to compliment natural curls, but she only really wears it down when she's sure it's not going to get in the way of her doing things. A lot of the time, she wears her hair down at events with Carlisle or if she's retired for the evening and curled up reading a book somewhere.

▸     DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE   /   WHAT OTHERS THINK ?

She does care about her appearance, but to the extent that she enjoys being put together in the eyes of others. With Charles, he had expectations in the things she wore, the way her hair was styled and even a dislike for natural freckles.

A lot of that carried into her immortal life, but with Carlisle's help, Esme began to really embrace the styles she enjoyed the most and more importantly, actively made her feel good about herself. When Alice joined them, the new addition to their coven didn't spare a moment in taking Esme shopping and helping her try new styles she was previously too scared to try out.

She might be self conscious about how others see her, but she's done a lot of work in learning not to care. After all, she's got an eternity of fashion to go and she's already gotten many a trend under her belt so to say.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS    OR   OUTDOORS ? ▸     RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ?  ▸     FOREST   OR    BEACH ?  ▸     PRECIOUS    METALS OR / AND GEMS ? ▸   FLOWERS    OR / AND   PERFUMES ?  ▸     PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ?  ▸     BEING    ALONE  OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ? ▸     ORDER   OR    ANARCHY ?  ▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR   WHITE    LIES ?  ▸    SCIENCE   OR / AND    MAGIC ? ▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ?  ▸    NIGHT    OR    DAY ?  ▸   DUSK  OR   DAWN ?  ▸     WARMTH    OR   COLD ?  ▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ?  ▸     READING  OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ?

Giving until the point she burns herself out, but unable to accept the same in return.

Distracting herself from negative emotions instead of allowing herself to truly feel them.

She is also horrendous at reading just one book at a time. Becoming a vampire really shot her in the foot with this one since she no longer gets muddled between the books she's reading, so she can justify doing this far more often. It drives her coven up the wall with the amount of books dotted around the place, bookmark tucked in various places.

▸      HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ?  HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ?

She lost her son after 9 months of waiting for him and only two days to truly love him. This is the loss that absolutely devastated her and caused her to end her life.

It should have just been the end there, but with Carlisle's intervention, she has had to spend eternity not only remembering that loss again, but having to deal with it again, too. Being able to work on the blame she held for herself in believing she was was the cause of her son's death has gradually helped her overcome the raw pain, but she still feels it every now and then.

Being able to do something with the love she carries internally is also a massive help. She can't be a mother which is admittedly a painful subject for her, but being able to provide that maternal role for her coven allows her to feel some sort of purpose.

Her other loss was that of her parents. Not in the traditional sense which made it all that much worse. Instead, she had to grieve them while they were alive and come to terms with the fact that, after their unwillingness to help her out of an abusive marriage, she could never have a relationship with them again. This hit all that much harder when she left Ohio for Wisconsin.

▸      WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ?

Finishing her first novel as a child. It really opened up a whole other world for her and from that moment she was hooked.

Meeting Dr. Cullen after breaking her leg in that small, Columbus hospital.

Holding her son for the first time and inhaling that intoxicating newborn smell.

Waking up to Carlisle after her transformation.

Her and Carlisle's first date; the first time they told each other they loved one another; his proposal; their marriage; their honeymoon.

The first time Edward called her mother and watching each member of her family become comfortable enough around her that they feel okay to seek her out for help/comfort when needed.

▸     IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ?

As a general rule, no. Even as a vampire, she's not exactly a fan of taking anyone's life. As a newborn she cared very little about killing and what it meant— she just wanted the burning in her throat to cease.

When she gradually regained her human memories and built up her control, Esme began to feel differently; much like she had as a human. As her anger faded in exiting her newborn stage, Esme's compassion and empathy simply deepened and she began to feel things more intensely such as the value of life and what she could do to improve things with her newly gifted immortality.

▸      WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ?

Ugly, mainly. She does a very good job of being there for everyone else all the time that she absorbs a lot from them as well as carrying her own baggage.

Usually it accumulates over something miniscule and usually only in the safety of Carlisle's presence. He is the safest person in her life and so, unfortunately, is also the only person she can truly bear her entire soul to.

It takes her a long while to recover from them too. It's frustrating and she is always working to handle things more healthily, but she is comforted that Carlisle loves her the same regardless.

▸      IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE?

Yes. Carlisle is truly the person she trusts with her entire life; it's more meaningful to her knowing that she was his singer and, even when he changed her, he had the self control and desire not to kill her.

She also trusts her coven with her life too, but the trust and bond she shares with Carlisle is incomparable.

▸   WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ?

Esme genuinely thinks that she is amazing at playing it cool around the person she loves. It was beyond frustrating for Edward when Carlisle and Esme realised their mutual attraction. Neither her or Carlisle wished to make the first move and she cannot thank Edward enough for his patience.

She is someone that notes every single thing that brings her significant other happiness; from the mundane to the grandeur, Esme knows what can bring a smile to their face.

She is also very big in spending quality time with them and just appreciating them as a person. She is invested their beliefs, dreams and any regrets they might have. She doesn't just want to love them, but be a friend and confidant. Needing to know the good, the bad and the ugly is essential in making sure she can love every aspect of them.

[withinthetempestshesaw]

Posted this on Bluesky, but thought I'd put it here too - a little (not so little) rhythm game wrapped for 2024!

What I did this year:

PMed my first two Future 10s in Arcaea

Got my first EX+ on a 13 in Rotaeno

Reached rating 16 in Rotaeno

Started Vivid/Stasis and Noisz Starlight - I still suck, but I'm having a ton of fun

Ventured into the land of rhythm action games - Soundfall has been my goto so far, been going through it with a friend and getting wrecked by the higher intensities

Started Muse Dash and tried out DJ Max V (I bought so many games at the Steam Rhythm Game Sale too)

Tried and dropped Kalpa (it doesn't run well on my hardware :/)

Tried Paradigm : Reboot and Ellia - Paradigm is good but I'm also not great at reading it, just like I wasn't great at reading Dynamix or Phigros

Got way more into arcade games - I can do up to ADV 12 in SDVX, though my accuracy needs a lot of work

Goals for next year:

Reach Ptt 12.50 in Arcaea (prays)

What I'm looking forward to:

Vivid/Stasis final chapter part 2

Noisz starlight conclusion chapter

Nientum... The demo was so fun

Unbeatable!!

Beatblock seems fun too

Wherever the Arcaea story is heading next Designant was amazing

(Next main story chapter of Lanota?)

[tuesdayswithlbe]

Dear Reader,

Middle schoolers should not be allowed to do anything. They should be equipped with safety glasses and hard hats before venturing outside, with no patch of sticky, clammy skin left exposed.  Along with allergies, warnings such as “tendency for violence” or “enjoys repeatedly slamming doors” should be printed in red letters under their nametags. I vote we create new summer camp legislation. No middle schooler should enter the bathroom without signing a waiver.

            You may respond to this with the gentle nostalgia of someone who has never worked as a camp counselor. “But you were a middle schooler once!” You might protest. Untrue, my family and I decided to skip this time of life for the benefit of all.

Much like Jesus, it took me moments to grow in wisdom and stature from child to quiet adult. The analogy does not extend as far as the “favor with God and men” part. God continued to send me confusing signals, and most of the men in my life at that time threw markers at me and gesticulated in German. I did speak German (eventually), but I didn’t speak “Man.” I once showed up to class during the World Cup. Sitting in the empty classroom, I waited out the prescribed 15 minutes for a teacher, classmate, or anyone to show up. After I convinced myself that a selective rapture of German music students (maybe just the good ones) had occurred, I saw a blur of black, red, and gold rush by the window as students in fan gear paraded across campus.

So, in my childhood wisdom, I skipped the phenomenon of American middle school and entered right into the meat of life: doubt, video games, and capitalism. The college thing didn’t really pan out, but the summer camp job remained steady.

Do you think Jesus ever mourned the fact that he outgrew his parents? I outgrew their health insurance at age 26. Which seems like a good time in life to figure yourself out. New address, new credit card number, new health insurance. All the trappings of a true adult. But I’ll tell you the first time you drive to the emergency room, all you can think about is your parents. You revert to a child, asking: where do I park? Do I sit here? Can you help me? Maybe unconsciously I remembered the very first time my birthday had been printed on a hospital bracelet. The very first occurrence of the day that would become the rest of my life. My social science teacher was right: hospitals are institutions of birth and death. We shut all that stuff in one place, but when you return there too early, in the in-between time, all the liminal sounds and devices seem wrong. And when something seems wrong, you look for your parents.

This isn’t a thought process I came up with at the hospital, but some deep reminiscence of my socialized brain: optimistically projecting meaning onto every encounter. In the moment, I actually mused on the stupidity of middle schoolers.

Somewhere in between “parent” and “eldritch creature” is the camp counselor. So, let me wrap this ramble back to the original story I wanted to get across to you: which is that middle schoolers should be wrapped in bubble wrap, then stored, counted, and supervised like laboratory samples. Because the safety lecture given before the kids began their community service cleanup project was not enough, and I had a bloody, rusty nail in my pocket to prove it.

I texted my boss that unfortunately, I needed to use my phone for reasons related to the emergency, and could not call the kiddo’s parents to explain the situation. Let’s be honest: I don’t have the ability to explain any situation. My excuse was not a lie: my phone was in use, by a grumpy middle school boy with his bandaged foot propped on a chair playing “Geometry Dash.” He tilted the screen and handed it behind his head to me.

“Can you beat this level?”

            Recently I’ve adopted a new sleep schedule. I fall asleep around 10:00 PM, contained under a weighted blanket and sleep mask, my Night Phone spitting rain noises through its damaged speaker. When I wake up, usually around 2:00 AM (my body has been surprisingly consistent about this), I drift downstairs to check emails on my Day Phone and make a cup of tea. I have a peaceful hour of productivity before going back to sleep until noon.

 Last night, I decided to take my tea outside and observe the stars. By stars, I mean the twinkling movement of lights and traffic that centralize into constellations on the city outskirts.

            It’s 2:09 AM. But the man who lives below me is out on his balcony, staring, staring, like he’s going to predict the future from traffic patterns. I wonder what he’s looking at before I remember he can’t see. I apologize, internally, because this is one of those apologies that would make things worse if spoken. “Sorry sir, I forgot you were blind.”

            It’s dark and I can’t make out the railing in front of me, but he can, hand reaching forward for a second before he finds the chipped metal bar. I walk forward too, feeling until I find the railing. That stuff is solid, man. This is what we should make the containment cells for middle school summer campers out of. Although I’d be worried about their concussive properties. I can hear it now: the clang of someone’s head against the metal barrier, and the offended yelp. Then the stuttered wail for Mom or Dad.

[puckoffsdaily]

Hello Houston Hockey!

Greetings, puck enthusiasts and neophytes alike! I am Xaviar E. Novak, your resident scribe, and the purr-fect guide to the wild world of the Houston Puck Offs. You might recognize my name (and whiskers) from my previous stint at The Athletic. While the mainstream might label my hissing retorts to disagreeable comments as 'unorthodox' (or 'bizarre', depending on which critic you ask), I prefer to think of them as my own brand of feline flair. After all, in a world saturated with banality, isn't a touch of the peculiar just what the sports journalism world needs?

My passion for the written word has deep roots, tracing back to my high school days. Ah, yes, the 'Farm Days'— where, as Editor in Chief of "The Farmer Focus", I ensured that our readers got the juiciest scoops on the corn harvest and which rooster won the annual crow-off. My journalistic pursuits carried me to the hallowed halls of Temple University, where I donned the mantle of lead reporter for the "Dungeon of Doom News", offering gripping coverage of critical dice rolls and momentous boss battles in the Dungeons & Dragons society. It was a labor of love, indeed.

Before venturing to The Athletic, I sharpened my claws in the high-paced world of high-school sports, crafting meticulous match recaps and player profiles for the San Antonio Express-News and Free Press Houston. Each step in my journey, from fantasy gaming to the very real and visceral world of sports, has shaped my unique approach to storytelling.

Now, while some might still be licking their wounds after an unexpected dismissal, I've landed on all four paws. The universe has a way of aligning the stars (or fur patterns) in one's favor, and what better fit for a fiercely unique journalist than the newly-formed, enigmatic, and utterly unconventional Houston Puck Offs? It's as if they've been waiting for my brand of 'paw-sitive' press.

In my downtime, for those curious about my non-sports musings, my publication "Faery Feline Frenzy" showcases the whimsy and wonder of cats donning fairy wings and doing mundane tasks. It's a haven for those who appreciate the sight of Mr. Whiskers pushing a lawnmower or Ms. Mittens deeply engrossed in her ledger, meticulously balancing her checkbook.

So, prepare for a thrilling season filled with ice-shattering hockey coverage, dashes of my inimitable wit, and perhaps the occasional hiss. To all the naysayers and doubters, I offer a simple meow. And to those ready to venture into the icy depths of the Puck Offs' journey, keep those claws sharp and eyes wide. It's going to be a wild ride, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

[lunares-cor-a]

   Quietly,  he peek.

[freedmfighter]

                       @chasde​  sent:   [    if ur still taking these …… ✿  ] 

PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME /  accepting

bold for things i could definitely see or want, italics for things i could see or am unsure of   ;   verse-dependent . striked out for things i don’t want or cannot see. nothing for things I don’t particularly feel anyway about

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  demigods besties  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other .

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other .

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other   (   idea  of  them  just  seeing   the   other   as   a   sibling.  )

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other .

[alldayangst]

lovebug (Tom Holland)

GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!

A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.

“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.

Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”

Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”

And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”

Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”

Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound.  Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.

He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.

“When life was beginning, I saw -”

“When life was-”

“When life was be-fuck!”

“When life was beginning, I saw you.”

Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”

“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”

You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.

“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.

You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.

“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.

Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!” 

“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.

“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”

Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”

“The whole crew?”

Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.

Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-

Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”

Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.

“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”

A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way.��

“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.

Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.

You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”

Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” 

You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”

“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”

You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”

By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again. 

“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.

“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.

The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.

“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics. 

You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.

It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you. 

Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.

Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”

The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.

A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.

You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.

The scene wasn’t working.

The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.

“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”

And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”

Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”

“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.

“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”

Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”

Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.” 

Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.

“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.” 

They’d been over this already twelve times today.

“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”

Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?” 

Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”

Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.

Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”

And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”

When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”

“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”

“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”

“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”

“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.

“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”

“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”

Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer. 

“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.” 

You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.

Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.

“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”

Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.

The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”

“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time. 

He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.

Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?

“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”

Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”

He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”

You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.

It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after. 

���I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”

“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“Lovebug.”

Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”

“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”

And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.

It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.

“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.

“Alright, everyone take five.”

“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.

“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.

Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.

“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.

Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.

“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”

When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.” 

Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.

“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”

“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.

“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”

“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.

“What did they say it was?”

“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.

Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.

“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.

“I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene. 

“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”

Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.

[chronicparagon]

Still A Prisoner: FF7 Turk!Verse

This headcanon is based on my muse’s FF7 verse. The beginning is the same but this verse differs at the point where Harmony is imprisoned in the laboratory as an experiment. 

The verse can be found here: Link, Dash view is here: Link

---------

Day in and day out...

There was a time when Harmony can’t remember what day it is, or even the time. All that mattered was another “test,” another trial, and another challenge to face for her right to survive. She often wondered if the so-called tests were merely games created by the insane man who bears the pitiful excuse of being a scientist. 

Yes, Professor Hojo put her together after that incident. He replaced what she lost with wires and metal. Her revival was not an act of compassion or to give her another chance at life. No, Hojo had ulterior motives.  it was to create a “super soldier.” One with superior strength and excellent marksmanship. Oh, but this was not the dawn of a new era of hope and striving with another chance at life. It was the beginning of her new life in hell. 

Long hours suffering in her cell and during the brutal fights against captured creatures for scientists stoically recording their findings on the sidelines. The searing pain of sterile blades slicing flesh and needles jabbing into her while strapped to the table at a weakened state from vile concoctions injected into her. 

That terrible, sickening sneer that nasty man had while looming over her writing form, as though the twisted scintists enjoys seeing others suffer. Harmony hated Hojo for that! If only. Oh, if only she could have ended him!

A frown curves her lips as her mind wanders back to that grim phase of her life. Her right eye opens to see the vast city of Midgar brought to life under the night sky outside the vast wall of glass. Her left eye remains covered by an eye patch and long bangs styled over that. Her left hand holds the warm mug. She must be mindful with her gloved right hand for her strength can cause anything to shatter. 

So much have changed since then. The girl barely remembers how long she was an experiment, but recalls when fate took another sharp turn. Her hands lift the mug back to her lips, sipping her coffee. The warm taste of coffee mingling with sweet vanilla cream is something she took for granted. Even the slight bitter aftertaste is something Harmony savors more so now. 

She remembers when fortune was in her favor, at least...To a point.

Rumors of a young woman who became a powerful cyborg crept from the Science Department. Hushed words crept through Shinra’s Electric Company until a man hears about her. A cyborg who survived all odds at the hands of Professor Hojo. That piqued the Vice President’s interest for he always searched for those who can serve him. 

A strong super soldier of flesh, blood, metal, and wires would be almost invincible. He can always use stronger guards. That prompted Rufus Shinra to venture to the Science Department where he demanded to see this experiment. 

One thing led to another. 

Rufus has higher authority and though the scientist was very reluctant, he had no choice but to surrender his test subject.  That was the day when Harmony was taken from her cell, shipped to a private room where she met the one and only Vice President Rufus Shinra who offered her a deal. 

He offered her freedom from the clutches of science, but at a price. 

Harmony remembers sitting in a chair across from Rufus who lounged idly across from her before sliding the contract across the glass top table with a fountain pen. 

He gave her an ultimatum: Sign the contract to join the Turks. Serve him and protect him at all costs. It was that or return to the Science Department, forever forgotten. 

What other choice did Harmony have? 

Now, Harmony stands alone in a lounge room with her coffee. She exchanged rags for the infamous suit. The woman only has some freedom now, but only some.  She turns away from the window and sets the mug on one of the tables not far from the lounge’s kitchenette. A soft sigh escapes her while tugging the cuff of her Turk jacket and the dress shirt under it. Sterling greets her visible eye and lips curl back to see the Shinra logo branded on metal. It’s a mark she had since she first woke up in her cell so long ago. 

Her stomach still turns at the sight. A horrid reminder that she’s not fully human and no longer free. She has some freedom now, but in a way, she’s still a prisoner. Harmony shakes her head as her free hand dips into her jacket’s pocket and takes out a black brace. She clips it around her right wrist and a band of bright blue light lights up along the middle of the bracelet.

 A turn of her black boots, Harmony pushes a button on the brace and a laser bursts to life from the bright band before it expands to a vast wall before her. The towering wall of energy is incredibly heavy, but she lifts the wall up and down with ease. Another push of a button and the force field collapses. 

The bracelet is not only an accessory, but a tool given to her. Obstacle is what it’s called, and it’s as useful as her other weapons. 

“Good. No problems with it.” Harmony mutters to herself before taking the mug from the table. She takes another sip of her coffee before leaving the lounge. As much as she much rather stay, the Turk can’t stay there forever. 

I guess it’s back to the grind... Harmony thought, knowing that despite the change in her life. In a way, she is still a prisoner. 

[fatealigned-archived]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN !

BASICS

BIRTHDAY : october 15th

PRONOUNS: they / them

NAME : emrys (not giving my real name)

ZODIAC : libra

FAVORITES

Favorite Author: christine feehan (i’m a sucker for vampire romance novels) anne rice, christopher pike

Favorite Character from Literature : Lestat de Lioncourt, Anakin Skywalker, Alisa (Thrist)

Favorite Music Genre: pop / rock / indie 

Favorite Kind of Book: fantasy, period novels, royalty & romance

Favorite Animal: black cat

Favorite Disney Cartoon : beauty and the beast

Favorite Video Games: final fantasy 8, mass effect, final fantasy mobius (before it shut down)

Favorite Color: black and baby blue

Favorite Tv Shows:  bbc merlin, sailor moon, manifest

Favorite Mythology:  egyptian, greek and norse. Thor, Selene, Persephone, Set, Vesta

Favorite Food: pasta with meat sauce and pulled pork n fries

Favorite Actor: Bradley James & Colin Morgan

Favorite Countries: I’ve only been to Canada.... Didn’t like it because it was dead in the winter. Want to see the UK, Czech Republic and France.

ROLEPLAY QUESTIONS

CANON OR OC:  I love both, though all my ocs take from some sort of canon

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN RPING : since the days of AOL. I was 11

WHO IS YOUR CURRENT FC : christian from moulin rouge

FAVORITE GENRE : same as with books: fantasy, period novels, royalty & romance with alot of angst

SOFT MUSES OR EVIL MUSES : soft muses. evil muses are cool but not my thing normally

WHAT IS YOUR PREFERRED WRITING STYLE ? : third person, literate, 1- 4+ paragraphs

HAVE YOU BEEN ON OTHER PLATFORMS ? : i was on twitter and facebook for a bit but my facebook accounts got shut down. been on other platforms. most are non existence now. Was in yahoo chat rooms and AOL til ventured elsewhere

WHO IS YOUR TOP MUSE AT THE MOMENT ? :arthurs always my strongest one next to merlin and recently romeo montague. so its between those three

NAME YOUR MUSES YOU HAD IN THE PAST  Tristan and Yvaine from Stardust, Eragon Shadeslayer, Westley (Who’ve I have brought back), Anakin Skywalker (Canon), Obi Wan Kenobi, Padme Amidala, Xena the warrior princess, Kimberly the pink ranger, Susie Q, Quentin Coldwater 

taken from the dash by: @storitale​ tagging:  anyone who wants to do the thing.

[suganovakawa]

day four — tetsurou kuroo.

a/n — i completely forgot about doing this after being so caught up with rhi LMAOOO

day three < day four > day five

haikyuu!! for the holidays masterlist.

⠀"he'll be here soon, y/n. don't worry." kenma had taken notice of your worrisome expression, placing a hand on your shoulder as you jumped a little bit at the sudden contact. "kuroo is not the type to miss out at a party, believe me."

you knew that part, definitely. tetsurou had been wrapping things up at work before calling it a day, promising you that he'd meet up with you at kenma's house for the annual holiday party. the atmosphere was as comforting as ever, with nothing but smiling faces hanging around the place as nekoma alumni, as well as some other special guests. were able to chat amongst one another and just enjoy themselves in general.

"nah, i'm not worried when he's going to get here. i know he wouldn't miss your parties for anything in this world. i'm just wondering what kind of holiday stunt he's going to do this year." the glass of eggnog in your hands was just about done, you took the last sip before venturing off to get another one, waving to the party host before parting ways.

"y/n! glad to see you're doing well." you turned to see yaku holding a glass of his own, his sweater rolled up by the sleeves as he smiled warmly at you. "where's kuroo at? he's not missing out on kenma's party this year, right?"

"oh god no. tetsu would never even dream about missing the holiday party." you refilled your own glass before turning your attention to the libero. "last time i checked, he was just wrapping things up at work, no biggie. he's definitely going to be barrelling in soon enough, i can sense it."

"HO, HO, HO!"

a chill ran up your spine as that all too familiar tone of voice rang through the air, the entire party turned their attention to the source. you sighed and shook your head, placing one hand to your forehead as you looked at kuroo.

there stood the dashing businessman, wearing... a less than dashing outfit. you could've sworn he had left that morning with a suit on, just as normal. you were almost afraid to wonder where he got that... santa suit from.

save from the white beard, kuroo just about had everything. the red suit, the boots, the gloves, the hat. he seemed quite content with his outfit - snug, dare you think - and sported that oh-so-devious smile he was infamously known for. behind him was bokuto, playing kuroo's holiday game and dressed up as a reindeer - simply a brown turtleneck and a headband of antlers. koutarou seemed to enjoy the getup, but not as much as tetsurou.

"sometimes, i have no idea what goes on in that head of his." you jumped at morisuke's voice, almost forgetting that he was still right next to you. "i'm going to go greet some other guests," he spoke, chuckling as he took another swig of his holiday beverage. "lovely to see you again, y/n. talk soon."

just as yaku had disappeared into a different room, your lips curled into a tired but happy smile as you locked eyes with kuroo, waving to him quickly but remaining in place as he trudged his way past the crowd to you.

"you've always been quite the icon in red, tetsu." you laughed and reached out to play with the dangling portion of his hat, which hid the majority of his typical bedhead hair. "where on earth did you get this suit?"

"oh, this old thing?" he smiled innocently. "that's my little secret."

you shook your head and turned away from your boyfriend, your eyes now eyeing the treats that were just lying on the table, waiting to be eaten. the cookies that hinata had brought seemed delicious. "hey, tetsu, what do you want from - "

you were cut off abruptly as a gloved hand snaked around your waist, urgently pulling you closer to kuroo as he had a pout spread across his face. the pull was so quick your eggnog had spilled onto the front of his jacket, leaving a golden stain not too hard to see.

"excuse me," he mused, poking your nose with his free hand, "where is my christmas kiss?"

"your - hey!" he snatched the glass from your hand and quickly drank the rest of it, a small nog mustache painting his upper lip as he placed your glass down on the nearby table. "c'mon tetsu, i just refilled that glass!"

"just one kiss?" he puffed his lips out cutely, this time snuggly wrapping both arms around you, his grip tight enough to warrant no escape. "then i'll give you all the eggnog in the world. if i can't do that, i fail as santa claus."

"you're such a dork, tetsurou."

he giggled as he pulled you in closer. "i know."

taglist ( open ) — @tinynarutobookmark @elianetsantana

[marblecarved]

fifteen muse associations.

Animal:  Magpie. Colors:  Chartreuse green, deep salmon, lavender, periwinkle blue. Month:  April. Song:  Johann and Josef Strauss “ Pizzicato Polka ”. Number:  28. Day or night ? Day. Plants:  Calla lily, hollyhock, sweet pea. Smells:  Sandalwood, dried aromatic herbs, caramelized sugar. Gemstone:  Emerald. Season:  Spring. Places:  His Apothecarium during its opening hours, with bubbling cauldrons and wood crick-crackling in the fireplace; An opera house, to attend to performances in his best finery; Misty woods at dawn, in which he ventures to search for herbs, finding them under whispering trees covered in dew. Foods:  Candied fruit. Astrological sign:  Taurus. Element:  Earth. Drink:  Elderflower wine.

tagged by: my dash games loving self. tagging: you ! If you see this on your dash and would like to do it for your muse, steal it ! ♡

[20thcentury-kylo]

Tides Of Memory Chapter 2

Surprise!! Wanted to have this up yesterday but things sorta got out of hand, and tbh after this I'll be kind of busy so I atleast wanted to finish this one- anywho Enjoy

--

A wild flower hill overlooks the calm sea at dusk. The sky’s color fades into a midnight blue as the moon and stars peak from the clouds. Ebisu sits among the wild life- Guitar in hand as he hums a simple tune.

“Just breathe… just breathe- it’ll all be fine~” Soft strums from the instrument follow in simplistic patterns. As he gazes up to the stars above he feels no words could better fit the moment. Amongst the chaos of interstellar wars and the literal end of the world- a scene like this- it’s peace.. He could believe that it would all be fine. Kiome had already gone back- most likely to keep Ebisu from seeing him break down completely, but Ebisu knew.. He could feel it in his soul- the scared tremors, the subtle shaking in his hands. The rose haired musician swore he’d be strong for the both of them, he wouldn't make Kiome face this alone, he didn't have to be alone, not anymore.

“Maybe it's the question.. Maybe it's the answer~”

--

The quaking roars were gone, but Kiome was nowhere to be found. He promised to stay away but as Ebisu runs through the ravaged battlefield the only thought coursing through his mind is finding the chubby swordsman.

“Kiome!!” He pleads out their name gaining no response. With every step he takes, dread seems to fill him more and more.

“Just breathe.. It'll all be fine~”

--

The blood won't stop pooling between his hands, the tears in his eyes won't either. In the midst of it all he somehow finds the strength to laugh.. How unfair it all was. His beloved laid there dying in his arms and yet here Kiome was… singing to him. How unfair the world could be. The last thing he sees before the light envelopes them is the pained smile on his face, as he whispers it one last time

“Darling… i love you~”

--

Ebisu is a 17 year old boy living in the Nakano ward in Tokyo with his adoptive guardian. He loves tales of the sea, of lost treasure and one day hopes to venture out there on his own, to maybe find his own lost fortune. Ebisu has the strangest dreams filled with even stranger people, and fleeting whispers of feelings that leave dull aches in his heart.. The words always echo in his mind and he can't seem to explain the tears in his eyes as he wakes. It was all so… confusing, and yet when their eyes met… when their eyes met suddenly the distant haze seemed to be clearing.

They're such a soft shade of amber- so warm so… familiar. The feeling that follows is so intense that he can't stop the stream of tears that follow soon after. The boy in front of him winces- bringing a hand to graze his forehead, yet never breaks eye contact.

“I-i’m sorry, are ya okay?” Ebisu tries his best to compose himself- stifling the tears long enough to pick himself up off the ground.

“Dont worry ive been through worse.” whatever was ailing him seems to have subsided and yet- they stay there, gazing at one another in a tense silence. The boy eventually begins to speak when he’s caught off by a shout from the distance.

“Hey! That creep snatched My wallet!” The cries of a knocked down pedestrian follow as the therian sprints away. Instinctively Ebisu checks his pockets to find his own wallet missing.

“That little sneak-” The fisherman prepares to apprehend the transient- brandishing his signature fishing rod and hook. Yet before he can even start the backswing- the stranger he’d just met is already dashing towards the thief.

“Oh no ya dont!!” Before Ebisu can blink the apparent swordsman is already flying at the transient- his still sheathed sword arced forwards. The encounter is over in seconds with the captured therian pleading apologies as he scurried off. He’d been so stunned at the boy's ability that he hadn’t noticed the small faded blue wallet being shoved in this direction.

“You dropped this..” Their hands brush slightly as he takes the wallet- and Ebisu’s mind fixates on the fleeting warmth. He wants to thank him sincerely, yet the blush flooding his cheeks keeps his eyes averted choosing instead to focus on his newly re-acquired wallet.

“I um- I never got your name~” Ebisu manages to stutter out- still refusing to meet eyes with the mysterious swordsman.

“HEY!!” The recognized shouts of none other than Nankano’s resident viral sensation, Benten. She practically flies at them, her phone camera trained on the chubby swordsman.

“Kiome! Didn’t expect to see you ‘round here, especially pulling off moves like that~” In the midst of her excited rambling he hears the name…

“Kiome…” It’s almost scary how naturally the name rolls off his tongue. Ebisu finds himself unable to control the smile that sneaks its way onto his face.

“Ebisu- you manage to find anyone for your little adventure, I’m still rarin to go of course~” The sudden reminder of his previous endeavor has him more embarrassed than he honestly should be.

“Ebisu huh.. Well If it's adventurers you need- you’ve just found the right guy.” Kiome expresses with a subtle wink. The nervous giggle that erupts from the rose haired boy resembles more of a shy highschool girl rather than a trained fisherman. Ebisu escorts the 3 of them back to the restaurant he helps run. For once he was thankful for Benten’s presence, having her between them with her excited chatter was perfect for keeping him distracted. Even so he couldn't help but sneak a passing glance at the chubby swordsman when he got the chance.

They sit down discussing the plans over some tea, and while Ebisu, and Benten fall into their usual banter- Kiome is reminded of the warnings his friends gave earlier

“Yeah, I've been hearing a lot of those recently as well, though in the end- it doesn’t change what we hafta do.” Benten’s proud declaration earning a chuckle.

“Actually, I looked into those before- judging from the location of where these pirate ships were being sunk, it’s most likely they were confronted with mermaids; the Daughters of The Waves-” Ebisu informs them. From what he’d gathered- the mermaids were likely guarding the treasure. As he keeps explaining- Kiome gets that same unsettling feeling from before- this wouldn’t be some light adventure… This was serious. By the time they’d finished the three of them settled on a plan; Benten was in charge of finding a crew- people strong enough to stand against the apparent threat that awaited them, a crew that now included Kiome, and Ebisu would handle getting the ship, supplies, and salvage equipment ready which from the sounds of it- he was already on top of. Benten had parted ways at the shop's entrance, eager to begin her search- leaving the two boys alone, Ebisu having offered to walk Kiome back to the station. So as they strolled side by side- Ebisu decides to break the silence.

“Y’know this may sound weird but- I have the strangest feeling… that we’ve met before, somewhere.” His words cause Kiome to turn with a pondering expression, he had no memories of a past life, but somehow he held the same feeling.

“It’s weird but… I know what you mean~” From there they fall into light conversation, a simple game of 20 questions passes between them yet both still held the strange possibility in the back of their minds. Before they knew it the train's electronic whistle was heard from afar.

“Guess the fun's over for now huh~” Kiome’s words followed by a breathless sigh.

“Yeah heheh , i guess so..” The pearl eyed boy parrots back. Kiome turns to him, suddenly unsure of what to do. A hug?, just a handshake? To keep himself from dallying he settled on the latter, extending a hand out to his escort.

“Nice meetin’ ya-' ' Ebisu stares a bit in awe at his hand for a moment before slowly reaching back with a hand of his own. Their hands meet in a subtle shake, it's the first real contact they've had, and Kiome can't help but notice how soft Ebisu's hand is. There’s a whisper of a feeling, warm, and nostalgic- the two seemingly lose themselves in it for the moment. It lingers even as they let go, and with sheepish smiles and stuttered goodbyes the two part ways.

In the clear star filled night- the haze further clears on their memories. Ebisu finds himself unable to find easy rest, finding comfort among the midnight sky. As he sits illuminated by the moon- lost in thought, something long forgotten seems to return to him. He has no idea what it means but the prospect has him anxious and excited to find out

‘I wonder what it looks like’ He muses in his thoughts. Gazing up at the moon's glow.

“San Diego~”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Bagginshield Bingo- Arranged Marriage

Sorry about not getting this in yesterday! I had a shit Monday at work, but a much better Tuesday and I could not get this one to end! I legitimately want to turn this into a full length fic, but I already have so many WIPs...

Still taking asks for this. Feel free to make a request because it’s now very apparent which bingo I’m going for. Please enjoy!

Title: Trapped by Blue Eyes

Summary: Bilbo thought it was his chance to be an ambassador to one of the greatest kingdoms in Middle Earth. He should have known it was a ruse and run while he could. However, a dwarf prince’s plea and beautiful blue eyes trap him in what will be an insane adventure in marriage.

When Bilbo had been asked to represent the Shire in Erebor, this wasn’t at all what he had in mind. Dreams of being an ambassador in the wealthiest and most influential kingdom in all of Middle Earth was quickly dashed by the reality of the situation. He was presented as a suitor for their prince along with twenty other representatives. Bilbo still didn’t know if his grandfather knew ahead of time and didn’t tell him, or if he had been deceived the same as Bilbo. That the Shire mattered enough to this eastern dwarf kingdom to encourage trade between their lands. Either way, he had been made the fool.

He stood at attention amongst willowy elves, strong dwarves, and youthful men. Males and females amongst all their races as he remained the lone hobbit. It was a jest. He stood no chance of winning the affections of a prince. He was merely there for the propriety of not excluding a member of the free race. It was a waste of his time, and he was certain, a waste of the prince’s time. Yet, he remained in line waiting until his name was called to enter the conference room and present his candidacy. He hoped he would at least have time to tour the mountain before they threw him out.

“Bilbo Baggins, Grandson of Thain Gerontius Took of the Shire.” The herald announced.

Bilbo resisted the urge to sigh as he stepped forward. The white haired advisor who had been leading the others in one at a time raised an eyebrow at Bilbo.

“A hobbit? How unusual.”

Bilbo crossed his arms behind his back as he held his head high.

“I believe there is quite a bit about this situation I would label unusual, but I am not one of them.” He answered coolly.

The dwarf’s eyes widened in surprise, but there was a twinkle to them showing he was not offended by Bilbo’s retort. Which was good news for Bilbo. He had a bad habit of letting his mouth run away from him.

“Right this way, Master Baggins.” The dwarf instructed bowing, rather unnecessarily, before him. “The prince may ask you a few questions. Just answer honestly. This is not a game of politics, just a dwarf looking for his match.”

“Yes, of course.” Bilbo answered brusquely as he tugged at his best receiving jacket.

The burgundy clashed beautifully against the pea green of his waistcoat with it’s golden embroidered vines. His grandma Laura used to tell him all the time that it was his best outfit for highlighting the Baggins brown in his hair and eyes. While desirable in the Shire, he knew it made him look a bit plain elsewhere in the world. Perfect for getting an eccentric prince to pass over him as husband material.

It was a mere few paces before Bilbo got his first good look at his potential husband to be, and it was almost enough to stop him in his tracks. The dwarf before him stood regal and proud with his flowing ebony locks flashing with silver beads and crown. His nose was straight and small when compared with other dwarves Bilbo had met, but his eyes. It was as if Aule captured the sky above and pinned it into those fathomless depths.

“Bilbo Baggins, grandson of Thain Gerontius Took, may I present Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, Prince of Erebor.” The older dwarf introduced.

Bilbo blundered through a bow, almost forgetting it entirely in his stupor. Thorin approached him, an appraising hand on his chin as he circled Bilbo. The hobbit was taken aback by the blunt sizing up, but he held his silence as he awaited the prince’s verdict.

“Tell me, Master Baggins, why should I pick you as my husband?”

Sweet Yavanna, his voice was just as sinful as his eyes.

“I’m sorry?” He tried to clarify, his tongue feeling clumsy.

Thorin looked seconds away from rolling his eyes as he retook his place in front of Bilbo with his arms crossed.

“I’m asking, what could the Shire offer Erebor out of this union? Flowers?” He mocked.

Bilbo’s eyebrows furrowed as heat rose from his chest to pool in his cheeks. He cleared his throat as he fought to maintain control of his voice. Clearly, his earlier musings at the dwarf’s beauty was merely surface deep.

“I did not come prepared to make any negotiations on behalf of my homeland, Your Highness.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed as his chin jutted high. “So you came merely to take advantage of Ereborian hospitality.”

“I came on behalf of my Thain after being summoned by your king!” Bilbo snapped, unable to reign himself in any longer.

“Be careful how you speak, Hobbit!” Thorin growled.

“I do apologize, Your Highness, and I certainly mean no disrespect to your grandfather,” Bilbo continued, unable to stop the growing tirade. “But this entire farce has been the epitome of wasted time. What can the Shire do for you? How about bellies full of good food because it is clear to me, there isn’t rich farmland for miles! The better question is what can Erebor do for us? You may be rich in gold, but we have no need for it out west. I had hoped to at least get a good story out of this venture, but you have done a decent job of dashing that hope! Now we both have known from the moment I walked in that you weren’t going to pick me, so let’s end this with our dignities still mostly intact.”

Bilbo finished with a nod as he tugged on his jacket hem once with finality. It was only then he was aware of Thorin’s raised eyebrow and slack-jawed expression. The advisor looked similar gobsmacked, and Bilbo found himself embarrassed for an entirely new reason now.

“Yes, well, thank you for your time, Your Highness.” Bilbo mumbled, fumbling through another bow.

Neither dwarf reacted, and Bilbo awkwardly excused himself from the room. Bilbo kept his head down as he passed the entrance where the rest of Thorin’s potential suitors still stood, hurrying back to the guest halls. He’s had quite enough of dwarven kingdoms, and he figured he was about to be thrown out on his bum. He only wished Gandalf was still around to escort him back home. Oh well, he would wait for him in Dale if he had to, but by Eru’s will, he was leaving Erebor tonight!

Once back in his room, Bilbo had to lean against the stone door to fight the jelly sensation traveling up his legs. Did he really just yell at a prince? It didn’t matter how they chose to look at his grandfather’s position, he certainly did not hold enough power and influence in the world to be able to get away with that. His need became that much greater, and he swiftly threw his belongings in his pack. A few wrinkles here and there was a sacrifice he was willing to make to stay clear of the dungeons.

He had just finished tying the drawstrings when there was a knock on his door. He froze debating on whether or not he should answer. He could fake his absence, but the guards standing in the corridor would know he had not vacated. Cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck as there was another knock. He twisted his hands around each other as he slowly crossed the room and answered with shaking nerves.

“Good evening, Master Baggins.” The advisor from before greeted with a bow.

“Master Dwarf.” Bilbo nodded in return. “Before you say anything…”

“Balin.” The dwarf interrupted with a wide grin.

“Pardon?” Bilbo sighed.

“Balin, son of Fundin, at your service.” He introduced. “Might I borrow a moment of your time?”

Bilbo looked around him, more than a little surprised it was only the older dwarf outside his room.

“I’m afraid our Prince is not with me.” He explained, trying to guess Bilbo’s thoughts.

“No, no! I didn’t think...please, come in.” Bilbo stepped aside wondering how many ways he could look like an idiot that day.

“Is the room not to your liking?” Balin questioned upon entering.

“It’s quite comfortable.” Bilbo reassured.

“I only asked because you packed up as if you were hoping to transfer quarters?”

His nose twitched under the older dwarf’s knowing stare.

“Yes, about that…”

“I thought you handled yourself well today.”

Bilbo’s head gave a light thrum as the conversation continued to twist in circles.

“You...do.” Bilbo concluded dryly.

“Yes, the bluntness of a dwarf, but still retaining an air of manners. Fine qualities when looking for a consort.”

Bilbo replayed that last line over in his head a few times with a sickening realization.

“Master Dwarf…” Bilbo began once he found his voice.

“Balin.” The other reminded him gently.

“Master Balin,” Bilbo started again. “Prince Thorin isn’t putting serious consideration in the idea of...me? Right?”

The soft smile and the twinkling gaze was far from reassuring.

“Our prince would like to extend the invitation of dinner tonight to make amends for your first meeting.”

“Why?” Bilbo asked in morbid curiosity.

“He feels you may have gotten the wrong impression…”

“Master Balin.” Bilbo interrupted him this time. “You know clearly what I meant.”

Balin nodded his head, his grin still wide as if pleased with Bilbo’s wit.

“Ask Thorin. Tonight. We will send a runner when it’s time. Please, let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.” Balin declared giving a final nod to Bilbo’s packed bag.

With that, Bilbo was left alone, and a thought that hadn’t quite occurred to him before seeped into his very being, filling him with dread. That damned, arrogant dwarf was actually about to pick him. And for what reason? Spite? Furthermore, if that was the case, he would be stuck here in Erebor. Never again to see his Shire, his beloved Bag End. What started off as a high-spirited adventure to distant lands was quickly morphing into a bleak, stony prison. 

His gaze wandered to his pack. How far could he make it before he was caught? Would they even bother or would Thorin just move onto the next suitor in line? The temptation was only subdued by his duty to the Shire. It would reflect poorly if he left without giving the dwarf a second chance. Besides, surely, there was no law that would force him to marry? He heaved a heavy sigh as he unpacked his next best outfit for dinner.

***

By the time the runner came for him, Bilbo had smoked two pipefulls of Old Toby, changed his clothing three times, and marked a path in the fireplace rug from his pacing. For once in his life, Bilbo’s stomach rejected the mere idea of food, and his desire to run was all but reality. Still, his sensibilities and courage took hold, leading him down the hall after the servant, and into the most gorgeous dining room Bilbo had ever seen.

The table was long and stone like most dwarven furniture, but there was a solid gold inseam that ran like a stripe straight down the middle. Lavish tapestries and weaponry decorated the walls, and right in the center was a massive chandeleur that Bilbo was willing to bet was made with real diamonds. It caught the candles within, and bounced the light a hundred different ways making the room practically sunlit in spite of the hour.

Thorin, himself, was dressed in deep blue and dark furs, contrasting against the fireplace at his back at the head of the table. Even without his crown, there could be no doubt that he was a prince, hell a king in his element. The dwarf rose to meet him, and the palpable tension that he carried earlier was gone. His guard was still up though, and Bilbo found that just made him even more unreadable. The prince nodded his head mere paces from him.

“Master Baggins.” He greeted evenly.

“Your Highness.” Bilbo returned with probably his most natural bow of the day.

Thorin reached out his hand, and Bilbo hesitantly gave his expecting a handshake only for his ears to burn when Thorin’s lips grazed his knuckles. He was staring at Bilbo now, his eyebrows furrowed just slightly as his mouth open and closed a few times as if unable to decide on his words.

“Your...vest...thing is very nice. It highlights your...feet.”

That was quite easily the strangest compliment Bilbo had ever received. He had to glance down to make sure there wasn’t something wrong with his appearance.

“Thank you?” He finally offered.

Thorin nodded again, a little relief bleeding into his countenance. He swept his hand out indicating a place setting next to Thorin’s own. Bilbo moved towards his seat, pausing as Thorin pulled out his chair for him. His gaze settled on the empty plate before him as he struggled to make sense of the prince’s change in behavior. A silence pressed on them both as Bilbo tried to find a polite way to ask after his purpose in being there.

“So…” They both started at the same time.

“No, please you first.” Bilbo insisted.

“Please, go ahead.” Thorin offered at the same time.

They gave an awkward chuckle before Thorin decided to speak again.

“How are you finding Erebor?” 

“The mountain is very lovely.” Bilbo answered stiffly. “I must confess, I haven’t had much time to explore.”

“That...is a shame. I will have to give you a tour soon.” Thorin mumbled in response.

“I would hate to impose, Your Highness.” Bilbo politely declined.

Thorin looked a little crestfallen, and Bilbo found it tugged at his chest in a way he didn’t understand.

“But if you did, where would you take me? What are your favorite aspects of your kingdom?” Bilbo blurted.

Thorin blinked in surprise before a small, but genuine, smile spread across his face. Bilbo’s throat felt clogged and he was thankful when the servants brought out their first course to hide his burning face behind a spoonful of soup.

“These are all things that wouldn’t be on an official tour.” Thorin explained with a smirk. “But I love to walk deep into the diamond mines with nothing but torchlight and watch the room glitter like stars in the sky. I love being near the forges with the sweltering heat and the pounding of hammers on the anvils. But my favorite place is the ravens’ roost. There is a spot up there where you can see for miles, and it feels like all of Middle Earth is before you.”

Bilbo felt himself smile, enthralled by Thorin’s passion for his home. He paused for a moment, just soaking in the images described to him that were so different from his home, but somehow just as beautiful. 

“What about the Shire, Master Baggins? Tell me about your own home.”

Bilbo clumsily began to talk about the rolling green hills, the sun-kissed summers, the gardens and farms, and an evening smoke filled with a field of fireflies. Things he was certain held no interest to a dwarven prince, but if Thorin was bored by his narration, he never showed it. After that, their conversation seemed to be a little easier, if not still polite and distant. They were closing out the evening when Bilbo finally had to ask.

“Your Highness, with all due respect, why me?”

Thorin blinked before his expression slowly closed off once more.

“You were the strongest candidate that I felt I could have a...relationship with.” Thorin explained, his words practiced even as he stumbled over the word relationship.

Bilbo felt ice drop into his stomach. Even after what he considered a lovely evening, this was all still a ruse. A political maneuver of some kind.

“Prince Thorin,” He barked, as surprised as Thorin by the hard edge to his words. “If I may be frank, I came here tonight with no intention of staying in Erebor through the night. I will be leaving for the Shire, unless you can give me a real reason to stay.”

Thorin’s hands tightened into fists, and for a brief moment Bilbo feared Thorin would order his guards to lock him in his room. His expression pinched, and he released a breath through his nose as the tension slid out of him once more.

“I hate it when Balin is right. He told me you would not be idly swayed, but I chose to ignore him.” Thorin mumbled more to himself than to Bilbo.

Bilbo narrowed his gaze. “Sorry, I was not stupid enough to be tricked.”

“No!” Thorin gasped. “I...it’s just…”

A hand rubbed down his face, and Bilbo found he looked far older and more tired than his initial impression. A sympathetic tug at his heart held him to remain and hear Thorin out. The prince stood up and led the way to a different doorway than where Bilbo entered.

“We can’t talk here.” Thorin explained when Bilbo merely stared at him in confusion.

Heaving his own sigh, Bilbo got up and followed the dwarf through the new passage. It wasn’t long before Bilbo was completely lost on how he would find his rooms from here. Maybe that was Thorin’s plan to keep him here. He would be a prisoner of the mountain, lost in its labyrinth. They finally reached Thorin’s destination, and Bilbo entered after the prince. He was a little confused as to the nature of this room. It opened into a sitting room with expensive furniture and what appeared to be a personal armory. However, there were several doorways that branched out, and peeking down one Bilbo caught a glance of what appeared to be a bedroom.

“Where are we?” He asked curiously.

Thorin had immediately gone to the liquor cabinet in the corner and poured them both a drink.

“These are my chambers.” He answered.

Bilbo jumped and took a step backwards. He was torn on how he should feel: outrage at the dwarf’s presumptions, indignant at being tricked into the prince’s bed, or the small part of him that wanted to be just a little exhilarated at the fact that Thorin chose him.

“Now see here!” Bilbo began.

Thorin rolled his eyes as he interrupted what was about to be an impressive tirade on Bilbo’s part. “Peace! I merely wanted to speak away from prying ears and eyes.”

Bilbo’s jaw clicked shut. Thorin invited him to sit on the settee, and it was with stilted movements that Bilbo perched himself on the edge of the seat. He took the glass offered to him, but made no move to drink. Thorin on the other hand threw back the strong brew in one gulp glaring down in the empty glassware. The air was heavy as Bilbo waited for Thorin to give his reasons before he threw the drink in his face and marched out. 

“My grandfather is unwell.” Thorin whispered.

Bilbo almost wasn’t certain he heard him correctly at first until Thorin pinned him with a desperate and intimidating glare.

“Your grandfather...I don’t understand. Does he need a healer?” Bilbo finally asked.

Thorin snorted staring off to the right with a dark look.

“It’s not a physical illness, but one of the mind.”

Bilbo nodded, still relatively unsure what this had to do with anything.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about how to help with that.” Bilbo finally stated.

Thorin gave a mirthless laugh, his eyes softening some when he looked back at Bilbo.

“I shouldn’t think so, Master Baggins. None do. He has been consumed with his riches, Dragon Sickness, they call it. My only hope now is to soften the effects of his rule until I can inherit the throne. My father and I were ruling Erebor together behind the scenes until his…passing.”

“Please, don’t think me uncaring, Your Highness. But what exactly does this have to do with me?” Bilbo sighed.

Thorin was silent for another long moment, and Bilbo was afraid he had overstepped when Thorin spoke once more.

“I love my grandfather. I mean, I want to love my grandfather, I loved him once long ago. But he has become...cruel and careless, and I fear for Erebor. I have sent my sister Dis to live with her husband and sons in Ered Luin years ago because I don’t know how he will react to having more heirs.”

“Surely, not his great-grandsons.” Bilbo tried to protest, but Thorin’s somber look stopped him.

“The war I fought in that earned me the title Oakenshield, I was supposed to perish along with my father and brother.”

Bilbo’s heart clenched as his hands tightened around his glass. These were secrets he shouldn’t be hearing. There was no way he, a simple hobbit of the Shire, was to know of royal family plots and shame.

“Thorin...why don’t you leave? Go to your sister and nephews!” Bilbo cried aghast.

It was the first time he had spoken so casually to the prince, and yet neither of them noticed. The dark haired dwarf’s gaze was so sad, and yet filled with a firm strength Bilbo couldn’t help but admire.

“Erebor is my home. Besides, I worry for its people if I were not here to protect them.” He explained. “No, once Balin and I learned the...truth. No matter how hard it was to swallow, we had to come up with a plan that would make me look less...threatening in my grandfather’s eyes. I fear he thinks I want to take his throne from him by force, and I dare not dwell on what measures he is cooking up to remedy it.”

Bilbo forced himself to swallow against the pain that threatened to overtake his chest. To live in fear of one’s own grandfather...he couldn’t even imagine. He certainly disagreed with his own quite often and was frequently annoyed by him, but he has never feared the Old Took.

“So if I were to appear as a fool in love…” Thorin purposely hid his gaze from Bilbo. “Especially with someone below my station with no hope of giving me heirs…”

At his pointed gaze, everything suddenly fell into stark clarity. Thorin intended to use him as a shield against his grandfather’s paranoia. It made perfect sense. Hobbits had no desire for gems and riches. A simple, country male who managed to snare the heart of the heir to the most powerful kingdom in all of Arda. It was so brilliant, and yet he felt sick to the very pit of his stomach. He numbly set down his untouched drink as he stood and stepped away towards the fire. His hands were antsy, and he had a strong desire for his pipe. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Bilbo demanded spinning around. “Are you trying to blackmail me into going along with this deranged plan?”

“You asked!” Thorin snapped, jumping to his feet as well.

“Stop treating me like an idiot!” Bilbo snapped, fury written in his every nerve. “I’m done with the half-truths. You brought me into this, why?!”

Thorin was a puppet with his strings cut. This, whatever it was, it was clear this was not Thorin’s game. From what Bilbo knew before meeting him, he was a leader, a warrior, a hero. He wasn’t a politician or spy, he wasn’t one for mind games, and it seemed as if Bilbo’s words stripped him of that leaving him bare.

“Because I need your help. I didn’t expect you to be...you.” He explained gesturing to Bilbo. “A head of wit and a spine of mithril, but after you spoke to me in the conference room, Balin and I both realized you were exactly what people would expect out of a consort. It would...sell easier, especially considering you’re not...a dwarf.”

Bilbo wanted to stomp his foot, burst into tears right there, and pull out his hair. Never in his wildest imaginations did he expect he was being summoned for something like this. A fake marriage to make a mad king take his heir less seriously in terms of succession all because he was a qualified candidate.

“Please.” Bilbo turned to Thorin fully only moments from falling to his knees in a plea. “You must know that this is insane.”

However, it was only after he said it that he knew Thorin did. He didn’t even have to look into the haunted blue eyes before him. This insanity was Thorin’s everyday life.

“Dwarven engagements are notoriously long. No one would bat an eye if it was two or three years before we married. With your Shire being months away, we could even drag out the process. In the meantime, those loyal to me will be working on a solution. It’s possible you wouldn’t have to marry me at all.”

Bilbo’s eyes fell to his feet. “What if I don’t want this?” He asked hoarsely.

Thorin sighed as he hesitantly put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“I understand. I won’t hold you here, I just ask for your...discretion.”

Bilbo nodded numbly refusing to let himself be taken by Thorin’s broken voice.

“I need time to think.” He finally told him. “I’ll give you my answer in the morning.”

Thorin nodded before leading him back to Bilbo’s room. Bilbo didn’t mind the silence this time, although he felt anyone looking at the two would think they were heading to an execution rather than two wayward lovers. There’s no way this would work. As Bilbo tossed and turned through the night, he was certain he would be telling Thorin no upon dawn’s arrival and running for the Shire.

However, all it took was one look into Thorin’s hopeful blue eyes, and a ‘yes’ fell from his lips. For one small moment, the shine of gratitude and relief made it worth it. It was like Thorin said. They had years to consider an alternative solution. In the meantime, Bilbo would play the happy in-love consort to be. Thorin barely gave Bilbo a moment to grasp what he had signed up for before he was taking him to meet the king.

Thorin and Balin did a good job of building some fairy tale worthy story of love at first sight and other such nonsense as Bilbo fought to keep from squirming under Thror’s dark, cold glare. When they finished the king gave a mocking smile, and when he spoke, Bilbo’s world toppled out from underneath him.

“Why wait? If it’s true love, I say we get started with the wedding planning now. Thorin and...Master Baggins will be wed by the end of the month.”