#now i have no idea what its supposed to be ��� like its giving. poorly designed tarot card

[astranauticus]

Director of the False Last Act

[bloatedandalone04]

Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 1.5

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which anakin and the guys are granted a break, but that still didn’t give him any hope that he could actually fix things between you and him - but that also didn’t stop him from trying.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.2k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | THANK YOU FOR 4.6K FOLLOWERS

Anakin was sitting quietly on the couch as he half listened to Theo and Helena talk at the table on the bus. 

They had been discussing something in hushed whispers for a while now, but Anakin still had no idea what they were talking about. He couldn’t focus on anything right now as he scrolled through the text thread he has with you, his expression one of misery and agony. 

He knew you were back in LA by now. You had to be. You were probably packing your things as he sits and lets his eyes flicker between his bandmate and manager. 

Anakin had left you so many messages by now, and you haven’t replied to a single one. He felt pathetic and worthless, and he hated himself. 

He dropped his phone with a huff, instead deciding to trace his index finger along your handwriting on his wrist. It can’t be over between the two of you. It just couldn’t be. You were everything to him, his entire world. How was he supposed to do this without you? 

“Helena, please, just a few weeks,” Theo begged, and Helena sighed as she rubbed her forehead harshly. “My sister just told me that our mom is getting worse. I can’t let her go through that by herself anymore. I can’t not be there for them anymore. Please.”

Anakin’s mood deteriorated further at his friend’s pleas, and he wished there was something he could do for Theo, but he can’t even fix his own mess. “I know, Theo, I know,” Helena mumbled, standing up and rummaging around in her bag. “I’ve been trying to get this thing pushed back ever since you know who decided to touch broody over there.”

The not so subtle dig had Anakin rolling his eyes and picking at the threads on the blanket he threw over his lap. “Well, can you?” Theo asked desperately. “Get it pushed back? Just a few weeks. I need to be there if my mom-” he cut himself off as he refused to say it out loud. 

Anakin felt tears prick at his eyes as he stared at the floor. His heart ached for Theo, and it ached even worse for you. How had things gotten this bad? Just to make things that much more tragic, it seems like Clara and Vinny’s relationship was on its way out, too. She had left last night on a flight back home, and Vinny hasn’t been out of bed ever since. 

Seriously, how the fuck had things gotten this bad?

Helena looked at Theo with poorly concealed pity, and she sighed as she ran her hands through her hair. “Okay, Liz’s contract will end soon, and I think I’ll be able to get the next few weeks pushed back, so she won’t be welcomed back on the tour once things go back to normal,” she started, sitting back down at the table and looking between Theo and Anakin. “So that might help fix his problem.”

She gestured over to Anakin, and he just scoffed, wondering why she was talking about him like he wasn’t sitting less than three feet from her. 

“I think I can have all of you on flights back home by the end of the week, I just need to make a few calls,” she stated and Anakin’s scowl disappeared almost instantly. 

“What?” He asked in disbelief as Theo made a beeline to his bunk to begin packing. “Really?”

Helena nodded, flipping through a notebook with various names and phone numbers in it. She was old fashioned that way, despite being not much older than Anakin. “Don’t quote me on that, but I think I can do it,” 

Anakin sprung up, the blanket falling to the floor as he pulled her out of the chair and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you,” he rasped, aware that she might not be able to get the tour pushed back, but she was going to try, and that’s what counted. “I owe you. For everything.”

Helena huffed quietly, pulling away to look him in the eye. “We’re a team, Anakin. You guys are like my family at this point,” she murmured and Anakin felt more tears gather in his eyes. “You know I’ll try to do anything I can for you three.”

“I know,” he whispered, “Still, thank you.” 

The next morning, after Anakin got about an hour and a half of sleep, he was waiting anxiously to hear if Helena had managed to get the tour postponed. He was sure Theo had been up all night, too, if the way he couldn’t seem to get comfortable in his bunk across from Anakin’s was anything to go by. 

When she announced that she was able to push the tour back a few weeks, Anakin booked the first flight back to LA and had Theo beside him on the plane. Vinny was in no rush to go back, so he decided to stay behind for a few more days. 

Anakin had sent you a quick text before he boarded the plane, which read, 

I’m coming home. I’m going to fix everything, I promise, Princess. I love you so much. 

And when he got into an Uber after the flight, he saw that you had read his text, but didn’t reply. That was the first text of his that you had read, and as pathetic as it sounded, it gave him hope. 

Theo was in the car with him since they had decided to ride together. He lived a few minutes away from yours and Anakin’s apartment, so he would be dropped off after Anakin. He didn’t even care that Theo would involuntarily be listening to the voicemail Anakin is forced to leave you as you had once again ignored his call. “Baby, it’s me,” he started, glancing over at his friend and feeling grateful for the way Theo turned his body towards the window so Anakin could have at least a little bit of privacy in the car. “I’m ten minutes away from our place. I’m so sorry, for everything.”

He ended it after that, even though he had so much more to say. He wanted to save himself the embarrassment of pouring his heart out to you over the phone, just to have you delete it without even listening to it. 

When the car pulled up outside the apartment complex, Anakin reached over and hugged Theo. “I hope things get better for you and Mary and your mom,” he mumbled, hearing Theo sniff quietly in response as he tried to hold off tears. “Text me if you need anything, okay? I mean it.”

Theo nodded and pulled away. “Same to you,” he says with a forced smile. “Y/n will forgive you. You’ve been together for too long to just give up on it now.” 

Anakin returned a half smile, squeezing his friend’s shoulder before grabbing his bag and getting out of the car. He watched it pull away from the curb as his hand dug around in his bag for his keys, and he almost cried when he finally found them. He hadn’t used them in so long, and he was hit with the memory of the last time he was here. It was the day he left for the tour with you by his side. 

If he could go back and do it again but better, he would in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t. He just had to deal with the consequences now. 

Anakin blinked a few times as he entered the lobby and headed right over to the elevators, taking one all the way up to the fifteenth floor as he tried to think of what to say to you. 

Would you even be there? Did you read his last text and flee the second he got on that plane? God, he hoped not. 

He was a shaky, sweaty mess as he reached the floor you and he lived on, and his nerves were slowly taking over as he neared the door. Anakin couldn’t believe how nervous he was about entering his own apartment and facing you, the girl he’s loved for five years now. It had never been like that with you. Ever.

As he stuck the key in the lock and turned it, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He hadn’t seen you since that night in the dressing room nearly four days ago. He had so much to make up for, so much to apologize for, and he could only hope that you would listen.

When he pushed the door open and stepped inside the quiet apartment, his heart fell at how dark it was. He was sure you weren’t home and hadn’t been for a while, but then he heard some movement to his left, and he dropped his bag instantly and entered the living room. “Princess,” he whispered when he saw you sitting on the couch, your old Uni hoodie covering your upper half while a blanket covered the rest of you. 

Your hair was tied back and your eyes were sad and empty, and when you looked up at him, you dropped your phone onto your lap with a quiet huff. “Oh, you actually were ten minutes away,” you mumbled. “I thought you were lying.”

Anakin shook his head as he scanned the dark living room. It looked like you had been living in here since you got home. Water bottles, your mugs he teased you about on the day you moved in, and cracker boxes were scattered on the coffee table he and Vinny put together. “Why…why would I lie about that?” He rasped, stepping further into the room. “Why would I lie to you?”

You tore your eyes away from him and shrugged. “Because you’ve done it before,” you simply answered, looking back up at him with tears in your eyes. “You said you loved me. And that I was the person you wanted forever.”

“Baby,” he gasped and made it over to you in three strides. 

“Why are you home, Anakin?” You asked, making him stop a few centimeters away from the couch. And you. “Why are you here?”

Anakin felt hopeless and on edge. How was he supposed to fix this when he didn’t know where to start? “Because I love you. And I want you forever. Just you,” he answered. “I never lied about that.”

You bite down onto your lip and reach up to wipe at your eyes with your sleeves. “Um, Kenneth read my short story. I finished it on the flight back to London,” you tell him and he stood still, letting you say what you needed to. “He loved it. Um, he wants to get it published.”

“Y/n,” he said quietly, feeling so proud of you even though he was also feeling terrified. “That’s awesome, baby.”

You drop your hand onto your lap and look up at him with a heartbroken expression. “It’s about you,” you confess. “About us. About…how much I love you and…it’s our story, Anakin.”

Anakin’s shoulders dropped at that. You were so sweet and kind and too fucking good for him. He never deserved you. “Then publish it,” he mumbled, his own eyes welling up with tears. 

“I can’t,” you cry, covering your face with your hands. “It’s too much. It reminds me of us too much, and I don’t even know what we are anymore.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, unsure of what to say to that. How does he make this better? “I’m yours,” was all he could come up with. “Even if you’re not mine anymore.” 

Those words physically pained him to say, and they only made you more upset. “Fuck, Ani,” your voice broke as you called him the name he only ever let you call him. “Why are you back?”

Anakin cleared his throat and pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. “Theo’s mom…she got worse and they don’t know if she’ll be okay or if she’ll make it,” he whispered, knowing that his friend wouldn’t be mad he told you that. Theo was your friend, too, after all. 

Your eyes widened at that and you sat up, sniffling as you began looking for your phone. “That’s…that..” you trailed off as you lifted the blanket and grabbed your phone. “I should call him. I should..call him and..” 

You were becoming less and less in control of yourself, and Anakin could see the way you were getting yourself worked up. “Hey,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist as you started to stand up. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you whispered and he saw tears roll down your face again. “Why wasn’t I good enough for you? What could I have done?”

A broken gasp left his lips and Anakin fell onto the couch next to you, pulling your body into his arms as you cried against his neck. “You’re enough,” he promised, cradling the back of your head and holding you tight. “You’re more than enough. Baby, you’re…you’re everything to me. My whole world. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did, for what I allowed to happen.”

You cried harder against him, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in your fists. 

“I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve been there to support you,” he mumbled against the top of your head. “I’m so proud of you, of everything you’ve done. I’m sorry if you feel like you can’t bring yourself to get your story published because of me. I don’t want you to hold yourself back because of me.”

You cling onto him and lift your head. “I don’t know what to do, Ani,” you sobbed. “Please, tell me what I should do. Please.”

He could see just how much you needed help, and how you needed to be guided right now. And he would help you for as long as you needed, even if it ended up with you kicking him out afterwards. “What will make you feel better? Do you want me to leave? I can give you some space or time or-”

“No, I don’t want that,” you shake your head and crawl onto his lap. 

“What do you want, princess?” He desperately asked. “What can I do?”

“I want things to go back to how they were,” you cried. “I want to feel like I did before when I look at you. It hurts, Ani. I can’t do this anymore.” 

Tears fell from his eyes and landed in your hair as he held you impossibly closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

You were shaking against him and he felt terrible. This was all his fault. “I want to hurt her,” you mumbled. “I hate her. I fucking hate her, Ani. I hate her for what she did to you.” 

“I hate her, too,” he pathetically agreed and you lift your head. 

“What are we going to do, Anakin?” 

He lifted his hand and smoothed out your messy hair, trailing his thumb down to your lip afterwards. “That depends,” he murmured. “Do you still want me? Could you ever forgive me?” 

You brace your hands on his shoulders and nod. “Maybe…eventually,” you answer. “I still want you.”

A breath of relief left his mouth, but he still wasn’t happy with himself. “I’m back home for a couple weeks, and I’m going to spend every single day making this up to you,” he promised. 

“Then you’re back on tour?” You quietly asked and looked down. “With her?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Helena said something about pressing charges before I came here, and I might go through with it. She won’t be there, I promise. She’ll never be around me or you or us again.” 

“Do it,” you encourage, grabbing the hair on the back of his neck with shaky fingers. “I don’t want her near you ever again. I hate her so much.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” his lips curved upwards just slightly as he gently massaged your hips. “That was quite the nose job you gave her.”

You laugh quietly, lifting your gaze to meet his. “I need to know that it was a mistake, Anakin,” you went back to being serious. “If you felt anything for her, even a little bit at all, I’m out.”

Anakin panicked and shook his head. “Never. I never felt anything for her,” he assured you. “She means nothing to me at all. You’re my girl, the one I want to be with for the rest of my life. I’ve known that since I was seventeen years old.”

You nod, trailing your fingers through his hair. “You promise?” You asked and he nodded instantly. “Okay…okay. Ani, these next couple weeks…I need this to be okay. Maybe not completely fixed, but…okay.”

“I’ll fix everything,” he swore, pulling you against his body again. “I promise you, I’m going to make everything okay again. I love you so much. I always will, you’re it for me. My one and only.”

You give him a small smile, tracing your fingers along his cheek before leaning up and kissing his jaw. “I love you,” 

Hearing you say that had his heart skipping a beat. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to fix this,”

Anakin kisses you all over your face before letting you sit in his lap for as long as you wanted to.

It wasn’t okay, what he did. He knew that. But he was going to make damn sure that he made everything right again. He had to.

-

Three weeks later…

Being back on stage after the brief break Anakin was given felt great. 

He loved being on stage, loved the lights and the screams of fans and the feeling he got from it all.

But it wasn’t what had him feeling so happy right now. 

Theo’s mom had pulled through and was getting better by the day, and was able to stay awake for most of the day now. When she regained control of her voice, she practically forced Theo to go back and finish the tour, and told him that she would be there when it was over. 

Vinny and Clara broke up, but are still friends, and Vinny decided to focus on music and the band. He had even started writing a few songs about the experience that he couldn’t wait to get out there. 

And as for Anakin, he was getting ready for a court date that was set for a few months from now. He did press charges against Liz, and though she claimed she was going to fight it, he knew he had a whole team behind him. There was no way she was winning this thing. 

And you. His sweet, beautiful and smart girlfriend. Well, he was gaining your trust back more and more as the days went on. You allowed Kenneth to send your story to his publisher, and it would be released by the end of the year. 

He was so proud of you, and when he began singing the first verse of Wrapped Around Your Finger, he glanced over to his right and saw you standing next to Helena backstage, a smile gracing your lips and the red rose he had given you before going on stage in your hand. He knew you were proud of him, too. 

And he knew things would be okay.

-

Goodbye, my Rockstar and Booknerd. Til we meet again.

Thank you to everyone who read and followed along with this series. I loved writing it so much ! And thank you to my sweets, @everydaydreamer for the original fic idea. Who would’ve thought we’d end up here?

[in1-nutshell]

Hey, not sure if you're down for writing a continuation of the “Megatron 'accidentally' adopting human Buddy who fears nothing” post. But there was a line “Rung has a line of bots that express the same worry for Buddy one day doing something dumb and not being able to come back from it.” that I think should be expanded upon. Dangerous things are constantly happening to the lost light crew and Buddy must have the devil's luck to come out of everything that happens unscathed. I'd like to see that luck run out. I'd like to see the crew panicking because Buddy got hurt badly and there's been no news if they'll recover or not. I want to see Megatron deal with the impending mortality of his newly adopted kid poorly. And I want to see everyone on the lost light panic even more because if Megatron doesn't start a war if this kid dies, Whirl absolutely will. P.s please let buddy live, I may crave angst, but not that much.

Have a good day, love your writing

Ooooh! Have you been peaking at some of my drafts? haha! I have been thinking about what would happen if Buddy ever got hurt on Megatron's watch. But now more bots are going to watch.

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron and Fearless Buddy who gets seriously hurt

SFW, familial, platonic, angst but happy ending, mention of injuries but nothing graphic or detailed, Human reader

MTMTE/LL

As we all know Buddy fears nothing

And this put some stress on their friends and new dad, Megatron.

“Hey Megs!”--Rodimus

“Rodimus, don’t call me that.”--Megatron

“Yeah, not gonna happen. Anyways I was wondering if you’ve seen Buddy anywhere. They were supposed to show me something?”--Rodimus

“Show you what?”--Megatron

“Something about being a present for being Brainstorm’s ‘Guinea pig’?”--Rodimus

Buddy flying by on a jet pack.

“Hi Roddy! Hi Megs! Bye Roddy! Bye Megs!”--Buddy

“…”—Rodimus and Megatron

CRASH!

Both mechs start running

But as time continues to go on, their little antics are just normalized. Sure, there are still some bots that know the true fragility of the human life span. Such bots included but not limited to Ratchet, First Aid, Velocity, Swerve, Rung, Megatron, and Whirl

“Where are you going with those pilars?”—First Aid

“It’s nothing illegal, yet.”--Buddy

“What type of answer is that!?”—First Aid

But for the most part the crew thinks Buddy is almost as durable as they are. Yes, even Megatron has been guilty of this type of behavior. He isn’t too proud of that.

“C’mon Fleshy jump and do a flip!”—Random Bot

“Bet—”--Buddy

“I think not.”--Whirl

“Whirl?!”--Buddy

“If you break your dumb fragile bones who else is going to come with me on planet expeditions? Cyclonus? I think not. He sucks out all the fun.”—Whirl

“I am literally right here.”--Cyclonus

So, let the angst begin.

The place was being invaded by space pirates.

The pirates where taking the bridge and had successfully barricaded themselves in.

“Why can’t we just break the door down?”--Buddy

“The main room has delicate equipment. One wrong move…”--Megatron

“Okay that’s a bad idea then.”--Buddy

“We just need an opening from the main door and we can figure out the rest.”--Rodimus

“Hey, I’m tiny enough to fit through the crack under the door. I can open the door!”--Buddy

“Absolutely not.”--Megatron

“For once I’m agreeing with him.”--Whirl

“Hey, its not like we have many options here. Unless someone else has a better idea then I am quite literally the only thing stopping these guys.”--Buddy

“…go then…”--Megatron

He was going to regret saying it like that. The computers dashboard in order to unlock the door or at least give it an opening. So, when they were sure that the aliens weren’t looking, they sprinted over to the console by swinging up with a grappling hook to the chair and began running towards the buttons.

They had indirectly activated the plasma screens.

These were holoscreens all over the ship that would show what was happening on the bridge. Everyone had a front row seat to Buddy sprinting across the console. There where cheers as Buddy was coming closer and closer to the button

“They made it!”--Rodimus

“Way to go Buddy!”--Tailgate

“Just press the button.”—Ultra Magnus

“That’s my Amica—”--Whirl

It was right there…

The alien came out of nowhere…

“EW! A Rat!”--Alien

“A ra—"--Buddy

They swatted Buddy across the room in one swift movement. They’re tiny body hurdling across the room and off screen. A small sickening crack was heard.

It was barely noticeable.

But it caused a deafening sound across the entire Lost Light.

 Good news for the crew, Buddy’s shoe came off from the force of the hit and successfully pressed the button opening the door.

Everyone is lined up to take these aliens down.

Megatron and Whirl are at the forefront of it.

Megatron is trying to find Buddy while Whirl is absolutely destroying everything.

Megatron spots Buddy slumped over in the far corner of the room.

No motion, nothing

He is just frozen in place.

“Buddy…”--Megatron

“…”--Buddy

“Megatron! Move!”--Ratchet

Ratchet snaps him out of it as he is trying to help Buddy.

Megatron snaps out of it a cover him.

Buddy is rushed out an into the medbay.

Everyone is waiting.

The sudden gravity of Buddy’s mortality weighs heavily on the minds of everyone involved.

Megatron sulks in his room thinking about how he failed them. He can’t bear to sit by Buddy in the med bay. Ratchet understands and tells him that he when Buddy wakes up.

Whirl on the other hand, stays by Buddy’s bed side the entire time.

“Hey Tiny. It’s been a hot minute since you’ve open those little eyes… You mind opening them up?”--whirl

“…”--Buddy

“Fine be like that…”--Whirl

“…”--Buddy

“Well, you’ve missed a lot since you took that hit. One you have a ton of inner most energon by your room and a growing number of get-well gifts. I personally made sure none of you’re a secret bomb. Megs is still in his room and its giving everyone the creeps.”--Whirl

“…”--Buddy

“… Don’t tell this to anyone… but we miss you, you scared the ever living Pits out of us.”--Whirl

“…”--Buddy

Whirl has lost every good thing in his life. He is going to make sure that this one thing does go so soon.

Buddy does wake up

“Hye Whirly Bird?”--Buddy

“Buddy?!”--Whirl

“Why you looking at me like that? Someone died?”--Buddy

“You nearly did Tiny!”--Whirl

“But I didn’t, huh? It takes more than a hand to stop me.”--Buddy

“…I guess huh.”--Whirl

Megatron is zooming over when he hears. Buddy is trying to play off their injuries to try and keep the peace.

“Hey Megs.”--Buddy

“Buddy…”--Megatron

“You okay? You look like you’re dying.”--Buddy

“… that was a poor choice of words.”--Megatron

“Yeah I guess— woah, Megs?"—Buddy

Megatron gently holding Buddy’s hand the best he can

“Just let me hold you please, just a little bit.”--Megatron

“Sure Megs.”--Buddy

As they are recovering Buddy is treated with a bit more respect than they had before. Good thing too, they did after all manage to save the ship after all.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

the counterpart

chapter 6 — done it warning, done it now

art cr: @zaunitearchives our most faithful viktor lover <3 (can you guess which one of the inspo pics belongs to me?because i wasn’t joking when i said i might start using my pictures for these silly frames — I‘M DEDICATED to this fic okay)

word count: 2,2k

VERY nsfw, horny idiots in love, dialogue dialogue dialogue, explicit language, public masturbation, vehicle sex if you will. some porn to prepare you for the chaos i may or may not cause in the next chap 🫣

part 7

—

“Do you ever feel like a pawn?” 

He turns around and his weary head tips deeper into what little comfort an old bus seat could provide, honeyed eyes a confused reproach pointed at your sheepish smile — had you dawdling over the halo of sun rays slipping prettily into the dark scatter of his hair, turning chestnut into rich, warm bourbon. 

“Since when are you interested in philosophy?”

It makes you stumble over an innocent chuckle; fingers grow flush and hot against his, threatening to slide out of the warm press of hands — to satiate the sudden whim of cradling his face and dipping your thumbs gently into the sharp lines of defined cheekbones. 

“Answer the question, Viktor.” 

Oh the forwardness. Always gives him the urge to comply no matter how ridiculous the request is — be it a hypothetical silly ‘what if’ or an actual firm demand. 

“I don’t project on inanimate objects, milackú,” he maneuvered smoothly out of your prudent trip, placing a cheeky kiss on the curious arc of your mouth. “But, in order not to digress — yes, I suppose I do. Quite occasionally. In your arms.” 

“Smooth. Bravo, Viktor — that was so sweet I might have to see a dentist now.”

“Don’t forget to send me the bill.” 

You gawked at the tooth gap in his proud grin with a hopeless sigh, leaning closer to tuck your face into the crevice of his slender neck. Couldn’t care less about the other passengers — nor did they care about you, to be frank: your seats were hidden in the back corner securely enough. Lips pressed to the fresh love bruise, so poorly covered with a mess of his unbuttoned collar — a not so humble possessive remnant of the morning tryst in his room. You craved a change of scenery: ravishing only one bed quickly becomes boring and unfair to its just as much ravished owner. 

“No, but seriously,” you kept prying, words a muffled mumble against the slim of his skin — had you smiling when you caught the subtle scent of soap on the barely exposed collarbone, and his hand found tender leverage in your hair as thoughts drifted to the delicious things he did to you in that bathroom this very morning. Even longed to hold him there for a little longer — if not for the damn bus, that was now rapidly moving towards your opportunity to flaunt. Or to become a pitiful disgrace. Unfortunately, so far you were only leaning towards the latter. 

It was Viktor’s idea. To play a local tournament — a somewhat silly for a person of his rating gathering, that he had no valid reason to attend. And yet he was so insistent on taking you there, held your hand so securely tight as you tried to fruitlessly convince him of your incompetence. Well, not incompetence, per se — you were simply a tad bit rusty, with a long forgotten dream of ever turning your passion into something professional. Endured a lengthy back and forth filled with his soft persistence and your capricious reluctance (which was secretly just a failed attempt to cover your incitement). 

Because you loved the competition. Used to live off the thrill of having people at the edges of their seats, consumed their defeated groans alongside each captured piece, and forcibly swallowed the spiteful comments spinning at the tip of your tongue during each bitter post-defeat handshake. Adored the elegant gall-spitting on the checkered board, and loved hearing people whisper malicious things whenever you entered the room. 

What happened to that version of you? Was it still there — a sharp tiny warrior, or ‘that pretentious little cunt’ — a title you wore proudly after a certain querulous opponent had revealed it to you generously all these years ago?

Well, certainly. Angry girls grow up shaped into furious women, but your fierceness is now only imposed on men, poetry and lechery. Anything but tournaments. 

And — while chess still owned your heart — you had to bow your head to the countless obstacles of life, aiming for stability; fed the vigorous child inside you countless books and analyzed hundreds of games, hoping that, eventually, that stupid yearning will be sated. 

But now you had him — your bright opponent, rated strong intermediate and highly respected in narrow circles. A player of great potential — he was everything you could’ve been by now, a living proof of one’s passion and major coexisting peacefully. Your personal Czech serpent, the gentlest hangman of your fortitude — eager to get you rated, to make you see your skills through his meticulous eyes.

So here you were. Entwined with him in the contentious privacy of this backseat, harried with occasional chokeholds of your nervousness. Viktor was waiting for your point, all flushed ears and uneven breath. 

“What I mean is,” you sighed again, tongue dancing skittishly over the front row of teeth, “don’t you ever feel so small and utterly unimportant? Like everyone else is so much more valuable?” 

“But pawns are very important,” he protested, coaxing you to quit hiding from his acute eyes, “I delivered checkmates with pawns countless times before. And so did you.“

You couldn’t argue with that logic. Just sank deeper into his arms and watched the light run through his dilated pupils — the slipping boredom of the city both of you were getting out of today. 

“Yes, but would you rather lose a pawn or… say, a rook? Or a knight? Or quite literally any other thing?” reluctant to bend to his attempts at soothing your restless mind, you refused to retreat and sweetly troubled him further. His smirk curled atop yours in a curt little touch — but one can’t kiss away a worry that excessive. Even as determined as he was to try. 

“Depends on the circumstances. Surely, choosing to lose a powerful piece over a less significant one sounds unreasonable when you put it that way — but we both know it doesn’t exactly work like that.” 

His sigh — or was it the rough scorch of the sun? — was making you melt; took care of your misery like the acidic little thing it is. Big palm stirred over the hem of a cotton dress, tracing it with a tremble, then slipping cautiously underneath — to curl around your thigh and pin it to the seat like a gentle shackle. You could still make out the grip through the sheer restraint of fabric; had your legs clenching together to trap it viciously into a crate of skin and soft little hairs: they stood on their ends oh so treacherously, each shiver palpable under the calluses of Viktor’s fingers. 

“Moje laska.” There it is again. Turning you into a dumb pile of freshly discovered weaknesses — he could burn you to ashes that very moment and you’d gladly let him get away with it, as long as that hand stayed so close to home, damp from your sweat and whatever beads of slick seeping through the soaked ruin of your underwear. If only he could reach down and throw а quivering thigh over one scrawny shoulder, tongue a trail chasing the wet deliciousness of your lust after him — just how he likes it: sweet, slow and salacious. The holy trinity of your fervent undoings.

“You’ll make them all feel like pawns,” you felt him sting the shell of your ear in a tortuous whisper, his caress tenderly cruel against what little composure left between tense legs, “I can promise you that much.” 

“We have a tournament to play, and that’s what you’re thinking about right now?” you tried to snatch the power out of his hands, but tripped over his long middle finger — so viciously close to the swollen folds. He could’ve grasped the shape of them through the obstacle of fabric if only you approved of the mischief. 

“We have a tournament to play, and you’re wasting our precious time on baseless self-consciousness. I am merely providing a pleasant distraction,” he explained, then resigned to offer you a moment of hesitation. “Unless the setting is too public for you, of course. I don’t mind proceeding in private, with less prying eyes nailed to your potential, eh… agony.” 

“My, you’re shameless.” 

“You’re one to talk. So? May I?”

Gaze quickly flipped through the row of potential witnesses, failing to notice a single giving a fuck one. Viktor waited for your permission with patiently bated breath, watching your throat move when you gulped, slightly strangled. 

“Please.” 

Lips protruded into a line — a show-off of a smirk at the eroded crumbles of your sanity. Because, indeed — your writhing was needy to its very core, legs tumbled in to coax your salvation out of him. Impatient, fitful, stubborn — your demand was impeccable in its tacit delivery, emphasized the urgency when a single fingertip brushed the entrance soft and languid, then found the wet, laced at the edges barrier. White and see-through, with a silly bow sitting prettily right on top — he watched you put them on fresh out of shower, all damp-skinned and weak-kneed, the swift slide of light fabric over the divine thick of your thighs. It’s a shame he couldn't see the mess he’d made out of them. 

A well-rehearsed route: a casual slide inside the delicate garment, a timid swipe over each plush fold. Immutable, but you liked it — begged for more into his rouge under the white shirt shoulder. It matched you so effortlessly. Though his attire was sticky only from sweat. 

Torturous. Purely, perfectly, obscenely tortuous — that’s how his finger felt, hot and slick, in a precious little roll against the swell of your clit, and you found hold of his lean thigh, nails a sharp anchor in the gentle flesh of it — squeezing hard enough to cut through his pants. And his little chuckles —  these warm brisk spurts of muffled laughter. They had your free from gnawing at him hand pressing tight against your mouth, pushing the debauched whine back into your throat until it was practically strangling you, swallowing hard to keep everyone present unaware of the stage of bliss you were going through in that damned seat. As tempted as you were to scream at the top of your burning lungs — it was best for your audience to remain unconcerned. 

Don’t get caught, don’t attract attention, don’t fuck it up — but god was it difficult when you needed so much more than just these restrained, demure cirles against your aching clit. Glassy-eyed and so tense, you silently pleaded him to keep going — a second away from rolling into his lap to fall strung up on his just as much aching cock and have him thrust your heart out in that very grimmy seat. And he would do it, always so happy to please — no doubt muttering swears towards the oblivious handful of other passengers, mourning the urge to tend to as you deserve it — full-course and thorough. 

He probably won’t fuck you in public ever again. Not where he couldn’t pay you every last neck kiss and every last lewd little word, at the very least. 

But for now he tormented you meticulously towards the sweet climax — clockwise, calculated, gentle. With an occasional flick of darkened eyes over each potential witness: to make sure he’s the only one to savor your collapse, the ever thoughtful protector of your pleasure. And there he was in your ear again — with a filthy helping of pleasantries spoken softly to ensure you get what you want. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Voice satin, motions timidly flawless. He had a bit of a hard time pronouncing it, choked on a humm so utterly awe-struck. “Oh, the things I’d do to you if only we were alone. The things I’m tempted to do to you — to hell with privacy. Being quiet doesn’t suit you, milovaná.” 

And you finally spilled. Heavy head dropped back in what could’ve been a loud lustful moan — mouth formed an eager O under the slam of your sweaty palm. Buckled knees and tiny convulsions — you came not nearly hard enough in comparison to what he usually puts you through, yet it still lanced through you and turned limbs numb, clit was sore from the remnants of your dissolving arousal, throbbing under the generous stroke of his fingertips. 

A slow orgasm — both in delivery and departure, a taunting treat that left you delightfully dizzy. You captured the warm sight of him through the fluttering cover of lashes, myriad white dots biting roughly at your vision, rubbing rudely into a sunny line that melted the ends of his wild hair into a lighter shade. His hand slid away, tremulous. Left a glossy trace all the way up to your shaking knee. Thin wrist caught a little cramp. 

“Breathe.” A sultry reminder upon the slope of your shoulder as his lips found some skin in a brief kiss. Cheeky. Self-pleased. Had you nearly sobbing in fresh desperation when he wiped two glistening fingers to a fetched out handkerchief ostentatiously. Absorbed every drop of you and tucked it back into his breast pocket — to wear you there lewdly next to his heart. 

You’ll need a few cigarettes back-to-back to recover from this.  

The bus needed fifteen more minutes to spit you out gently into the hostile arms of the competition.

—

tags: @thehistoriangirl @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska

[cozzzynook]

Hi, I would like StarBee's other doodle about Angst, pregnancy and Comfort.

Where Bumblebee discovers that he is pregnant with Starscream and does not tell him for fear of being abandoned, but what he does not know is that Starscream suspects something else

Believing that Bumblebee was avoiding him and that he does not love him, making Starscream angry but Bumblebee ends up explaining the real matter and hopes for some relationship from his sparkmate

- bee would find out he’s sparked and immediately try to avoid Starscream because he fears the seekers response and how he’ll react.

- he knows Starscream is a great creator because of the grown sparklings that still love him from his bonding with Jetfire. Even his nieces and nephews still love the dramatic mech. So bee isn’t worried he’ll offline him or the sparklings. He’s scared that it’ll prove to him what he and Star have is just momentary and something fun instead of something serious and real.

- no one ever wants Bee in a serious way. Just like his brother Rodimus bots want them for a fun time and a joy ride. Sure his brother has two mechs now that love him and are bonded to him but he has a hard time thinking he can get the same.

- so he avoids Starscream and the trine that Starscream politely asked to find Bee, worrying in itself, who is hiding at his brothers who understands his feelings and tells Bee he’s always welcome. What surprises Bee is Rodimus telling Bee to give Star a chance to react and see. If the mech reacts poorly, he’ll help Bee along with their carrier. If he doesn’t they can work from there and see where things go.

- bee thinks on this for a few months and its not something he’s proud of nor is it easy when Star literally flies over the city every day looking for him. Star is visibly angry but he doesn’t snark or blow up at bots like usual. No he seethes and that terrifies bots even more.

- so with Rodimus gentle pushing and going with him, they head over to Starscreams home when he isn’t there and Bee slips inside with Rodimus promising he’ll be in the area in case he needs him.

- starscream comes home to the alert of an intruder and sees Bee sitting there with a troubled em field and his frame looking different than before. He can’t quite put his digit on it but it looks so familiar and Bee’s em field has a familiar ring he can’t place his processor on.

- but his state of surprise goes away quickly when he remembers to accuse Bee and demand to know who he left him for and why.

What could that mech offer Bee that he couldn’t?

And Bee is so confused and hurt, that sight makes Star stumble for a moment and he’s on his knees in front of Bee stuck between anger, hurt and wanting to console his, the bug, until the words make sense in Bee’s helm and he’s telling Starscream.

- “i didn’t..we aren’t dating..we aren’t together Starscream..are we?”

And yeah, Starscream yells something feral out into the tense space away from Bee’s audials mindful of the mechs wellbeing even when upset. And he can’t help yelling.

“Yes we’re together you bolt brain! I may not have verbally asked you but I won’t see anyone but you. I won’t have anyone but you. And i won’t let you leave me for some slag, poorly put together mech or femme that is lesser than me! You are mine, slaggit!”

And Bee is just…seeing stars in his optics looking at the mech thats such a dumb aft but his spark is for once in the right place.

“You fraggin idiot! You’re supposed to ask!”

And the water works come which, Starscream has no idea how to handle since Bee doesn’t really cry and he’s holding his tanks with a servo and trying to wipe fluid off with the other making him think something was wrong.

“I’m fine bolt wing..I wasn’t gone because I was cheating on you or in love with some other mech,” Bee let Starscream get so close to him as the mech held him tight for the first time in two months.

“I left because…”

And its way too hard getting the words out. He’s not sure how to say it without bursting into tears and he doesn’t want to play a guessing game or beat around the bush any longer.

Stars worried optics leave him speechless, spark spinning wild and his optics lost in that beautiful red gaze.

He decides physical talking is the best route to go and placing Starscreams servo on his puffed out tanks that have rounded already is the best way to reveal to the mech whats dawning on his face plates as he looks down and splays his palm against the warm space that houses their forming sparkling.

“You-you’re sparked?”

A nod.

Simple, nervous, erratically done.

And met with the most loving, frame crushing hug he’s ever gotten.

“I didn’t think you loved me..so I left to my brothers. I’vw been with him and his conjunxs this whole time..I know you wouldn’t kill either of us..but I didn’t want you to hate me. I didn’t want you to hate them. I wanted you to want me and our sparkling, like I want you and our sparkling..”

“You fraggin insect wall crasher,” Starscream choked, keeping Bee in a warm embrace so he couldn’t see his face plates.

“I’ve loved you from the moment you looked me in the optics, glared at me and called me a stuck up, out of fashion stiletto wearing cog-masher that needed better derma gloss. You are the most beautiful mech Primus has ever created and I’d be a fool to not see it. I just know our sparkling will be as amazing as my others.”

To hear those words were to hear a symphony of stars welcome him to the well of the all spark.

Bee broke down crying in Starscreams arms after hitting him in the shoulder.

Starscream’s wings fluttered in happiness and Bee knew the seeker would not want him to be anything other than himself.

[davnittbraes]

Teleportation and Blue Whiskey

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Word Count: 1500

Warnings, etc.: descriptions of a panic attack, claustrophobia, annoying coworkers, brief description of desire for self-amputation due to shitty footwear, mention of cotton-poly blend clothing

Reader-insert physical descriptors: nothing in this chapter but hair long enough to tangle fingers in/comb fingers through in future chapters, just in case that’s not your jam

Notes: this is for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Challenge, I got Stuck in an Elevator with Dieter Bravo (something I wish I could actually say happened to me irl 😅) It was only supposed to be a couple thousand words for a fun writing challenge but here I am, splitting it into multiple parts, because as with everything I write it’s taken on a life of its own and has become impossible to control. Everyone hang on, I have no idea where this ride will end. Let’s go 💃🥳

There’s a headache forming at the back of your head - no, right between your eyes - nope, it’s both.

A band of pain slowly throbbing to life, wrapping your skull in the weight of ten consecutive hours of socializing with people you’d just met two days ago.

Fucking. Perfect.

This conference is going to kill you.

It’s the first time you’ve attended, and you’re definitely not coming back next year. Despite what looked like a robust presentation itinerary, the whole vibe seems to be less of an educational event and more of an excuse to spread gossip, get intoxicated to the point of obliteration, and rack up charges on company credit cards.

Who knew clinical pharmacists were such party animals.

It’s just not your scene. You’d rather be back in the hospital, consulting with other medical practitioners, patients, generally helping people, instead of shooting tequila at 3am in the VIP section of some poorly lit club you’ve never heard of.

Sighing, you shift your feet as you wait for the elevator. This pant suit feels stuffy, the cotton-poly blend scratching your skin. The shoes that look so good with your outfit are pinching your pinky toes in a way that makes you want to cut them off and be done with it. If it wasn’t for those damn pinky toes, you’d be taking the stairs - much more preferable anyway, elevators made you uncomfortable.

You’ve never liked them, always hated the inability to just get out whenever you wanted to, the need to rely on something out of your control to give you a chance to escape. And there was always the threat, the possibility that everything would fail, that the elevator would fall, plummet down and you’d be shattered into a dozen pieces.

But your feet might just rebel and call a mutiny if you try to force them up five stories.

So, elevator death-trap it is.

The hotel lobby is starting to fill up with people heading out for a night on the town, including some of your colleagues. They haven’t looked your way yet, but if they see you, they’ll definitely try to rope you into whatever shenanigans they’ve got planned for tonight.

Shit.

You push the elevator call button again, and once more for good measure.

Come on, come on, please -

The ding of the elevator pulls your attention, your aching feet moving even before the doors start sliding open, and you duck inside and out of view of the lobby.

Muzak and a soft golden light fills the small space. It’s welcome, quiet and soothing.

Leaning against the wall, you take a deep breath and let it out, eyes half closing with weariness as the doors start to slide shut. Almost there, a few floors and a dozen steps and then you can flop face forward on the double mattress your company had paid for.

The elevator stutters to a halt, doors sliding open again.

A groan almost slips out and you have to bite it back.

Fucking. Perfect.

The last thing you want right now is social interaction.

A man shuffles onto the elevator.

Your exhausted mind notes tiny details about him - the way his dark green crocs catch on the elevator door track, the frayed hem of his navy and red checked pajama pants, the bulky dark grey hoodie with the hood pulled low over his eyes so all you catch is a glimpse of plush lips twisted into a downturn. He’s carrying a couple reusable bags, well-used and wrinkled, whatever is in them clinking softly together.

He moves to the far corner and slumps against the wall, keeping his head down so you can’t even see his face anymore.

A curl of apprehension mingles with relief in the pit of your stomach.

Okay, well, you didn’t want someone who would talk your ear off on your way to your floor but you’re also not particular on sharing an elevator ride with someone obviously attempting to hide their features.

Whatever. It’s less than a minute to the floor.

The elevator doors slide shut. And nothing happens.

What -

Shit.

The elevator’s broken, you’re stuck in here -

No no no -

Your chest tightens instantly, every muscle in your body drawing up in panic.

This is it, exactly what you’ve been dreading, this elevator has stopped, and there is no escape, and -

Oh.

You didn’t push the button for your floor.

Embarrassment prickles along your skin and you lean forward, punch the number six with your thumb, probably a little too forcefully.

The man in the corner doesn’t move, but social convention prompts you to ask anyway. “What floor?”

“Hmm?” His voice is low, smooth, slightly detached as if he’s lost in his own thoughts. “Oh, yeah. I -“

He shifts the bags in his hands, digs into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a hotel room key card. Fingers fumbling, he steps toward the elevator buttons, hesitating just a moment before he holds the card up to the reader at the top of the keypad while pressing the button for the penthouse. The button illuminates and he quickly steps back into the corner, shoving the card back in his pocket.

His free hand tugs his hood lower over his face. “Hate those things, radio frequency waves or whatever. What’s wrong with old-fashioned keys?”

The last word clips off hard, as if he just realized he was speaking and regretted it.

Confusion blooms, and you keep your gaze forward, your expression blank.

Who is this man?

Dressed like he had just rolled out of bed, huddling in the corner of the elevator, trying not to be seen while rambling about radio frequency waves on his way to the penthouse suite?

Mentally shaking yourself, you focus on watching the numbers flash on the floor indicator above the elevator door.

Doesn’t matter who this weirdo is. Just get back to your room and try to forget about this entire day.

The steady, rhythmic white glow of the numbers is comforting, in some way. A reliable beat, marking the path to the solitude you’ve been craving all day.

2.

3.

4.

The elevator shudders to a stop.

Silence.

You wait.

The door doesn’t budge. Nothing moves.

Above your head, the lights flicker, then steady. Still.

The silence is too heavy, too much, it’s not right.

It’s actually happened, now.

The elevator has stalled, and you’re stuck in it.

Panic, hot and sharp, wells up in the back of your throat, and it takes effort to swallow it down.

Breathe. Deep breaths.

It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.

These things happen all the time.

Think it through. Use that technique from therapy - work through the next steps instead of focusing on the panic threatening to overwhelm you.

The hotel will have someone on staff to fix it - they must, a five star hotel this size? For sure they do. They have to.

They have to.

It won’t be long, maybe a bit longer if the - what are they called? - elevator maintenance person, whatever, is on a break.

But it’s nowhere near a meal time, the Whatever Person is probably not on a full break, maybe just a fifteen or something.

Yeah, okay. So once they get done their break they’ll -

“Are you freaking out? Because you look like you’re freaking out.”

The question whips through your anxiety, yanks you out of your thoughts and you sway a little, dizziness making the elevator tip as it comes back into view.

Trapped trapped you’re never getting out

“Whoa hey you - hold on -“

A hand grasps your shoulder, presses your back against the wall of the elevator.

The air is thin, it’s hard to fill your lungs and you can’t -

breathe -

“Breathe -“

Muffled voice, deep, speaking quickly, syllables skimming the surface swells of panic, pulsing in your mind with the same rhythm as your heartbeat.

It’s too fast, too loud, can’t breathe -

The world slants suddenly, your feet stumble to adjust. Heart pounding, hard, it hurts -

It’s happening, the elevator is dropping -

Too fast too loud -

It’s falling -

No you’re falling -

Crashing -

Landing on something solid but yielding -

Warm -

Your fingers grip, squeeze, hold tight. Time blinks, once, twice.

Panic freezes.

Hands. You feel hands on your body.

Large hands, soothing, gentle.

One on your back, resting between your shoulderblades, warmth seeping through your clothing and into constricted lungs, loosening tension. The ache there lessens, lungs filling.

The other hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking small circles over your scalp. A tiny, almost insignificant motion, and it pulls your focus immediately.

Again and again, soft and soothing circles.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

The white-heat of panic subsides, slowly pulling off of your senses and your thoughts run an inner monologue, a mantra, grounding you back into your own body.

In. Out. Good, just like that. How are your elbows so sharp? Ow.

Wait. It’s not an inner monologue, it’s -

The man. In the elevator with you.

It’s his words drawing you out of your panic, his hands on your body.

Fresh panic washes over you, your eyes flying open to see -

The stranger’s gaze, watching you closely, a rich, deep brown that makes your pulse skip.

Tousled brown curls falling over a brow creased with concern.

Full lips, drawn down at the corners, soft and plush and only inches from yours, parting slightly, and that voice, so beautifully comforting -

“Oh thank fuck you’re not dead.”

[imtrashraccoon]

Here it is...the climax! I think this chapter is actually the longest one so far as well. Got a few bonus chapters left that I'm really looking forward to writing though.

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Nightmare - Shield

Word Count: 2,964

It happened suddenly as these things do.

One moment, you were in the middle of making lunch and the next, the lights flickered before going out entirely. You stopped what you were doing and checked a few other light switches just to come to the conclusion that the power was out. Fine, you could handle this.

It was weird that it had happened so suddenly though. The weather was supposed to be perfect today, so maybe it was a freak accident? You guessed someone could've knocked over a hydro pole or a transformer could've blown up.

Then you became aware of the building shaking. You actually lost your balance and several dishes you had left on the table fell, shattering on the floor. Not wanting to have a wall collapse or have glass explode in your face, you crawled into the hallway and huddled against the archway. That was what you were supposed to do in the event of an earthquake, right? Or was it to get in the bathtub with something sturdy on top of you?

The tremors seemed to stop after a couple of minutes and your building seemed to be in one piece, but now there was another problem. You could hear sirens and what sounded like a security alarm going off. There was another sound though, one that filled you with an overwhelming feeling of terror.

A distant but steady roar.

You staggered to your feet and practically yanked your front door off its hinges, desperately hoping you were wrong.

The world outside was nothing like what it should've been. Many hydro poles were down, leaving the power lines dangling dangerously near the ground and you could see large plumes of smoke rising into the air from surrounding neighborhoods.

A couple of your neighbors apparently had the same idea as you and had congregated on the outside walkway as they tried to figure out what was wrong. You could hear murmurings of the phone lines being out, someone's pipes apparently bursting from the initial quakes, and even rumours of a gas leak.

The sky had been torn in twain, like someone had ripped a piece of paper in half. The wind was whipping your hair around and you could see many small objects being sucked up into the black void that was now the atmosphere.

Nothing came back.

You'd been through this before.

Last time you'd tried to flee the city or at least get somewhere safe. With how poorly that had gone, you weren't about to repeat the scenario and die for real this time.

What could you do when the world was coming to an end?

Nothing.

There was literally nothing you could do.

Emergency services were likely swamped as they undoubtedly tried to deal with this disaster. If the phone lines were truly down, you couldn't call anyone to find out if they were okay or if they needed help, not that you had anyone to call anyways save for people that generally disliked you. Since the outside was so dangerous, you basically had no choice but to shelter in place.

So that is what you did. Call it giving up if you wanted, but you weren't about to spend your last living moments running for your life, only to die horribly. If you were going to die, you were going to be as comfortable as was feasibly possible.

You started for your bedroom but hesitated to actually enter. Changing trajectory, you retrieved your favorite romance novel from where you'd previously left it in the living room. It was too dark and you were too frazzled to even think about reading right now, but there was another reason.

In the middle of its pages, you'd been pressing a few of the daisies, forget-me-nots, and yellow tulips Axe had brought you for your birthday months ago. You hadn't seen him for over a week and while you missed him terribly, this was the only thing you had to remind yourself of the good times you'd spent together.

You also pulled your chess set from the game cupboard. While it wasn't something Dust had given you, the fun you'd had playing with him had been enough to give the game a new sort of sentimentality. You frankly missed his random night visits and snarky sense of humor as it wasn't a void either of the others really filled.

With your valuables in hand, you finally returned to your bedroom and closed the door behind yourself to hopefully mitigate the sounds of chaos outside. Although it didn't help much and the roaring of the Void had only seemed to have grown louder.

Depositing the book and game on your bed, you pulled out your favorite pair of leggings, the very ones Killer had somehow gotten mended for you, from their place in the drawer. You slipped them on and your fingers lightly brushed over the knees and the embroidered vines with red hearts. While he had been a metaphorical thorn in your side, you had to admit that it had been fun getting to know him.

You wrapped yourself up in your blankets and clutched the book with the flowers and the chess set to your chest. You'd been trying your best to remain calm but now you could feel tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, threatening to breach the dam and pour down your cheeks. Your breath was coming in ragged gasps and you could feel your body trembling.

You didn't want to die.

You'd learned so many new things and discovered a side to yourself that you'd never dreamed possible. A bolder, more confident side that wouldn't let people walk all over you anymore. Well, you might still have to work on that, but you'd been getting better!

You had met a band of misfits, and while they'd definitely be the type of people your parents wouldn't approve of, they had quickly become close friends. You didn't have to ask, nor did you want to, but you knew in your soul that all of them would do anything to keep you safe, even kill without question. You weren't entirely sure about Nightmare yet but you knew that he wouldn't sit by if you were in danger.

So where was he now?

You'd promised to consider his deal but you'd never been able to give him your answer. Not for a lack of trying mind you but it wasn't something you could take lightly.

What he offered, was for you to drop everything and everyone you had ever known to go with him, to a completely new environment that was unlike anything you'd experienced before. You didn't know much about the multiverse or world codes, but you were vaguely familiar with the multiverse theory.

The main issue you had with his deal was that you didn't know what would happen to you if you accepted it. The multiverse was apparently massive and home to countless people, some of which could actually hop between worlds like Nightmare and his boys. It was boggling to think about but seemed completely normal to them. A boring person like you had no place in a world like that.

You couldn't help but sob as the apartment complex trembled from another series of tremors. You were so scared. You didn't want to die!

In your despair, you let out an anguished scream for the one person who could possibly come find you. "Nightmare!"

But nobody ca-

The room temperature seemed to grow chilly and the shadows swirled before coalescing into the familiar shape of the god of negativity himself. His cyan eyelight seemed to be burning brighter than you'd ever seen it and his tentacles practically writhed with pent up adrenaline. He only needed to glance at your trembling form to understand what was going on and he rapidly moved to the edge of your bed.

"Are you hurt?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," you croaked, "I'm just so glad to see you..."

He exhaled slowly through his teeth and seemed to focus on a specific spot on the ceiling. "You've probably already figured it out, but your world is in the middle of collapsing. I estimate you maybe have a few minutes before everything disappears and is reclaimed by the Void."

His gaze snapped to your own and seemed to pierce into your very soul before he spoke again. "Will you accept the deal and come with me?"

You opened your mouth to respond when a rumbling crash cut you off. In a fraction of a second, several things happened. Nightmare's tentacles snatched you up. You were coated in fine layer of drywall dust. Nightmare used his tentacles to shield you from the roof caving in.

The dust caused you to cough violently when you accidentally breathed it in and when you managed to recover, you found yourself clinging to his body. He was clutching you against his ribcage and continuing to shield you with both himself and his tentacles.

The roof was gone and the sky was now completely black. The sheer force of the wind threatened to blow you away and you could barely hear yourself think above the roaring of the black.

Nightmare's gaze flicked to the darkness above and then back to you. He appeared completely unharmed and only slightly dusty from the rubble, but the ooze that covered his body seemed to be rapidly absorbing it.

"Yes! I accept! Nightmare, please...take me away from here..." you shouted above the clamor of destruction.

He didn't even hesitate.

His tendrils wrapped around your body, basically binding you against him. You just managed to close your eyes before the roar of the Void was replaced with dead silence. The wind had completely ceased blowing too and a numb feeling began to spread over your body.

The numbness persisted for far longer than any teleport had before and yet you didn't notice. In fact, the only thing you could feel besides Nightmare's hold on your body, was the way the box for your chess set and the edges of your book was cutting into your arms.

You felt his hold loosen and the temperature equalize out into a more comfortable one. You could hear laughter from somewhere nearby and the crackling of a fireplace.

"hey, the boss is back!" Killer's unmistakable tenor voice rang out. "what happened for you to leave so suddenly...?"

You quietly glanced over in the direction of his voice. In one of the few times you'd ever seen him speechless, Killer had an odd look on his skull as he seemed to take in your distraught appearance.

Moments later though, he tilted his skull and flashed his trademark smirk at you. "hey angel~ long time no see..." he purred.

Nightmare made a tisk sound and leveled him with a stern frown. "She's slipping into shock. Tell the others she'll be staying and to get things ready." His tone of voice took on a much more commanding tone that you'd never heard before as he spoke.

It was quite effective though or at least you thought it was. Killer's permanent grin widened slightly and he gave a curt nod.

"sure thing." Before turning away, he winked at you in a mildly suggestive way, but knowing him, he was only half serious about it. This guy could barely take things seriously even in a situation as dire as this one it seemed.

Nightmare began carrying off into another part of the...castle? Everything seemed to be made of gray stone and the ceilings were vaulted, but you couldn't be sure. It would certainly suit someone as regal and dramatic as him though.

He'd mentioned you were going into shock. Was that what you were feeling? Sure, your heart was still beating like crazy and your breathing seemed to be shallow, but you didn't think you were actually in danger. You did feel kinda cold, but in a numb sort of way, and maybe you were a bit lightheaded? It was too complicated to think about. You just wanted to go to sleep and wake up to discover that this had all been another bad dream...

You briefly heard Killer relay the news to the others but he didn't get to finish his sentence before they apparently decided to see for themselves.

Nightmare stopped walking and half turned to look behind him. You could feel his grip tighten around your body in an almost possessive way. "No, you'll only overwhelm her," he nearly growled.

You could see Axe and Dust standing barely six feet away, having likely teleported as soon as they found out you were here.

Axe's deep red eyelight had shrunk down significantly to the size of a dime and other than his stiff posture, he was giving off serious kicked puppy vibes. He went to take a step forward, only for Dust to catch his arm and stop him. Although you knew if Axe was truly motivated to get to you, Dust wouldn't have been able to hold him back like that.

The giant of a skeleton clenched his fists and made a quiet sound of frustration. "you'll take good care of her, right?" he asked Nightmare in a low tone that not so subtly sounded like a threat.

"Of course, you can spend time with her all you want once she's calmed down."

Axe let out a heavy sigh and nodded. Turning his attention to you, his gaze softened significantly although his smile was rather tight. "i'll make ya somethin' nice if ya feel like eatin' later, lil' chip," he murmured.

Dust had been silent throughout the whole interaction, although he was practically searing a hole through your head with how intensely he was staring at you. He hadn't even broken eye contact to stop Axe from upsetting Nightmare. You couldn't read what he was thinking at all which was pretty concerning.

He remained in place, just staring at you, as Axe turned to leave. Nightmare let out a low warning growl which seemed to get his attention at least.

Dust tugged his hood tighter over his skull and turned to leave, although not without making a comment of his own. "...you'll be okay, bean." He disappeared immediately afterwards to who knows where.

Nightmare sighed and continued onto his original goal. He ended up bringing you into a frankly extravagant bedroom and only then did he let go of you. He set you on the bed, wrapped you in one of the softest blankets you'd ever felt, and even propped you up with pillows until you were comfortable. At some point, he set the things you'd managed to bring with you on the bedside table.

"This will be your room," he finally said. "You may decorate it as you see fit but do let me know if you need anything."

You weakly nodded.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took one of your hands in his own, running his thumb along your knuckles. "There is one more thing I need to do, my dear."

He paused for a moment to let his words register. "You are still considered an incode and technically bound to your old world. For your safety, I need to sever the connection between your soul and the old code, which will classify you as an outcode. I would explain more, but I suspect you're not exactly in much of a state to process all of it."

When you frowned, he lightly stroked your cheek with his knuckles in an attempt to reassure you. "It's okay, I'll be as gentle as I can," he said softly. "Just relax and trust me."

Well, now you were certainly feeling the confusion that apparently came with shock, so it was a good thing he wasn't about to info dump on you. It didn't help with making you feel any less anxious though, as you had no idea what severing the connection meant or entailed.

"Okay... I trust you."

Nightmare nodded and moved his hand from your cheek to your chest while keeping hold of your hand with his other. He focused for a moment and you started to feel that familiar pressure before your soul floated from your chest.

It was still so beautiful.

"This might hurt a little," he hummed.

Before you even had the chance to protest, he grasped your soul, causing you to gasp at the suddenness. His cyan eyelight burned brighter for a second and he abruptly yanked your soul slightly away from you.

It hurt more than a little but even spraining your ankle hurt more than severing this had. While you could feel the stinging of tears that threatened to fall, you managed to blink them away.

Nightmare gently guided your soul back into your chest and smiled at you. "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he murmured in that velvety tone you'd come to love.

He moved a few strands of hair behind your ear, his claws affectionately brushing against your skin as he did so. He briefly glanced towards the closed bedroom door before looking back at you.

"I think I'm going to keep you to myself for a bit, my dear. Just until I know you'll be okay after all that excitement." As he spoke, he laid down next to you and wrapped you up in his tendrils, pulling you against his ribcage.

You couldn't have protested even if you wanted to. It was probably a good thing he wasn't about to leave you alone as he seemed to have the power to completely calm you down whenever you were upset. You were going to sleep for a while though.

Maybe things would be better when you woke up.

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Ok a rant about Cerri bomb and how much I HATE her

In the addict music video she was a very supportive friend of Angel and I loved her in the pilot! I wish we got that supportive best friend to Angel in the final product, but unfortunately she is a woman in a vivziepop show.

She’s AWFUL now I can’t stand her, the way she tried to make Angel relapse was so weird like pilot cherri wouldn’t do that! I also really dislike her design it has to be one of my personal least favourites (not the bottom though nothing is worse than alastors design to me) she isn’t enjoyable to watch anymore she had potential if she’d only been introduced earlier! Imagine if she was introduced in episode 4 and played the supportive friend she was originally supposed to be!

And GOD I hate her ship with pentious, it was SO RUSHED, so poorly done and the ship isn’t very “so cute and in love!!” When you remember she showed literally NO interest in him until Angel brought up that he has 2 dicks, and this is supposed to be a romantic relationship we CARE about.

Cherri didn’t need a romantic relationship she needed CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT we needed to get to know her! If you’ve only seen the show and no other Hazbin media at all (which shouldn’t be required you should be able to get all your info FROM THE SHOW) you’d barely know anything about her character or who she is. I wish we got pilot cherri bomb, and that she got a design update, and that her and pent’s relationship was either taken slower or didn’t happen at all

You silly little creature you, you have me writing in my notes app instead of Tumblr because I’m about to go crazy!

Cherri Bomb. More like Cherri what the hell happened

Anyway I’m gonna tackle this one thing at a time, and also forgive me if I word something weird I just woke up an hour ago at the time of writing this.

First thing, design: I personally quite like her design since it very loosely reminds me of Iris from Ruby Gloom with ofc the one eye, the very rowdy personality and kind of the hair, but those are very broad design choices and its just me remembering some random girl I thought was silly but like Iris did it better.

Okay now second thing and then we go into literally everything else: My blog has been an angry pit of despair for everything in Episode 6 as of recent so let’s tap into that again 🤏 just a little. I am going to give my classic centrist opinion and say I don’t mind Cherri Bomb all that much but I absolutely get why people dislike her, and I mean this in the kinda way as people who dislike… Idk Fukuchi from BSD. WILD jump in fandoms but gimme a second. I can’t 100% say that Cherri Bomb in the pilot was better than the series since we have no idea if maybe for some reason she was intended to be like that offscreen, but judging by the pilot and “Addict” alone, it’s very unlikely. I could see her maybe being a bad influence at times and being like “Loosen up dude we’re in hell and its Friday” or something (idk if they have Friday in hell but everyday is probably Monday 🥁) but overall I feel like she’d end up apologising for it. However on the other side of things, I can understand why Cherri did that in Episode 6. Of course not to say this is okay, but Cherri is still very clearly not in the “redemption” mindset. She’s happy the way she is and is really only focused on certain aspects of issues. We see her comfort Angel in “Addict” but thats basically the extent of it. Cherri’s definition of “self-care” seems to be less of actually taking care of yourself and more like just letting go and having fun instead which really only gives a momentary fix to the issue, much like how substances can be abused. Do you kinda see what im getting at? Cherri offering Angel drugs while he’s trying not to relapse is not okay, full stop. But her reasoning as to why makes a bit of sense for her purpose in the show which is honestly not much, since, as you said, she is a woman in a Vivziepop show.

To my knowledge Cherri is like 30-ish years younger than Angel Dust in Hell experience so she’s likely not reached a point where she’s gotten tired of how things work, as well as the fact we don’t really have much of an idea on her backstory aside from that random shot in “Addict” of that guy in a puddle??? But generally she seems to be in a better position than Angel is, so there isn’t really any reason for her to want to change, yknow? I will say I do like exploring characters that are good friends while still being bad influences at times, but I’m going to be honest I feel like thats really not what Angel needs right now. I wouldn’t be as pissy about it if she did end up apologising afterwards (I’m just gonna headcanon she did for my sanity) but even then as Angel’s friend we don’t know like… anything about her. I would’ve really liked to get some kind of callback to the pilot where Cherri mentions she thought Angel was dead until the random Sir Pentious turf war, and maybe we could see her actually being worried about Angel again instead of those 3 frames in “Addict”, but Hazbin is rushed and I guess we don’t have time for that. And also YES it would’ve been great to see her in Episode 4 and actually doing something but again, Vivziepop is boring.

Going forward I would really like to see Cherri, if not become a patron, at least try to be a better friend and sure if she wants to keep doing stuff she can keep doing it, but just don’t encourage other people to relapse. It is very simple.

SIR PENTIOUS! About Sir Pentious, this is going to be incredibly short. I don’t hate the ship but also I’m not really crazy about any of the Hazbin Hotel ships? I also don’t really hate any except for the genuinely horrid ones but thats basic sense. I absolutely agree with you, Cherri does not need a romantic interest. Romance doesn’t always = growth and growth should not always = romance. She needs some genuine character TLC and I hope to god she gets some in season 2. We’ve only seen a few minutes of her so I have yet to give a firm opinion, but as of now I’m just hoping they do something actually interesting with her instead of just alluding to Sir Pentious ship. Also the penis thing. 1. What was that, and 2. It made me and my friends briefly pause to sex Sir Pentious and come to the conclusion he is likely transgender/hj

TLDR; Please give us a fun Cherri Bomb again. ☹️

[polaritiesoop]

Lemme just share here this one-shot? I guess? based on the what-if Scar was left in the SL server for way too long of a time? So yeah, its just Scar all on his own. Trapped in SL for some unforeseeable future. This is supposed to be prologue to a fic idea I have, but I don't know if I'll be able to write it in entirety really. BUT because this took me long to write, I want to share it regardless. Its nothing special. Just Angst. Hurt.... but is there comfort? Technically yes?

Title: Far From Home

Words: 5,000+

Scar is still trapped in the Secret Life Server. With nothing much to do but wait for a miracle to bring him home. But in the mean time, he fixes what he could fix, and tends to animals left on the server.

--------

And that was the last block placed.

Scar take steps back to survey his work. It looks right from what he could remember of the Heart Foundation. There wasn't much interior in it, right? It was just some big heart on the middle of an island filled with cherry wood leaves.  Not like Scar was a frequent visitor inside either.

But! ...this was the last structure to rebuild. He has done best on the terrain surrounding the Heart Foundation.  Truly can be called pink land at how cherry trees lined up the lake, its petals fluttering on the grass and on the rippling water.

Scar did his best. He never was the closest ally toward Tango, Big B, and Skizz in this server. He resented them. The first few people on his kill list. But they weren't the cruelest either.

This would be the prettiest place at night second after Lizzie's cute little cottage, which he thinks he can never give justice on rebuilding. Though Scar doesn't plan to stick around long for the night to come and see. He has all the time in the world after all.

Scar felt a peck on his cheeks he grew accustomed to along with little chirps and loud squawks near his ear. He looks at the parrot companions perched on his shoulders, a gray and a cyan parrot.

"Wouldn't this be a lovely home for you, Tango and Skizz?" Scar asked all jolly. A peck on his forehead caught his attention, crossing his eyes up to peak at the tilted head of a blue parrot. "And of course you too, Big B!" the blue parrot clambered on his palm. He chuckles at inquisitive looks it give toward the build. It mimics his words rather poorly.

Sinister as it is to call these parrots after the fallen members of the Heart Foundation. One of them...he personally killed. Sure. In his defense, he admits to it now, he did his best to bury what was left of Tango's body. Even burying him with his allies, though it took long to find BigB's and Skizz's body. He just couldn't think of better names when he visited the jungle yesterday, and he was busy making progress in rebuilding the Heart Foundation that he could only think of them, when he saw these three were the only parrots left, as far as he was aware, he plans to return later in hopes to find more.

It wouldn't be a bad idea to let the birds stay in here. They might adjust fine to the cherry wood trees! And Scar could always feed them seeds every day.

"What do you say, if you three stay here?" He asks again expecting a reply, somehow. He lays down some pumpkin seeds on the ground. The birds munch on them quickly. Big B, the parrot, stares at him oddly flapping its wings and squawking. As if trying to communicate, or so was his wishful thinking.

"You guys stay here. I'll come back tomorrow morning." They seem to understand the command, despite being only tamed yesterday. Man, he could be a zookeeper at how many animals he saved and bred! All bases had some animals left that he fed and provided with better areas to live. Scar could go crazy if all he did was rebuild, he had made it his personal mission in keeping the remaining animals in this server. Which came with some extensive farming too.

Scar does leave the Heart Foundation once he was finish surveying his work. The birds were not following him, so he felt comfortable at leaving them be.

Scar hops onto his camel. His petulant camel, he called Cheerio. Cheerio 2.0, he did lose his first camel but he found a camel egg at one of the chests at the abandoned bases of Gem and the Scotts.

"Cheerio, let's go!" Scar got what he would call an equivalent of an eye-roll before Cheerio lifts off the ground and she starts walking. Slowly.

Thus, a petulant camel.

"C'mon, you had plenty of grass to eat!" He pats at her neck, like a complaint she grunts. Horses and other steads would've been better but they weren't quite friendly when Scar tried to ride them. They still remembered their owners even though they seemed scattered about the server, most likely abadoned or forgotten. The best Scar did for them was to build stables, and lead their infuriating butts inside.

But Cheerio 2.0 feels familiar like an old friend that Scar cannot hate.

At the back of his mind, he wonders if any llamas were roaming the server.

-

Just passing by Trader Scar's, he decided it would be better to leave Cheerio inside opting to walk the rest to the Jungle nearby.

The sun was nearly setting. The sky was on its red and orange hues. Usually Scar would avoid spending the night in a forest area. But today? he was feeling brave!

"Maybe not the best biome..." he thought to himself. The Jungle was green as ever, a creeper's favorite place, definitely. This biome is small, still imposing with its large trees. Scar could hear bugs, yet no birds at all.

He was starting to think it was a bust, it was not worth it, climbing vines peeking on the shades of trees and on the branches, or any signs of nests which last time led him on finding Tango, Skizz, and Big B.

His last resort was to climb the largest tree, trying to spot a different color other than green on the forest floor. Or spot anything moving below, there are green parrots too. The sun sinks beyond the horizon, the cold air was tell tale signs of mobs spawning soon. He should just return tomorrow morning.

"I should get outta here." Scar was about to climb down a vine when he heard a creeper hiss directly behind him. The man yelps and fell off, a flash of pain on his ankle caused him to yell and stay laid on the ground. He manages to realize just in time that the creeper was shuffling towards him. With all the force he could muster, the creeper died at a slash of his diamond sword. It vanishes into gunpowder.

He tries to catch his breathe before checking if he did not just sprained his ankle. To his relief, he could move it with minimal pain, "Oh man, atleast the worst did not happen." Scar laughs, "but it'll be faster to get back to spawn."

There was another hiss.

Scar scrambles to swing his sword behind him. Only not to see any creeper. He quickly turns to look around, but he saw nothing.

Hiss.

There was it again! But there weren't any creepers to see!

"Void, I must be going crazy, huh?" Scar lifts up his shield near his body. He could hear skeletons and spiders too, "serves me right for winning this stupid game."

"Stupid game."

Scar jumped at hearing those words behind him accompanied by a wicked laugh. It was a witch. He twisted to look and parry at an upcoming potion throw, ignoring the sting of pain on his ankle, only for him to be meet with ... nothing.

No large purple hats, no purple robes, no weird long flabby nose.

His pulse quickens and his body is shaken by a cold shiver, "What, what is going on?"

He felt something wet on his nape. Scar wonders if it was going to rain despite the clear skies. His palm wipes at whatever that wet feeling is.

What he sees on his finger pads at the moon light is... white and yellow.

His question is answered to him when he hears a squawk. Fear and confusion was exchanged by excitement. Above him, on pearly light, was a red parrot. It was looking at him. It was squawking. What he got on his fingers was definitely bird poop but he could not be anymore happier at seeing another bird.

"Oh my gosh. Okay, okay... we need seeds." Without looking away, he digs through his pockets for seeds, happy that he still a got a few and thankful that he had not thrown it all out.

"Come here, birdie, birdie. I've got some delicious seeds for you." He offers up a palm full of seeds. The parrot did not move for a second, simply mimicking nearby sounds and flapping its wings. It was just staring.

"Geez, are you picky or something- ow!" Scar felt a prick on his arm. He sees an arrow imbedded on a tree trunk. A skeleton had sneaked behind him. Quick on his feet, he put up his shield and grips his sword. Scar made a quick work of the skeleton but another emerged out of the bushes. Now, he is paying close attention to the surroundings, there were many mobs moving towards him.

He could barely dodge all arrows firing at him, "Awful timing! awful timing!"

He fought every mob coming at him. Until there were none left. He was left breathless but at least the bird did not get hit by an arrow.

Speaking of the bird, he searches around for where it could've gone. It was squawking around while he was fighting.

He was surprised that the seeds he accidentally thrown on the ground were... not there. Consumed by the looks of it.

Scar gasps, "this means it's tamed!"

There were wings flappings overhead. "There you are, young man! I was worried you would fly off somewhere. I'll give you a name later, let's go home for now." Scar extends out his arm for the bird to land on.

Except, it didn't respond. It fled away to the tree tops.

"Hey! Where are you going?!" Scar groans at himself, that was not a tamed parrot at all. Of course those seeds were not enough.

Chasing the parrot to wherever it was going was probably not the best idea. At every angle he's getting assaulted by mobs. To climb the treetops instead was hard, spiders could still follow him. The darn parrot just cannot be caught, always airs away from Scar's reach. He does not even have seeds on hand that he needed to climb down again, to try quickly get some watermelons and shove his hand inside to pick some seeds. He had to do it all without keeping his eyes off that parrot.

Oh, and run right after it with arrows sticking up every where on his aching body.

Finally, for what seems like an hour, the parrot landed on the tallest tree. Scar wasn't gonna give up now.

Through panting breaths he yelled pointing a finger at that stoic face, "You better stay there! I am coming to get you!" against his body's protests, he climbs the vines all the way to the top nearly letting go, surprised by the squawk that greets him. How funny.

Scar wheezes as he drags his body to prone on the precarious branch of the tree, "Man, I don't think this is worth it."

"Squawk!"

Scar glares at the parrot. It pecks at its feather in a way for Scar looks like a person picking on their nails. "Oh, you must be sooo proud of yourself, huh."

"Squawk!"

"Alright, alright. You've won the race."

"Squawk!"

"But bet you don't know what a runner does after a marathon."

"Squawk."

"You got it. By after any race, what's better than some hearty refreshments?" Scar presents the wet seeds in his hands, gripped with so much strength during the run his nails left marks on his palm. "This is newly harvested, just so you know from the most finest hands on this server. Well, the only ones really working. Have a taste?" He starts sweating when the parrot tilts its head longer than it probably should. When it did let out a sweet trill and hop near his palm to peck at a seed that Scar lets out a relieved sigh.

Never mind the sharp beak pecking his skin, it could not compare at the burn he feels on his muscles.

"No skipping leg day." He said defeatedly.

"Squawk!"

"Word."

Scar ends up watching the parrot devour the seeds to its hearts content. To lay on his front and having to keep his arm extended is not a comfortable position for the rest of the hour. Scar feels more tired than ever when he could see the sun shining on the hills.

"Would be nice to get a nap."

This time the parrot simply whistles. He wonders if it's already done eating, it kept pecking while he watched the stars and the moon fade away.

Scar felt a sharp pinch. He retracted his hand in shock. "Ouch! What was that for?!" The parrot does not look guilty being hit by an accustory look. It oddly looks satisfied. He would be angry if it wasn't cute to see a seed stuck on its top beak.

"Void, tell me atleast you are tamed." Scar pleads, groaning as he sits up to try and extend his forearm again. The parrot lifts up, circling as if it is acting like it's running away again, but Scar felt happiness welling up when it landed on his forearm.

"Okay this is good. Geez, you took so much seed to tame!" Scar complains right at the parrot's face. It retaliates in the form of a full warm poop. Great.

"...And you're so not friendly. What is wrong with you?" He tuts.

The parrot squawks and he scoffs pointing a finger on its head, "Your companions were perfectly friendly! And not greedy! Skizz and Tango were loud, sure, but they were loveable. Big B loved hiding, acting all sinister, but he loves my hair. But you little man?" Scar huffs, "You are such-... such a ..." Scar trails off. A certain word hangs at the tip of his tongue. And there was that. The sinking feeling in his stomach that clenches him on his ribs to his heart.

His croaks, " ... what a pesky bird."

What is wrong with him? Really, over a word?

The parrot blinks, gnawing his finger without much a reply.

His breath constricts at the wave of it hitting him. A sense of painful nostalgia, flashing to him in a memory of a Jungle far larger and warmer than this - this little excuse of a biome. In a server where he once belongs to now out of his reach... taken out of his reach.

Scar blinks at the tears welling up. He uses his dirty sleeves to brush it off furiously, "Not this again, danggit. Geez!"

The parrot seems to stop gnawing to stare at him in blank confusion.

He lets out a wet laugh. "I miss him."

Scar missed them a lot. It's been how many fucking days has it been since he won? since he realized that he is forever stuck here with a task already fulfilled?

The parrots could not understand that. Nor can Cheerio, nor the steads, Lizzie's bees, nor Etho's sheep. No one's coming back for those animals other than Scar.

Good for them, because who the hell is coming back for Scar?

"He did not even come back for me, stupid... Grian." Scar wipes at his tears, and forces a breath pass to his lungs. "This is pathetic."

When is anyone going to come back for him? he questions this everyday. He has nightmares of Pearl, of Etho, of Tango, of anyone, choking and killing and crying at them his question more like a plea. He screams at the Secret Keeper of his question.

But curse the gods and all, no one will hear him.

"Squawk."

Except a parrot obviously. Scar couldn't help chuckling at the parrot's antics, it landed on his head doing whatever on his hair. He wipes his tears away, finding this whole thing ridiculous. This bird is ridiculous. It pooped again, on his hair.

"Yeah, I'm calling you Grian." Scar smiles, the name carries a heavy weight on his heart.

"Squawk!"

"Not the best person to be named after I tell you."

-----

Trying to get Cheerio to hurry up her pace while keeping an eye on Grian so as not fly off anywhere, overcame Scar's whole being with absolute exhaustion when they finally reached the Heart Foundation. It would be best to leave the new parrot here too, where he can live and be taken care of too. Scar knows how parrots are not solitary animals.

"Off you go now, shoo! I had enough of you squawking at my ear and pooping on my cape!" Scar scolds urging other parrots to get accustomed with their newest addition. He can already tell they are familiar with each other. Plus, Scar is not too keen on having this kind of parrot companion admittedly amusing but a very obnoxious bird. Something, something namesake.

"I am leaving you guys now." Scar offers up more seeds for the birds before leaving the island.

He couldn't help but stare at the flock, they were flying around well and playing by the looks of it. There shouldn't be any concern then in leaving them.

Scar realized halfway to spawn that he does not have any more goals in mind. He was relieved to find Grian, and he was sure there were no more other birds in that Jungle.

In like some sort of trance, Scar steers Cheerio on the way to the base of Etho and Cleo. The sheep and cows need tending to for sure. Before he knew it, he was making rounds around the server to check on the animals leaving the mounders for last.

Scar replaced the water and gave more hay to one of Bdub's horse. That he might as well call Bdubs! His mane does remind him of that man's hair when it was blond. Scar chuckles at it, heart achingly, because he misses that little man too. They were at petty odds fighting over who is Cleo's favorite child, but his angry shouts and jolly attitude... Scar misses him.

"Oh, the sun's setting." Scar murmurs to himself. He got caught in the chores again, geez.

So, what to do next? Scar wonders. He decided to walk Cheerio instead of riding on. He was in his thoughts when the sky darkens around him.

Subconsciously, Scar came to the Secret Keeper.

It was a mess. He had left so many papers on the ground, some teared up and some empty, scattered with leather covers. There is a serious overgrowth all over this area. Foliage and wildflowers, moss and cracks on the concrete.

When was the last time he visited this area? 10 days? 20 days? Scar knew he managed to steer clear for a while.  He has lost count of days, as making a diary felt like an unnecessary chore.

He feels his fingers itch. Right in front of him was the button, never quite worn up at all unlike the fail and the reroll buttons.

He lets Cheerio stay out, as he walks near it. A part of him is anticipating, which is funny how he still got this glimmer of hope that something would change one day if he just presses that button again. But he knew he would be only disappointed.

"I'm here." Scar announces. He hovers over the button. He stares at the statue through tired eyes. Of course, it does not respond.

Scar slams the succeed button and the incorporeal voices were near comfort to his ears despite the gibberish whispers. He hears that music saying he succeeded, but he once again hears the whispers and another book has popped and landed on his hands.

Win Secret Life.

Scar sighs, "Same thing." and the new book joins the others on the ground. Scar sat down, his back against the button. He closes his eyes and breathes out. He wraps his arms around his legs, never opening his eyes as he feels for the moonlight and the night breeze.

-------

There was a rumble.

It had awoken Scar up. Though his back aches and his vision was blurry from sleep, he managed to see a bright object dropping down from the sky and its blast illuminating an area of the server before disappearing with a boom followed by a shockwave that made Scar stumble to his front.

He groans at the impact and the scrape the cobbled ground gave him. Other than that and a faint ringing in his ears, he was okay. Thank the void he was okay.

Scar could only stay sat on the ground. He could see that there is smoke on the distance but not too far. When he realized where it went, he felt the urge to run for it, even though he knew it was just his destroyed base.

Cheerio was being loud, the poor animal is probably in distress. As gentle as he could, he stood up to comfort the camel.

"Shhh, Cheerio... everything's fine. We're okay." He said soothing her to calm down. It seems to help, though she seems agitated still. Scar doesn't know what to do other than continue patting her.

....What in the world happen?

It was good that whatever the thing that flew and crash landed on his base was not a bigger blast. The shockwave made him believe it's radius of explosion would expand all across the server. The Mounder's base looks perfectly intact from what Scar could see from the secret keeper atleast. Was it a meteor?

Scar pushes the camel to sit, "Sit down, Cheerio. That rumbled must've got you off balanced. I'll go investigate." and surprisingly, she listened to him. For the most part she looks to be calming down, so Scar felt good enough to leave her to make his way to his base.

It was mostly curiosity than concern of what happened to his base. It wasn't intact at all when he left it, only its walls and parts of the court house were destroyed because of tnt traps.

So when Scar was near enough to see what really hit it.... things were mostly fine. Like the impact was from another tnt not some space object. There was a small crater at the front of what used to be Trader's Scar....yet oddly, no space object to see.  But the sunflowers and berry bushes near it were scorched around the assumed point of impact.  Scar was beyond confused. He wonders if this is another hallucination or a weird dream.

His eyes searches around. Nothing is amiss. He contemplates if he should just go back to Cheerio until there was an echoing sound, of something high pitched that made him jump.

He looks at his back at the ruins of Trader's Scar. There was it again, it sounded like a child crying and the thought of a baby suddenly spawning in this server made Scar shiver. He asked to get out of here, for god's sake!

Scar was going to run away but it sounds more and more insistent and faded. It rings a bell, somehow, that Scar felt a sense of deja vu. That echoing cry of something could only come from the mine shaft and mob farm he made long exposed to weather. Probably dangerous to go down its ladders.

Scar observes. The ladders are intact and not erroding as he thought. There's no more light, all torches burned off since he stopped coming here. A cold air passes through him from the hole. Is it actual air or fear seeping in his skin? Because this feels like the start of a horror movie!

"Do I really have to?" Scar whines. He hadn't expected a response yet he got one akin to an ominous drone that made him want to sprint to the secret keeper for protection.

"Okay! When did my mineshaft become such a place of nightmares?" He laughs nervously, hair rising as his words echo down and that sound suddenly stopped.

Does he really want to go down there? There has to be so many mobs Scar will struggle to defeat. He breathes in deeply thinking about how worth it is to face whatever creature that is.  On the bright side its something new! Scar is curious and bored, worst case scenario? Nothing! He will always respawn back at the secret keeper and he can curse at it for bringing a haunted creature at him, and not some getaway helicopter back to home!

Scar's hands has made the decision before his brain starts to function. The ladder felt rickety to his sweaty grip.

"Why am I doing this to myself?"

Only eerie silence met him this time. A normal person would think thats cue to leave.

Unfortunately for everyone, Scar is far from normal.

His feet finally hit cobble. He was surprise that there is still a torch lighting the tunnels dim. No immediate attack from some mob, no hideous clown face coming to gnaw him.

"I did come all the way down here." Scar sighs, "There's no going back."

He takes another torch to light from his inventory. He is surprised of his own bravery of looking and exploring tunnels. So far he cannot hear that crying sound from everywhere.

Nothing really remarkable caught his attention. Everything looks normal, too normal and somehow strange for Scar. This was his mineshaft, sure everything looks the same, but there is no attachment to this place, it was simply a reminder of that urgency Scar felt because of the unfortunate tasks that brought him to this situation.

He hears a shuffle. That couldn't have come from him as he was stood on a little room carved out to accomodate chests of random items. He was starting to hear his pulse because of the silence, now he hears it gallop because of that odd noise.

"A-alright! What comes there?!" Scar decides to bravely ask. He wants to get this over with. He equips his sword, ready to face whatever is at the dark, "Just know that I can and will kill you once I find you."

He hears that cry, now much closer but still echoing around the walls he could never quite pinpoint the source. His eyes frantically looks around, for any thing thats moving.

Scar picks to march on another tunnel. Staying silent to observe that cry, where he could hear it closest. He follows it, the turns he takes are almost dizzying that makes him feel lost forever or that he was in some labyrinth that BigB made. But he could hear it clearer and he knew he was close, he wasn't gonna turn around. He reaches another room. This ones bigger and was obviously a section of a cave he found. The crying stopped. Scar held his breath anticipating to hear it at any of the tunnels.

At the corner of his eyes, he spots movement. He was swift to turn to his feet onto the long winding tunnel. He dropped the torch away to equip his shield and approaches the shadow he can see at the end of it. It turns at him, and he hears a hiss. He knew it was too late to hit it, so he braces for impact with his shield but it never came. None of the familiar blast. Instead, the creeper seems to back away. Unmoving. Scar tilts his head in confusion. Why was the creeper not blowing up, and when he did adjust his eyes to the dark, its back was turned on him.

Then, he felt something brush at his thigh. He screams in panic, lets go of his shield, lands on his butt rather painfully, and realizes that the creeper was suddenly shuffling closer towards him. It flashes before Scar's hand could hold up the shield. He could only close his eyes, knowing it hurts more to get his eyeballs blasted.

'Well, I'm coming home, Secret Keeper.'

Something landed on his head. He heard more hissing but this one... this one hiss wasn't the kind of distinct hiss of a creeper.

Scar froze unable to really move at whatever it was on his head. But it was lightweight. Oddly familiar. His scalp is hurting and getting pricked by something, and the creeper was... running away?

"What just happened?" He asks. Expecting an answer. Something landed on his stomach. His hands comes around it. The silhouette of what was....

"Meow."

...a cat?

Scar knows that Impulse has a villager along with Scott and Gem that they used to trade with. He found the villager, but it was only singular that couldn't form a village on his own that Scar set free to be killed by mobs. There were no village on the server, nor any beyond the border. So, how was there a cat existing in this server? And here in a mineshaft of all areas?

Scar holds the cat. The torch he left on the ground long extinguished.

"Who are you?" He asks. He got a paw on his mouth.

However, he was stupid to turn his back on the creeper still on the tunnel with them that it blew up behind him sending him to fall forward on his front. The cat definitely jumped out his hold.

Scar groans, "Yep, hurts. Everything hurts." He turns on his back. Just laying there unable to move much. He doesn't really care if it stings to... he just wants to lay down and take everything in.

That cat clambered on him. He would've told it to get off because its claws were scraping at new wounds when he felt a lick on his chin. What a sweet cat! He couldn't help but pet it even if the cat starts to nip at his nose.

"I don't know how you got here, but you're coming with me." Scar chuckles, hated how his ribs were definitely cracked. He remembers that he had a lantern on his inventory.

"Alright, mysterious cave cat. Let's see what you look like, and I'll name whatever first name I could think of." Scar grunts with what little strength he had on his hand, he gets the lantern to materialize. The cat mewls.

Scar turns to look at wherever he could put it and light it with a flint and steel.

His eyes shut at the pain of even moving, willing out the sudden lightheadedness he felt swaying his vision. He holds onto the cat,  "Let's see... I'm naming you..." and lifts it up to see it clearly.

His breath caught in his throat. Heat pools behind his eyes at the familiarity of those eyes. Green eyes blinking down at him owlishly. The cat was of white fur and grey patterns so familiar to Scar that he knew right away that this cat wasn't just any cat at all.

"...Jellie?" His voice wavesr, unsure if he has truly gone out of his mind.

The cat mewls and bumps her head onto him. Fluffy and warm, a gesture so familiar that Scar tears up.

"Jellie... god, is it really you?" She purred, pawing on him and rubbing her head on his chin. Scar sobs.

It was Jellie. Jellie came for him. His sweet girl was here for him.

He holds her up laughing, and sobbing at how ridiculous this dream was but he wishes... how he fucking wishes to the secret keeper that he won't wake up ever.

"I've been...so alone, Jellie. You don't know how much I've missed you." Scar sobs out.

Jellie was here! Jellie is in his arms now, and god, crying hurts his chest but he couldn't stop. He never thought a piece of home would come for him at all in this endless game. Jellie was warm, and safe, and purring.

Scar was a mess on the cave floor, in utter agony from his injuries but the happiness and relief he feels at the moment has made the pain worth it.

Scar wasn't still in hermitcraft. This isn't Scarland. This isn't his tree house. His friends were not here. Scar was far from home. That constant hum of life was still in his bones.

But Scar has never felt any safer and happier than having Jellie in his embrace. He chokes out words he cannot understand himself.

But he murmurs it anyway at the top of Jellie's head, "I'm home."

[riaki]

> under warm kitchen lights and puffy silk sheets dad!aki hayakawa x reader hcs/drabbles

man... i finally finished this. oh my word wc: 3.2k :cry: cw: fem!reader (use of mother terms but no explicit description), brief mention of hospitals, kids omg so scary boy n girl not proofread!!

i always find myself writing waaayyyyyy too much for these 'short' drabbles/hcs/whatever they are. i think this one got even worse than the yoshida one. anyways its ok cus i live laugh love aki

also thank u @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for feeding me ideas with canon hayakawa family interactions :3

it's hard for him, to say the least.

while parenting is a new experience for the both of you, it's more than appropriate to say aki's the least bit familiar. putting up with denji and power (begrudgingly, he'll tell you-- although you never believe it) certainly has him battle-ready and prepared, albeit with a slight darkening of the circles under his velvety blue eyes and a minute downward tug on his chapped lips that need yours on them for rejuvenation when he thinks about the tiring journey lying ahead on a path of family that's only been slightly worn. but then you smile, squeezing his calloused hands that are bigger than yours and intertwining your fingers gently, and he forgets there's supposed to be blood between them as he presses a light kiss to your forehead and tells you in that smooth velvety voice that he's ready for whatever pandemonium your rascals will cause as long as you're there with him.

truth be told, there's nothing in this damned world that aki wants-- yearns for than a life of normality with you. he doesn't have a lust for a revenge that festers and infects, anymore; the only thing on his mind when his work gives the luxury of a time of rest is how wonderful it'd be to start a lively little family of your own as you smile at him or card your hands through his damp hair when you share a lukewarm bath surrounded by cold austere tiles in the darkest hours of the morning, having found him covered in a thin veneer of chilling sweat only moments ago, knuckles pale white as he clung to the duvet. more often than not you find a knot between his dark brows; a heavy weight on his shoulders that's perceivable but frustratingly intangible-- like an ugly patch of weeds in an old, worn garden that's not worth saving, but still has enough life within it to be marred by rot and degradation of soil. but when you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him flush to your chest, so close to your heart-- the place where he thinks he deserves to be furthest from-- when your lithe fingers work so gently it's almost painful to soothe the crease on his nose bridge and the tension between his bare shoulders, he's so bold as to dare to just hope for a life further than nights of hollow intimacy that, in vain, attempt to sew and patch up the gaping valley between the wants of his heart and of his mind. further than exhausted mornings littered with extinguished cigarette butts and framed with curling smoke, pale sunrises and slow, languid movement that reflect the growing shadows beneath his tired eyes; further than the bitter scent of the black coffee he always makes for himself because the pathetic attempt at at romantic in him insists that your sweet lips are the sugar and cream to his life enough. but in truth he can-- and thought he'd always be able to taste that overwhelming tang of something equitable to sourness on his tongue when he downs the bland caffeine, like the feeling that crashes and overwhelms him when he realizes that what you have right now? is just an illusion for his poorly-kept facade of something he wishes could be more. something with a shared bed and an extra room painted bright pastel, a bunk bed tucked into the corner and kids' toys scattered all over the place.

(and as much as you tell him otherwise, some small part of him that he's tucked into the darkest recesses of his mind will always, always believe that you deserve someone immensely better than him-- better than a cynical devil hunter with nothing to offer but years of bottled tears, unspoken words that die on his parched tongue, and withered feeling in his heavy limbs that come with the sensation of dragging himself through the pool of molasses that is the routine of life-threatening missions he throws himself into by a hollow ambition. but he's never, and if he's being honest, he doesn't want to have the heart to end things with you. and imagining you, holding hands with someone else, laughing that bubbly bright melody and smiling that cheery grin in any direction but his, makes his heart hurt uncomfortably and his cold blood boil.)

and so, when the fever dream that's your wedding day comes around, he wishes he had met you early enough to be addicted to the taste of your lips instead of the rough, paper end of a cigarette and the numbing thrill that settles in his diluted veins at the hit of nicotine clogging his lungs, before it's disillusioned and the despondent cycle repeats. you don't know the half of what he'd give for that. either way, he believes it a miracle that he even got the chance to see the starstruck look in your gorgeous eyes when he slid that silver band onto your ring finger; that he lived to see the day where the familiar touch of your tender hands coupled with the refreshing bite of cold metal on his skin, treating him like some elegant thing in your garden; a lily of the valley when in reality he's just some weed that should've been rid of. a flower who's bell shaped bunches of milky petals hang from the stalk like a condemned man on a court platform, yet still so bright and graceful you could forget the plant was poisonous. when aki had laid eyes on that pretty ring, tucked into a black box of deep velvet on a shaded patch of street one sunny afternoon, he immediately thought of how nicely the elegantly-cut gem would match your dazzling irises; he takes extensive care to make sure the luster suits as an addition to your appearance instead of a distractor-- after all, when he looks at his then future spouse, he wants to be drawn to your eyes, then the ring tying you two together like a red string on your pinky fingers. that, and the way your gaze will soften as it lands on him, in the way that could only happen when the purest angel from heaven chooses to spot the bastard straight from hell out of the crowd who dared to nose his way into your ethereal presence. it's truly befitting, he thinks; your touch is featherlight even when all he does is weigh you down like a ball and chain locked to your ankle, bound by softly-spoken vows and a promise amongst the white of veils and pretty cream flowers. and aki is a selfish man, so he's only glad he decided to weave your fates together, even if it meant the good and bad mingled to paint a splash of gray on love's canvas.

that's the story of your love on weighted scales that runs through his buzzing mind the night your sweet little kids ask their mama to recount the tale of your plunge into devotion together to them, far different than the telling words which seem to sweeten tenfold as they fall from your lips onto eager ears that soon turn deaf, sleeping soundly in your arms. for all the aloof, coldness and silence he's ever turned out into the harsh world your family lives and breathes in, aki's surprisingly loving as a father-- he can't help the gentle soft spot he has for your children when he remembers the big, teethy grins with little cinnamon pastry crumbs scattered around their curved lips and round cherry cheeks are a result of your combined efforts; the streak of tenderness you unearthed in him finds itself being yanked wide open by two pairs of small, grubby hands that are tiny enough to wrap around the length of his thumb, like a little pair of gloves that sponge the inpurity from his hands and make his eyes soften, crinkle around the edges in the way that you love. it's certainly not an unfamiliar feeling; the one invoked deep within his hardened chest buds and unfurls within his organs when your kids take their first breath of fresh air-- well, as fresh as clinical hospital air and stark white lights can get-- is the same one that hit him like a truck when his gaze inevitably finds its way back to you every moment you're near him. cupid's arrow has long burrowed into the cavity of his chest, and if he's honest, he doesn't mind at all. if you had the energy to, you would've snuck a quick picture, if not mental, and made a little sweet teasing fun of him for being so dumb-- no, starstruck; a fool absolutely enamored with two little reflections of you and him. the product of literal years in blood, sweat and tears; maybe some coffee, and definitely some love.

and while aki may involuntarily be an intrinsic liar to his very core by nature (you still love him either way, even when he tells you he tried to stop your baby boy from crawling onto the kitchen counter over the sink and clambering onto two shaky toddler legs to paw at the jar of peanut butter in your cabinet), you're not. so you'll enjoy the strawberry blush that seeps its way across the soft skin of his cheeks that you've mapped with fluttering kisses and trembling hands when you tell him just how much of a great father you think he is to your kids, on the nights when he gets home with sufficient energy to whip something up for the haven of cozy warmth he calls 'home'. you'll prep a warm stew together that makes your daughter's mouth water and eyes go round as saucers as she clings to aki koala-bear style, legs wrapped around his neck and fingers curling into his raven hair as she watches him stir the broth with one hand (the other resting firmly, yet gently on her ankle) to melt the icicles clinging to the awnings of your windows for frigid winters. or, maybe some cold soba for those humid summer nights to enjoy amongst the symphony of cicada buzzes and city sounds, watching lights flash by as you laugh and reach out to wipe the soup off of your son's cheeks when the noodle he was indulging on goes up a little too fast, missing the way your husband's eyes fall on you ever so affectionately. you'll enjoy a sweet, tender kiss in the golden hazy glow of your warm kitchen bubble, full of lively mirth as you carve out silly little smiley faces and stars out of potatoes and bits of cucumber and carrot. on the rare occasion you decide it's a good idea to let your kids contribute a little, the immediate and guilty regret you feel when you watch your daughter slip up and knick her little finger gets washed away by a familiar, blooming feeling of adoration, almost sickeningly sweet in its intensity as you pause to watch aki kiss away the beads of ruby red blood welling on the cut, rubbing her 'boo-boo' so tenderly it makes your heart hurt as you gently plaster a cute sunflower bandaid over the cut while your baby girl stares at your husband with such wonder you think he might be a knight-in-shining-armor in her wide round eyes. and it makes his bleeding heart skip a beat when you tell him you see him the same way, too. there's always guaranteed to be a fresh plate of intricate bunny-shaped apple slices as dessert after dinner, and on slow nights spent in the company of family, there'll be a quick and intense battle of rock paper scissor or sticks between the love of your life and your beloved children on who'll be the lucky winner to put their head in your lap tonight.

(although, aki rarely lets himself win, because he knows he'll be able to later that night if not in that fond moment, sure to become a treasured memory.)

aki sees himself as a good father; he's strict when he needs to be, and he always tries to make time for his kids. he's even stopped smoking in front of them; in the house, as a whole. he had to pepper you with a few sweet, slow and intentional kisses and light-hearted apologetic words when you demanded to know why your requests for him to stop slowly killing himself with each drag fell to deaf ears, but suddenly you got a little more intimate and out popped a few kids-- and he'd stopped. of course, those were enough to pacify you; he made your resolve weak, like the sweet wobbly jello you indulged your daughter to as you watched your husband work out a crossword puzzle with your son. sometimes, you have to remind him sternly not to curse in front of his kids. but when he reminds you of the vehement stream of swears that always left you when you had to change less-than-pleasant diapers in your earlier parenting years, he’ll chuckle at the flush on your face, because you seem to elicit a lot of those from him. he’ll smile, because he’s finally found something worth the effort. and he'll run a hand through your hair and press a kiss to your forehead because you've made him capable of caring (and he knows how to distract you). sometimes, though, he thinks he's a little too soft on their pleading looks and puppy eyes on the nights when lightning streaks across the sky in frightening arcs, claps of thunder rumbling across the dark clouds when the streets of tokyo are enveloped in curtains of rain showers, when one (or both) of your beloved kids peeks their head from the doorway, a little 'can i sleep with you guys?' escaping as a timid peep. he watches in a sleepy sort of amusement as you nod, one hand lazily curling around your waist to keep you close to his side as he rests his chin on your shoulder. and it's your turn to stifle your amusement when a small, quiet mumble of protest leaves his mouth as your kid sidles into the covers between the two of you, effectively splitting you from your husband. if he was impatient, you know he'd have half the mind to pick them up and plop them at the edge of the bed to have you all to himself, but on most nights he'll just observe in quiet affection when you scoop up your son or daughter in your arms, cradling them to your chest and playing with that head of soft hair, humming gently in a way that makes his heart melt at the edges

sometimes, when 'uncle' denji and 'auntie' power are over, they'll poke fun at him in their usual, disrespectful and chaotic manner, because it doesn't take a pair of keen eyes to see the way he looks at you like you've hung the very constellations in the sky; like the stellar designs in the firmament were all carefully crafted by your hand. he's no overdone zodiac freak, but he dares to say the stars aligned the night he was finally able to call you his and only his. denji and power get along incredibly well with his kids; it almost makes him jealous. like you, his resolve is incredibly easy to weaken with the right expression and the right words; your kids must've picked up a few tricks from your book, because they know exactly how to play him into the palm of their tiny little hands. denji and power spoil them to no end; the wonder duo indulge the kids through games of tag and roughhousing, treating them to a wide array of candy and sweets that guarantee a doctor's visit the following week. he swears the pinch between his eyes you worked so hard to eliminate returns little by little when he watches them run around the place he used to call his safe haven, leaving a trail of absolute destruction and havoc in the form of torn magazines, splintered puzzle pieces, apple sauce sludge, tiny lego blocks (that leave a lifetime of pain), and pairs of his socks. it only gets worse when they learn how to negotiate; he makes a mental note to blame denji and power, because there's no way in hell your children figured out how to bargain from you or him. whines of "aww, but uncle denji lets me take the toys outside, dad!" and "buy me that neko charm, or else i'll tell mom you knocked over her plant pot yesterday!" (which, for the record, isn't true. that was 'auntie' power.) that being said, it's a given family outings are narrowly avoided disasters; as the kids grow, aki swears he'll have to start keeping them on a leash, or they might end up accidentally shoplifting your local 7/11's supply of sour gummy cubes, or have fed daffodil seeds to each stray cat on your condo's street under one blink of a weary eye. at the end of the day, he always caves with an exasperated sigh and an irritated 'fine. but don't tell your mom, okay?'. after all, he's always been a sucker for you; who's to say he's not the same with your kids?

unserious hcs... :3

def the type of dad to mutter 'no she didn't' or 'they probably deserved it' under his breath when ur daughter's school principal calls u both in to tell u she stuck her chewed melon gum in three different girls' hair that day

unreasonably competitive w his children. god knows why

yells at ur kids a lot and starts pouting like the grown ass man he is when u scold him for it ("sorry, love. i got used to it. power and denji were a hell of a handful.")

tucks them both in n denies it with everything in him when u ask if he likes making them beg for goodnight smooches

tells them to fuck off (in childrenspeak) when its ur marriage anni / date night

when they were rlly young, u guys used to all do family showers and or baths together but then water would get everywhere and the rubber duck would be fought over n bathbombs would overflow and the kids would get mad at each other so u dont do that anymore...

an absolute goof and doesnt know what the hell hes doing at first... one time ur son was choking on a cherry pit and he didnt know what to do so he just. shook him. by some miracle it worked (if it was denji or power he wouldve js smacked their back unnecessarily aggressively)

unrolls his cigarettes and makes origami shapes out of them; once ur daughter got her ears pierced he made a pair of crane earrings for her from the paper (clean ofc. i hope)

thoroughly enjoys forcing himself into mother daughter nights and he grumbles but secretly loves when ur daughter practices makeup on him or braids his hair

hopes and prays like an idiot that his kids see him as a cool epic devil hunter awesome sauce dad and not a silly pathetic failwife househusband (that's only for u to think)

stitches up any clothing, pillow cases or stuffed animals that r falling apart, also makes sure that no color bleeds when washing clothes and that nothing shrinks cus he does all the laundry for evryone

helps u make a family photo scrapbook and tape polaroids to ur fridge. lets the kids cut out patterns and shapes (his fav r the nutrition facts for some weird reason) from their juiceboxes and kids' magazines to put in the scrapbook

whenvr ur napping he always tells them to shut up. or he just forces them to nap too so he can be lazy and crawl into bed w u

a very good dad !!

hes such a loser oh no.. i should've just used the unserious hcs for the entire thing. i rambled im sorry it will happen again. i love himr

my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[heyybaejjk]

MODERN AO'NUNG HCS PT. 2 — SAMOAN!FEM READER

pairing. human!ao'nung x samoan!fem reader

summary. just Ao'nung with a Samoan girlfriend

warnings. swearing

a/n. for my polynesian babes wherever yall at ❤️

masterlist. pt. 1 pt. 3

AAPI month and Samoan Independence day have passed and I think of this idea NOW 😭☠️ out of all times wtf

BUT ITS SUNDAY AND STILL SAMOAN LANGUAGE WEEK ‼️

But idc 🧍‍♀️

Gotta do what I gotta do because I am not letting ts go

I love my culture, just like anyone else does, I'm still learning more about it so I researched and placed some of my own knowledge into this.

Aiuli - Participants who dance and cheer around a solo performer as they dance. Participants are never allowed to dance and cheer in front of the performer, only from behind them.

Taualaga - A performance, importantly the last, to close off an event. Mainly done by a solo female performer. Some are allowed to have people in the back while they Aiuli, some just rather have a solo performance.

"WHAT?" he screams in the middle of class, causing everyone to glance at him.

It was supposed to be a surprise, really. But your ass accidentally slipped out the fact that you were going to perform a cultural dance on Multicultural Day that was coming in a few weeks.

He would definitely try to Aiuli when you dance.

No questions asked.

Although he doesn't know how to properly dance the traditional way, he'll look around and copy the actions of the other pupils.

You both are heavy on learning each other's culture, so when he forgets a certain thing, he goes to your cousins to ask for help

"Wait so- I can't ae-oo-lee in front of her?" Ao'nung poorly pronounces, a slight dark tint on his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck.

"Never. Always stay behind her, or whoever is doing the solo," a boy says with his arms folded against his chest. "If you see people giving money during the dance, don't throw it at her while cheering. Be respectful and softly stick to her arms, they're gonna be covered with oil, anyway. If you can't do that, put it on the ground behind her.

"Right, right..." Ao'nung frantically jots down as the latter continues to speak.

On the day of your dance, he gets so confused when he sees people swarming around, especially in front of you. He will literally stand there like 🧍‍♀️???

But doesn't copy the others as he sees his friend from earlier who told him what not to do, cheering from behind. He smiles warmly before sticking noted bills onto your oiled arms. Kissing your cheek slyly before going back to his position.

"Alu ai gi ou kae."

Bro got slapped. Not too hard, but hard enough to know that he said something wrong.

"Ow! Baby, what was that for?" He holds his cheek, rubbing it softly. Slightly pouting while looking down at your shorter figure. Quite dramatically because you felt like all you did was tap his cheek.

"Why did you say that for?" You looked up at him with your nose scrunched.

"I asked Vika how to say "wanna kiss?" I asked him an hour ago so my pronunciation wasn't that horrible." He sulks. You roll your eyes before cupping his face, leaving kisses all over his cheeks, nose and forehead. "Yeah well, you just told me to go eat shit. Vika's Tongan, you idiot. He only knows the swear words."

i wanted to write sm more but i rather keep this short LOLOL.

[ofliterarynature]

JULY 2024 WRAP UP

Overall this was a very good month, so rather than italicizing everything I decided to note my favorites :)

[loved liked ok nope bookclub* (reread)]

Come Tumbling Down • Fly Trap • In an Absent Dream • The Orchard • (Beneath the Sugar Sky) • Vanishing Monuments* • Fly by Night • What Feasts at Night • The Woman in White • (Down Among the Sticks and Bones) • A Grave Robbery • (Every Heart a Doorway) • Dandelion Fire

* * * * *

Dandelion Fire (4 stars) - book 2 of the 100 Cupboards series. Not much to say, honestly - it's an interesting story, but the writing doesn't always give it the life it needs and drags sometimes. A solidly serviceable mid-tier middle grade fantasy that hasn't aged too poorly.

Every Heart A Doorway/Down Among the Sticks and Bones/Beneath the Sugar Sky/In an Absent Dream (4 stars) - I've been meaning to catch up on this series forever (I only read the first 3 books? really?), and luckily I can count at least 5 of them towards my physical tbr goals, so here we go! I don't think they shine quite as bright as they did in my memory, but honestly I don't think I've tried any Seanan McGuire that I didn't enjoy reading. In An Absent Dream is the earliest one I hadn't yet read, and it was ok - seeing individual character's stories is proving interesting, but there's something about the ensemble novellas that I think just hook me more.

A Grave Robbery (4.5 stars) - what can I say, it was fun! I'm coming to realize that this series is pulling plots from a very specific type of sensational classic novel that I don't know enough about to name, but I very much want to read some of them.

The Woman In White (4 stars) - my second Wilkie Collins! If I could rate this based ONLY on the portion narrated by Marion this would be my new favorite book, 5 stars, no notes. Unfortunately we do have Walter, blandly nice and polite and heroic Walter, narrating most of the book, and he is SO boring, and I hate that his role as a love interest is supposed to be this great moving thing? I'm glad the book skipped most of the "romance" actually, but ultimately I was extremely uncomfortable with the circumstances under which he and Laura eventually marry (did I also kind of want him and Marion to get married instead? Maybe). Also extremely disappointed in how Laura and Anne were both completely sidelined in a story that is ultimately theirs (if anyone knows of a retelling that improves on things let me know!!). The highs were high and the lows were low, but overall I did enjoy reading this. Now to figure out what Wilkie Collins to read next now that I've read the two I'd heard of.

What Feasts at Night (4 stars) - I didn't reread the first book so I can't really compare them, but I liked it! A good spooky time that I did partially listen to while walking through the woods, which was maybe not my brightest idea haha.

Fly by Night/Fly Trap (4.5/5 stars) - FANTASTIC. I've discovered that there's a specific blend of things that I look for in middle-grade books these days (as an adult), and these completely nailed it - characters (not just kids!) who are flawed and selfish and petty but capable of kindness or doing the right thing, and writing that is not only smart and intelligent but funny! There are (maybe) too many layers going on in Fly by Night, but I still really enjoyed it (and Mosca's attack goose), and I think where Fly Trap really pulls ahead is that it has all of the introductory spiel out of the way and the story is allowed to be much more focused. Did we really need a second book? No, but I'm glad we have it and would be happy to read more!

Vanishing Monuments (4 stars) - This month's read for book club, by the author of previous favorite, My Volcano! It felt deeply personal, intimate, dark, and harder to process all the intense emotions, but still showed as much depth of craftsmanship and artistry in its writing. I didn’t love it as much, but I hope someday I’ll feel smart enough to understand it more. cw for unreality, mental illness, and all kinds of gender stuff.

The Orchard (4 stars) - this the (unfinished!) memoir of a young woman who tried to single-handedly run her family's orchard during the Great Depression, and the events that lead to the manuscript's publishing are nearly as interesting! I didn't leave myself notes, so I'd say positive feelings, but I'm learning I don't really like memoirs the hard way (I'm always a sucker for tough women doing the hard things though).

[thirdtimed]

does anyone want to read me poorly describing the events of third life through grian's pov for my friend's benefit. do note that Its long. and bad.

its like. Okay.

act 1

guy is responsible for this worlds first original sin (murder) (he didnt mean it) (quite literally was just a prank gone horrifically wrong)

immediately tries to make it up to the guy he killed (scar) by pledging one of his own lives as surrogate/a symbol of allyship, albeit temporary-- he'll do all of scar's bidding, but only until he finally dies in turn. only then will the debt be considered repaid

its like. so vitally important to me that the materials & conditions for this arrangement. were quite literally Only grians idea. scar did not input any of this at all. grian dug himself a hole in the ground and refused to get out

he is stuck in a hole and its all his fault but hes blaming everyone else thats not him & hes very much not enthused about this partnership. at all. even if hes the one who decided this. even if he's the one who buried himself in the ground. because the guy he's now indebted to is a madman & makes more enemies than friends & quite frankly is just a dangerous man to be around in general. especially for a survival game. so he complains for the entire duration of their alliance that he does not want to be here & that he is only sticking around out of moral obligation and guilt. he doubly makes sure everyone else around him knows this too, letting them know how utterly pathetically powerless he is in this dynamic, as if he were a damsel needing to be rescued.

act 2

scar quickly loses his remaining lives, rendering him an infamous red name-- aka on his last life-- aka his primary objective has now switched to killing other players. he is hostile, and he is the only hostile on the server. this also means that grian is Really stuck with him now. green life players like him are supposed to be peaceful, nonviolent, and notably Far Away from their only known natural predator-- red names-- for the sake of their own survival. but green life players are also supposed to be allied with other green lives. grian is Still contractually obliged to do scars bidding. the debt has not yet been repaid.

so scar parades around the server intimidating other factions into obedience or swindling them out of resources & has grian do the equivalent of a sad little grunt worker weakly holding a gun to everyones head. he's sadly telling everyone "look, i dont have a choice, i owe him my first life; i may not be able to pull the trigger but i can still give him the gun."

meanwhile he has the gun trained on them constantly and has not once ever actually taken it off of them

see like. heres the thing. what makes grian so fun as a character is the guilt obviously but also the fact that he is Relishing in this newfound power he now has as proxy to scar's red name. "i cant kill" he says, as he goes to eagerly prepare traps and tnt explosions, "im just doing scar's bidding" he says, pointedly not mentioning how the traps were very much not scar's idea but His

he takes. so much glee. in the red life power association. he gets so many "indirect" kills as just a green name. hes a menace. and he gets to point to his creditor to avoid all blame

war breaks out and they somehow manage to survive the wreckage. all the while grian is still adamant about leaving once he loses his first life. he takes every possible moment to remind scar that this alliance is temporary-- its conditional, and he's more than ready to fly free once the cage is unlocked and open

its so fun. Because he says all this ^ REPEATEDLY. ad nauseum. i cannot stress this enough. but all his actions point otherwise. he's constantly checking up on scar making sure he's still alive. the red name may give scar prestige but its a very tenuous fragile source of power-- he's on his last life. once he dies for a third time he'll be gone for real. and grian, despite all his complaints and airs of reluctance, does everything in his power to keep scar alive. "im going to leave" he says. "once my debt is paid im out" he says, all while bandaging scars wounds. all while detailing plans that explicitly position scar in the safest area possible on the battlefield (putting him in the bunker, because his life is "too valuable.") Like Okay. Sure. Sure.

act 3

obviously. grian eventually dies. during that exact battle too, the one he painstakingly orchestrated to light up the desert in countless explosives. dies by his own hand, really, wounded by his own explosives, caught in his own trap, the tiniest final strike being a swift enemy arrow to the head. he loses his first life & his debt is at last repaid. the cage is open! you have the key. you can fly. you can leave.

obviously. he doesn't leave.

he doesnt leave because he still has a sense of "moral obligation" <- (quote) he doesn't leave because scar is "the most interesting… [significant pause] Character. on the server" <- (quote) he doesn't leave because he wants to see this til the end

well. to the end he will see it.

numbers have dwindled. theres only 3 people left. and of those 3 people, only one of them remains with a significant leg up, having only died Once throughout the entire season thus far; two red eyes predatorily stalking the only yellow name left

yeah. betrayal. or, "betrayal" if you consider it as such. though it's another person's blade, it's clear as day that scar is the one who ordered it-- who killed him, really.

logically of course its the only decision that makes sense-- you have to even out the playing field. this way, everyone is a red name & on equal footing now. this way, we can finally talk.

this does Not. mitigate the sting of hurt & betrayal on grians end. after all that we've been through? after all that i've done for you? & worst part is that he Feels like this but also Knows, logically, this is the only way it could have possibly played out. he should have known. betrayal and lies and deceit is scar's very nature. he's watched him this entire time. of all people, he should have known.

he goes in with blind rage screaming "traitor!" he doesn't notice the secretive glances scar shares his way, he doesn't notice the whisper leaving his lips in a hushed, "i have a plan." he is angry, he is hurt, and he is done caring about anyone.

in the midst of that chaos, of the sun going supernova, the last person dies without so much of a fanfare. all of a sudden, its only the two of them left.

and as grian raises his sword, scar simply lowers his head. "you may slay me." <- (quote) "for everything that you've done" <- (quote) he's so utterly willing to lay down his life. after all, its a debt owed. for all that grian has done for Him……

grian obviously sputters to a stop. " i cant do it" <- (quote) "i literally cant do it" <- (quote). mind you this is all being executed with about as much drama as any other youtube minecraft letsplay meaning none at all. theyre giggling and laughing because its all just so ridiculous and funny. theyre roleplaying but also not but also aware that theyre roleplaying and cant help but laugh at themselves for it. It is not nearly as angsty as i am actually describing it even though what i have described is Literally What Happened (albeit with a dramatic flare or two there. but still)

theyre at an impasse. they dont want to kill each other. but there can only be one winner. the ghosts chant for a bloodbath-- a barebones fist fight to the death

they decide to do it at the tattered remains of what used to be their home. that sand castle on the cliffside in the middle of the desert. in a ring of cacti & fire they declare this a double victory before counting down & fighting to the death. and theyre smiling and laughing and giggling while also wailing "im so sorry" "im so sorry"

scar dies. through skill or luck it doesnt really matter. grian wins. congrats man. first winner Ever. survival expert extraordinare. youre king. youve demolished the cage. your wings are unbound (theyve been unbound this entire time)

you've won.

"i dont feel good about this at all" <- (quote)

he wails & apologizes to scar (to nothing, to no one) & promptly thanks the audience for watching. video over! season over! thank you so much for watching. none of us would have ever expected the direction this has gone in.

good morning, and case i dont see you……

he ends the video by jumping off the cliff.

hey! so about that bird that wailed and screamed and cried to be set free and once you opened the cage he locked the door back himself and threw away the key

hey so About that bird that took to the sky & very much did not fly

[ludiharambasha]

Hey! So I saw your anti atla posts. I was intrigued.

I have to ask, how would have liked the show to go about Zuko? How to handle him and his plot and arc? And what do you think about him as a character in general?

Hi, sorry that it took me so long to answer this ask, and this is sadly because I am not sure I am able to provide a satisfactory answer. (This is going to be very long). I will try to approach this from several angles.

In short, Zuko's entire conception is one I have a problem with. Zuko is not a character the writers tried to do something with and failed or wrote in a confusing, messy way that could be bettered with some tweaks- Zuko is exactly what the authors of AtLA wanted him to be, and it is their artistic vision that I have a (and at the same time don't- this will be clear to you as you read on) problem with. Not just Zuko, but Iroh as well, and I think this character arc stems from the privileged background of the authors, and a larger context of Western popular art, something I discussed in greater depth when I wrote a couple of posts about The Hunger Games.

Now, there are three angles I read Zuko and his redemption arc from:

1. Redemption arcs generally being indicative of poor or mediocre story-telling;

2. Zuko as a Western, colonial fantasy;

3. Zuko as a character in media intended for children.

I think this is the most organized way I can argument my feelings and thoughts about him as a character.

1.

It was fairly obvious that Zuko was a character fallen from grace that will see glory by the end of the story. From the moment he first graced the screen, it was apparent that he would go through a redemption arc, and that his character was all about that. There are some blogs that I will add here that might have a lot more to say on the issue (I will tag them in an edited version of this post if they would be ok with me tagging them), but redemption arcs are indicative of, at best, juvenile, at worst, flat out bad writing. Redemption arcs are really fine in children's literature because of their didactic nature, but in writing intended for older audiences they should not be treated seriously.

Art really isn't about instilling morals into the audience - art is supposed to make the readers'/observers' ideological, sensory and moral world challenged in interaction with it - art presupposes the already existing morality of the one interacting with it, not a blank slate onto which the art is supposed to leave an imprint. This notion that art is about didactics is a very outdated, passée idea that resurfaces every now and then, usually in think-of-the-youths type of discourse. Art is the fruit of the author's sensory, ideistic and moral world, and innately expresses something about the auhor and the world as they percieve it-it is not meant to indoctrinate or instill something, but to provide someone's perspective on a phenomenon or idea. This does not mean that art cannot be evaluated because it is personal; its merit is decided through analysys, usually of theme(s), characters, motifs, etc., of their quality, inventiveness, coherence, and so on. It is a delicate matter and not all critics agree on every work; moreover, there are different schools of methodology of the analysis of literary works; they do not agree on many things. There are good resources on the internet where you can find more info on lenses, approaches, etc.

I cannot say that evey literary lens or critical approach condemns redemption arcs (some classics with this arc include A Christmas Carol); however, there are two very good reasons to be vary of them in fiction. A) they are moralistic, and b) they are predictable, and these two reasons are somewhat intertwined.

I've already said quite a lot about didactics and moralizing in fiction earlier, so now I will try to focus on why this impacts characterization poorly and give more focus to reason b). When I say predictable, I mean that the character that this character arc goes along traditional lines of a certain archetype, and never once goes beyond them or manages to state anything new about the convention itself or break out of its confines. Zuko starts as a prince fallen from grace and ends up as the new Firelord- there is nothing in his story that even once nods to the fact that anything else was going to happen (him failing to redeem himself in book 2, only to then be consumed by guilt and finally be redeemed for realz is also an incredibly common pattern). There is nothing transgressive or challenging to constructing a character like this. There is no profound idea that Zuko brings forward with his presence in the story. How can someone genuinely say that writing a character that has been written a MILLION times before in the EXACT SAME way to be good? We laud stories that say something; creating a character like Zuko is akin to butting into a conversation, not because you genuinely have something to say, but just to hear yourself speak. Redemption arcs are the death of character- if we know where the character arc is going to go, the readers' perspective is not challenged. It is failure to tell a unique, authentic story.

Redemption arcs are enjoyed because they deal with a commmon fantasy that we CAN do better and be better, eventually. Very few follow up on this and become better people, but reading about people that do sure is reassuring. This creates this self-righteous feeling in the reader for aligning with the right cause. This has a very clear moral and instructive tone - do better. When art is made to instill values is when the art ceases to be creative. This does not mean that art is and should be devoid of morality; on the contrary, art is meant to engage your morality through self reflection. When you read about deplorable characters doing deplorable things, there is no need for the narrator to outright say 'this bad' - how you feel about actions of the characters is inherently a moral excercise. (Why should anyone celebrate art that insults the readers' intelligence and their ability to make moral judgements?)

At the heart of redemption arcs is that they are digestible, easily understood, and reaffirm the goodness of the reader. It is the most simple, juvenile type of writing there is.

2.

There is a reason why Zuko's redemption arc (and many others of the like) have a particularly strong appeal - they are reassuring to white, Western readers. They play into another, more disturbing fantasy - the sins of one's colonial past can be undone, forgiven and forgotten. If a prince of an empire that committed genocides, military occupations, and so on (there is a very long list of the crimes the Fire Nation committed), can be redeemed and become better and help the oppressed people, then so can they (they won't, and don't really intend to, but the fictional realization is enough!). There is also a reason why the fucking beach episode is beloved in AtLA fandom- it goes through the motions of 'humanising the Fire Nation' and showing them full of just some random, 'normal' kids that just live normal lives (in the eyes of the 1st worlders). It is the ultimate justification of white Western conformity, ignoring how this conformity keeps oppressive, violent systems running. Aang's culture being wiped off the face of the Earth, showing us the torture Hama went through, seeing Katara never find peace about her mother being killed by a Fire Nation soldier, never getting to see Jet get justice for the murder of his parents, all the environmental damage the Fire Nation caused is extended as much or less sympathy than privileged kids from the Fire Nation. Let that sink in. Zuko is just the most glaringly obvious realization of this motif.

Zuko's redemption arc is reflective of Westerner's feelings about colonialism and racism. This guilt is something that is part of them, as one has to be painfully stupid to be oblivious to their nations' pasts- everything around them reflects their vile history. They either choose to double down on this fact and percieve themselves as victors and their past as full of glory, others have trouble dealing with the gravity of these facts. And Zuko's moral dilemmas, his failures reflect this "revelation" and (surface-level) abhorrence towards imperialism. And it reflects a more awful truth, that these people seldom truly recognise the true implications of their own involvement in these systems - they often see colonialism as these sins of the past and systems divorced from their own involvement, and not the sins of both the past and present they actively contribute to - and Zuko also realises the faults of the Fire nation not based on what he personally did or has seen with his own eyes; he truly starts to recognise the evils of the Fire Nation when confronted with his past and his lineage. It is not the institution of the Fire Lord and the immense power it carries that has led to these heinous crimes, or the militarism- it is particular people that need to be brought down. Zuko, despite being a war criminal just like his father and sister, is absolved of what he did de facto. Just like the primary audience of AtLA would like to be.

Another thing to note, one that is not analytic but entirely subjective on my part, is that I cannot brush off the feeling that Zuko's redemption is more strongly motivated by Zuko's feelings of inadeqacy, rather than a developed sense of justice (this one is more up to interpretation, as there is proof n the story for and against this assertion).

3.

Redemption arcs and Zuko I don't have a problem with if we are looking at AtLA through the lens of mediocre standard children's media. Children's media should be didactic, because children learn a lot from engaging with the environment, and media is a particularly influential one. A child will not be capable of detecting all the implications of AtLA as a narrative - for them, it is enough to see a simple character like Zuko. I just cannot stand it when people delude themselves into believing he is written well, he's average at best.

That is all I have to say on the matter, for now. Thank you for your question. Take care.

[emblazons]

a post in defense of (a very much alive) S5 Jonathan Byers

under the cut b/c this is more frustrated commentary than strict analysis, and you shouldn't have to read if you don't want to.

I feel like it must have come from the dry spell between seasons, but I have to say it: all of this “Jonathan is gonna die and that means Stancy could happen” stuff lately is not only giving "I just like angst for its own sake," it's lowkey nonsense if you look at it thematically (in context of the Jon/Nancy/Steve madness yes, but especially in context of the Byers family).

—like? Friends.

Given the Duffer’s track record of refusing to fully kill off major characters even when it could have made sense to (cc: Hopper and Max), I don’t think anyone is actually meeting their end, but let’s be SO serious about who is actually likely to get axed: the boy with a mom, brother, step-sister and girlfriend who have been central to every single moment in this show…or the one they've put into a triangle we all thought was over until S4, who they’ve honestly written into a corner, & whose primary drive in four entire seasons was getting a girlfriend and protecting a bunch of teenagers?

I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's just talk Jonathan.

The Duffers (Matt especially) have openly gotten upset at even the notion of Mike dying because "that's depressing" AND "that's Nancy's brother" (showing the familial ties are a HUGE part of what would keep them from ending someone), in addition to them saying they've thought through every imaginable scenario" on who might die—

—and you think its Jonathan whose meeting his end? King of championing "not liking what you don't have to" and the outcasts in all areas from music taste to being queer...after all the Byers have been through and knowing The Duffers write toward championing the outcasts and those who embrace their differences?

That, combined with the fact that the only "evidence" I've ever seen for him potentially dying has been that speech he gave to Will in the SBP somehow being connected to (you guessed it) setting up angst for Will...I'm gonna take a hard and wild educated guess based on the entirety of the rest of the show and say that was literally written so Will could catch a goddamn break, not as a death tag.

The fact that Noah confirmed it wasn't in the Duffer's OG script, was written day of filming + was done because "it was important for people to see will wasn't alone" is evidence enough for that.

Even so, the fact that there are still at least 4 unresolved plots Jonathan is part and privy to makes his death even less likely, because it wouldn't make sense for resolving anything for him to die at all, never mind in the episodes before our supposed timeskip.

Jonathan's messy relationship with Nancy, the fact that he's the only one who actually knows Will is gay, and the fact that he's the only other character who saw & understood the ULTIMATE Chekhov's gun in the form of that painting (on top of also having a longstanding relationship with Mike )should make it clear he isn't going anywhere from a narrative perspective...and I'm not even sure where the idea that he would die popped up, other than fandom warping the canon and projecting onto the plot.

The Duffers have always been clear about not doing things solely for the sake of surprise + not liking things that don't make narrative sense...and Jonathan's death would be both of those things, done solely for shock value.

I just. Be so serious right now. if you want to imagine the weight of Jonathan dying SOLELY for fandom angst DO THAT...but don't pretend like his death in the show wouldn't be the most poorly foreshadowed thing in this entire show, on top of not matching a single theme of the ongoing Stranger Things narrative. ☠️

Put some respect on his name lmao

Bonus: If you really want to talk about character's dying (and not just jump into angst for its own sake): they haven’t given Steve a proper love interest EVER outside of Nancy, made Dustin cry over Eddie instead of staying close to Steve S4, and haven’t ONCE referenced that boy’s family properly more than a few times in passing (and only by Steve himself).

He is the only character who craves normalcy despite this show being about championing the outcast, was supposed to die seasons ago but stayed because Joe Keery was so beloved, and has now been written into a corner where every single person who is central to him (esp Dustin and Robin) either have a new love interest or are worried about something else more than him, which...if you want canonical evidence for a possible death, you're looking in the wrong corner of this love triangle.

[kozykricket]

oops long post about minecraft

i hope that within the next 5 years i can see minecraft move on from the stage of Adding Content, and start making more changes... but at the same time, they've always mentioned how they want people to be able to always come back to the game and ... have it feel familiar. mojang wants people to be able to come back from a loooong break, and still ultimately play the game the same, even if it looks or sounds different. even if theres more options. i think logically thats why they never replace or reshuffle content. because... well, they'd rather add something to the side of the core game than change something thats part of the core... because they dont want to disrupt peoples traditional way of playing but like, with how much minecraft has evolved every aspect of itself EXCEPT the main, core gameplay? it feels like... at this point, i think they SHOULD change the core gameplay, even if its in ways that i dont even like. just, to fit in more with the rest... but do i fault them? no. they play it safe yet they also try daring new things, at the same time. its impressive the amount of effort they put into carefully thinking about new content... and i understand so many people would be up in arms, or would be saddened, if the way they played the game drastically changed. and thats why theyre just , giving us the ability to modify the game more easily than ever

i just kinda felt like i needed to get this out here, because. yknow, whenever people mention minecraft having Tons of Content I Can't Keep Track Of What When Did They Add That What Is That it slike yeah you're not really ... supposed to notice it? but you are supposed to?

you're not supposed to feel the need to engage with anything they add, but also Marketing(TM) denotes that they have to advertise the new stuff as something for you to engage with, and really, really encourage you to engage with it via stuff like advancements or the title screen even so i guess the game is at odds with itself in that way, because as said, things are designed to ... well, not BE noticed when they're added, at least not in a disruptive yet, yet they also try to make things noticable enough that you know they exist... and . well, its a careful balance... i dont think its entirely futile, but i think the fact that they kinda have to market content to Everyone even when they know they designed that content as Not Something For Everyone, is fairly ... awkward. cus then... yknow, they end up leading people towards stuff that they otherwise would've had not much of an opinion on, but now that they're being "forcibly shown" the content that they don't personally care about, they may see it as an attack towards their playstyle, in the way that changing the core gameplay loop would be. does this make sense? okay uhh example mojang adds... deep dark biomes, but theyre definitely optional to engage with, and you might not even know they were added, because of their optional-ness and arguably low relevance. its just a fun little sidequest in a way, a self contained Thing because they don't want to scare people away. but yet at the same time, the marketing goes all "HEY WE GOT A COOL NEW SPOOKY BIOME" and then even if you're disinterested in it, you now know its in the game, and you are led to believe that mojang WANTS every player to be using the deep dark, which... makes it seem poorly designed. simply because it WASNT designed for every player to want to engage with. it wasnt designed to be an integral part of the core experience. it was designed to be optional and is being marketed as a big part of the experience.

cus the thing is they DONT always design things for every type of player to want to use. you get me? they design the... allay, to be nice for certain types of players. but then the marketing gives off the idea that they think every type of player ought to enjoy it, even though it wasn't designed to be enjoyed by everyone and... yeah i guess thats also why i appreciate loosely themed updates like 1.8 or 1.20, because they have less of a deliberate focus on the One Big Thing and so people are less likely to end up noticing something that wasnt really meant to be noticed unless they liked it. people who dont like trial chambers will be noticing them since theyre on the title screen in 1.21... even though, if they are someone who doesnt like them, then they were meant to be sorta, yknow, optional for those people? though perhaps a structure that spawns anywhere in the overworld is a poor example. maybe stuff like the sniffer being shown so much is Worse in that sense this really became a bigger post than i imagined. i just kinda intended to make a post that was like "its kind of a bummer that mojang is basically restricted away from changing the core of minecraft despite the fact that theyve changed everything else so much that by proxy they've changed the core in every way that isnt straight up full on touching the core gameplay"