#possible slow burn

[pikxelbit]

Still not sure what to name this...

Chapter 2: Broken

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,889 words

Chapter prompt: Start of repair

Turbo x Reader | Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Turbo... A name turned to a cautionary tale. Tragic in a sense how everyone in the arcade speaks of him in the likeness of a ghost. Presumed dead, but still alive in the words of others.

As much as a lot of people deemed him obnoxious, nobody would have guessed he was capable of causing a horrific incident. Two games gone in one day, something that would forever stain the arcades history.

A funeral was held shortly after what had happened. To serve respect for the dead as well as to honor what has been, what is, and what could have been, almost everyone contributed.

Right after though, everyone was left uneasy. The two empty socket's giving a sad and mournful tone as the Game Central Station stood still for a moment in silence. Turbo's tracks leaving a message to be passed on for decades.

Well, at least it should have...

A few days have passed, the incident still fresh on a few people's minds. Although, 'Turbo Time' has been presumed to have been dismantled by now, that wasn't all true...

Right after the games were unplugged, both games were transferred somewhere. Mr. Litwak didn't want to just give these games away for a simple profit. So he gave his niece and nephew a call, a pair of two enthusiast's of modern technology.

Sending the games to the twins, Mr. Litwak thanked them greatly for doing something like this. Smiling, they only replied with, "Honestly you don't even need to thank us. We should be thanking you," one of the twins, Kiara, spoke first.

"Yeah, we need to test a software perfect for this type of thing anyways so it's not a big deal," Danny, continued.

Mr. Litwak still thanked them though, bidding the twins goodbye right after as they told their mom it was time to go. Waving Mr. Litwak goodbye, their mom started to drive back home.

The twins are two clever teens. Both keen on the science of technology, and now they were presented with the opportunity to try and fix two arcade games! Next year they'll go right off to college, so this was something they wanted to work on for now, like a test run.

___

A few days passed by, the twins, tried their best to see what they could do to fix the games. But upon closer inspection it seems though that both games somehow got busted.

Taking apart both Turbo Time and Road Blasters, they discovered how outdated Turbo Time's engine was. As well as how its own engine seemed to be close to breaking down, if this was left running for a few more months, this could have caught on fire.

While for Road Blasters, a few parts of the game managed to shut down, some becoming utterly useless as the 'glitch' somehow caused a few things inside to break completely.

Out of the two though, Road Blasters seemed to be the only one they could fix, well if we were speaking on the physical parts of the game. Broken peices from Road Blasters can easily be replaced when compared to an outdated game like Turbo Time.

Software-wise though, it was complicated. RoadBlaster's software was filled with a few errors and complications, while for Turbo Time, it's software was doing just fine. For the reason, well you all did manage to make your own theories but so far all of you didn't exactly have a good guess. Although it would be easier to fix these games if the causation was identified, you all just decided to suck it up and do your best. The main goal is to fix as much as possible after all.

Refusing to let Turbo Time go though, the twins still faught tooth and nails just to figure something out. Kiara, being empathetic enough for a random game, decided to extract the character's out of Turbo Time instead of just giving up. Plugging both games into a computer, they managed to extract the characters from both games into it.

Through the computer, they could easily start to inspect the games codes as well as to try and even tinker here and there.

Thinking about it, perhaps they could mesh both games together, to at least give some purpose to the assets taken from Turbo Time and to not let their effort's go to waste. It would take some time to make both games codes compatible, but it was a challenge they're willing to go through. With their trusty software as well, they figured perhaps this could be done in a few months.

So taking the challenge on, Kiara took charge of fixing the hardware while Danny went on to tinker with the codes. Working together, they wanted to finish this before going to college.

___

After another day of school, Danny quickly headed to the garage to find his sister working on Road Blasters. It's been a while now and it's safe to say they've been slowly making progress.

"How's the machine?" Danny asks, taking a seat near the desk.

"It's going great! Finally replaced that darned screen with a new one. I'm just looking through the wires for now. Maybe I'll go buy some tomorrow because a few of the really thin ones got busted," she exclaimed with a smile.

"Whoa, that's great! What if I go with? I've been planning on buying a new mouse for this computer." Danny replied, gesturing to the old looking mouse.

"Yeah, you definitely should get a new one," Kiara replied nodding, "How about you? How's the little guys going?"

"Well it's been a few days, but I managed to fix up the environment from Road Blasters. With the help of our trusty assistant," Danny conveyed, opening the program used to process the codes, "As for the characters, I managed to fix a few things. I made some of them to stop glitching, but yeah, that's all for now at least," he finished, opening another window filled with the various characters from each games.

"Hey, that's a lot of progress, good work!" She stood up, to inspect the monitor, "How about our other project? Is the software doing good?"

"Yeah, still an early version but our trusty assistant is already doing so good-"

"Kiara! Danny! Dinner!" They heard their dad shout from afar.

"In a minute!" They both replied in unison.

Quickly, Kiara tried to fix a few things that could be a hazard when stepped on or touched without precaution, his brother following suit. Hearing another call, now from their mother, they hurriedly finished up.

However, before leaving the room, Danny closed all the windows from the computer screen. Being in a hurry though, he missed closing one of them.

___

Left open in the dark, the monitor let's artificial light seep through the room. Nearly peaceful, the computer continues to give off a sound of constant whirring from deel inside.

Right then, something else starts to move. Slowly blinking, his eyes tries it's best to adjust to the rooms lighting. All he could see was a chair nearby and seemingly a desk.

"What is this place?" He asked nobody, wondering how it's even possible that he's alive.

He remembers it all clearly, the loud screeching of tires as one of the driver's tried to swerve away from a direct hit. He was sure he was going to die...

Is this heaven? Or perhaps hell..?

Further trying to investigate, he tries to move. But looking to the side all he could see is dark nothingness in which he's seemingly trapped in. Where is he? He wondered, stepping cautiously towards what he thought is the screen.

Then he heard something click, and just like that, someone came to answer.

"Hello..?" He spoke hesitantly.

"Well, hello there," you spoke out.

"I can't see you, where are you?" He asks, trying once more to look around in confusion.

You are right beside the window he's at. Looking inside, you see Turbo, looking around.

Once he sees you, he slightly glitches. Yelping in surprise, he fell down. Either because of your sudden appearance, or the random glitch that occured.

"Who are you?" He spoke, trying to get up, but struggling to do so as he continued to glitch slightly with each movement he made.

"I am Y/N. An assistant for coding, developing games, websites and other branches of technologies. I can help in many ways, a few to be mentioned are, helping in running diagnostics, looking after projects, and even fixing simple bugs," you spoke, almost in a completely flat tone as you helped him up.

"Okay then..." Slightly weirded out, he took his arm from you. "You're an assistant... So where am I?" He asks, still slightly suspicious and observant of you. Looking at how you acted and looked, you moved elegantly, your fancy clothes becoming evidence to the information you've said earlier.

"You are in a computer placed in a garage, currently inside the home of my creators," you answer, your voice finally giving some sort of emotion to it.

"Can you tell me why I'm even here?" He asks curiously. Why was he here..? He expected it to be done. Right after the crash, he knew it was all ending. Now though...

"Well, you're here because, as you have experienced, you are broken. Along with other characters, you are now currently being repaired," you replied.

"Repaired..." He mumbles to himself.

"Yes, by me and my creators. Danny and Kiara, the niece and nephew of Mr. Litwak, your previous owner correct?" You asked, tilting your head to the side.

Once you mentioned 'Mr. Litwak', his eyes widen. "Huh," was all he said. Gazing back at him, you noticed a smile slightly grace his face.

He never expected to actually still have a second chance in life. But thinking back though, as he gazes to his palms, it glitches slightly.

"When was the start of doing all this?" He asked, looking back at you.

"About, only a couple of days ago. We managed to put you and other characters into this computer. I'm helping Danny repair the codes that might have been damaged, and Kiara is taking charge of the hardwares," you answered.

But then, your conversation gets interrupted suddenly as Danny proceeds into the room. Opening the lights, he sees the screen of the computer still open.

Watching him walk down to the desk, Turbo suddenly didn't know what to do. When someone would approach the screen of his game, his own code would instruct him to quickly get to his kart. "Uhh..." He mumbled under his breath, as he froze up.

Noticing you up and about, he sat down on the desk. "Oh, hello there..." He spoke to loud towards the screen.

"Welcome back, was your dinner tasty tonight?" You asked casually.

"Yeah, it was good. What are you doing?" He asked, now noticing Turbo right inside the window.

"Well, I noticed this window was left open so I went ahead and looked over it," you replied.

He nodded, before speaking once more,

"We were supposed to test run a few of your skills again today but I have homework tonight so, I'll postpone it for now," he scratched his head, his eyes gazing back to Turbo for a moment before standing up.

"Well, hopefully there's more time to be spared tomorrow. But yeah, hate to cut this conversation short but, I need to go now," Danny spoke, standing up as he dragged the mouse to close the window where Turbo is at. Before he could, you whispered to Turbo a quick bid of goodbye before moving out of the window yourself.

Surprised, Turbo slightly glitched before Danny made the window disappear.

"Okay, see you tomorrow Danny," you spoke, before completely disappearing back into your respective file, feeling the computer slowly stop working as the darkness engulfed the screen.

[vero-niche]

the premise of Split Fiction would be so funny with fanfic writers like yepp this is my high fantasy masterpiece i came here to get published. and this other universe? its the one where my guys are sucking and fucking. enjoy stealing that

[erinwantstowrite]

unfortunately for peter he's sooner or later going to contract the batfamily curse without hope of recovery (being bisexual)

he has no idea what's coming for him 😔 he'll figure it out slowly and painfully for everyone involved

[garpen]

Garpen, how many times can you leave the people on a SuperBat cliffhanger before they start rioting, challenge- go!

[meowrimo]

this is how i look when i’m working on self insert lore

[1960z]

the way we’re not even supposed to know his name yet this is a wild introduction 10/10 no notes

[scribblyne]

The hand that feeds (2/?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 1

Summary: Y'all wanna fuck SO bad

Warnings: Plenty Sexual Tension (and innuendos), man playing guitar at you

WC: 2000

Author's Note: I took forever to write this, SO much has been going on. I swear to god, that fanfic writer curse is a real thing. In any case, they still aren't in each other's pants, writing smut scares me just a bit because I DREAD the word 'member' like it's out to kill my family. Anywaysies, please enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oy, get those shoes off. I don’t want you tracking dirt onto my floors.” 

You obliged, leaning your hand against the wall for support as you slipped your foot out of your shoes, and then the other. You couldn’t say his home was anything beyond what you would have expected: it had an arranged mess type of look to it, punk themed magazines strewn along tabletops and shelves, though not quite organised in any particular manner. Along the walls were paintings and artworks, beautiful displays of bold and striking colours, posters for bands you’d only ever heard in name. Down the hallway, to your immediate right was a kitchen, a single plate and fork sitting in the sink impatiently waiting to be washed. It was nothing large, not as though he would have needed it to be, but it seemed well suited for the space. Further up ahead was a couch cradled to the corner of the room, a forest green complemented by orange pillows. 

“Welcome to casa de Brown, breakfast is from 7 to 10, and we don’t do lunches here, so don’t expect it.”

“Ah, and what of dinner?” “Depends, will you be having dessert at the dining table or on the countertop?”

“How much of a mess do you intend to make?”

He shrugged, an almost coy smile spilling against his lips as you walked ahead of him, immediately drawn to a collection of guitars displayed above his couch – that was what you’d come to see, after all. They weren’t anything particularly expensive or extravagant, a fact that seemed strongly contrary to what the persona he had constructed in your presence suggested. If anything, they looked mildly aged. “These are awfully boring for an alleged rockstar,” You said as you placed a knee on the couch, leaning forward to strum a finger across the strings, only to be met by an off-key sound. “Yikes, out of tune too? Not helping your case here, Brown.” 

“You judge a man by the look and sound of his instrument, ay? Just let me get my girl, I named her… Actually, I didn’t name her, but that’s nunya business.” He walked through a door beside the couch, leading to – what you could only assume was – his bedroom. You took a seat, hands folded over one another in your lap, it was almost polite, something uncertain. The whole place smelled of him; that natural unfamiliar scent you’d find in every place that wasn’t your own. You pulled one of the persimmon cushions into your lap, an immediate gust of that wooden undertone he carried with himself, a pleasant aroma by all means. It almost felt intimate, the way you could imagine his skin bearing the exact sensation with your teeth pressed to his throat. You’d hope in such a situation you’d be feeling more than just the way he smelled, perhaps it would be his coarse hands wandering below your shirt, exploring the warmth at your abdomen – if he were bold enough, possibly lower. 

“Here she is, the beauty.” He held up an electric, pressing a kiss to the upper bout. Its body a stark faded red, covered with a couple doodles and stickers, strings fraying ungracefully past the tuning pegs. In its odd and chaotic look, it presented a pleasant contrast – reminded you of him in the same way pets supposedly resemble their owners. 

“I expected something a little more impressive,” you retorted as you leaned back into the sofa, your arms crossed, cozying into the seat as if it were your own. 

“Well, if that was the case, the audience would be staring at the guitar and not the stud playing it. We can’t have that, now can we?”

“Go on, then. Give me a show, pretty boy.” The way you said that stroked something in his ego, he felt it in the way his tongue caught against his teeth; abundant hesitation. He felt himself weak in the palm of your hand, the way you spoke grazing against something delicate, something sensitive and unseen. The way you moved your tongue had his throat full of all the things he couldn’t say, his wit robbed from him in the broad daylight of your affection. 

A bulge pressing against his cheek from the inside, he hung the strap of the guitar against one shoulder, the instrument pressed against himself diagonally. His fingers found the frets with apparent ease, his right hand resting on its waist, confirming the thing was a long term partner of his. 

He pointed to a large black wire curling beside a comparatively small amp, something that could almost be called compact. “Be a doll, yeah? Grab that cable there.” You obliged, standing beside the machine, holding the very end of the wire – the part that would attach to the guitar. “Just like that… D’you know how to turn it on?” 

As he plugged the cable in with a satisfying two-part sound, your fingers trailed over the very top of the amp, searching for a switch. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?” A soft click hit the top of the system, a gentle buzz pouring from the front as he placed his fingers over the strings, something hinting at expertise in the way he did it. “Alright, any requests? I don’t usually give my fans this opportunity, so you better pick something good, yeah?” He placed his fingers on individual strings, running a dark pick down the strings, a warm hum seeping out of the amp in response. 

You stood, approaching the bookshelf beside him; more vinyls than there were books. You ran your finger over the sides of them, pushing them apart to get a peak at the names of the albums. A monochrome sleeve caught your eye, bright orange words in opposite corners, a dark airship occupying a large chunk of the cover: Led Zeppelin. You pulled it out from the shelf, holding it with both hands, briefly admiring his taste. 

He watched you pick it, the way you moved your fingers in a cautious way, as though you were at risk of tearing the thing apart with your mind; he admired the back of your figure, up and down, his eyes lingering at certain parts of you. He knew the risk he put himself at, guiding you to his home, the subtle pour of light through translucent curtains hardly illuminating the desire that pressed against his torn denim jeans. “I can’t quit you, babe.” With a sharp downward strum, he played the first chord of the second last song on the track list. He said it with playful ignorance stuck to his lips, his fingers trailing down the fretboard, picking the strings his fingers held down against the instrument’s neck, pressing and pulling with an arrogance that could only be found in mastery. “You wouldn’t be the first,” you placed the vinyl sleeve back on the shelf, your eyes strictly on his as you ran your fingertip over the edge of it, slowly pressing it back into its nook between the other vinyls. His eyes flicked downwards to the motion of his own fingers, you took the moment to sit back down, leaning back as far as you could, legs crossed. He was the performer, you were the audience. 

You watched, the way he moved his fingers, the way his eyes kept finding yours; a very distinct glint in his eye asking, “Yeah? You like this, don’t you?” Of course he knew the answer to it, he was nothing if not self assured. You heard the squeal of the strings as he pressed them into the board, stretching out the sound, distorting it in a pleasant way. There was a way he smiled, as he ran his fingers up and down the throat of the instrument, it begged for so much more attention than just a mere glance. Something in the dim sparks in the room glistened against his skin, shining against his silver adornments. 

 He stepped closer, his fingers dancing up and down the strings in quick practiced languid motions, a slight enchantment in the way he moved the whole thing in the slow swells of sound, pushing it forward with the rest of himself – there was his performer’s flare. You had to admit, the guitar pressed against his torso really did prove to be a good combination, a distinctly alluring match up of his arms straining to strum at the right speed, the effort to urge the right sounds out of the thing. He was good at making it loud, he played it hard enough for it to still be pleasant. His fingers dug hard into certain notes, a tense vibrato spilling out onto the living room floor. 

“Eyes on me, yeah?” 

He gradually got closer to the couch, the instrument uncoiling the tangle of wire beside the amp as he approached, his fingers held across the board to hush the thing in the meantime - almost like a hand pressed against a mouth, just to make sure things weren’t too much of a ruckus. 

You kept your eyes on him, eventually looking up at him from the seat. He looked almost cocky, your face something of an inch above his belt. He rearranged his fingers against the fret, his other hand held back as if he were admiring something below him. “Think you can tame it?” 

You offered him a scoff coated in the remains of an upward tilt against your mouth, eyes keen on his as you answered, “Didn’t think you were the type to want to be played with, superstar.” You moved your hand forward, closer to the space where his abdomen would meet his thighs, sedulous fingers running over the strings, a soft sound followed by a single harsh note where your nail met the last string. His focus was on your hand, the way it moved, the way your eyes focused right ahead, the faint colour of your iris peaking through curved lashes. His breath gently pressed out his lips, the sharp ends of his imagination catching on the soft fabric of reality. 

The things he wanted to do to you clawed down his back, chains of the foreseeable consequences keeping his hands from wandering to your throat, from tipping your head up, from letting your lips feel the rough tip of his thumb, begging for entry before running it against your tongue. He’d hold you there, bass on the line. 

“Something caught your tongue, Brown?”

You gave him an almost coy look, big eyes looking right up at him in something alluding to your lips pressed against the very bottom of his torso. A warm and loving mouth lathering him in sensations that could only be appreciated in incoherency. He smiled all the same, his own dark eyes running down along your cheek, down to your jugular, as if he were staking the kill. 

“You know just what you’re doing there, don’t you?” “Oh, and what is it that I’m doing to you, hm?” 

You snaked your fingers away from the strings, north bound. Cold fingertips slithering just above his belt, contact made against the warmth of his torso. Conflicting sensations sparking between the two of you, the kind that would shatter glass. You flattened your palm just above where his jeans hung on to his torso, running it up against his stomach; appreciation in each divot your fingers conquered. He relished in that frigid hand slaughtering every inhibition, deliberate forgetfulness in every possible repercussion to be had. 

What kind of fool bites the hand that feeds?

[fategoflatass]

I used to be so against the slow burn trope. Not because I thought it was shit; it's just, I usually don't have the patience to wait whatever-amount-superior-to-three damn chapters for my dear ship to finally be able to look at each other without blushing and/or hold hands. Thus why you often times see me reading oneshots or fics with the "Established Relationship" tag on them.

So you can imagine just how surprised—or maybe not, maybe I just didn't think enough about it—I was when I realized my newest fixation's main pairing is—canonically��the embodiment of slow burn. Because holy shit they're taking their time.

Nothing against how Kusuriya develops its love story—quite the opposite, actually. The relationship between Jinshi and Maomao, two characters that are written as beautifully as their romance, is a rather realistic approach as to how the same or a similar dynamic would developed in real life. In such a complicated situation, with such complex feelings about emotions—both external and their own—and attachment, makes sense that it takes so long for the relationship to finally sail.

The problem is, I didn't know I was signing with the Devil the moment I decided to pick up the light novel. Ten volumes and nothing has happened. Nothing.

And you can say that technically things have happened, because they have. I mean, Jinshi is just so desperate for Maomao to give him the time of day, you know what I mean? And even that isn't enough anymore and thus he has committed some of the craziest shit I've seen in any romance. Which okay, I don't usually read these type of romances but still.

What I mean by "nothing" is just, their relationship hasn't changed status. I could also say that it seems to go nowhere, but that'd be lying. Since, you know, it has changed quite a lot—just not in the way my impatient ass wanted it to. Because he can be as honest with his feelings as he pleases, and those around them might be heavely conscious of the tension and thus constantly tease those lovebirds (as they should), but babygirl's not helping, you know?

And I get it, Maomao's not the best at expressing and understanding herself, and she's also way too busy worrying about going as unnoticed as possible (she should give up on that one already, tbh) while keeping her head where it should be. But like, I can't help feeling frustrated over it like ‼‼

GIRL, FUCK THE RULES. TAKE THAT PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A MAN AND RUNAWAY SOMEWHERE NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO IDENTIFY YOU. YOU THEN CARRY THAT BITCH BRIDESTYLE TO THE CLOSEST CHURCH AND MAKE HIM YOUR WIFE. PROCEED TO FROG AROUND, EXPERIMENT WITH YOUR UTERUS AS MUCH AS YOU'D LIKE, AND THEN TEACH THE PRODUCTS OF YOUR PRACTICES AS YOUR OWN GUINEA PIG THE WAYS OF HERBAL MEDICINE. AS EASY AS THAT.

But she won't. She'll take her sweet ass time being in denial about both Jinshi's and her own feelings, then maybe she'll proceed to analize herself and find out that maybe, just maybe, that affection that she'd been feeling for that loser became something else. Did said affection also become something more complicated? Absolutely. Does she know how to deal with it? Hell no, but fuck it. If I learned something from school is that you always leave the hardest parts for later.

Now you see why I was so against reading slow burn?

And you wanna know the worst part? I loved it—I loved every second of it, every word, every page. Every scene that seemed to help the relationship advance, only for Maomao to say nope and leave like she owns the place, which at this point she fucking might.

It feels like I, as the reader, am in the middle of a heatwave and some sadistic bastard won't stop teasing me with ice cream—they put it in front of my face, close enough that I can smell the cold. Then take a spoon and eat little by little while staring directly to my eyes. At times they seem to show mercy and feed me a spoon, only for it to be a rather small quantity of serving—serving that tastes so damn good at first, only for it to have such a bitter aftertaste. But if I gotta have something in common with Jinshi is that I'll never be able to beat the masochist allegations, so I'll wait patiently for the next spoon and its corresponding and seemingly enless teasing from that faceless being.

So yeah, I'm still against it, only that now I understand the appeal—even if I have yet to find out about the whereabouts of my sanity while still mananing with the little I've left.

[roxxoncorp]

markhellyna sugar baby au..

[ascuteasbuttonsare]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64731370/chapters/166319791

felt cute - wrote a Trigun AU fanfiction

Vash x Meryl Plant AU Mutual Pinning and Hurt/Comfort Updates Weekly -> Sundays ___________________________________________________________ Synopsis:

He calls himself Eriks now. She tells herself she's just a doctor. In the middle of nowhere, under the sun-blasted bones of a dying world, two people who have lost everything try to live small lives. Meryl Stryfe hides behind routine, medicine, and a quiet town that doesn’t ask questions. The man she shares a house with keeps his secrets tucked beneath worn clothes and a crooked smile. But silence has weight. And eventually, it cracks. This is a story about choosing to stay. About forgiveness, the cost of surviving and love born not in grand gestures, but in the quiet in-betweens, that never says its name. Until it does. Post-Stampede AU. Slow burn. Fragile hope, buried guilt, soft hands.

[elitadream]

Basically the whole Mushroom Kingdom

Knowing how Mario and Peach “secretly” feel about each other must be exhausting😆

THIS. ☝️😭

Especially for Luigi, omg. >< I mean sure: Toadsworth, Daisy, Toadette and all the Kingdom's citizens would have a hard time keeping their mouths shut when watching Peach demurely clasp her hands together to make a wish - ever the same one, no doubt - and sigh dejectedly to herself in quiet longing.

But they wouldn't know what it's like to deal with a sibling who's literally lovesick. To enter a room and find their brother hunched over and grimacing in obvious distress, his eyes lost and imploring as he would turn and say: "I love her so much, Lou... I- it hurts," with pained and hopeless surrender. To listen to his enamored ramblings for hours on end, yet only have vague and constrained support to offer. To see him hurting so badly on some days, and somehow still having to refrain from grabbing him by the shoulders and yelling "She LOVES you, ebete!!" to his bewildered face. Oh, to just end that needless suffering... It would be so easy. But he can't. When all would be pleasant and bright, he wouldn't mind, and would even take some enjoyment from what he secretly knows... But there would also be times - disheartened and crestfallen - when that silent vow would be very hard for Luigi to keep. 🥺😣

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[bookishbroadwayandblind]

Six Sentence Sunday

Hi my loves! Today I'm sharing an excerpt from the same fic from last time (which I have actually linked this time instead of just alluding to LOL!) This is an AU of The Phantom Of The Opera, although no previous knowledge is required! This snippet is from the latest chapter and I would usually put it under the cut but Tumblr isn't being very accessible for me lol! https://archiveofourown.org/works/60231793/chapters/153698134

Baz hummed, and they were twined like the statues who were perpetually holding hands, concrete and not keen to move within the next century.

"Sleep here?" Simon whispered.

But Baz did not reply. Looking down, he saw that Baz's eyes were closed, his mask slipping. Simon knew better than to touch it. He shifted Baz to lie in his lap and closed his own eyes, more content than he'd been in a long while.

Tagging some dear friends and lovely writers! @thewholelemon @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @roomwithanopenfire @bookish-bogwitch @sillyunicorn @facewithoutheart @ninemagicks @aristocratic-otter @mooncello @monbons @messofthejess @hushed-chorus @skeedelvee I'd love to see all your beautiful words (And I'm so sorry if I've missed one haha!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60231793/chapters/153698134

[cupsy-daisy]

Woagh! 2 posts in 1 day! (Saying this like it’s not uncommon) but have my tma sona!!! These drawings are a month or 2 old but i’m finally posting them!!

This is just my sona from season 1-3 the progression of it n stuff, there were some sketches of 4 and 5 but i never finished them, idk if i will! But idk! We’ll see!

I’m wanna ramble a bit about my sona so if you wanna read it’s under the cut! Grahh

Got the idea from bestie @catattack08 to make it so i got hired at first for redesigning the institute logo, Because i’m a freelance artist, but then i started working on organizing physical files n caseloads on the shelves n stuff.

Hired me (mostly) because i had severe connections to a lot of entities, i had been touched by several throughout my lifetime :p

Nothing major happened to me through season 1 and 2 besides being kinda wary about john and probably agreeing that he murdered leitner in season 3.

So like- my sona story is involved with my friends a lot- and my friend was leaning towards john being innocent so managed to keep contact with him and we both went to georgies house to deliver some books, and i came with them to make sure they didn’t get murdered cuz i was still under the impression he murdered that guy.

John went out for a smoke, got kidnapped, i stepped outside to “have a word” with him abt what really went on and breekon and hope saw me, said “no witnesses” and dragged me along too, i have some drawings of that if anyones interested aaghh

When we were both together we had some time to connect and understand eachother (or as best we could) i was kept for the sake of extra skin in case john didn’t “fit” but anywayss- we bonded a lot and this is probably where i would’ve (in super canon) died, nikola kinda using me as a decoration for the ritual.

BUT i dont think abt that cuz i wanna see what happens if i live, so instead, micheal almost leaves me for dead until helen comes along and letting john and me pass through her door, we both make it back and i gain a lot more mutual respect and understanding for him, we’re both decently good friends now, then everything kinda moves forward from then on.

Until peter comes in, this is already getting long enough but long story short, i was used as a practice dummy for the lonely kinda, and i couldn’t kill em, so i got sent to super hell where martin found me. Talked me out of it, withhh the poowerrr of friendshipppp/j

Thennn i either go back home to @catattack08 orrr i stay and they come, and those have 2 different routes but grahhh idk if i should put it here, feel free to ask!

[callalillywrites]

Mercenary Contract

Created for @stuckybingo. I4 - Mercenary.

Stucky Masterlist | Stucky Bingo | Main Masterlist

You were sent to take out the two super soldiers. They were merely an assignment, but an accident puts you directly in their company. The last thing you expect is to find your mission at odds with feelings you thought non-existent within your hardened soul.

[galaxa-13]

Returning to a Fire Emblem: Three Houses fanfiction I've been putting on the back burner for years is so funny. It's supposed to be a character study so that I can wrap my head around the Hubert/Byleth ship. Obviously it has to be a slow burn, since Hubert is Hubert, but a couple chapters in and I KNOW this reads more as a Hubert/Edelgard fanfic. This man is so difficult. THIS is why I even started writing it in the first place!

I just hope whenever I get around to posting it people are willing to go with me and not get disappointed when Hubert/Edelgard is not the end game.