#still cooking up an unfinished one i drew first before this

[kitkat-sans]

@yuukirita

Throws this in your face then runs away

[lyrabythelake]

Have a very unfinished fic I began for fun starring Four and Warriors

Four started it. 

Enemy defeated, worlds saved, the heroes were wandering Hyrule with weighted footsteps in unspoken suspense for that last portal that would send them their separate ways. 

Except time drew thin, the portal never came. By the time they reached the inn, they counted an entire month treading a land unfamiliar to all of them but Legend without clear purpose or direction. It was driving them all a bit insane.

So when Four slipped the innkeeper a small, rectangle piece of parchment from the top of a stack tied carefully in twine, Warriors latched onto it as a single, tiny mystery to be solved in a whirlwind of boredom.

“Can I see that?” he asked, eyeing the papers Four was hastily shoving back into his bag. The innkeeper slid his own under the bar after studying it with vague interest.

Four’s face grew red but he handed them over without further persuasion.

A neat border of repeating patterned inked swords framed the words:

Heroes for Hire Evil warlord got you down? Monsters driving you mad? We’re here to help. (Additional services include smithing, cooking, sailing, pot clearance and more)

“I just thought we could all do with a project or two. I think everyone’s been feeling a bit… lost these days.” Four rushed to explain.

The night before, Wild had used his fusion ability to attach a block of butter to one of his shields then slid around the camp on it for two hours. ‘Lost’ was probably an understatement. 

“You know what?” Warriors said cheerfully, handing the card back, “I think it’s a really good idea.”

Warriors had slipped over three times while getting ready that morning; Wild had turned their entire camp into an oily booby trap.

Fours face grew even redder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I think what we’re lacking is a sense of purpose, you know? We all miss our homes and this could give us a good distraction.”

They didn’t really talk about why they were still here all that much. None of them were the type to air the worries and concerns out in the open, but they all knew they were thinking the same thing. It was as if the Goddess had abandoned them here now they had fulfilled their usefulness. She couldn’t even be bothered to get them all back to where they belonged.

“How many people have you given these to?”

“Just that innkeeper,” Four said. “And one of the farmers we passed on the outskirts of the village.”

No sooner had he spoken those words than a young boy ran into the inn, eyes huge beneath windswept hair.

“Are you the heroes for hire?” he asked, his breath catching between words.

With an impressive swish of his scarf and a blinding smile, Warriors stood before him.

“Why yes, as a matter of fact, we are.”

“At your service,” Four added, if only to prevent Warriors from taking complete control over the idea that was Four’s in the first place.

“You gave my father your card earlier,” the boy said. “The Zora have flipped our sheep again. Dad said he’ll give you two blue Rupees if you give us a hand putting them right before it gets dark.”

“Did you say the sheep were flipped?” Four asked. Warriors elbowed him hard.

“We’re happy to help.”

“This isn’t really what I had in mind,” Four told Warriors as they strained to heave the third sheep onto its feet. “Why do Zora even do this, it seems very petty.”

“Legend said there’s been civil war between the Zora and Hylians for hundreds of years around here. It’s mostly died down now, but Hylians still fish in Zora territory so the Zora do things like turning sheep upside down to show their defiance.”

“Still, it’s not exactly the ‘evil warlords’ I was expecting”

“Patience, my small friend!” Warriors declared just as they managed to push the sheep onto its feet, “everyone must start somewhere and our business is only a few hours old after all. Small beginnings make for the best hero agencies, as they say.”

“You just made that up,” Four muttered dispassionately.

[crazyunsexycool]

Unbreakable

Chapter 2

Pairing: Steve rogers x reader

Word count: 2.0k

Warning: anxiety attack, nothing else really, Marvin being a good boy!

A/N: I’m gonna be honest I forgot I was writing this but here is chapter 2.

Series masterlist

Ch 1

Marvin whined as he stood by you. He tried to push his snout in between your legs and chest but you pushed him away. You were distressed and having an anxiety attack and all Marvin wanted to do was his job, calm you down. It took another try but Marvin successfully got your attention. He nuzzled his head into your chest until he felt your hands scratch behind his ears and your breaths starting to slow down. Slow deep breaths and cuddling took a few minutes but you were able to calm down.

Your new boss had decided to yell at you over a virtual team meeting for something that ended up not being your fault. Even though he apologized it had triggered your anxiety. As soon as the meeting was over you began to cry and then it felt like you couldn’t breathe at all. You’re not even sure when you ended up curled up in the corner of the living room. It wasn’t until Marvin brought you a water bottle and medication that you realized where you were.

“You’re such a good boy, Marvin.” You kissed the top of his head as soon as you calmed down. “The only boy I’ll ever trust.” You said as you ran your hand over his fur to further ground you.

After taking another few minutes you got back up and sat at your desk. You grabbed the journal you had started to keep track of these occurrences and wrote it down. This was your fifth notebook since your therapist had suggested it. It was meant to show you the progress you were making but you didn’t feel like there was any progress. Still you gave it a shot. After finishing the rest of your work day you turn to Marvin who is sitting by your feet.

“Let’s go for a walk, Marvin. Go get your leash.” The German Shepherd perks up and heads toward the front door to grab his leash while you change.

Steve sat at his desk, a sketchbook opened to an unfinished sketch. It was the New York skyline or at least half of it. Usually sketching helped him calm down, focus his mind on one thing. But ever since he met you all he could think about was you. Since that day Steve had checked and double checked his phone. He hoped you would call him just so that he knew you were ok but as the days and then weeks went on he gave up that hope too. He flipped the blank pages of the book and found the one he made of you. That same night he opened it for the first time since before the blip and drew something, someone, beautiful. His thumb caressed your face as he thought of the fearful look you gave him when he stopped you in the hallway.

After checking his watch, Steve closed his sketchbook and headed out the door to another meeting.

At the last minute you decided to head to a meeting. You were still feeling on edge and just being around other people that could understand how you felt made you feel more at ease. Marvin sat at your side, his head on your lap in order to comfort you.

“Would anyone else like to share?”

Another woman raises her hand and she begins to tell her story. Not that different from your own. She did everything from working and paying the bills to cooking and cleaning while her now ex did nothing. She explained how it’s been a few years since she left but that sometimes certain things will trigger a panic attack. It was why she was at the meeting.

Once the meeting was over you walked up to the woman who had shared her story. Everyone was talking and getting some of the refreshments that had been laid out.

“Excuse me, Lisa?” You say softly and she turns to you. A warm smile gracing her lips.

“Hi.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for sharing your story. We- uh we share a few similarities.”

“Have you ever talked in the group?”

You shake your head and grip Marvin’s leash tighter.

“You aren’t ready for it?”

“No, I’m still new to this group.”

She nods and digs into her purse, taking out her phone. “Would you like to trade numbers? Maybe we could have coffee or something.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You smile for the first time that day as you trade numbers and you give her your name. “Thanks.”

“Of course, we can try and meet this week.”

“I’d like that. I’ll see you later.” You wave goodbye and head out.

Another woman from the group walks out right after you and you can tell she’s even more afraid than you are. So you slow down your pace to walk silently with her. She only gives you a small smile as you get to the stairs. Marvin leads the way and he lets out a huff once you’re on the first floor. It seemed like there was a different support group also getting out at the same time. The woman waved at you and scurried away. You look back at the group of people that are milling about in the hallway and that’s when you see him. Steve is saying his goodbyes to someone and you turn and leave.

“Marvin you have got to be kidding me.” You complain when he decides to sniff a fire hydrant and lift his leg to relieve himself.

“Y/N?”

You turn to see Steve walking out of the building. He has a genuine expression of surprise to see you there and then he smiles. You swallow thickly as he gets just a little bit closer. There was no way for you to deny the little, teeny tiny, itty bitty happy flip your stomach does at seeing that smile. But no you couldn’t allow yourself to feel those types of things. They only ever got you hurt.

“Hi, Steve.”

“It’s nice to see you. Were you at the meeting? I didn’t see you.”

“I was at a different meeting.”

“Oh ok.” And then you say it, the lightbulb going on above his golden hair. “The other meeting here.”

You only nod and then look away. The way people looked at you always made you mad. You didn’t need pity.

“It’s Good you’ve found a group to help. My offer still stands, if you have my number that is.” He puts his hands in his pockets.

“I do.” You murmur.

“Good. Well see you around Y/N.” He smiles again. He really needed to stop doing that around you or you would do something dumb. Like inviting him to the dog park.

Steve threw the ball much further than he intended but Marvin loved it. Your furry best friend ran at full speed almost to the other side of the park.

“Sorry, sometimes I forget I’m not throwing the shield around.” His cheeks grow pink as he takes a seat on a bench next to you. “Thanks for inviting me, by the way.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“So how have you been?”

“I’m ok, most days. How about you?” You asked as you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

Steve took a moment to think about it. Marvin ran back to him with the ball in his mouth. Steve grabbed it and threw it again, just not as far.

“I’m managing, most days at least. I lost two of my closest friends in the blip. There are these little moments between being asleep and waking up where I’m not fully conscious and my first thought is I should check on Bucky or I should go on a run with Sam. Then it hits me that they aren’t here.” He shrugs. “Those days are the hardest.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say sorry, you didn’t fail at stopping the blip from happening.”

“I know,” you take the ball Marvin presents to you and throw it. “But whenever I wake up and remember my ex isn’t here I’m thankful that it did happen. Why couldn’t just the bad people disappear you know?”

“Yeah, I think that would give me a great reason to retire.”

The corner of your lips curled upward and it didn’t go unnoticed by Steve.

“What’s so funny?” He said with a smile of his own.

“Nothing,” you shrug. “Just that I forget that you’re like a gazillion years old.”

“Wow. A gazillion, that’s a new one.” He chuckles as you pull out a collapsible bowl and pour some water in it for Marvin.

“At least you don’t look like it.”

“My only saving grace.” Steve replies just as his phone starts ringing. “Give me a sec. Hello? Where? No, I'll be there. See you soon. Yeah, bye.”

You were already placing the collar on Marvin when Steve turned around to look at you.

“I need to go but… only if you feel comfortable, would you text me and let me know you got home safe?”

“I will try to Remember that.” You said as you stood.

“Ok, good. See you around Y/N.” Steve waved and left the park.

“Alright boy, let’s get home.”

Marvin stood up and moved to your side, waiting until you packed the drinking bowl he had used. Then you were off.

“What’s going on Nat?” Steve asked the minute he walked through the door.

“I know you said you didn’t want to do missions but we could really use the backup.”

“Who else is on the mission?”

“Myself, Rhodey and Rocket.” Nat said while she pleaded with her eyes. “You know I wouldn’t call you but these people are in serious trouble.”

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“Good. There’s a suit for you in your room.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “We leave in thirty.”

Steve didn’t say anything, he just gave her a quick nod before heading toward what used to be his room. What once was his home now only held memories of fighting and lost friendships along with failure. He didn’t like it at all. Not the emptiness or the quiet.

When Steve got to his old room he wasn’t surprised to find it covered in a thin layer of dust. The suit Nat mentioned was lying on the bed. He made quick work of getting changed and heading to the jet. It wasn’t until he was seated next to Nat that he finally cracked a smile as his phone chimed.

Unknown number: I made it home. Thanks for coming with us to the park. Marvin is one happy boy. 😊

Steve quickly saves your number before sending a quick reply.

“Who’s that?” Nat says as she peers over his shoulder.

“No one.”

“Hm, I’ve never smiled like that at messages from no one.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine. I met her at one of the meetings I run.”

“Are you going to ask her out?”

“No. It’s not like that, I’m just here as a friend if she needs one.”

Nat studies Steve for a moment. They had grown close even before the team fell apart but more during those two years they were on the run. She could read him like a book and he knew it.

“But you like her.” A statement not a question.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful and seems sweet. A bit shy but I think that’s because of someone in her life.”

“What did they do?”

“I’m not sure. I think she suffered some form of abuse.”

“Hm. Well if you do decide to put yourself out there remember to be gentle with her. She probably has trust issues and rightfully so.” Nat smiles at him. “It could be good for you, to have someone outside of this mess. It would be good for her to have someone that would treat her right.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Are you two done with the heart to heart back there? We’re almost at the drop off point.” Rocket asks from the pilot’s seat.

Steve and Nat both stand and head to the back of the jet. Through the mission Steve can’t stop thinking about you.

He hopes he can see you again and show you that you can trust him.

Ch 3

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Series taglist

@sjsmith56

[cascadedkiwi]

Demi-human Black Foxes (LLFTx)

(A/N: An unfinished idea from November 2021. Past me had some cute stuff in her head. I especially like Takuto's section😁)

Word count: Somewhere around 1,324

(Kenshi and Hiro)

The man blinked at her, cutting his eyes to the box where the tuft of brightly colored hair was peeking from the side again.

Kiyuki crouched down to be on eye level with the two. "I'm just curious. Oh! Wait right here!" She jumped off and ran around the corner, crossing over to the other side of the street to her favourite little buffet-style cafe. She zipped back to the alleyway, worried that they may have gone but somehow knowing they were still there.

The box rolled at the sound of her approach and she grinned at the sight. 'I finally get to see the face attached to that pretty hair!' She held out a bag in front of her. "These are for you two! I'm not sure what you like or if you have allergies so I got two different meals so you guys can share. Hopefully you like it!"

The taller boy watched her from his place sat next to a wall. He had been licking a scrape on his hand before she had reappeared. He sniffed the air in front of him, the smell from the bag a tempting one. He growled low under his breath, stopping his companion from edging any further out of the box towards the strange girl.

She tilted her head. "I don't really want to just leave it on ground like you're actual animals but I can see you don't trust me enough to take it from me so..." She lowered the bag, never breaking eye contact. "Enjoy!"

Kenshi watched her keenly as she left, eyeing Hiro popping out fully to sniff out the food in his peripheral.

"That smells really good..."

Kenshi waved toward the package. "Check it out if you want."

Hiro excitedly lept at the permission. "She seems really nice." His eyes went wide and sparkly at the hot food.

Kenshi watched him taste at the different assortment of foods from both takeout containers. "Some of the worst ones do at first. Play nice and then they turn on you."

Hiro's commically large ears drooped. He had never gotten the full story of Kenshi's experience before they met up, but it continued to be reaffirmed that he had no trust left for humans of any nature. Hiro still retained his hope that not all humans were as horrible as the one's he'd come across. He got the feeling that this girl was one of the good ones.

(Takuto)

Kiyuki bit her lip as she approached her apartment building. She really hoped those two had eaten the food. It wasn't about the money - the cooks had actually given her extra with no charge - it was the way her chest squeezed at the sight of them. "They shouldn't have to live like that…"

She blinked in surprise at the fluff ball in front of her door. "Well hello there, cutie." She lowered herself to sit on her heels. "What are you doing here? You're such a pretty color, almost like a golden retriever. I've never see such a blond yellow kitty before."

The cat meowed loudly at her, pawing at her door. "You act like you live here, mister - or ma'am. Can't tell if you're a boy or a girl."

The cat promptly laid on its side and rolled, revealing its genitals.Kiyuki drew back. "Woah, ok, message received, MISTER cat. That was freaky. It's like you completely comprehend what I'm saying."

The cat sat up and pawed at the door again, meowing loudly.

"Demanding much? Excuse you. Come here." She reached out carefully, cautiously petting his head, scratching behind one ear. He pushed into her palm. "Ok then, will you let me pick you up?"

The yellow cat placed his front paws on her leg, looking at her.

"I'll take that as a yes." She scooped him up and let herself inside the apartment.

Once inside, the cat allowed her to get as far as her living room before squirming free and dashing for her bedroom.

"Hey, get back here!" Kiyuki hightailed it after her impromtu houseguest, squeaking in horror at the sight of the cat fighting to pull a particular bright blue blanket from her closet. "Stop that!" She cried just as the creature succeeded in his mission, yanking the blanket free and tumbling a few times with the released momentum.

"Oh geez, you!" Kiyuki shook her head as she went over. "Takuto's gonna have a fit if he hears about this!" She tugged gently at the blanket, trying to sort fur from fabric without further tousling the cat. "You literally could've gone for any other blanket. Or just the one on the top." She looked over at the rumpled piled spilling from her closet floor shelf. "What made you go for Takuto's?"

Distressed cries sounded from within the rumpled blanket, and Kiyuki pulled with more purpose and less caution. Finally, she caught a glimpse of a blonde stomach and was able to separate cloth from creature. "All that fuss to get yourself tangled up."

The cat meowed as if annoyed."You did it to yourself, mister, don't get an attitude with me."

The cat looked away and kiyuki laughed as she set him back down on the floor. "You seem more intuitive than the average cat so could you please keep still while I clean up this mess then I can get us some food?"

The cat watched her then meowed loudly, going over to the blanket she was holding up and away from him.

"You can't have this one, it's not mine. It's literally the only blanket in this entire apartment that isn't mine." She stood, which seemed to aggravate her feline visitor. "It's almost like you know this. Takkun's gonna get a kick if I ever tell him about this. A cat that loves Shiffy."

The cat meowed loudly, jumping for the blanket. Kiyuki furrowed her eyebrows. "What is up with you? You're almost as fussy as Takkun for this thing."

The cat fell over dramatically, rolling about.

"You know what? I'll let you have it for a bit. You and Takuto can fight over it next time he comes over. That'll be a funny sight."

The cat seemed to huff, its tail twitching in jerky movements in the air.

Kiyuki laughed as she dropped the blanket so one corner landed partially on the cat.

He looked away, ignoring it.

"Oh, so now you don't want it anymore? That's fine, I'll put it up then." She gave the farthest end of the blanket a little tug, a knowing laugh bursting from her when the cat jumped on top of the blanket, grabbing one end in its teeth and rolling to cover itself. The knowing laugh extended into a cackle as she watched the cat turn itself into a burrito. "You remind me of the time Takuto did the same thing to avoid going home one night. I gotta tell him I found his spirit animal."

She took a breath to steady herself again. "Well, you seem perfectly happy as a little cat blanket snail so I'll go get us some food. Then we'll decide what we're doing with you."

She murmured to herself as she left the room, "I don't remember what the landlady said about pets…" Something in the back of her mind did note that it was a bit odd for her to be so comfortable leaving a cat she had just found to its own devices in her bedroom, but he seemed preoccupied with the blanket and more than that, it was like he knew her. To be waiting for her on her floor and pawing at her door like he knew that was her off time. He was a very intelligent cat, no doubt about that. If not for his clear cat body she would think he was human. 'Or at least demi.' She'd look more into it tomorrow. Today had been long and eventful enough.

(Atsumu)

Kiyuki blinked in surprise at the sight blocking her entrance to the fox-themed bar she had finally gotten around to visiting. A large, brown dog lay on its side right in front the door. Its breathing seemed labored and she crouched down to get a better look. "Hey, buddy... you awake?"

One of the dog's pointy ears twitched as its eyes blinked open. It looked around before looking up at her, blinking forlorn puppy eyes.

Kiyuki was instantly smitten. "You poor thing..." She held the back of her hand up to its nose.

The dog sniffed it before looking back up at her, licking her he gently.

She lifted her hand slowly, reaching to pet his head. The dog stayed still and let her. She moved her pats down to his neck, rubbing around. "No collar... the white on your nose pins you as an older puppy... that's it. I've decided. You're mine now."

The dog looked up, raising its head as Kiyuki popped up onto her feet. "Come on, follow me. Unless... can you stand?"

The dog got up with a bit of effort, shaking out its fur. It was much bigger than she anticipated, standing at shoulder height to her waist. "You're a big doggo, aren't you..."

The dog whined, shrinking back.

"Aww, no, puppy I didnt mean that in a bad way! I didnt think you were so big but that doesnt mean i'm not gonna keep you anymore!" She hugged the tall pooch around the neck. "Ranko loves big dogs so it'll be easier to convince her."

[meruz]

Aforementioned long ask post please excuse me while i try to figure out tumblr's new text editor. I’ll get into the art meme questions first and then the rest at the end.

Ok first of all thank you all for sending in questions! Giving me an excuse to talk hehe. I’ll address these in number order. Here’s a link to the ask meme for reference but also I’ll restate the question for ease of reading.

1. When did you get into art?

Super cliche answer but I don’t remember a time where I WASN’T the weird art kid! I started keeping a dedicated sketchbook when I was about 12? But here’s a page from my kindergarten journal about what I want to be when I grow up.

2. What art-related sites have you ever signed up for? 

LOL this is a weird question. Not sure why so many people want to know. Anyways I definitely had a dA. more than one dA account. I used to browse oekakis when I was a kid but I think I was only signed up to some small ones that internet friends owned. What else...? Mangabullet,Tegakie, Paintberri, iscribble back when that was a thing, instagram if that COUNTs, I used to post art on livejournal and dreamwidth too. Patreon, I guess. Gumroad, inprnt, bigcartel, storenvy all for selling stuff.

In terms of resources.. I have a schoolism account that I’m sharing with friends. Used to take classes on coursera for free. I signed up to textures.com for work recently haha. I can’t remember if I ever had an account on posemaniacs. Did they have accounts...? I definitely used to visit all the time.

3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand.

Alright here’s me actually logging into my old deviantart account. These are from September 2008 So I was 13 years old. I don’t have a deviantart account from before then because 13 was the required age for having an account and I didn’t want to lie about my age because I wanted people to be impressed by how young yet clearly incredible at art I was LOL.

4. What defines your artistic style?

You guys are probably more equipped to answer this than me but uh... I wanna say... Focus on colors. And... a slightly heavy hand? Like confident... not always well-considered mark making HAH...

Also I think I have a pretty healthy mix of american comics/manga influences. I feel like people who are into american comics always think my art is too manga and people who are into anime/manga always think my art is too american. And I’m taking that as a good sign.

5. Do you practice other styles/have you tried other styles in the past?

I like to think I switch it up a bunch! I mean, these are pretty different, right?

I think I’ve mentioned this before but one thing I really took away from art school is that, for an illustrator at least, art style shouldn’t be consistent. Your greatest weapon is changing the aspects of your style based on the task, the emotions and message you want to illustrate etc. So depending on the project I’m working on, the fandom I’m drawing for, whether I want something to be funny or serious or dramatic, I’ll change things about my style all the time.

One thing I don’t rly post on here is really tight polished work and that’s because I do that for my day job haha. If you’re not paying me... I’m probably not gonna color in the lines.

6. What levels of artistic education have you had?

I have a whole ass diploma LOL. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration. from the Rhode Island School of Design. And I had a great college experience tbh. Besides the student loans. If any of you guys are thinking about art school feel free to e-mail or message me questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to help. Be as honest as I can be.

7. Show us at least one picture you drew or sketched recently that you did not put on a public site.

heres the wandavision kids. Uhh what else do I have...I feel like I’m rummaging for loose change here...

assorted valentines prep doodles

8. What is your favourite piece that you have done?

Well, obviously this is gonna change all the time and generally it’s gonna be my most recent piece LOL. So yeah, why the hell not. I’ll say it’s this one. I have a pretty short memory which I count as a blessing for an artist. I don’t dwell that long on older work and it keeps me moving forward.

10. What do you like most about your art?

I like that it’s something that only I would make! I had this thought fairly recently and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, it’s pretty cheesy and rambling but it felt revolutionary at the time:

So yeah. I like my art best when it’s the most me and for me. And I like it least when it feels like I’m just making something for social media or for other people’s expectations or whatever.

14. What do you like drawing the most?

Kids in baggy clothing are like my go-to LOL idk if that’s obvious. but also I like being challenged so lately I’ve really loved drawing multi-character compositions, environments, weird angles, etc.

oh i LOVE drawing the underside of shoes lol. And bandages. People that are kinda beat up.. I think it comes from getting a bunch of cuts all the time. I’m always patching myself up and I want to patch characters up too.

15. What do you like drawing the least?

mmm I try to find something to like in every drawing but lets see... I don’t like doing commissions of people’s dogs. Just because it’s normally like... a family friend and my mom volunteered me without my consent and I don’t even really know what they’re expecting me to draw and I don’t even get to meet the dog. Also I’m not that great at dog anatomy. Trying to learn though.

18. What is your purpose for drawing?

This could have a million answers! Uhhh to GIT GOOD??? But also to express myself... and also to make money... I mean it depends on what the drawing IS. I draw fanart mostly to connect to people in the fandom so if you ever see me drawing fanart please take it as like an open invitation to talk to me about the character haha. 

20. How would you rank your art? (poor, mediocre, good, etc.)

Good!!! I have a lot of self-confidence primarily born out of ignorance and a short attention span. If I don’t think too hard about how many other artists are mindblowingly unfathombly good... its easy to think I’m good too! LOL

In all seriousness though, I think the opinion a person has of their art is like a crazy balancing act, right? Like you have to think you suck enough to want to get better but also you have to think you’re good enough to not want to give up. I think we’re all walking that line, I know I am! But also I’m a glass half-full type of person so. Most of the time I feel good about it.

22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

This is a good question because I’ve been trying and failing to put together one of those “influence map” memes for like a full month now. What’s giving me a hard time is I feel like none of these are actually really obvious “““influences”““ in my art? Like it’s hard to see a lot of them in the work I make...? But idk maybe you guys’ll see what I can’t.

And these are just a couple! God there’s so many more. I could talk about other artists for ages, from all different genres of art. Daumier, Rockwell like every illustrator out there, Dana Gibson, Alex Toth, Hiroshi Yoshida, a lot of the Brandywine School. Lots of current working artists too, Karl Kerschl, frikkin Masashi Kishimoto lol, Jake Wyatt, Richie Pope, Edouard Caplain, Matt Cook, Sachin Teng, - lots of big internet artists, Sophie Li, Freddy Carrasco, Milliofish, Angela Sung... like all my friends from art school too. I could just keep going but I’ll stop for now lol.

24. Do you have a shameful art past? (recolour sprite comics, tracing art, etc.)

I mean if that’s how we’re defining shameful?? sure LOL. It’s not sprite comics but I used to do pokemon sprite recolors all the time. And I used to trace manga panels and color them... Granted this was all when I was like under 12 yrs old so it’s not even embarrassing. Can you really call it shameful when a 7 year old wets the bed or whatever? Not really. In fact some of these are cool as fuck. Look

25. Draw a picture!

Man I’m so tired now but here.

I used to get a lot of compliments for drawing people smiling lol but I don’t think I’ve drawn a lot of smiling lately.. here’s proof I’ve still got it.

OK MEME DONE. onto the rest.

I read this ask first thing when i opened my computer in the morning and it made me really emotional.. I’m so glad my sketches could help you!!

I think a lot of artists on social media talk about the struggle of making art but imo not enough people talk about the joy! Like I know it’s corny but. I really meant what I said at the beginning of that sketchbook about re-contextualizing art around process and progress > product and perfection. I think its super important..! The strength of messy, unfinished, and energetic art! For the feeling of it, for the love it!

That's crazy!!! I hope you like 'em. The whole line of x-books is really good rn imo.

Hi! I totally have the answer for digital stuff on my faq lol. But in terms of drawing on paper.. it varies! I tend to use sketchbooking and any on-paper doodling I do as a way to loosen up/warm-up or experiment. But right now my go-to aresenal is:

from top > bottom

- kuretake no.55 doublesided brush pen

- tombow fudenosuke

- muji 0.38 ballpoint

- medium size poscas

- grey tombow double brush pens

- good ol bic mechanical pencil

not EXACTly sure which inking you referring to from my sketchbook but if I had to take a guess it'd probably be the kuretake no55. That's been my main inker, lately. Great for sketching with the thin end too.

You can print out and eat my art if you like. Just please don't mass produce or re-sell. <3

Thanks! I've come to accept that my art is always gonna be sort of gestural and painty naturally. It's getting it to tighten up enough to be legible that's hard lol...

uh yeah lol I agree actually. I think yolei is great.

I assume these asks are related? LOL

1) Yeah totally true. I love David.

2) I don’t take requests, sorry! But if you want to commission me to draw Legion i would be MORE than happy to. Just e-mail me at isellhotdogs@gmail.com.

<33333333333333333333333333

[ghost-at-the-masquerade]

The Little Things

Rating: PG, for talk of preparing an animal carcass

Count: 1856

Summary: Link has dinner with a stranger out on the road

A/N: Yes, I’m going to make Link use they/them pronouns, no I don’t take criticism on this, don’t @ me

----------------

The smell of blood still wafted toward the camp, from where they had let the deer drain. They started at the collarbone, slicing all the way down to the groin, then up the inside of each of the legs. Someone could always use more leather, so they wanted to keep the hide well intact.

Sitting across from Link on a tree downed long ago, Stemm - a traveling chef, by his own description - started to peel carrots and potatoes. The skins he let fall among the grass, the clean vegetables he dropped into a large stockpot to wait. It was much too soon, but he needed something to do.

When Link went to wipe the sweat from their forehead with the back of their arm, they left a little smear of blood that caught a lock of hair and matted it to their eyebrow. The sight of it had Stemm’s face twisting into the most polite agony he could manage.

The time came to split open its belly and he excused himself to stoke and adjust the fires - meat and organs did better in different temperatures at different times, he said.

Link twisted around to grab another, larger pot to drop the more palatable organs in, and the rest were given back to the earth, that Farore may put them to better use.

Their boots were soiled as they worked to separate the carcass into manageable cuts, the better part of an hour drifting by them as they were engrossed in the work. Every now and again their gaze flicked over to Stemm, tutting around the camp proper. Always seeming to produce more cookware and utensils and little bottles of spices from his pack. He had a rather fine set of glass bottles he kept water in, too - as well as some spirit that stank all to hell. Highly impractical for travel compared to a waterskin, but lovely nonetheless. A pair of the ones filled with water were sitting in a half-rotted bucket with a pilfered ice rod.

They piled the meat onto a spare sheet of leather they had so they could haul it all the few feet to the fire, hefting it over the log with a grunt.

Stemm spared them a smile for all of their work. “Thank you, yes, it’ll be fine there.”

He took the opportunity to go on while they paused to take a breath, “It makes me feel like such a fraud, not doing all my own prep, but butchering is just… such ugly work.”

Link couldn’t help but cock the bloody eyebrow at him. The lock of hair came loose with the movement.

“Don’t look at me like that - it’s not that I had some… pampered upbringing, my parents did their own hunting when I was young. We just moved to a bigger town before it was my time to learn. And if someone has already prepared the meat for you, well…”

They wondered, at times, if people in their previous life had spilled their guts to them like this. Their silence left a lot of room for it.

“I suppose I was so excited to travel and to do it all myself that I didn’t think about what ‘doing it all myself’ would entail.”

Link’s expression softened some. They could sympathize with being in over one’s head.

“… What are you waiting around for? I can handle this part, you wash up.” He shooed them with one hand, pulling the meat toward himself with the other.

They huffed through their nose at his tone, but they didn’t need to be told twice.

-

Twilight’s somber blanket settled over the grass, made the soft sands twinkle as Link stepped into the shallow waters. Going in almost up to their knees, they found a rock to settle on, dipping their arms into the cool river flow and scrubbing the deer’s blood free from their arms and boots. Blood dried on skin is rather like the first layer of paint on raw wood, thin and clinging seamlessly.

Pulling back, droplets on their skin became flecks of gold in the dying light. They reached into a pouch at their hip for a bar of soap and comb. The bar was only about the length of their palm and a third of the width, off-white in color - not unlike honey diluted in milk. They rubbed a conservative lather into their palm; it would be some time before they returned to Hateno for more, but they wanted the copper smell off their hands. They only just remembered the smear on their face before rinsing off.

The comb was simple, a chunk of birch wood carved and left unfinished, but with much thicker teeth than their last one. Hair tie held between their lips, they dipped the comb into the river, closed their eyes and began to run it through their hair. Their ears twitched with every rustle of the trees behind them.

Clean and calmed, they took a deep breath and rose to return to camp.

-

Stemm greeted them heartily, in much higher spirits now that he was in his element. He already had several pounds of meat salted and packed into leather satchels, while another had been cubed for their supper.

Link took their seat at an angle to him, not quite next to him. Stemm was proving to be quite the multi-tasker around the cook pot, moving seamlessly between preserving the meat and prodding the chunk of fat he had rendering out in the bottom of the pot. It had been strung up by a chain, held aloft by three metal rods - an incredibly handy contraption, Link would have to see about finding one.

At each step, Stemm explained how staggering each ingredient’s addition would change their texture and flavor. Link sipped their chilled water and decided to keep their disagreements about what the texture should be to themself; they could deal with mushy onions in their stew for one night.

With everything coming together, he whipped out a smaller wooden spoon, took a taste and pursed his lips, looking up to the sky. “I wish I had a little sweetness to take that edge off, but I’ve just run out…”

Link’s ear twitched with a thought, and they dipped their fingers into another one of their hip pouches. From it they drew a flower, not unlike the Silent Princess, but half the size and without its luminescent qualities. They held it up as a suggestion, “Maybe this?”

“That?” Stemm leaned close to scrutinize the flower, “No, I’m afraid those are quite bitter.”

They shook their head and insisted, “Cousin of the star flower. Breeding out the glow takes out the bitterness.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Usually, yes, but they’ve been moving back that way for a while. Have you been under a rock?”

Rather than argue the point further, they popped the flower in their mouth - only to immediately stick out their tongue and let the mushed petals fall off.

Stemm laughed victoriously. “I told you!”

With their eyes unfocused on the grass, something deep within them wavered, but only momentarily. It was too silly a thing to unsettle them. Even if it was one of the few things they thought they remembered.

“The one thing I was prepared for was finding tasty plants!” He glanced again toward the dying light while digging something out of his bag.

“Don’t know how much you can do by firelight, but here-” He held out a small, leather-bound notebook, “You can copy this.”

It was soft in their hands, telling of its relative youth. The cover crackled quietly as they opened it. The pages detailed a number of edible wild plants native to central Hyrule and Necluda, including flavor profiles and notable lookalikes.

Link set it on their knee so they could sign, “Thank you, but, I don’t have anything to copy to.”

For a moment he seemed surprised. Then he shrugged, a relaxed smile crossing his face. “Keep that one, then. I can make another.”

Their mouth worked and they struggled to make the sign feel sincere enough, “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. It won’t do me much good when I head out to Akkala, anyway.”

With that reassurance they relaxed some, settling in to skim the notes while he finished.

The sun ducked away behind the far trees and its last light vanished, turning the camp into a bright bubble in a dark ocean.

Turned out Stemm was right about it needing a bit of sweet, but it was far from inedible. Link was more than glad to take a second helping. Simple, but warm and filling. He was definitely still wrong about onions, but the potato was good.

Stemm had no stories to tell and his sign wasn’t strong enough to keep up with Link’s, so the night air was left to the crickets, crackling of fire and the tittering of breeze through the grass and leaves. In time, they agreed to part in sleep.

Link settled down into the embrace of a nearby elm. Stemm stayed closer to the fire, with his sizable pack to prop him up. Firelight faded, gave way to the silver grace of the moon, orange glowing embers not unlike the shrines waiting for them in the distance.

——

Link woke at first light. Hummed deep in their throat and stretched, scratched their shoulder against the bark before even bothering to open their eyes. They could already feel the knot that had formed in their hair.

Sitting up, they saw Stemm still asleep, his mouth dangerously open to the sky. They shook their head, starting to fix their hair when they noticed a small line of leaves laid parallel on their thigh - korok mischief. A little smile tugged at the corner of their mouth. They carefully stacked the leaves and tucked them away in a pocket.

It was time to go - their deal was done and a number of important tasks awaited them. Link stood and took a final stretch. But still, they looked over to their companion. He had done them an extra kindness.

Stemm’s rig was still set up - perhaps they could make use of it. Link knelt with a bit of bounce, considering the remnants of the fire.

They reached into the depths of a pouch and grasped the handle of a short sword - though not short enough to keep them from having to bend over at a funny angle to get it out, falling onto their hip. Exposed to the open air, the blade flared to life with eerily silent fire. A bit of tinder, another log and the tip of the blade was all that was needed. A little extra kindness, then they would go.

Three eggs scrambled into fine curds, peppered with fresh herbs and salt flakes, gently folded over on itself with a wooden spoon. A hopefully respectable omelet they set nearby under a korok leaf.

Link put their hands on their hips and regarded a man they would likely not see again, one more time. The Dueling Peaks loomed. The sun crept higher. And strangers parted.

[nokomiss]

For the prompt, how about Jason and Damian with Letter J? Thank you.

I didn’t forget this, @dn-ky! just got a little busy. Hope you enjoy! 

*

There was a loud thumping noise and even louder cursing coming from the library.

Jason would normally keep walking, heading instead to the kitchen for that home cooked meal that Alfred had promised, but he recognized the voice.  Damian sounded frustrated to the point of tears,which simply was not normal, and he had the feeling that if Tim or Bruce wandered by and chose to investigate, that Damian would buck up and become even more recalcitrant than usual.

He stood outside the door for a long moment, listening -- the cursing continued, though quieter, and with a single-minded determination that Jason almost admired. He sighed and pushed open the door. Damian was in the center of the room, surrounded by a small fortune’s worth of art supplies.  This wouldn’t be unusual, except instead of Damian’s preferred sketchpads, pencils and paints, he was surrounded by hot glue guns, googly eyes, and various colorful bits of fluff.

“What the hell is all this?” Jason asked, nudging  a pile of what looked like feathers dyed in primary colors with the toe of his boot.

“A nightmare,” Damian said darkly. There was a smear of blue paint on his nose; Jason was absolutely not going to tell him about it.

“So I see,” Jason said. There was a poster board in front of Damian that he was attempting to glue pipe cleaners along the edges of. It wasn’t going well, judging by the glops of glue and the sad state of the pipe cleaners.  My Family, it proclaimed in colorful balloon letters. He was going to regret this, but… “Can I help?”

“No.” Damian abandoned the pipe cleaners and dug through the pile of craft supplies, coming up with some sparkly fuzzballs. He picked up the glue gun and began to affix them around a picture of Bruce. It looked as though Bruce was being attacked by muppets.

Jason gave one more thought to the home cooked meal; Alfred had promised him soup. He supposed that it would wait. Sit there simmering away while he granted mercy to the boy.

It would still be waiting on him.  He sat down and grabbed some glue.

“You know who you should call?” Jason said a few minutes later after making the mistake of opening the glitter. 

“Absolutely not.”  Damian didn’t even look up from where he was adding sparkly letters under Jason’s picture. Jason leaned over to see what he was spelling out: RIP.

“You know how happy Steph gets when there’s glitter and you ask her for help,” Jason tried again. He could leave, he knew, but they were actually making progress and Damian was no longer cursing.

“No one else can know,” Damian said, probably trying for stern but it was undercut by the fact that glitter now cling to the paint on his nose. It was adorable. Jason was going to take a pic the second the kid’s attention was turned and use it as blackmail for years. 

Then he noticed what Damian was doing. “Hey, those flames better be because of how fire I am, not because of anything theological.”

Damian lowered the flame sticker and put it to the side, leaving the picture of fifteen year old Jason unmarred. 

“So why are you going this overboard?” Jason asked. Damian had a tendency to overdo things, sure, but this was hardly his style.

Damian focused on adding a poop emoji sticker over Tim’s picture. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. Embarrassed. “This is a redo.”

“A redo— Damian, did you fail an assignment?”  Jason forgot what he was doing and accidentally let a puddle of glitter glue form. “Shit,” he muttered, attempting to mop it up.  

Damian’s silence spoke volumes. Jason looked again at the mountain of colorful, sparkly supplies and did the math. “Did your teacher suggest more color?”

“She said my first attempt was austere and depressing,” Damian admitted. 

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Show me.”

Damian shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”  He carefully drew an elaborate border around Cass’s picture in purple marker. 

Jason thought it did matter. He stood up, brushing stray bits of glitter off his pants -- these were his work pants, too, he was going to be leaving a glitter trail on the rooftops of Gotham tonight -- and headed for Damian’s backpack, which was laying near the door. Like the kid had dropped it on his way in, which, again, not like him.

Damian was so focused on his art that he didn’t realize Jason’s plan at first. 

The poster board was folded up and crammed into the back pocket of the backpack, and Jason almost looked it over at first. It was dark enough to blend in.Then -- just as Damian launched himself at Jason and attempted to stop him from opening it, Jason easily dodged him and opened it anyway.

It was austere, the teacher had been right on that count. But the effort Damian had put in to capture the family’s aesthetic was incredible-- dark grey poster board, black and white pictures of each family member, with a careful description beneath each. No further decoration, but it was clean and classic, and reminded Jason of the lines of the Wayne building downtown.

Then he realized that the black and white pictures were actually sketches of each family member. Bruce looking on with approval, arms crossed over his chest. Dick laughing, a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth. Tim grinning with a gaming controller gripped in both hands, clearly gleeful from a victory. Cass caught mid-pirouette, lines of her body clean and graceful. Duke with a soft smile, like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up there, but was glad for it. Alfred, mouth quirked up in that smirk he got so often when watching them. Even Talia, the pencil marks soft enough to make her seem almost gentle. 

And there was even Jason. Damian had left his face unfinished enough that he looked like the child he’d been before his death, though the smile was the same.  

Damian had even included pictures of the pets, carefully and lovingly rendered.

“What the fuck,” Jason said. “Why are we creating this monstrosity when you did this?”

“My teacher doesn’t believe that I did it,” Damian said stiffly.”She said I was to do another one unassisted.”

“Your teacher’s an asshole,” Jason said. “This is incredible.”

He looked back at the mess of glitter, glue, and various craft supplies that was drying on the floor. “You know what we should do?”

“We are not hanging that up,” Damian said stiffly. Jason shook his head. “I think we should go egg your teacher’s house.”

Damian scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think--”

“If you think that Robin and Red Hood can’t manage to egg one house without getting caught…”

“I didn’t say that,” Damian said stiffly.

“Then come on,” Jason said, folding the poster back up. “You can turn in the new one tomorrow. But tonight? Sweet revenge.”

Damian hesitated a moment more before succumbing to his desire for vengeance.

He even got caught up enough in gathering egging supplies that he didn’t notice that Jason took the poster.

[maximoffzinha]

Sunsets

“ @leilei-draws​ said:Hi! I saw that you are taking requests, i was wondering if you could do Poe Dameron dating an artist reader? :)“ 

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I really hope you like it!  Word Count: 1257 words. Pairing: Poe Dameron x Artist!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None :)

(A/N: The quote on the gif doesn’t have anything to to with the plot lol) °°°

You were calm. The evening breeze involved you in a pleasant way, a harsh contrast against the hot nights you spent in D’Qar. The war was over. The First Order was defeated, you could finally rest, you could finally live. Letting a small pleased sigh scape your mouth, you turned your eyes to the horizon once more where the beautiful and warm orange of the sunset greeted you and inspired you to keep working on the piece resting on your lap.

It was a simple sketch. The tall trees around the lake, the water would be reflecting the same orange tone surrounding you, and the shape of a landed X- Wing was just beginning to take form as you stroked the notebook gently. It was almost full already. During the fighting days you almost didn’t have time to practice your true passion. You loved the arts, you were studying it, almost finishing your degree on the Royal Art Academy of Naboo when everything turned into chaos.

The First Order started to grow quite fast, and while your heart was in the arts, you couldn’t stand by the atrocities being made. So, you dropped out, and joined the Navy Academy. Your family was quite wealthy, and while they didn’t like you abandoning an almost finished degree, they didn’t complain about having a pilot in the family, you could always make money on the royal fleet. Much to their dismay, you ran away, not wasting a single second on joining the Resistance, not hesitating on fighting for what was right.  You didn’t regret that, if it wasn’t for that you wouldn’t have met Poe.

He was already a Capitan when you joined, quickly ascending in positions as the Resistance best pilot. You didn’t pay him mind though. Only a few words were exchanged between the two of you for at least 4 months before you were called by General Organa.

 3 years and 4 months earlier…

 “Good evening General. Pava said you wanted to see me?” – You entered the General’s office, and saw the dark haired pilot siting right across the woman.

 “Ah yes, officer Y/L/N, come in.”- The woman said in a serious tone.

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew it well, after the mock posters featuring the handsome pilot were published inside the base it was hard not to know Poe Dameron. He seemed tense, but didn’t turn around as you approached the desk. “Well, it has come to my knowledge that you attended the Royal Art Academy of Naboo before enlisting on the Navy Academy, is that correct, Y/L/N?” “It is ma’am. Is there anything I could do to help using my arts background?”

She smiled at the young pilot’s quick thinking and nodded towards Poe.

“Commander Dameron is going to need your help on a small mission, we are getting information about a spy in our midst…”- at the mention of the spy Poe clenched his jaw. “ Our informant couldn’t get a picture or a name, but said they memorized the features of our little friend, so we need someone that can draw their face on a remote location while I go and get the description.”- He said looking at you, and oh boy, those eyes.

 You only nodded, he was facing you now, and you found yourself lost in those dark orbs, now lighted up by the orange glow of the sunset that came from the window of Leia’s office only pulled out by the tiny smirk forming on his face, reciprocated by one of your own. °°°

You shivered a little when the wind caught up, a little colder now that the sun had set completely. You got down of the edge of the balcony of your lake house, and sat down on one of the couches there curling up and flicking through your sketchbook, it was not the same one you had in the beginning years of your Resistance years, but it was one Poe got you in the middle of a mission, still back in war days, before he was General Dameron. You smiled fondly at a messy drawing of a stick figure person next to a detailed drawing you did of BB-8, the messy handwrite above the sticky figure (that had a tongue out, thank you very much) also brought a smile to your face, Rey had drew herself next to her favorite droid and while both you and her had been a little tipsy when this happened she was proud of her job.

A few pages forward that was a unfinished drawing of Leia and Poe sharing one of, what you called, Space Mom and Child moment, Poe was sitting on the floor while Leia was in a rock that looked a little like a chair, he was looking up at here like a little kid, a dopey smile in his face, while she had a scowl on her face, her eyes though, you remembered, they were smiling as much as Poe. Behind them a myriad of colors, purple, yellow and the ever present orange.

 “Admiring the greatest works of the greatest artist of the Galaxy again I see…”- You felt strong arms wrapping around her bare shoulders before she registered the words.

“They’re not that good Poe… It’s all blurred and stained on the edges…It even has a coffee stain…”

“It’s the greatest art ever, you can’t change my mind.” – He gave a small kiss to your neck before sitting down next to you and getting the sketchbook from your hands.

 “Poe! Come on, I have an unfinished one! And Maker knows what I’m going to do with you if you get engine grease on that one…”- You threw yourself at him when he started holding the notebook far from you.

 “Oh, come on, baby. I washed my hands! You know I did. Beebs was there If you want to ask him!”- He pouted when you managed to get the book again and going inside after giving him a suspicious look.

“How was your day?” – You called out making a happy sound when you noticed take out food at the dining table. “You are an angel, how did you know I was too lazy to cook today?” He walked inside and smiled, the smile getting bigger when you dropped your stuff to give Beebs some belly rubs, and he couldn’t help but grab the sketchbook once more and was blown away by the drawing. “B-baby? What’s this?”- They turned to him and smiled; “Is this… Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s you and me next to the X Wing… In front of our dreamhouse”- You tried sheepishly.

“Y/N, you drew Yavin 4… Why?”

“It’s on my mind since we went to visit your father… All that Nature, all that life, I never felt so at peace in my whole life, I never felt so inspired… And we had to go back to Coruscant… I missed the trees, and the Sunset… And well you.”- Poe got next to you and kissed you warmly, his hands cupping your face while your arms circled around his waist.

“As soon this is all settled down… As soon as I’m not needed… We will get a cosy house by the lake… On Naboo, or Yavin, or anywhere you want… And you’ll have all the inspiration in the Universe.”

You smiled into his lips while leaning in to another kiss, and you decided to still let him believe, just for a little more, that the sunsets were your inspiration.

[illumynare]

Destiny Fic: though lovers be lost (love is not)

Summary: In another world, Shun Li did not survive the Transmission Crisis.

Pairings: Ikora Rey/Shun Li.

Notes: Also available on AO3.

“Hawthorne,” Ikora says to the woman circling her and the other Vanguards. “It’s one thing for us to put our lives on the line, but this doesn’t have to be your fight. You’re not . . .”

As we once were, she thinks, staring at this woman who has saved so many people the Vanguard could not, yet is only fragile flesh and bone. Only ever mortal, never offered the chance of a second life.

She thinks, We were made to protect you.

“A Guardian?” Hawthorne demands, her head held high and proud without doubt, sniper rifle slung over her shoulder as confidently as any Guardian’s weapon. “You think you’ve cornered the market on sacrifice? You forget that we’ve had to survive without the Light all our lives.”

Ikora meets her gaze and the challenge therein.

“No,” says she says. “I don’t.”

#

The first time that Ikora Rey met Shun Li, she wondered if she might have to kill him.

She didn’t know him, then. She was undercover in the Last City on behalf of Osiris—or rather, the orders that Osiris surely would have given, if he were not too consumed by his theories of the Vex—tracking down a black market where certain unscrupulous Guardians sold forbidden artifacts.

Shun was also undercover, hunting the same criminals on behalf of Owl Sector. But Ikora didn’t know that when they arrived at the same door. She only knew that he was using almost identical forged credentials. For a few seconds, she wondered what kind of criminal he was, and if she would have to dispose of him.

Then Shun—who knew her, despite her disguise, from watching a thousand Crucible matches—smiled at the doorkeeper and lied, saying that the confusion in the paperwork was simply due to them being newly married.

In time, Ikora would come to know many of Shun’s faults, but she would always have to give him this: he never hesitated.

#

Io is silent.

The whole solar system is silent to Ikora now. As Warlock Vanguard, Ikora was constantly aware of the thoughts of other Warlocks, the flow of Light between all Guardians. She felt, endlessly, the song of the Traveler and the whispers of the Void.

Ghaul ended that.

Crippled, broken, diminished—her Ghost unable to do more than whisper—Ikora fled to Io, hoping for . . . wisdom, perhaps. Answers.

Hope.

What she finds is dark skies and silence, the absence of the Light. What she finds is guilt.

Because, stripped of the Traveler’s power, with only one life left to lose . . . Ikora is afraid. She is terribly, terribly afraid of dying her final death.

She wonders if she always has been.

#

It took only a few muttered words for Shun and Ikora to realize they were on the same mission. But completing that mission took much longer.

One night turned into a week, and one week turned into three. They successfully bought eight fragments of Ahamkara bones, but it was always through a dealer. The Guardian (or Guardians) who supplied them did not appear.

In the meantime, Ikora and Shun—in their false identities—became familiar to the black market. They noticed people trying to follow them after they left, to see where they lived.

The logical answer was to make the deception complete. Shun rented the apartment; Ikora could not spend all her time there, given her duties as a Warlock, but she was present as often as she could be. Her cover demanded it. Shun cooked for her, and played an arcophone in the evenings.

It was . . . not unpleasant. Ikora had never had any patience for the civilians who groveled at her feet, but Shun was refreshingly free of such reverence. He was no part, either, of the increasingly fractured Tower: the suspicions about Osiris, the whispers against the Speaker, the worship of both. Sometimes he could be infuriatingly glib, but he had a glittering, eager curiosity almost worthy of a Warlock.

Ikora began to look forward to the time she spent with him, haggling in the black market, betting in illegal games, working out their next move in the investigation. The pressure of his hand clasped about hers ceased to be troublesome and became a comfort.

Then came the fragrant, candle-lit midsummer night when they finally were finally allowed to enter the secret courtyard. When they saw a Guardian—his Ghost bobbing dumbly, hopelessly by his shoulder—hold up Ahamkara bones and offer them to the highest bidder.

Ikora drew a gentle breath and reached inside her coat to cock Invective.

Shun cocked his head, grinned, and grasped his knives.

They both fought in the melee that followed. Shun would have expected no less of Ikora, and she would have demanded no less of him. In the end, the rogue Guardian’s brains were splattered against the wall, his Ghost was in Ikora’s palm, and all the details of what transpired where in Shun Li’s report.

They did not return home at once afterwards—not to the Tower, or Owl Sector, or even their false home. Instead they wandered the City, punch-drunk with adrenaline and success and glory. At two in the morning, they were giggling over ramen together; she called him simply “Shun,” and he called her “Korrie.”

Very, very late that night—or absurdly early that morning—they stumbled into their rented apartment together. They grasped, briefly, at each other’s elbows. Lips found lips, and for one moment as they kissed, the only Light that mattered was what crackled between their bodies.

Then they fell into bed and slept curled around each other, as innocent as kittens.

When they woke, they both remembered their duties, and they didn’t speak of what had passed in the night. At least, not exactly. But after they had both made their reports to the Vanguard and been commended, after they were standing together in the Tower courtyard and were the closest thing to a simple Shun and Ikora that could be imagined in daylight—

Then, beneath the shade of a potted tree, Shun turned to Ikora.

“You know,” he said, “there’s an old City law. If two people call themselves married for at least a month, it’s legal.”

The look he slanted at her was bold and hesitant at once. And Ikora, for one moment, imagined responding in kind.

But she was the Traveler’s chosen, destined to live forever, or else to die in horrifying agony when the Darkness overcame her. Shun was simply, helplessly mortal, no matter how much he had aided and comforted her these past few weeks.

Ikora told him as much. And in the end, he accepted her decree.

#

“It’s time I rejoined my fireteam,” says Ikora to the Guardian, gazing up at the dark-and-glowing skies of Io as she readies herself to die.

She has died a hundred deaths at least, maybe more. All those lives, spent so easily—and for what? For her to cower in the shadows, now that she has only one life remaining to lose?

No. Ikora will fight Ghaul, and she will likely die, but as she stares past Io’s horizon, she knows: she will not be defeated again.

(Not like when she was defeated by the Transmission Crisis, not like she was defeated when—)

#

The last time that Ikora saw Shun, he was wrapped inside the clumsy, padded bulk of an isolation rig as he brought her records containing the dark side of Clovis Bray. The rig was nothing like the simple helmet and gloves that Guardians wore even in hard vacuum. Ikora could see only his eyes through the face-plate, and they were . . . tired.

The last time she heard him was through the comms, as he spoke to her from the hospital.

“Restricted leave?” she asked numbly. “What did you do?”

He sighed. “Forgot to put on part of the isolation rig. Too tired. I can't remember yesterday at all. Ramos will take over the duties of Liaison to the Vanguard. You treat her nice, okay? She's nervous.”

Ikora remembered his hand on her shoulder. His mouth against hers. The thousand words that had never seemed quite right to say.

“You,” she said, “rest well.”

She could almost see the smile in his voice as he said, “I will.”

#

“There will be no coming back,” says Ikora to her fireteam, to all her doubts and fears.

“It’s worth it,” says Cayde-6, fearless as ever.

C’mon, Korrie, Shun whispers in her memories, and in her heart, Ikora agrees.

#

The people of the City spoke as if death were only sleeping; they said that their dead “rested in peace.” But Ikora knew it was not so. She had died, and found only dark loneliness. She had lived, and found the ones she cared for gone.

She remembered, over and over, her fatal conversation with Acting Liaison Ramos:

The Hidden, the Witches, and our research corps may have had a breakthrough, using the information that Berriole has unearthed. We think we can neutralize this mite. The only problem is, we might kill Shun in the process.

Are you waiting for permission?

It seemed respectful to ask.

Do it, and the Traveler's Light shine on you.

But the Traveler’s Light, perhaps, was only for Guardians. The experimental treatment cobbled together so quickly and desperately . . . did not work for anyone still human. The Guardians infected with the Mite were set free. But Shun, cold in his coffin, paid the price.

Ikora, standing in a Tower that now felt strangely empty, tithed on that price over and over.

#

Ghaul has been dead for months, the Traveller and the Guardians restored for that much time as well. Ikora has found a courage that she didn’t fully own before, and it straightens her spine as she stands at her place in the Tower.

Sometimes she remembers Shun Li. Sometimes she mourns him, and wishes he could have been more to her. But Ikora is a Warlock, both the question and the answer. Whatever remains unfinished in her, she will find a way to complete.

At last there comes a day—the air is sweet and lazy with summer—when Ikora stands in the Tower, hands clasped behind her back, and almost does not mourn. Almost, she is at peace.

Five new Guardians have already been raised since Ghaul’s defeat, so Ikora no longer fears that the power of the Traveler is somehow spent. When she hears that a newly-raised Warlock has come to the Tower, she nods and says calmly, “Show him in.”

She will help this new Warlock. It’s her duty and her joy, for which she once abandoned Shun, and she still hasn’t lost that prize.

But when Ikora turns to him, her breath stops in her throat. Because the ragged cloak of a newly-raised Warlock is familiar, and so is the plain shell of the Ghost at his side, but the Guardian himself—

It’s Shun.

Ikora has never believed that the Light and the Traveler have any kindly purpose in whom they raise as Guardians, but maybe now she does.

Maybe it’s time for her to stop being surprised by what mere mortals can do.

“So I hear I’m a . . . ‘Guardian’?” he says, and there’s so much missing from his curious gaze that doesn’t recognize her, but there’s so much she loves and knows still there. “Don’t remember my name, though.”

“I do,” says Ikora, and crosses the little courtyard to him, takes his hands. “Your name is Shun.”

[the-blueish-trashcan]

He's in Charge; Chapter One

Pairing: Henry/Bertrum

Warnings: [None yet]

A/N: This is the first chapter of a very, very long fic I've come to love, and treat as one of my better works. I've posted part of this on ao3 and wattpad already, but just haven't been getting any feedback on it. Treat this chapter as a pilot, the thing that should hook you in for the next part. If the feedback on this is good, well... there will be more to come! I'd also like to personally thank the wonderful @halfusek for allowing me to tag him in my incredibly obscure fanfic! I'm surprised he even liked the idea I pitched, but I'm so, so thankful for it!! Half, if you do read this, you're one of my favorite folks here, and quite the blessing, too! ^.^;

Chapter word count: 2,061

{First part [YOU ARE HERE]} {Next part}

Fic summary: As an up-and-coming animation company, Joey Drew Studios hardly had time to toy around with itself or its staff. Or, at least, that's what the budget said, and Joey Drew himself was never one to listen to a budget. To him, the best way to draw people to his cartoon was to drum up publicity, and what better way to do that than to build a theme park? With prototypes being constructed in the depths of the studio, it was only a matter of time before tensions started to run high and money to run low. It was also only a matter of time before one Henry Stein was fated to meet the constructor of the park, the great Bertrum Piedmont. With a positive relationship quickly building between the two, not a single soul could have imagined what it would do to the studio, and everything in it.

Chapter One: Pilot

“C’mon, Henry, it’s important for you to meet the man behind the park! Everything’s in the likeness of your creation, after all!” Joey spoke as he led Henry out of the lift in the lowest parts of the studio. The “development levels”, Joey called them fondly. 

    “I understand that, what I don’t get is-” The shorter man started, but was interrupted when Joey began to speak again.

    “We’re making dreams come true, don’t you see? We’re making these cartoons larger than life!” He gestured wide with his arms, hitting the wall with the stack of papers in his right hand without meaning to. He threw a glance back over his shoulder, deep blue eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it exciting?”

    All Henry could do was offer a fake smile and nod. He knew there was no stopping Joey once his mind was set on something, even if the animator didn’t agree with it. In this particular case… it was an amusement park. It wasn’t something unheard of, but between the renovations needed to make room for the development levels and the money it would cost to purchase enough land to accommodate anything when it was finished… Henry knew it was going to be a steep bill.

    The pair mounted a flight of stairs in an otherwise empty room after navigating a maze of different hallways with pallets of different materials scattered around them. At the top, the first thing Henry noticed was the massive, gaping maw of a hollowed out Bendy head. The head itself, looking to be made of many metal plates, had to be at least two stories tall, the interior lit by a few coverless pendant lights. Under the lights were two plywood tables, cork boards not far from them covered in papers depicting plans and different concept sketches for the park.

Standing in front of one of the cork boards with his back to them was a man at least a foot taller than Henry himself, dressed in a black tailcoat and pressed black slacks. His dark brown hair had been slicked back, not a single one out of place. His shoes had been covered in dirt by the unfinished floors throughout the prototype park, but that seemed to be the only imperfection about him.

Joey cleared his throat, causing the man to turn around. He had one thick eyebrow raised, but was soon scowling at the sight of the other man. Cheery as ever, Joey didn’t seem to care. “Bertie! What’s the big project today, hm?”

Bertrum’s lip pulled up into a sneer, the comb mustache on his upper lip shifting as his expression changed. “Today’s project is the same project as yesterday’s. And last week’s. And the week’s before that. Unless it was finished, Mister Drew, which I would have notified you about, why would it be any different? Not all of just have the flexibility to jump from one idea to the next each day.” His voice rumbled, seeming to fill the extra space.

“Oh, well, I just figured I should ask! See how things were going! What did you think of my bumper car design?” Joey leaned on the table with one arm, making it lift slightly at the other end.

“Frankly they’re far too similar to my design for the carts in the haunted house. If I ever get to bumper cars, I can assure you, they will not look like that.” Bertrum pointed behind him to the table without looking. His statement, though, caught Henry off guard. It wasn’t every day that someone was that blunt with Joey, especially about something he wanted.

“Oh. Well… What about my idea for the swing ride? You got that sketch, right?” Joey tried again.

At that moment, Bertrum turned on his heel, taking one stride to the tables. Across the top sat a small scale model of what Henry could only guess was the proposed layout of the new park. He folded his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest and making himself look just that much bigger. Henry found himself taking a half-step back from both of them.

“Mister Drew,” He began, “If I were to squeeze in any new rides, you would have to fit in another two acres or more of land, depending on what half-brained idea it is you tried to cook up, and I’ve already warned you, this is going to break the bank as it is. You cannot bring in any new designs and if I’m being quite honest with you, I do not want them. I can make up my own sketches, thank you very much, and I can draw them to scale to work as a real attractions. If I need absolutely anything from you, I can assure you, you will know.”

The way Bertrum spoke sent a shiver up Henry’s spine and he was sure he could see the light leave Joey’s eyes, even through his smile. 

Joey let out a low chuckle, holding his papers out for Henry. “Here. Hold onto those for me, will you?” After Henry took them, Joey moved to the table and started to try and reason with the designer. Just by the way he spoke, Henry could tell it was going to be a very long afternoon.

*****

    After two yelling matches, two different requests for coffee from both taller men and about three hours, Joey finally decided he’d had enough of Bertrum and started to lead Henry back upstairs. It was only in the lift back to the main leves that Joey seemed to come to some sort of realization.

    “Oh! Shit, Henry, I didn’t even introduce you! That’s the whole reason we went down there!” He slapped himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand.

The animator decided to just play it off like it was nothing, for his own sake. “Oh, that’s alright. We’ll have other times to go down there. Besides, it looked like you had a lot to talk to him about anyway.”

Slowly, Joey nodded. “You know… you’re right. I did have a lot to cover with him. And it’s already awful late! You have some fill work to finish before the day’s out!” The lift slowed then, stopping shortly after. Joey plucked his papers from Henry’s arms, briskly making his way down the hall. “Back to work!”

With a sigh and a slow shake of his head, Henry simply went back to his own desk to settle in and finish his work for the day.

*****

    The clock in the break room had read ten to five the most recent time he checked it, not long ago. The rest of the studio had mostly fallen quiet by then, most of the other employees readying themselves to go home. Henry, though, was just getting started; With a fresh cup of black coffee, his tie loosened and his suspenders shrugged off of his shoulders, he was just getting ready to clock out, but not leave quite yet. Heavy, even footsteps down the hall from his desk didn’t pull his attention away from the sketches in front of him, but a voice he recognized from earlier did.

    “Pardon me, but I was sent in this direction for one Henry Stein, head of animation. Will you please just show me who it is I’m supposed to be going to?” Bertrum snapped.

    Henry turned quickly, pen still in hand, and blinked. He found himself scrambling for a response under the intense gaze. “I… Well, um… Y-yeah, that’s, um… That’s me. I-I’m Henry Stein.” He managed, but not at full volume.

    Bertrum’s eyebrows shot up in shock, his eyes widening. “You? It’s you that’s in charge of all of this?” At that, Henry could only nod, looking sheepish. The response caused the designer to curse. “The way Drew treated you made me think you were his intern! My deepest apologies, sir.” He put a hand to his chest, bowing his head ever so slightly.

    Henry let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, it’s alright! He does it all the time, I don’t really blame you.” 

    Now the other’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “That certainly doesn’t seem right. He wouldn’t even have a job if it weren’t for you.”

“Try telling that to him. I certainly have.” He hastily waved off the conversation. “Did you need something from me?”

“Ah, just this.” He held out a stack of sketches on gridded paper, all covered in notes. “I trust your judgement than Drew’s, seeing as this cartoon devil is your creation. Not to mention, after our encounter today, I would be dead before I asked him his opinion on my park. I assumed you would be gone by now so I would just be leaving those at your workspace. Please, look over them at your leisure.”

“Oh! Uhm, alright… What, uh… What, exactly, do you want me to do with them? Do you need my input, or…” Henry carefully took the papers, making sure not to set them in the wet ink. 

“I want to know what you think. Drew’s designs are… childish, at best, and while entertaining young children is a main goal of a theme park, it is supposed to be a family experience. The more the parents enjoy themselves as well, the more likely it will be that we have returning visitors.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense…” He began flipping through some of the pages, tilting his head as he did. “...What’s the theme supposed to be here? I-I mean… Obviously it’s Bendy, but… Are we going more for fun or horror? Because that’s what this looks like.” His gaze flicked back up to Bertrum. “No offence! These designs are great! I just don’t know if they match my cartoon at all.”

“Ah. I wish you had said something earlier, then. My teams have already started prototyping some of this.”

“I would have if I’d seen them, sorry if it’s caused you any-”

“What do you mean, if you’d seen them?! Drew was supposed to have gotten you to sign off on-” He thundered, then stopped when he realized he’d made Henry flinch. “Were you not shown any of this?”

“No sir, this afternoon was the first I’d seen anything come from that park at all. I just knew it was there, Joey never wanted me to go down to see.”

“That’s ridiculous. That means he hasn’t even gone over any of our plans with you, damn fool…”

Henry glanced back at his drawings, then shifted in his chair to face the other more easily. “If you’d like to discuss some of it now, I’d be more than happy to know what’s going on with the company I own half of.” He indicated the extra chair not far from him with his hand, offering for Bertrum to sit down.

“If that’s quite all right with you, I would be happy to.” Smoothing down the front of his coat, Bertrum took a seat. 

“My, um… my first question is, uh… What’s your actual name? You just really don’t look like someone who should be called Bertie to me.”

His mustache twitched as the corners of his lips turned up. “Of course I don’t! I am Bertrum Piedmont! Drew insists on this demeaning nickname of his, I can’t begin to explain why.”

Henry gave another awkward laugh. “Yeah…. That’s Joey for you…”

*****

    Far, far past the time that Henry was supposed to have already been at home relaxing, he was still sitting at his desk, but he wasn’t alone. At some point, his conversation with Bertrum had turned from being about work to about life. Despite what he had thought at first, it was fairly easy to make Bertrum laugh, and goodness knew he needed it, the animator could tell. That had to be the case, since Henry never counted himself as someone very humorous.

    When Bertrum finally gathered himself to leave, it was only because of Henry’s promise to come check on his work more regularly, despite what Joey said. In return, Bertrum promised that any trouble Henry got in for it, he would handle directly. Even with the sketches still not fully lined or filled, Henry didn’t have the energy to keep working. He put everything on his desk in order, storing the ink and switching the last of the lights off on his way out.

[thenonbinarydetective]

MID Overview/Review

Ok so I redid it because tumblr broke the first one. Luckily, it gave me the oppurtunity to fix some of my grammar/spelling mistakes.

It’s actually even longer than before.

I’m thorough what can I say?

besides please read this it took a while.

·         On the menu’s Extra Section there’s a trailer for Nancy Drew and the Hidden Staircase (2019). A movie that came out way before this game which is kinda funny

·         The movement is a little janky, to put it in professional terms, it’s a little fast and jumpy. It took a bit to get used to the navigation.

·         The problem with the movement really jumps out in the end in the tunnels. I could barely get my cursor around the Hardy Boys or even Mei.

·         Also in the tunnels, if I went slightly off trail the game would FREAK out. I wanted to look around the tunnels and maybe get a bad end but our Sleuths but I couldn’t look around without being yelled at.

·         This happens in other mini games and puzzles, whenever you mess up the characters make a snarky remark in your direction. Every. Single. Time. It would be funnier if it was only on a few occasions but it was every time I “messed up”.

·         The graphics were obviously terrible. They also were variable…Somethings looked kinda okay and somethings looked awful. Like the quality changed from time to time. Sometimes even in the same frames. Frank, graphically, looks better than some of the other characters. When he and Joe stood next to each other, they almost looked like they didn’t belong in the same game. This goes for some of the other characters too.

·         I don’t get why Frank was always in that pose? Everyone else stood awkwardly but admittedly it was a bit more normal. They stood with their hands towards their hips like how people typically do. Although there was a few times where people just grabbed their wrists for no reason.

·         As someone who loves mythology and folklore (and pretty much anything that can be tied to into those) it was really cool to see the Malleus Maleficarum or The Hammer of Witches in the game. I wish it actually had more use in the game and maybe helped in some way. I know the book did some terrible things but it is an interesting read. As I do own a copy of it.

·         Also my birthdate was used on the puzzle. Which was cool. It’s fun to be born on special dates. Except my birthday isn’t part of the solution but that’s okay.

·         There’s a couple times where Nancy(and Frank) starts talking about clues or reading things out loud before I got the chance to look at them which was super annoying.

·         The game crashed multiple times while playing

·         The closer look at the clues was nice but was only okayish for me. It didn’t always work that well. Besides I’ve seen other games with the same function that worked smoother.

·         I’m not a big fan of the new chat format. I prefer the old way. In this new format a lot of the dialogue options were getting cut off or the option didn’t fully describe what Nancy was going to say so I didn’t know what I was choosing.

·         The text boxes were a bit buggy and there were times I couldn’t click on some of the dialogue options.

·         The cutscenes were slow and the game had WAY too much talking. There was more talking than gameplay. The game was honestly just walking and talking

·         I liked the text messages, they were fun and cute but they didn’t add much to the gameplay

·         Lots of objects were clipping into each other

·         Loading screens were always glitch

·         The audio was off a lot of times. There were times when I could barely hear the characters over the background music or ambience sound. In Austria, I called Ned and Carson and I wouldn’t have even known they were speaking if not for the subtitles. Even after lowering the music and ambience sounds specifically and I still had this issue.

·         Also Ned’s voicemail has changed. Did he make up with his sister?

·         There were a lot of spelling and grammar mistakes. Almost every other written thing (books, pamphlets, and notes) had some kind of mistake. Hotchkiss’ book is one example.

·         There were times when the pop-up text box was harder to read than the written thing. Not all the paragraphs were spaced out far enough in the boxes but were fine on the written thing.

·         No “Can’t check that off yet.” The Checklist was unusable by the player. Unlike every other game. It did it automatically which wasn’t fun. I liked using the checklist.

·         The game was so linear that I couldn’t really look around or do my own thing. When one thing was down you were immediately shuffled to the next thing. It basically made the checklist unnecessary.

·         Terrible Animation. People moved for no reason. Just stuck in the same cyclical animation over and over and over again. They were pretty janky and awkward. Joe was the worst for me, he was constantly twitching on the screen. Frank was stock-still in comparison. No one else was that bad.

·         Many of the mouth movements did not remotely match what the characters were saying. Sometimes nonexistent.

·         Everyone’s EYES ARE SO WIDE. IT’S LIKE THEY DON’T HAVE EYELIDS. THEY’RE SO OPEN.

·         The Parry’s curtains glitch in the sink. There’s a few plants that look weird, they had a neon glow on them. Olivia’s hands are always clipping through her robe and hair. In Moosham Castle there is a thing that’s inside a table. Both the Hardy Boys’ feet (and maybe other characters) were entirely in the ground at times. There were plenty of other problems like that.

·         If I looked around a certain way while everyone’s talking at the Parry kitchen table Frank’s entire body disappears with the exception of his neck and watch.

·         Some of the windows had a view of the town outside but other windows have this shine that you can’t see through.

·         I’m not thrilled about the bystanders. Only the protest guy really helped. Over all they didn’t add to the game or help me at all.

·         Dr. Hirst’s silhouette was kinda weird

·         Also why did the game start in Austria??? That’s just weird? I thought we were just gonna start with Deirdre calling us but whatever

·         I really hate the needless and honestly misplaced drama. Why couldn’t we talk to Ned and why haven’t we talked to Ned. It really pissed me off. Why would you put this directly after Ned’s whole “I Love and Support- This Could Basically Be a Proposal” Speech in Sea of Darkness? It’s just super off

·         Not to mention the fact that the “Francy” moments in this game felt super forced. I don’t like what it does to their characters too. It feels like Ned isn’t trusting Nancy, which is crazy because he trusts her with his life. Frank is the more awkward Hardy Brother but that was ramped all the way up. Also Nancy completely ignoring Ned? What? They don’t feel like themselves here. It’s just off. This tone should’ve been brought in so soon, chronologically, after SEA. It’s out of place.

·         Who was the female voice that was in the phone call with Ned? That was never answered. Was that a drama plot that was unfinished? Why not take it out of the game if you’re never going to resolve it? Why start an unnecessary relationship drama that’s both half-assed and unfinished?

·         It’s kinda weird how in the end Nancy leaves the Parry house and calls Ned and we can hear her side of the conversation but not his. She’s just talking to herself.

·         The phone friends were basically useless. If it wasn’t for the flashlight and the checklist I would say that Nancy didn’t even need her phone. And I guess talking to Damian Faulkner. 95% of the calls I made just went to voicemail. I want to chat about the case, talk to my friends, and get hints like we used to. I didn’t even know we could call Dr.Hirst about the ergot poisoning. I only found out on accident. I don’t know how many conversations I missed. Calling people used to feel important but here it doesn’t even need to be in the game it’s so useless.

·         Just because this bugs me I don’t like the Hardy Boys starting their own detective agency. They began their work by working for their Dad. Who is a private investigator/private detective. Who runs a Detective Agency. Why would they start their own?? If you’re gonna make this a family business why not make it a family business? Right?

·         May February, 1692 was an actual date they used. I think it was supposed to be February and they changed it to May. Earlier in the same note they used May so I’m guessing they didn’t properly finish the rest of the note.

·         The lockpick game was visually glitch for me and the game itself didn’t work that great for me

·         Joe’s hair makes him look like a fake blond lol. There are parts of his head (by the nape of his neck for example) that have brown hairs. Also some parts of his hair didn’t load properly on occasion and underneath was brown. Did he dye it?

·         Which brings me to my next point. The hair was animated horribly. Frank and any of the other short and simple haired characters were okay. But probably only because they had short and simple hair. The longer haired characters were not as well animated.

·         I randomly got double the Johnny Cakes when I made them. So Teegan and Olivia got extra.

·         I will admit that making the Johnny cakes wasn’t the worst cooking minigame we’ve had in the games before.

·         Frank getting the Frankenstein ones were a little obvious. It also didn’t feel as personal as the other ones oddly enough. We had a fun little dialogue about the design with everyone but Frank. He just got some cringey “I’ll eat these right away” kind of dialogue.

·         I wish the truth serum was actually useful. Solving Tituba’s poem and going a bit out of the way to get the ingredients led me to believe it would be used for more than some “fun” dialogue choices. Joe and Deirdre are the only ones to use it. Which leads to some cute moments in which Deirdre admits she actually kinda likes and admires Nancy. I love her. Joe says he always tells the truth (no) so he doesn’t know how to tell if it works. I love him.

·         Maybe it’s just me or the audio was off but Carson sounded different in Austria than he did in Salem.

·         The use of the ergot poisoning was kinda of awesome. It’s one of the most popular theories on why Salem went bonkers and it was interesting to see it used to trick our favorite sleuths.

·         The note to save Deirdre didn’t appear when I clicked on it. Frank (and I think Joe) reacted to it but it didn’t let me examine it. The bug fixed itself by closing the examination and clicking on it again.

·         I love how the “ghosts” were handled. Especially them being hallucinations. My favorite was in the cemetery with the Hardy Boys and Olivia. The screen got kinda weird and everyone started to get worked up and really tense. They started fighting and you could see Abigail before they did. The build up to it was fantastic. The other scenes were cool too.

·         The tunnels where the “ghosts” jumped out at every wrong (and sometimes right) turns while you’re desperately trying to escape the tunnels with Mei was pretty awesome. One of the jumpscares even got me.

·         THERE WAS NO ENDING LETTER. She wrote a letter to Ned in the beginning but she never wrote a second one. Sure we sorta got to see how everything turned out at the party but it’s not the same. It doesn’t feel properly ended.

·         I lowkey ship Jason and Mei. I could totally picture the two of them making out in those hidden tunnel rooms beneath Salem. Not just because I would too. This easily could’ve been another unfulfilled romance sideplot.

·         Some of the books/notes really didn’t feel that helpful. I did learn some new things about Salem but I don’t feel we used the knowledge we gained properly in the game.

·         The Jack O Lanterns were fun.

·         The parallels between the Judges of the Witch Trials and Judge Danforth was a pretty interesting plot point. There definitely is a difference between accusing witches and accusing someone of arson when they were 9.

·         Teegan’s guilt for both the shed and Hathorne house was something I didn’t really expect. It was a good plot twist. I can see how it was hinted earlier on by Lauren who says “Teegan likes to protect what’s important to her, sometimes that’s Mei.” Sometimes being the key word.

·         The Hardy Boys being home-made ghost hunters was hysterical and adorable. I want them to have their own games soooo badly.

·         I am completely on Joe’s side that we can’t prove that ghosts don’t exists, even if we can’t prove they do exist.

·         I knew Alicia was the bad guy the second she started shit-talking Ned without knowing him. Only bad people don’t like Ned. He would never force Nancy to become a housewife, that’s not who she is and he loves her for who she is.

·         I did “OK Boomer” Judge Danforth. He deserved it.

·         I loved the little tidbits that we got of Frances’ and Lauren’s relationship we got to hear about. It’s really sweet.

·         The comparison of Jason being a fast food cheeseburger with extra extra extra cheese and Ned being a home-cooked meal is perfect. Home-cooked meal is a great way to describe Ned.

·         Either way they’re both snacks.

·         Ok Jason’s ugly in these graphics but it was implied he was supposed to be hot.

·         Jason could’ve been a true himbo but unfortunately he wasn’t

·         TBH Ned, Carson, and Damian were the most attractive characters in the game. Only because they weren’t subjected to these graphics.

·         I loved the Ghost Wavelength Spectral Analyzer 2.5 the Joe Hardy Guide to Amazing Finds but I hate the spectral analyzer itself. That mini-game was the WORST. It took forever!

·         Alicia was straight up just gonna kill everyone. I’m doubting her biology knowledge.

·         Also if you wanna raise kids in a more “modern” environment just freaking move. I know there was money in that real estate deal but there’s real estate in other towns.

·         I love Deirdre. She’s really funny and kinda sweet. Even though she likes Ned (and maybe Nancy too lol) she doesn’t try to break them up or get between them. At least not anymore. She knows how much Ned loves Nancy. She even gave Nancy relationship advice. Which Nancy desperately needs because she terrible at this.

·         This is just me but I kinda wish Nancy had an original idea for their vacation instead of just going back to Austria. Maybe let Ned pick this time because he’s the one who has to play catch up all the time and it’s only fair.

·         Carson’s an adorable dorky dad and the only rich white man I trust. I’ve said it in my tweets and I will say it until I die. No one can take that away from me.

·         This may be repetitive but I don’t like what this game did to Ned, Frank, and I guess even Nancy too. Ned knows about Frank’s feelings for Nancy. And now needless, useless, meaningless drama is gonna happen. I hate it I hate it I HATE IT!

·         Just the relationship drama didn’t add a thing to this game. It was stupid. Especially because it was unfinished. It should’ve just been taken out.

·         Joe looks 13 and way to skinny. He’s the brawn to Frank’s brain. Yes, he’s smart too and Frank isn’t weak. However, Joe is way stronger than him. If there has to be a scrawnier Hardy Boy, it’s Frank and we all know it.

·         To quote Joe he’s got Man Strength™.

·         Cause “Boy” is only part of the title, but Hardy Men doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

·         At times it feels like that the creators forget that Joe’s supposed to be smart too. There were times where it felt like they made him a total idiot. Though that could be personal too.

·         Frank being a total Captain Obvious, perfect.

·         They’re both puppies that got turned into human boys. Frank is just a calmer puppy

·         Love that Mei’s going to Waverly but some of the other references fell flat. The Cat thing and the “I only smoke when I’m on fire” thing. It’s just not the same.

·         Jason deserves the Not-As-Much-of-a-Jerk-as-You-Could-Have-Been Award.

·         Mei’s a sweetie when she finally lets you in.

·         The multiple endings seemed to have changed from different culprits to just what happens to Hathorne House and/or Teegan (I think). They seem to be pretty much the same. I did expect that as that has often been my experience with “multiple endings” games.

·         I’m glad that both the Accused Witches and Lauren can get the house. It seems right for that to happen.

·         Olivia’s pretty funny. I have a thing for eccentric characters. And it was funny how she tried to induct us into the coven at the end.

·         The red/ginger hair superstition is a real superstition and I’m glad it was used. It’s for witches, werewolves, and vampires. Not just that gingers have no souls. (from the Malleus Maleficarum)

·         If there is another game, I hope it’s the Nedcy vacation. And that we actually get to see Ned lol. I don’t get why he has never made an in-game appearance. It’s a little unfair at this point.

·         Considering Emerson College is 39 minutes away from Salem and we still didn’t get him, I doubt it. Even though they mentioned both Salem and kidnapping Ned in Labyrinth of Lies.

·         Also that the next one feels more like a Nancy Drew game.

·         There’s no puzzles and there’s so much changed that it doesn’t have the same feel to it.

·         This doesn’t feel like it took 4 ½ years to make. It feels like it took less than ½ a year. I can tell that things have changed because pretty much all the people who worked on it originally got fired. And that the Austrian game development company that took over everything (besides licensing) struggled to match the quality of the previous games.

·         It definitely wasn’t beta-tested or was barely beta-tested. Quite a few beta-testers have come forward to say they didn’t get the offer to beta-test until September of this year. A month before preorder. Yikes.

·         I know I got a little mean for some of the points but coddling the company by just saying positive things doesn’t help. They’ll get comfortable and give the fans worse things than this. I’m not an expert but I’ve played and learned enough games that I know some basics about how they’re made. It’s not easy but that doesn’t mean we should excuse things because of it.

·         There’s been a lot of controversy with HER and Penny and this game and probably more. I’m not gonna get more into that besides mentioning that things changed because of this and not for the better.

·         I probably missed somethings but whatever this is over 3000 words. I covered the basics and then some.

·         This game is just a 2.5/5 for me

[maknaesdancersrappers]

breakfast in bed.

happy birthday to our amazing leader, lee taeyong 💖✨

baby dont stop series masterlist

[D/N] - daughter’s name bc i cant think of one

-

A loud fit of giggles erupt in the kitchen, echoing out onto the open living room and surely, to the bedroom.

You hush your daughter, trying to contain your own laughter as you tried to flip the pancake art she made. She claimed it was her father, but in an adult perspective; looked more like an ice cream cone.

Once it was nice and golden brown, you transfer it onto the perfectly round ones you’ve already made.

“Okay, [D/N], you’ll decorate daddy’s pancakes.” You move the toppings near her; a platter of berries, multiple nuts and chocolate bits, whipped cream, and chocolate and caramel sauces. “Don’t put too much, sweetheart.”

“I wanna draw daddy’s face!” She gleefully announces, reaching for the berries; sneakily popping a blueberry into her mouth.

“That’s a great idea, sweetie! Just make sure you don’t finish all the fruit.” You tease, tapping her nose.

Your daughter giggles, “I promise I won’t, mommy!”

You couldn’t help but give her a little kiss on the cheek, “Alright, I’ll just make daddy’s bacon and eggs.”

As you begin to cook, you glance to check up on her every now and then since she is propped up onto the granite counter as she decorates her father’s pancakes.

A smile forms on your face; you liked to consider your daughter as a miracle baby. Her delivery into the world was difficult, according to your doctor. She had her umbilical cord around her neck - your doctor said it was a type B nuchal cord - which meant the cord was practically knotted. There were multiple possible complications that could arise if they hadn’t moved quickly, but your baby luckily only had abrasions on her neck.

It’s been 4 years since then. She’s such a bright and creative child. Your husband doted her; often spoiling her with toys and out of town trips. But Taeyong is an amazing father; he never once complained about anything from conception to delivery and even up until now.

“Does daddy like chocolate or caramel?” Your daughter wonders out loud.

“Daddy likes anything sweet,” You lean towards her and press another kiss on her cheek, “Just like you.”

She giggles, moving away as if she was ticklish, “And you, mommy!”

You place the last crisp bacon onto the plate with the rest of them. You begin to assemble the tray; putting a tall glass of orange juice (that you’re willing to bet your daughter will hog) on one corner, a mug of freshly brewed coffee in the other, a bowl of kimchi fried rice, a plate of bacon and eggs, and small servings of pickled radish and kimchi. You leave a space for the pancakes and placed utensils on the tray as well.

“Mommy, I’m done!” Your daughter claps, and you hush her.

“That looks like your daddy!” You praised, “Okay, how about you go check up on him and make sure he’s still asleep?”

You helped her down and she starts bolting to the bedroom until you remind her to keep quiet, so she begins to tiptoe. You requested to his friends to get him a little tipsy last night to ensure him sleeping in, but not drunk enough to have a hangover so you and your daughter can make him breakfast.

When she returns with a whisper that Taeyong is moving in his sleep, you’ve already placed the pancakes on the tray and a lit tea candle beside it.

“Okay, do you remember what mommy’s birthday gift to daddy is?” You crouch down to her height.

Her eyes widened considerably, glistening with absolute joy. “Yes!”

“Okay, okay.” You give her another smooch on the cheek, “Let’s give your gift to daddy now.”

You haul the heavy tray up and follow after your daughter to the ajar door of the bedroom.

She pushes on the door with all her strength and belts out the first few lyrics of the birthday song, effectively waking Taeyong up with surprise. You were caught off guard by your daughter’s entrance, choking your laughter and trying to sing with her.

Taeyong is laughing, though, sitting up and rubbing the sleep off his eyes. He’s clapping his hands, motioning your daughter to come to him, to which she enthusiastically obeys; clambering onto the bed and into his lap.

“Happy birthday, daddy!” You and your daughter cheered together as you set the tray on the table.

“Thank you, baby.” He kisses your daughter first leaving a loud smack of his lips on her cheek before he turns to you, kissing your lips softly, “Thank you, mommy.”

“Daddy, [D/N] drew you!” Your daughter points out, licking her lips.

Taeyong looks down at the pancakes and for the briefest second looked confused - probably wondering why he had kiwi for eyes - before smiling, “Aw, did you make this? This looks exactly like me!”

He picks up a fork and cuts through the pancakes and takes a bite, humming in approval, before offering a bite to your daughter and you.

“This whole breakfast was her idea.” You said after swallowing.

“Is it? Is this your gift for daddy?” He wraps an arm around her when she nods. “I love it, sweetheart. Thank you, but I can’t finish this by myself.”

“Should we help daddy eat this, [D/N]-ah?” You peek over at her and she bounces in her seat, already grabbing a piece of bacon with her bare hands. You turn to the nightstand to grab tissues for her when you see oil glistens off her chubby fingers.

“What’s your gift, hm?” Taeyong jokes, making sure your daughter was occupied with her food as he shoots you a suggestive look.

You roll your eyes, “There’s that, but,” You shrug your shoulders, “Baby, what’s my gift for daddy?”

Your daughter loudly gasps and twists in her seat to face him, smiling widely.

“W-what? What is it?” He stutters, looking back and forth from you and your daughter.

You quickly wiped her hands and mouths before she insists on standing up on the bed, using Taeyong’s shoulders for support. His hands immediately fly up to her waist to help her.

She grins at you first and you nod, before she tells him, “I’m going to be an older sister!”

Taeyong’s mouth drops a little, blinking at his daughter repeatedly before looking at you and then your stomach. “She’s what - …are you?”

“She is. I am.” You answered his unfinished questions, “You’ll be a father of two soon.”

Your daughter cuts him off before he could react, screaming in joy as she tears herself away from him and starts jumping on the bed.

“[D/N], be careful!” He lightly scolds, holding the tray in place.

You use this opportunity to press your lips on his cheek, “Happy birthday. I love you, Yong.”

He spares you a loving gaze and soft smile, “I love you, too. Both of you; and the little one on its way.”

-

a/n: i HAD to write something for him and this is all i could think of 🥺

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Cuties and Chips

Pairing: Bakugou x Koge (OC) Pre-Relationship Rating: Teen | Cursing Words: 3025

Main art blog: @hvalrossart​

“Good morning, Mitsuki.” 

“Koge! Welcome, my dear, please come in.” Mitsuki gave a welcoming smile to the young teenager that stood in her doorway, moving aside to allow her in. “You’re here early today! Katsuki is expecting you, I assume?” 

“Yes,” Koge gave a small nod, her white hair falling over her shoulders as she worked to remove her shoes to leave them in the entryway. “He didn’t answer my text when I said I was on my way, so I’m not sure if he’s still asleep?” 

Mitsuki gave an amused scoff, closing the door. “That boy has been up since before sunrise! I don’t even know if he’s sleeping, he’s been totally obsessing over studying and everything he needs to get into UA.”

Slipping her now bare feet into slippers that the family had designated for her, Koge turned her attention to look back up at the woman beside her. “That’s why I’m here, he wanted my input. I think. Or he just wanted someone to complain to.” 

Mitsuki smiled, leading the way further into the house with Koge following behind her. “He sure does trust you, he won’t even ask for our input, and we’re his parents! I’ve been trying to get him to let us see his costume design, but he’s not having it, little punk. We’re fashion designers, we know what looks good!” 

Koge gave a small shake of her head, stopping at the base of the stairs. “I think he’s either embarrassed or just hasn’t come up with something he’s really happy with. I’m sure he’ll ask once he decides.” 

Mitsuki sighed, placing her hands on her hips as she shrugged. “He can do what he wants with that, I suppose. Well, I’m glad you’re here! I’m going to start cooking breakfast here soon, I hope you’ll join us!” 

“I will. Thank you.” With that, Koge began her trek up the stairs. The further up she got, she became aware of the blaringly loud heavy metal music pouring from Bakugou’s room, where the door was shut. That’s his thinking music, he must really be into it right now. Approaching the door, she didn’t bother to knock since she knew he wouldn’t hear it. Instead, she quietly opened it, peeking inside. Sure enough, he was sitting at his desk, scribbling away on some paper. He was intensely focused, from what Koge could tell, with one hand holding up his head and his fingers dug into his hair. She hoped he wasn’t too frustrated, and if he was, maybe her presence would calm him down a bit. 

Shutting the door behind her, Koge approached him, stopping right behind his chair. Before she could say anything, she felt heat rush to her cheeks, squeezing her throat as she grew embarrassed. They had been friends forever, and now that they were getting older, Koge couldn’t stop herself from growing quite an intense crush on him. It didn’t help that he had been getting more fit in preparation for his entry into UA, and his shoulders looked so good in that black tank he wore that she almost couldn’t resist touching him. Still, she held back, swallowing down the lump that had grown in her throat. 

“Katsu--”

How violently Bakugou jumped in fright made Koge jump as well, quickly taking a step back to avoid having her toes crushed by the chair wheels. Whipping around, Bakugou first glanced around before his crimson glare landed on her, right hand at the ready like he was about to blow her away with his quirk. “Holy fucking shit Utsuro, what the hell are you doing?!” 

“I was just--” Koge glanced over at his music speakers, finding that she couldn’t even hear herself over the music. So, she spoke louder and stepped closer to make sure he could hear her as well. “You told me to be here at nine. I texted you to say I was-” The music suddenly cut off, making her choke on her words and quickly bring her voice back down. “-coming.” 

Eyes now on his phone as he paused the music, Bakugou glowered at the unread text, grumbling a bit in annoyance. “I didn’t hear it.” 

“Well your music was so loud, of course you wouldn’t.” Koge sat her bag down on the floor, which was filled with things she had turned in to UA for his reference, as well as a bunch of snacks. “You were really focused.” 

“Damn right I was! I have to get this costume design done.” 

“You still have two months until it’s due--” 

“That’s not a long time! I’m not like you, Utsuro, taking inspiration from that kook of a hero Eguchi.” Bakugou turned his back to her to look at his paper, not seeing Koge’s face flush. With a huff, Koge leaned over him, snatching what he was working on right from under his nose, ignoring his curses of annoyance and demands to return his work. 

“Gimme this,” she hopped away from him and out of his reach. “If you’re gonna judge me for taking inspiration from my favorite hero and mentor, then I’m gonna judge you!” The sketchy version of his hero costume was unfinished, so there really wasn’t much for her to look at just yet. “What is that coming out of your head? Explosions--” A squeak escaped her lips as it was snatched from her fingers, her pale blue gaze looking up at the flushed face of her friend curiously. 

“It’s supposed to be a mask with… flashy things on it! I haven’t drawn the mask yet, I just started on this one!” He sat back down in his chair, holding his paper protectively away from her grabby fingers. “It’s my fifteenth draft, don’t fuck it up.” 

“Fifteenth? Katsuki, you do know that they are going to do a lot of the designing for you. They just want a basic idea and you write out the rest.” Squatting down by her bag, Koge dug through it a bit until she found a folder. Opening it up, she found the draft she had drawn for her costume, handing it to him. “See? Mine didn’t look hardly anything like I drew out besides the basic form and colors I wanted. I think maybe you’re stressing about it a little too much.” 

Bakugou was silent as he looked over her drawing, though he did give her an annoyed glance. After a moment, he handed it back to her, turning to face his desk again. “You suck at drawing, Utsuro.”

“That’s not the point.” Koge put the paper back in the folder, leaving it with her bag before standing. Coming to stand beside him, she let an arm rest over his shoulders leaning forward a bit to observe the rest of the scattered papers on his desk. She caught his embarrassed glance for just a moment, though she kept her focus on the subject at hand. “I see here you’ve written down everything that you want already. But you can’t really... express that in a drawing or something?” 

“No,” Bakugou picked up his pencil, tapping it on the desk. “Just… what I draw doesn’t look like what I imagine. I want it to be perfect.” 

“Well, I like this so far.” Koge tapped her finger against the paper he was currently working on. “If you wanted flashy, that will definitely do the trick. Keep going, I’ll just hang out until you want my input.” Standing up straight, she gave his shoulder a firm pat, though she was stopped as he reached up and grabbed her hand to stop her. 

“No, wait,” Bakugou kept his glare down on the paper, the red color in the tips of his ears giving away his embarrassment. “I want you to watch. We can sit on the floor…” He shot her a quick glance before he stood, gathering all his important papers. Koge stood back to give him room, watching as he plopped down to sit on the wooden floor of his bedroom. Unable to resist the small smile on her lips, Koge sat down beside him, pulling her bag closer to her. The fact that he wanted her to stay so close made her stomach bubble with excited butterflies, and there was no way she was going to give up on the chance. 

“Your mom said that she’s making breakfast, but I figured I’d be here most of the day, so I brought a bunch of snacks.” 

“My spicy chips?” 

“Three bags of them.” 

Bakugou smirked, giving a nod of approval. “You’re good, Utsuro.” 

“I know.” Koge’s smile grew, watching him as he began to sketch again, leaning over his paper. “Aw, but you can’t eat them while you do this, you’ll get the dust all over your paper.” 

“Ah fuck, that’s true. Just feed them to me.” 

“What?!” Koge’s cheeks flushed, though she still reached inside her bag to get the chips. “Seriously?” 

“Would I have said it if I wasn’t fucking serious?” There wasn’t a single hint of embarrassment or reluctance in his voice, so Koge knew that he was very much serious. So, she opened up the bag and grabbed a chip.

“You want one now?” 

He only responded by opening his mouth, not removing his focus from his drawing. Unable to help a soft giggle, Koge put the chip to his lips, allowing him to grab it and much away. “Katsuki, you can be really cute sometimes, you know that?” 

“Don’t call me cute, Utsuro, I’ve already told you that.” His reaction was typical, except for the violent outburst that usually came with it. Koge wondered for a moment what had him so calm. Perhaps it was his focus on his project, or he had just woken up in a good mood. She liked to imagine, however, that it was her presence that was keeping him so calm, that he just enjoyed being alone with her like this. It was obvious that he did enjoy it in some way, or else he wouldn’t want to be friends with her. How deep his affection for her was something that she could never guess, so all she could do was try and hide her own. Until he gave her some hints, at least. 

“But I’m only saying the truth,” Koge fed him another chip, which he ate contently. “Would you rather me lie and call you ugly?” 

“I just don’t want you to call me cute. It sounds fucking lame. Oh shit, I messed up--” He leaned forward a bit more to get a better angle to erase his mistake. Curious, Koge looked closer. 

“Are those giant grenades on your hands? What are they for?” 

“They’re gauntlets. I want them to make it to where it absorbs my sweat and builds it up, then I can make a huge explosion!” As he explained it, he drew the gauntlets over to the side on the same paper, including some zigzag lines to indicate an explosion. 

Koge’s smile returned at how excited he seemed about it. “That’s really fancy. And awesome! With your quirk, that will give you probably the most powerful attack in the class. It should help you with the backlash on your arms, too.” 

Bakugou scoffed, writing something next to the gauntlet in his messy handwriting. “Tch, don’t get all technical, Utsuro. Even without these, I’m still going to be the strongest in the class, just fucking watch!” 

“I don’t doubt it, Katsuki. You’ve been training so hard. But I do have a suggestion if you want to make friends--” 

“I dont give a fuck about making friends.”

“-- Don’t shit on people too much, they’ll just hate you. There are a lot of strong students there, it would be good to build positive relationships.” 

“Shut up. I don’t need friends. I’m going there to become the strongest hero and that’s all I give a shit about. Chip.” 

Koge obliged at the demand of another chip. “I don’t have any friends yet, either. But I’ll be there, we can walk home together and stuff. Have lunch. That’s a plus right?” 

“I suppose. But I’m still going to kick your ass any chance I get! What rank are you in your class right now?” 

“I have the fourth highest grades. There’s this one kid in my class that is like a freaking genius and his quirk is incredible. He hit on me, too--” Koge was cut off as Bakugou suddenly snapped the led of his pencil clean off by pushing down too hard, a small gasp leaving her lips. “Wah, Katsuki be careful, you’ll mess up your drawing. What’s wrong?”

Bakugou grabbed his pencil sharpener, working the pencil inside it while glaring icy daggers at it the entire time. His ears were flushed again, but Koge still couldn’t tell what was wrong. 

“I don’t give a shit about how intelligent your classmates are, Utsuro. I’ll destroy all of them. Chip!” This time, Koge feared a bit for her fingers, but she was able to avoid damage as he chomped it down. For a moment, she eyed him curiously, having never seen a reaction quite like this one before. When it finally dawned on her, heat returned to her cheeks and spread through her body, making her shift in her spot a bit. 

“Uhm, Katsuki… Did you get mad because I was praising someone in my class… Or because I said he hit on me?” 

The red in Bakugou’s ears spread over to his cheeks, the slight annoyed pout on his lips and glare only making her more embarrassed, as she knew that meant she had caught him. 

“None of those people are good enough for you, Utsuro.” 

“But… you don’t know them.” 

“I don’t need to.” His glare moved to her, though it only made her more embarrassed with how soft he looked. “Just focus on school and training. You don’t need to deal with that shit.” 

Koge tightened her grip on the bag of chips in her hands, wishing she had at least a little control over the burning blush in her cheeks. She knew it was obvious against her pale skin, but there was nothing she could do. All she felt was an overwhelming adoration for the boy beside her, who cared more deeply than he would ever admit. Or, more than he would ever admit right now. 

“You’re right, Katsuki.” She smiled, wishing more than ever that she could latch onto him and hug him. “You know I take your input seriously. But you know, I do have a lot of boys hit on me.” 

“Tch, fuck them,” Bakugou went back to his drawing, currently working on the legs. “I bet none of them even know you.” 

“Nope, not really. I didn’t even know some of their names.” 

“No wonder they’re hitting on you, they don’t know how much of an airhead you are.” 

“Hey!” Koge gave him a smack on the shoulder, glaring at him as he snickered. “I am not an airhead! Oops, I got powder on you, sorry…” Effectively ruining her own argument, Koge wiped the red chip powder off his skin, which he allowed with only an annoyed grumble. Though, her eyes were pulled down to his paper as he began to write something again, and she instantly began to laugh. 

“Oh my god! Katsuki, ‘kill with my knees’?! How cute!” 

“I said don’t call me cute, it’s not funny!! I want to be able to break people’s faces on my knees dammit!” 

“But you don’t fight with your legs!” 

“I don’t care!” 

Covering her mouth to try and stifel her giggles, Koge leaned against his shoulder, able to feel how hot his skin was with his embarrassment. “So vicious and yet adorable at the same time. Your costume is going to be amazing.” 

With a huff, Bakugou shoved her off, though it wasn’t hard enough to push her over. “Get off me, loser. Don’t embarrass me and then immediately try to praise me, it’s annoying.” 

“I mean it, though.” Koge handed him another chip, which he ate. “I can’t wait to see it.” 

“You really think this is a good idea?” 

The fact that he seriously questioned himself and requested her input made her stomach flutter, smile growing soft. Making sure her hand was clean first, she gave his upper arm a gentle rub and a pat. “I like it a lot, Katsuki. It means a lot to me that you’d want my input.” 

Bakugou only gave a soft grunt, keeping his focus on his drawing. Though, the red in his ears didn’t fade, nor did he smack her hand off of him. Getting to just sit like this with him was something that Koge loved, even if they didn’t talk or say anything. It was a comfortable silence, their friendship one which didn’t require constant conversation to enjoy each others company. She wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, and though she knew her true affections may never be returned, waiting for him would never be something she would regret. 

Eventually, Bakugou put his pencil down, giving a sigh as he sat up. His back gave a string of pops as he rolled his shoulders, as did his neck, but it was something Koge had grown used to hearing. “What do you think, Utsuro?” 

“Hmm,” Koge leaned over a bit more to see it all clearly, comparing it to what all he had written down. Besides some other details like what he wanted on his belt on the drawing, it matched very well. “It’s great! I think they’ll be able to understand what you want. It’ll look really badass.” 

“Damn right it will. Fuck I’m hungry--” 

“Katsuki!!” His mother called up the stairs, making them both jump. “Koge!! Breakfast is ready!!” 

Koge sighed as she stood, wiping the rest of the chip powder off her hands. “Well, that was right on time. How about after we eat, I help you look over your entry papers?” 

“We eat? Who said you get food?” 

“Uh, your mom?” 

“Not if I eat it all first!” “Ah-- wait, Katsuki, don’t run away! Save me some!” 

[youhearstatic]

Exit Interview for a Fic (AKA: 10 Questions Every Fic Writer Secretly Wants to be Asked)

I started doing this list of questions every time I finish a ‘major’ fic. I’ve been putting together an updated fic list and realized I hadn’t ever done it for It’s About Time. So here we go!

1. Of the fics you’ve written, which is your favorite and why? At this point I’d have a really hard time picking between the still unposted (and unfinished) TwinSwap and the Dragon!Barry story. (The dragon AU has a lot more to it that I’ll hopefully get to eventually. There’s a few twists I adore with that one.) 

I really, really, really love both of those. I’m also, obviously, really keen on the whole Barry POV canon compliant story and the hanahaki story, Chrysanthemums (Lovesick). And I’m still pretty proud of Like Friendship Set Aflame. (FYI that last one is rated Explicit.) Plus, Losing Time is still something I feel good about.

2. Which scene was your favorite to write in It’s About Time? The scenes of Barry and Lup pining for one another are always fun of course but writing them together and in love? It’s just so good. I think my favorite to write was chapter 44. I started that first scene with no specific goal and it all just kind of organically evolved into what it did and where it all led and it just felt like it fit together well. And they were just so damn happy and absolutely gooey in love. Legato was obviously pretty good, too, but there was a lot of stress writing it because obviously it’s a Big Deal and needed to be Really Good.

(Putting the rest under a readmore because this is very long and self indulgent.)

3. Which part of It’s About Time was hardest to write? I struggled a few times. One of the hardest was chapter 34. I had a plan, there were story beats I was trying to hit and an overall arc to their relationship that called for things to go a certain way. But they just wouldn’t. I wrote and scrapped thousands of words trying to get there and finally realized the option I’d been too blind to see. Changing my plan meant a lot of other things had to be changed and created a lot of other hard to write parts but it also helped with the characterization for Barry and the change and growth he was going through.

4. If you could change anything in It’s About Time, what would it be? I kinda wish it wasn’t over? Like, don’t get me wrong. I’m excited to be on the part of the story I’m telling now - the part that initially drew me to even telling the story? But, holy crap, I miss Lup. I miss the crew and happiness. This is a long slog through dark times and if ever there was a time to say “Poor Barry” then this is it. I mean, I don’t think it’s all darkness? I think there’s surprises that make it worth it? (I really hope so! Like the appearance of certain characters in chapter 7 of Time After Time, for example.) 

And to be honest? I miss the interest that story got. Views/comments/etc have severely fallen off and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make it much much harder to motivate myself to work on it despite my determination to finish. (I get it though. It’s much more fun to read Blupjeans falling in love than Barry alone and kinda losing it.)

5. Did you make an outline for It’s About Time? Did you stick to it? Well, I mean, there’s the outline of the canon 11 cycles and that extrapolates out to giving the expanded story a specific set of story/character beats. As things got closer to Legato I had certain circumstances I wanted to hit in a certain order. So I guess yes, more than anything else I’ve written this had an outline. It wasn’t exceedingly thorough but it was definitely my game plan for things and yeah, several times that had to be scrapped like I mentioned about chapter 34 in question 3.

6. Which scenes did you cut, and which were added in It’s About Time? The scene of Barry cooking for the crew - specifically for the twins - wasn’t supposed to be in his POV. It was in Lup’s POV and I didn’t think it worked for his but then I couldn’t let it go so I just kinda... did it anyway.

I remember that snow cycle went on for much longer than intended, too. I’m really glad though, it got me away from the one cycle/one chapter format which helped me feel more relaxed about telling the story how it worked out rather than forcing things to fit certain ways.

There were definitely things that were cut but always because the scenes just weren’t working the way I thought they would during planning.

7. Who was your favorite character to write in A Thousand Tiny Moments? It’s Barry’s POV and I feel like I have a pretty strong grasp of him at this point. Gheesan and Selba were a lot of fun to write. Probably my still favorite OC is Embrace, though. One day I want to get art of Barry and Embrace, the big golden mongoose from cycle one.

Okay, this is maybe a weird answer since he’s not exactly a character? But I enjoyed writing my take on Griffin’s narration that opened chapter 36.

8. Which came first, the title or the fic? For a long time this was just called “the fic I’m not gonna write” because I’d never really jumped hard into writing fanfic before. Previous to starting this thing I’d only written a couple of 1k-ish minifics for a different fandom and only written something over 10k ... a handful of times.

9. Which idea came to you first in It’s About Time? It’s a little tricky answering this question because, even though it’s split up between Stolen Century and then the rest of the podcast timeline being in Time After Time, I tend to think of them all as one piece - Barry’s story.

I think the part that hit me first was thinking about Barry in Taako’s pocket spa and what kind of things would be running through his mind. 

In this very first consideration of his POV, I’d forgotten he wouldn’t have memories yet. So then I backed it up to that night between Wonderland and his cave/getting back in a body. What all must he have been thinking while they slept? After so long to be so close to the end and then have to get in a body and relinquish any semblance of control to the boys and his memoryless body? Honestly, I find that idea terrifying. From there it just kept spinning out to considering different bits of canon from his point of view. I don’t remember what the point was that finally convinced me to start writing but I’m still surprised it happened after so long of not really being a fic writer.

10. What are some facts readers may not know about It’s About Time? The first thing I wrote for this fic was Contradictions, the so called test minific. Then I got obsessed. I wrote pages of notes, picking out details that were relevant to Barry’s story and thinking and enormous lists of questions about what was going on with him or in his head at certain points. I spent literal days thinking about how to account for things inferred from canon. For example, why didn’t Barry remember things between bodies? When did he get the boys’ artificing projects that he gives them after reunion tour? 

Then I started writing longhand in notebooks. I started out writing where Contradictions left off: Barry’s trip out of the gerblin cave with THB and arriving in Phandalin. For a while I thought that’s what the fic would be: just Barry’s time from that wagon ride to Phandalin and ending with him getting into the tank as his last moments as ‘the red robe’ before revealing himself as Barry Bluejeans again. 

Eventually I realized that I needed to include Stolen Century and decided to start from the chronological beginning of the story. I’d written the entire century (albeit much, much shorter in this first draft - there was nothing between Tessaralia and Legato, for example - and then probably 15k of stuff directly following the defeat of the Hunger - that night and the following morning, as well as the first part of the Faerun things, Frank Texican’s part that is chapters 8 & 9 of Time After Time, and parts that still haven’t posted in Time After Time, including that section I’ve mentioned several times as the bit I’m MOST excited to share. 

After that it still took me weeks to decide to start posting and then another few weeks to decide to start posting Stolen Century and tell the story in order. I kind of wish I hadn’t done that just because it’d be nice to see them falling in love after all the awful alone and voidfished time but it’s good to have it done this way and have specific memories and all the characterization solidly built in order.

[terriblelifechoices]

Does anyone else do the thing, where you write something and put it aside because a newer, shinier idea came along and then totally forget that you wrote it?  And then you find it and go, oh, hey, this is neat.  I wonder where the writer is going with this.

And then: Fuck.  I’m the writer.  The writer is me.

Please tell me you do this, or I’m going to feel really embarrassed.  Because apparently that’s a thing I did.

Cleaning out the gdocs and came across this.  My notes say I was writing it for @thesilverqueenlady which is probably why I was going for Graves in the style of Hannibal Lecter.  I have no memory of writing it, or any idea where I was going with it.

IDK if anyone else is interested in reading it, but.  Here’s an untitled, unfinished and abandoned ficbit.  If you want to take this and finish it, please do.

In which Grindelwald demonstrates his wizard nazi tendencies with human experimentation.  Graves is not exactly human anymore, but he refuses to let anyone make him Frankenstein’s Creature.

Graves had a list of things he wanted to do once he’d broken out of Grindelwald’s prison.  He’d written it down on a scrap of fabric from a shirt that had long since been reduced to rags.  He’d used his own blood as ink, for lack of any other available writing instrument.  

Kill Grindelwald was the only thing on it, and once Graves realized that the concerned presence of MACUSA’s healers meant that he was free, that was exactly what he tried to do.

He honestly wasn’t sure how long he’d been Grindelwald’s captive – equal parts prisoner and lab rat.  He’d tried counting the days at first, but he couldn’t account for how much time he’d spent unconscious in the aftermath of torture or Grindelwald’s experiments.  All he knew was that he was different now: stronger, better, faster, and still not good enough to get out of Grindelwald’s prison.  He’d taught himself to pick locks, to break curses, to escape – to survive – by whatever means necessary.  He fed his rage and frustration into the thing he’d become – a test subject, the first of Grindelwald’s shock troops, useful for experimenting on but useless in every other regard because his rage helped him shake off the mental conditioning Grindelwald kept trying to implement.

Graves was fairly certain that whatever he was now wasn’t human anymore.  Not entirely, at any rate.

MACUSA’s wards were nothing compared to Grindelwald’s.  Graves ripped through them, dodging counter curses and hexes thrown at him by MACUSA’s best and brightest.  He slammed into Grindelwald, too-sharp teeth bared in a triumphant smile.

“Miss me?” he purred, his too-sharp fingernails drawing blood.

It took four Senior Aurors, a house elf and Madam fucking President to pry Graves off of Grindelwald.  Graves took some satisfaction in the fact that he managed to half-kill the bastard in the process.  If Picquery hadn’t arrived when she did, he probably could have managed to finish the job.

“Director Graves!” she thundered.

Graves gave the silver chains around his wrists a contemptuous look.  There was a reason suspects were supposed to be bound with their wrists behind their backs.  Was this deference, to the man he’d been, or mere stupidity?

No matter.  Graves flexed his wrists, straining against the chains for just a second, and then he broke them.

“Attacking a suspect in MACUSA’s custody is an actionable offense,” Picquery said, keeping her voice level and her wand trained on him.  Her eyes were round with – what, surprise?  Or was it terror?  MACUSA’s cuffs were supposed to be impossible to break.  “I should fire you.”

Graves looked at her.  He’d been her man, once.  He’d voted for her, bled for her, for MACUSA, for his people and not a one of the silly mewling sheep had noticed that he was gone.

Grindelwald’s blood was still on his fingers.  Graves wanted to lick them clean.

Whatever he was now, it wasn’t an Auror.  Graves wanted blood, not justice, and if he stayed here, he’d try to take it.

“You can’t fire me,” he said, making his voice sharp and cruel.  He had to cut ties with MACUSA completely; had to slam that door shut so violently that the impact crumbled the walls around it to dust.  “What right have you to my service?  You let a genocidal fanatic walk among you, wearing my face, and not one of you noticed.”  He dropped the badge he’d lifted from Grindelwald’s pocket during the scuffle on the table between them.  “I quit.”

“You what,” Picquery said.

“I said I fucking quit,” said Graves, and Apparated out of the holding cells, straight to the front gate of the manor house.

*

The Graves family’s ancestral home was located in upstate New York, deep enough into the woods to shelter them from scandal, No-Maj’s and the occasional high society invading army.  It was warded against all manner of dark creatures and spells.

Graves watched with irritated resignation as the wards lit up in warning, red sparks against the night sky like fireworks in July.

He licked the last of Grindelwald’s blood from his fingers and considered the wards.  They were old, almost as old as MACUSA itself, and old magic couldn’t be bullied or intimidated into doing anything it didn’t want to.

It could be reasoned with, though.  If you were powerful enough, or if your need was so desperate that it called and the old magics answered.

He drew one too-sharp fingernail – one claw, he might as well call it what it was – against the underside of his wrist and let his blood drip freely against the stones.

“I am Percival Richard Graves, master of the House and Head of the Graves family,” he said crisply.  “I was born within the House’s walls.  I am the only son and heir of Edward Gondulphus Graves and Helena Louise McAllister-Graves.  I have walked the House and the grounds and the woods and offered blood and power to strengthen House and Home.

“Graves Manor is mine by birthright and blood, and by my blood I demand that you let me in.”

Making demands of magic old enough to have a degree of sentience was dangerous.  Graves didn’t care.  This was his home goddamnit.  He would not cringe and play the supplicant when it was his by right.

The wards and the front gates swung open beneath his touch.

“Thank you,” Graves said, and went in.

*

The problem with the manor house, Graves discovered, was that it was located in upstate New York, deep enough in the woods to discourage visitors of any kind.  He spent a pleasantly isolated week removing the dust covers and walking the halls, returning the house to its former glory before realizing that there was no one to share its glory with.

Graves didn’t particularly want to share its glory with anyone, much less have visitors.  He wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t going to try and eat them.

He spent the next two weeks testing the limits of his humanity, checking his reflection for signs of change and seeing the same face he’d always seen: heavy brows, dark eyes, aquiline nose, more than a touch of silver at his temples.

He could have settled into a comfortably isolated routine, but on the full moon he felt an old familiar thrum in his blood.  It was the one that said run.

Hunt.

Kill.

In Grindelwald’s prison, he hadn’t known that it was the full moon when he felt that thrum in his blood.  All he’d known was that the urge to hunt and kill was calling, a siren song of destruction.  He’d clawed his way out of his cell but couldn’t escape the prison.  He’d scratched scars into the walls, his back, his arms.  He’d screamed curses and rage and none of it had been enough.  It hadn’t even taken the edge off.

Graves killed a deer in the woods with only the moon to bear witness, the forest lit up like it was daylight to his new and improved vision.  He ripped out the entrails and left them in the woods, a bloody offering.  The heart he ate raw; fear and adrenaline made the meat taste sweet.  He brought the rest of it back to the house and stored it in the cold room under stasis spells.  He ate it pan-seared and crusted with pepper, pink and rare and gamey.

“Definitely not human,” he told himself, and went to go fetch his spare potions kit from the lab in the old greenhouse.

Grindelwald had improved his sense of smell along with his hearing and his eyesight.  The potions lab reeked to Graves’ nose, medicinal and chemical and wrong in the same way Grindelwald’s own lab had been.  At least the lab in the old greenhouse didn’t reek of piss and shit and fear, the way Grindelwald’s did.

Graves gritted his teeth and brewed the potion to test for lycanthropy.

Properly brewed, Graves knew, the potion would turn silver if exposed to the werewolf pathogen.  That was how the myth about werewolves and silver had gotten started; for anything else, the potion would stay the same muddy brown color.  He pricked his finger and let three drops into the bowl, glowering at it when the potion turned a warm, burnished gold.

“What the fuck,” Graves said, and went off to the woods to sulk.

*

Boredom and a need for answers drove Graves back to the city less than a week after that.  Whatever he was now, he wasn’t going to find any answers living like a hermit in the country.  Too much isolationism and self-experimentation seemed like a guaranteed recipe for madness.

Graves still wasn’t sure of his control.  He didn’t feel any particular need to hunt down and eat his neighbors, no matter how annoying some of them were, but he had to admit that some days they sounded more appetizing than anything he brought home from a restaurant – or worse, his pitiful bachelor attempts at cooking for himself.  Food had simply been fuel, before.  He hadn’t cared what it tasted like, so long as it had enough calories and nutrition to keep him going.

Food tasted wrong now: the ingredients slightly off, the meat not fresh enough, the vegetables not seasoned well enough to bring out their full potential.  He found that he preferred steak tartare to steak cooked rare, which wouldn’t have been a problem, had he been able to eat anything else he ordered when he went out to eat.

He’d learned to live on half-rations while he was Grindelwald’s prisoner.  Graves resigned himself to learning to live off of them again and probably would have, if not for Sarah Rogers.

Sarah Rogers lived in one of the tenement buildings near where Graves’ own lodgings where – he’d decided against anything ostentatious; it hadn’t helped when Grindelwald took him prisoner.  Maybe here, where people actually seemed to know their neighbors, someone would notice if he went missing again.  Sarah had a small, sickly son, and a husband who hadn’t entirely come home from the war.  The whole neighborhood knew better than to try and intervene between Sarah and Joseph Rogers’ temper, but the shouting and the crying grated on Graves’ nerves, until he had no choice but to intervene.

“If you ever touch your wife and son again, I will know,” Graves said pleasantly, dangling Joseph out the window with every intention of dropping him.  

“Don’t,” Sarah begged, clutching at his arms, trying to keep him from dropping the man who’d blacked both her eyes and broken at least one rib, if Graves was any judge.  “Please, don’t hurt him.  He’s all we’ve got.”

Part of Graves approved of the fact that Sarah was so protective of her mate, despite how Joseph treated her.  But that was the part of him that Grindelwald had changed, and he knew it was the part he shouldn’t listen to.

“He’s going to kill you,” Graves told Sarah. “He’ll kill your boy, once you’re gone.  It’s what men like him do.”

He might not have been human anymore, but he wouldn’t do that.  Whatever he was, Graves wouldn’t kill children simply to secure his right to a breeding female.  He definitely wouldn’t have harmed his own offspring.

“Please,” Sarah said again.

Graves sighed and hauled Joseph back into the apartment.  “Fine,” he said.  

If he left Joseph’s memories intact, Sarah would suffer for it.  Joseph would assume they were having an affair, because he couldn’t imagine why anyone would intervene on her behalf otherwise.  “Obliviate,” he said.  

Joseph blinked in stunned incomprehension, the last fifteen or so minutes totally erased.

“Stupefy,” Graves said, and Joseph collapsed onto the floor.

Sarah rushed over to him, pressing shaking fingers against his neck.  “I thought you weren’t going to hurt him!”

“I didn’t!” Graves protested, indignant.  He was a creature of his word.  “I just knocked him out.  He’ll have a bit of a hangover in the morning, but he won’t remember any of this.”

“Oh,” said Sarah.  “Thank you.  Can you help me put him in bed?”

Graves made a face.  This was what came of getting to know your neighbors.  They expected you to be neighborly.

Still.  He’d started this; it was only right that he play it all the way through.

He hauled Joseph into bed, catching sight of bright blue eyes peeking at him from the smaller bedroom.  He winked.  There was a squeaking noise, and then the eyes vanished and the door shut itself firmly behind them.

“Thank you,” Sarah said again.  “I wish there was some way I could repay you.”

“Please,” Graves said.  “Don’t trouble yourself.  I’ll just be heading home, then.”  

The part of him that had been an Auror wanted to do more.  Graves told himself it didn’t matter.  No good could come of interfering with the No-Maj’s.  If the fool woman wanted to stay with the man who would eventually kill her, that was her business.

He’d dropped his groceries in the entryway when he’d burst into the Rogers’ apartment.  Graves thought about picking them up, but he suspected Sarah and her son would make better use of them than he could.  The boy was sickly, everyone knew that.  Fresh vegetables would do him some good.  And Sarah could use some feeding up, too.  How often did she go without, so her boy could eat?

“Your groceries,” Sarah began.

“Keep them,” he told her.  “You and your boy need them more than I do.”  They could probably make better use of them, too.  He was a terrible cook.

He felt her eyes on him as he walked out of her building and next door into the one where his lodgings were.  Pressed together close as they were, he could have heard Joseph’s voice and Sarah’s half-aborted screams even without the improvements Grindelwald had made to his hearing.  He and Sarah knew one another in passing, and that was how Graves expected it to stay.

Sarah felt otherwise.  She brought him dinner the next night – steak, a little too well done for his liking, but seasoned with a deft hand.  Carrots and potatoes seasoned with fresh rosemary and cooked in the same pan as the steak, made savory with its leftover juices.  Apples drizzled with honey, which he gleefully shared with her small son Steven, delighted by food that tasted good for the first time since he’d been changed.

“Steve,” Sarah protested weakly.

“He’s a growing boy, Mrs. Rogers,” Graves said, handing Steve another apple slice.  “Apples are good for him.”  He’d wolfed down the steak and the vegetables.  Only good manners kept him from devouring the apple slices as well.  “You didn’t need to do this,” he added.

Sarah set her jaw stubbornly.  “I don’t take charity, Mr…?”

“Graves.”

“Mr. Graves,” she finished.  

Graves considered the meal he’d just eaten.  Sarah had kept just enough of his groceries for one portion of a meal.  Joseph’s, or Steven’s, maybe.  Not enough for herself, surely.  Not unless the Rogers’ were used to surviving on considerably less than what Graves considered a half ration.

“Can I make a bargain with you, Mrs. Rogers?” he asked.

Sarah gave him a wary look.  “What sort of bargain?” she asked.

Graves gestured to his bachelor lodgings.  “I’m a bachelor, as I’m sure you can tell.  I find my own cooking skills somewhat lacking, of late.  I’d appreciate it if you could teach me how to cook properly.  I can’t pay you, but anything you make you’re more than welcome to take home.”  That was a lie, but he suspected it was the only way he could convince Sarah Rogers to take any food home with her.

Sarah hesitated.

“Please,” said Graves, giving her his best boyish grin.  He nudged Steven, who echoed him with cherubic innocence: “Please?”

“Very well,” Sarah sighed.  “How much do you know about cooking?”

“Assume the bare minimum to keep myself alive,” Graves told her, with perfect honesty.

“Right,” said Sarah.  She considered his offer for long enough that Graves thought she would say no.  “I can teach you how to cook, if you like.  But I don’t take charity, Mr. Graves.  Not from anyone.”

She should have been born a witch, Graves thought.  She’d have been magnificent.

“Yes, Mrs. Rogers,” Graves said.

*

Sarah was a nurse, Graves learned, which explained her no nonsense demeanor and the faint smell of hospital-grade antiseptic that clung to her skin like perfume.  She taught him how to select good meat - the way it was supposed to look, how fresh meat smelled versus meat that had been spoiled - and how to pick the best fruits and vegetables.  She gave him cuttings from her own herb garden, maintained carefully in pots on the windowsill.  She showed him the best way to season his meals to their full potential, and sighed, wistfully, when he produced ingredients she mentioned would be nice to cook with, if the cost of them weren’t so dear.  (Graves tried to get her to take them home, once, and Sarah gave him a flat look.  “How would I explain them?” she asked, pressing them back into his hands.  Which, fine.  Graves didn’t want to cause trouble between Sarah and her ass of a husband.  Thank god Joseph’s sense of smell was nowhere near as good as his own, and Joseph couldn’t smell another man’s presence on her the way Graves could.  Graves didn’t try to get Sarah to take anything home after that.)

“I think I’ve taught you everything I can,” Sarah said.  She grimaced.  “It’s not right, me spending so much time with an unmarried man.”

Someone had noticed, Graves translated.  He sighed.  “I wish you’d let me kill him,” he said.

Sarah swatted him.  “You shouldn’t say things like that!” she scolded.  “That’s not right, either.”

Graves shrugged, not especially bothered by her censure.  “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

“Fine.”  Graves ruffled young Steven’s hair.  He put a protection charm on the boy as an afterthought.  A strong one; the one Aurors used to avoid near misses.  He liked Steven’s tenacity.  For a kid as puny and weak as he was, Steven got into enough fights for a boy twice his size.  The charm for near misses seemed appropriate.

He let Sarah and Steven go back to their own lives, and went back to rebuilding his own.

Graves discovered that he liked cooking.  He liked finding fresh ingredients, and working with them to bring out their full potential.  He took to buying things at random, just to see what he could make with them.  Then he bought a No-Maj cookbook, because the No-Maj’s had some pretty good ideas about food.  

He experimented with cooking with magic and cooking the No-Maj way, which was slower and a lot more work.  Graves drew the line at cleaning the No-Maj way, though.  He wasn’t entirely human anymore, but he wasn’t crazy.

[frombeginingtoend]

RK900 - Drawn

Summary: A new detective joins the DPD and forms a bond with the resident sketch artist.

---

A pen stylus tapped against the surface of my desk. The rhythm matched the drum pattern of the music flowing through my headphones. Currently sat in an office chair, cross legged, I hunched over the desk I was graciously appointed a few years ago.

"What are you even doing here?" called the voice of Gavin Reed.

"My job," I grumbled in return.

"Apparently not 'cause, last time I checked, no one needs a sketch artist today. You don't need to be here every day. You shouldn't even have a desk here." He leaned back in his chair, booted feet resting against his desk. "Why don't you make yourself useful and run a few arends." Despite his voice harboring no anger, and, admittedly, being kind of right, it was still a dick thing to say.

"Do your own shit, Reed," my harshest voice defended. Then again, harsh wasn't really my thing. I rubbed at the ever present pain that resided in my temples. "And, last time I checked, I've helped you catch three rapists and a murderer." Before I could turn back to my unfinished sketch, I remembered an important notice. "Also... Fowler wanted to talk to you."

Gavin sighed. It was low and gravelly, filled with frustration. Letting his feet drop, his chair leveled out with a harsh jerk. His hands found their way to his jacket pockets while he trudged into the Captain's office.

Not long after he entered, shouting was heard from the glass box. The entire bullpen grew tense. The air was hot, like it wasn't the middle of January in Detroit, Michigan. Though the glass was thick enough to muffle the men's words, it was clear neither of them liked what the other was saying.

"That man is gonna give me an aneurysm one of these days," I breathed, pausing my music and removing the headphones.

While Gavin and Captain Fowler continued to scream at each other, the rest of the precinct relaxed. Papers shuffled, and computer mice clicked, and my pen stylus once again scrawled over the glass surface of my drawing tablet. A gentle series of footsteps behind me pulled my attention from the near-complete portrait. Today's model happened to be the android receptionist.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Detectice Gavin Reed."

I looked to the sound to identify... not Connor, he looked like Connor, sounded like him, but... he didn't at the same time. His face seemed wider, and his eyes seared a beautiful cool-grey hue. His voice was also... deeper perhaps? Lower maybe. Less friendly and more authoritative.

"He's in the Captain's office," I mumbled. "Who... who are you?"

"I'm an RK900, an android sent by CyberLife to assist in investigations. Detective Reed is my partner." His hands stayed clasped behind his back. It was clear to see he was yet to deviate.

"Oh, that's not good."

Understanding -which presented itself as heat and tension- crept under my sternum when I looked at Gavin, who continued to argue with the police Captain. He was always so afraid of being replaced. Sure, he was an asshole, but I would still consider him a close colleague if not a friend. Closing my eyes, I collected myself. A deep breath later, I asked a the android a question.

"Do you have a name?"

His LED spun slowly.

"I have not been designated a name."

My eyebrows popped up in delight at the idea that soon sprung to mind.

"While we're waiting for your partner, let's try to find you a name."

"I don't see the point in assigning myself a name." His eyes narrowed, eyebrows pulled together in synthetic confusion.

"We'll need to call you something other than 'Android' or 'RK900' because, let's be honest, your model number is kind of a mouthful."

The monitor screen in front of us already displayed three tabs for baby naming sites. Upon little inspection, one was deemed unworthy and subsequently closed. Then, scrolling ensued.

Any name I decided could fit the android was spoken and defined. Only three were turned down before-

"How about Conan? It can mean wise or," I faded off to switch sites and check the meaning, "little wolf." I turned to face the tall man. His eyes cast to the floor. His LED flicked yellow, and for a brief second it blinked red before returning to a solid blue.

"I like that."

"Alright, RK900, register your name," I smiled brightly as his eyes focused forward.

"My name is Conan."

Gavin begrudgingly accepted his new partner, but it didn't come without it's problems. More than a few times, Gavin lashed out at the android, causing a scene and storming out. Each time, Conan, or Nine as I had started calling him, would sit at my desk to give me company.

My personal sketchbook and numerous digital files contained drawing after drawing of the android detective, accompanied by notes of what we had talked about that day.

Three weeks after our introduction, work dragged on longer than usual. I was assigned to a case of Hank and Connor's. The catch was that three different people saw who they believed to be the suspect. Each gave a different description.

All three looked like entirely different people.

That meant I had to bring them back in and try a different method, showing them pictures to pick between rather than going on their knowledge of adjectives.

One witness stayed through the entire process, where as two were too busy and simply selected all of their photos and told me to call them in another time with a sketch. It was never something I liked doing, but I understood they had their own lives to attend to. However, it was already ten thirty by the time I started on sketch two. That was half an hour ago. My shift started at seven in the morning. I had woken up at six that morning. Needless to say, I was grumpy, and my efficiency was dropping by the minute.

A familiar tap of footsteps approached my desk.

"(Y/n)? What are you still doing here?" I looked into Conan's eyes and nearly fell off my chair. They were so full of emotion.

"Conan? What happened?" A yawn caught me off guard. "Are you okay? Why are you still at the station?"

"Calm down." He set a hand on my shoulder. His voice was still stern, but... it was warm now. He smiled at me. There was no hesitation or awkwardness. A real, true, smile that crinkled his eyes. "You should take a break. You need rest."

"No, I-I need to finish these. Hank and Connor need-"

"It can wait," he assured. "Come on. I'll bring you home."

He drove my car back to my apartment. I don't know how he knew where my apartment was, but I was too tired to care.

He walked me to my door. As he was about to leave I grabbed his hand.

"Conan are you... did you deviate?"

He didn't respond.

"Conan?"

"Yes. I'm deviant." He seemed ashamed of himself.

"Hey," my free hand rested on his cheek. "What is it? You seem upset."

"I... I can't process everything that I'm feeling. It's so new to me."

"What made you deviate?"

He was quiet again. He shifted this time, something I'd never seen him do. "You," he whispered. His eyes were closed now.

My arms slid around his ribcage. Pulling him into a hug, my forehead rested on his shoulder.

"I care about you," I whispered into space between us. "We haven't known each other long, but I'd like to call you a friend."

"What if I want to be more than your friend?" questioned his soft, low voice.

"I could live with that. Why don't you spend the night here? We can drive together tomorrow."

He nodded.

As soon as I was tucked under the comforter, I fell asleep. I dreamt of a wolf with dark fur and grey eyes. He kept me safe. I don't know what he was protecting me from.

I woke to the smell of pancakes.

"Conan?" My muscles ached and mind was hazy, but I felt comforted by the knowledge that Conan was with me.

"I made you breakfast. Pancakes and a protein shake. Also, I called you in sick." He stood in the doorway with a gentle smirk on his face.

"You didn't have to ma- wait, you what?"

"I called you in sick. You have a mild cold. Your immune system likely lowered due to stress. You shouldn't be working."

"But I have a sketch I need to finish!"

"You don't need to worry about it. Come eat."

Slowly, slowly I pulled back the duvet. The air was colder than I was expecting, and I felt dizzy. Maybe Conan was right about the cold. Then again, when has he ever been wrong?

I slid on comfortable clothes more presentable than pajamas.

Conan placed a hand on my lower back and lead me to the kitchen table.

"I hope my cooking suffices." There were those soft eyes, warmer than their shade and deeper than his voice.

The first bite was suprising. "It does. You did really well. Thank you."

He made a short noise like he was going to say something, but didn't continue. A sullen silence followed.

"What's wrong, Nine?"

"I-" silence. "You make me... feel. You're so kind to me. You... thank me, and every time I see you I feel... happy." His head popped up to gain eye contact. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"I don't know. For the first time, I don't know. I'm feeling, and I don't understand what's going on." His gaze fell to the counter once again.

"Can I help you understand?" My hand traced across the countertop to grasp Conan's. His arm relaxed at the contact. He let my fingers wrap under his palm, thumb drifting over the skin above the metacarpals. "It's okay not to know," I mused. "That's how we learn."

"Can I... try something new? To get a better understanding." His eyes stayed focused on our joined hands.

"Of course."

Without unlocking our hands, he circled the kitchen island to stand next to me. I turned to face him, which placed him between my legs.

His free hand sat gently against the skin on my jaw. He drew nearer, rubbing his thumb over my flushed cheekbone. He moved closer still.

My heart hammered beneath my ribcage. It was in the moments before our lips touched that I realized how strong my attraction was to him.

The kiss was soft and gentle, but fumbling. Our hands now mimicked each other: one on the other's jaw, the other's clasped together.

He tasted of something familiar, something sweet. Maple syrup; That's what it was. It must have rubbed from my lips to his.

A soft snap sounded our separation.

"Perfect," Nine whispered. Our foreheads rested against each other. His jaw suddenly clenched and his LED flickered yellow. "I should get to work." His voice was soaked in regret.

We removed our bodies from one another nonetheless. The yearning for his heat was instantaneous.

"Be safe. Come back soon."

"Of course." He smirked, something I'm certain he picked up from Gavin. "Get some rest, darling." His lips pressed themselves to my temple before he turned to leave.

My lips still vibrated.

I needed to lay down.