#this is a survey to see what kind of active people i have around

[five-rivers]

Welcome Back Home

Phic Phight Fic for Avi!

Danny may have been a superhero.  He may have been annoying.  He may even have been ‘practically an adult.’  He was still Jazz’s little brother.  The one who had once begged her for play time and increasingly baffling milkshake combinations.  The one who helped her fight reanimated turkeys every Christmas.  The one who painstakingly researched what books to give her for her birthday.

So, it wasn't so much a choice to throw herself between him and her parents’ newest and most worrying weapon as it was a reflex.  If any thought crossed her mind while she dashed across the parking lot and into the path of the beam, it was either this is going to hurt or I hope I'm fast enough.

Well, it didn't hurt. It did drop her in the Ghost Zone. Immediately, She whirled, trying to find the portal.

Way back, when she and Danny had come clean about their respective secrets, Danny had sat her down for what he called his ‘Ghost Zone Survival Guide.’

“Okay,” he'd said, spinning in his spinny chair, “Ghost Zone survival, part one.  Don't go there.”

Tucker had snorted.  Jazz, who had taken out a fresh notebook and her special note-taking gel pens, glared at him.  

“I'm serious,” Danny had defended himself.  “The Zone isn't a good place for humans.”

“Why?”

“Do you want some reason other than it operating under different laws of physics and being full of super-powered people who don't care if they kill you by mistake?  The radiation, maybe?”

“Never mind.  Go ahead.”

“That's what I thought.  Anyway, if you wind up going through an unstable or temporary portal, the first thing you need to do is go back through that portal.  Like, forget about anything else that's going on.  Fights, escapes, your car, other people, get yourself back through.”

“That seems a bit callous,” Jazz had said.  

“Well, maybe.  But the Ghost Zone is huge, and natural portals and temporary portals aren't just unstable in space, they're unstable in time.”

“They could spit you out in my first life, the middle ages, a thousand years in the future, you name it,” Tucker had helpfully added.  

“First life?”

“Don't worry about it,” Danny had said.  

“Pharaonic Egypt,” Tucker had answered.  

“The point is,” Danny had continued loudly, “you don't want to take a chance with portals unless you know they're stable or have the Infi-Map.”

“Or time grandpa has your back.”

“Stop calling him that.”

“Who is–”

“It doesn't matter.  He doesn't have your back.  He doesn't have anyone's back.”

Tucker had made a noise of negation.  “He has your back.”

Danny had responded by beaning his friend with a pillow.  

Somehow, despite being genuinely informative, Jazz had come away from the ‘lesson’ With more questions than answers.  None of which were pertinent to her present situation.  

She turned on the spot again, surveying her surroundings in more detail.  It didn't help.  No matter which direction she turned in, there was no portal.  

So.  Step one: failed.  

Onto step two.  

“What if I can't get back through the portal though?” Jazz had asked.  

“Well, if you aren't being actively attacked–”

“You should definitely take care of that first if you are.”

“If you aren't under attack, see if you can spot any landmarks.  If you can see one, you'll at least have a general idea of where you are.  Mostly.”

“We're making a map,” Tucker had said, “but it sucks.”

“That's not a comment on our self-confidence or whatever,” Danny had said before Jazz could interject.  “Stuff moves in the Ghost Zone.  It's kind of like trying to make a map of the solar system.  If you're sitting on Jupiter, you know where the sun is, and you've got a pretty good idea about the inner planets, but unless you have a model you can put the time into, you're not going to have any idea where Pluto is.”

“And you wouldn't know the right time, either,” Jazz had said, contemplatively.  

“Exactly.  But landmarks are still good.  They'll give you your general area, at least.  And maybe what else is around, too.”  He'd given her a photo album full of Ghost Zone landmarks, then, and they'd spent the next half hour going through them.

Jazz was on a floating island.  It was medium-sized, perhaps a dozen or so acres square on this side, full of softly rolling hills covered with purple grass and pale green flowers.  As far as Jazz could tell, there wasn't anything else on it, although that didn't mean there wasn't.  It didn’t look like any place she'd seen or heard of.  

Offshore, the Zone was a moderately-familiar green-on-green.  Foggy ectoplasm and the lack of anything like a horizon made it difficult to judge distances.  

There were a few other islands Jazz could see.  Something like a mountain range, a floating sphere, and, just on the edge of her vision, a slightly more regular conglomeration of shapes that could have been a town.  

Bingo.  

“If you don't recognize anything, do your best to head towards civilization.”

Jazz had raised an eyebrow at that.  “Despite the super-powered people who don't care if I die?”

“She’s got you there, Danny my man.”

“Ugh, why couldn't Sam have been here?”

“Gasp, don't tell me you forgot the mega-ultra-turbo grounding already?  How could you?”

Danny had thrown another pillow at Tucker.  “You're so unhelpful.  Anyway, people are dangerous, but they're also the only place you're going to get directions.”

“And if I see something, how do I get there?  Considering everything is a flying island.”

“That’s a bit tricky.”

Jazz bounced on her the balls of her feet, staring down the green void between herself and her destination.  She’d never done this before, and despite Danny and Tucker’s attempts at an explanation, or even Sam’s later on…  Well, she felt like she should’ve convinced them to bring her to the Ghost Zone to practice.  

There was nothing she could do but try.  She closed her eyes and jumped into the air, believing she could fly with all her might.  Her feet hit the ground again.  Damn.  

One, two, three, she tried again, and again, and again, and then, finally, when she got mad, when she got frustrated, her feet left the ground and stayed off the ground.  She was flying, like only a human in the Ghost Zone could fly.  

She opened her eyes and looked over to the distant probably-town.  It was just as distant as before.  And now she was exhausted from jumping.  Both the jumping right now, and the jumping into the line of fire she’d done earlier.  

Well, no time like the present to get going.  She took off.  

The little details of Danny’s advice hadn’t stuck with her - he’d really waxed poetic - but she was still able to move forward.  She also spent a lot of time moving down whenever her concentration slipped.  Of course, she knew it wasn’t really down, thanks to those same conversations with Danny.  It was just the direction she perceived as down, or something like that.  

Danny liked flying like this.  Danny liked every method of flying to ever exist.  Jazz, personally, hated it.  A lot.  Every minute that passed, every time she slipped, she was terrified that she would go plunging into the murky depths of the Zone, never to be seen again.  

Danny hadn’t been wrong about the Ghost Zone not being good for humans.  

Thank goodness the town really was a town.  She wasn’t sure what she would have done if it wasn’t.  

“If I do get to civilization–”

“--or what passes for it–” Tucker had said.  

“--what do I do then?  Be polite, I assume, but what’s polite for ghosts?  What are the cultural touchstones?  The social norms?”

“Dunno,” Danny had said.  “It’s not like ghosts are just one big group that’s all the same.  But if you get to a group of ghosts, like, I don’t know a village or something, they’ll all probably be fairly tolerant.  To live together without fighting, you know?  Normal politeness will be fine.  Probably.  Assuming they can speak English.”

She managed a landing at the edge of the town.  She hit too hard, and her knees buckled.  A few ghosts stopped what they were doing - she didn’t know what, couldn’t spare the attention while flying - to stare at her.  With an effort she smiled at them.  Closed lips.  Many cultures considered smiles with teeth to be aggressive or rude.  

“Hi,” she said.  “I was wondering if you could help me.”

“Kio?  Kio ŝi diris?”

“Mi ne scias, mi ne parolas la francan.”

Ah.  She should’ve taken up Tucker’s offer to teach her some basic Esperanto.  Danny was never going to let her live this down.  

“Okay, so, what do I do if they don’t speak English?” she’d asked.  

“Get good at charades?  You probably won’t be able to get good directions without speaking the language - I have no idea how you’d do the portal in charades - but you can trade stuff.  Bargain, barter, whatever you want to call it.”

“For food?  Supplies?”

“Eh, not food, actually.  Ghost Zone food is mostly ectoplasm.  Not good for humans.”

“Then what?  Well, you’ll think it’s crazy, but…”

Somehow or another, she got the idea of marketplace and trade across to the ghosts.  Apparently the Esperanto word was related to the English.  Cousins.  Brothers.  Whatever, it didn’t matter.  

What did matter was what she was going to trade to the ghosts.  All she had was her purse, and for a teenage girl, she traveled light.  She had her wallet, parking change, a small handful of coupons, number two pencils, a pencil sharpener, a pen, various hygiene products, lipstick, laser, lipstick laser, sunscreen, the universal pocket psychology guide, granola bars, a screwdriver, a couple of bolts from the Peeler - if only she kept that in her purse - spiked bracelet from Spike, phone, and, okay, she didn’t pack that light.  There should be something in all this that the ghosts here would probably like.

The ghosts who had seen her less-than-stellar landing ushered her to a colorful, cloth-covered stall, the contents of which looked like the detritus of a million flea markets.  The ghost… manning it?  Ghosting it?  Haunting it?  What was the terminology in this case?  Whatever.  The ghost at the stall was pale green and nondescript except for the swathes of polka-dotted cloth wrapped around their body.  

They stared at her with wide eyes.  “Ĉu tio estas homo?  Viva homo?”

She smiled, forcefully.  That didn’t sound like a hello, but she’d take it.  “Hello,” she said.  “Do you have any boxes?”  She made the shape of a box with her hands.  

“The Box Ghost?  You’re saying that if I can’t get directions, my next step is to try to summon the Box Ghost?”

“Hey, believe it or not I’ve got an agreement with a lot of the regulars.  If they bring back lost humans, they get, um.  A nonlethal free day.  In Amity Park.  I can get you a list.  And even if you end up in a weird time, like, before I made the deal or something, the Box Ghost is pretty easy.  Worst case scenario, you can even let Walker catch you.  He always sends humans back.”

Jazz sat on the edge of the town, a cardboard box in hand, purse lighter by a novelty pencil sharpener and the spare screws and bolts.  “Oh, great and powerful and completely terrifying Box Ghost,” she said, feeling ridiculous.  “I have an offering for your awful, terribleness.  It’s cubical and cardboard-ical.  Cardboard.  Whatever.”  She sighed.  “This isn’t going to work, is it?”

“DID SOMEONE CALL UPON THE FRIGHTENING AND FRIGHTFUL BOX GHOST, MASTER OF RECTANGULAR CARDBOARD PACKAGES?”

Jazz shrieked and almost fell off the island.  

The Box Ghost blinked down at her.  “Beware?” he said.

“Hi,” said Jazz.  “A gift?”  She held up the box.  

“THE CARDBOARD IS MINE!”  He leaped on the box and held it to his chest like a baby.  “What do you want from the HORRIFYING BOX GHOST?”

“So, uh, I know you have a deal with my brother?”

“WHOMST?”

“My brother,” repeated Jazz.  “Danny.  Phantom?”

The Box Ghost stared at her blankly.  

“To get humans back to Amity Park?”

“THE BOX GHOST DOES NOT KNOW THE REALM OF WHICH YOU SPEAK?”

That wasn’t good.  The opposite, really.  If the Box Ghost didn’t recognize Danny’s name…

“What if I am in the past?” Jazz had asked.

“Get back to Earth anyway, and survive.  Find a way to get a message to the present.  Between the Infi-Map and, um, other contacts I have–”

“Time grandpa,” Tucker interjected.  

“I should be able to go get you if I know where and when you are.  But I need to know when and where you are.”

Then, Jazz had asked why he couldn't just pick her up at the exact moment she'd arrived, if he was going to time travel anyway, and that had spurred a migrane-inducing argument about paradoxes.  Jazz had gotten the impression that the real reason was more along the lines of ‘Danny isn’t allowed to have any more paradoxes’ than ‘the universe won't let paradoxes exist.’

Jazz smiled thinly.  “Can you get me to Earth?” she asked.  “Please?  It’ll be worth your while.”

“Worth the while of the GREAT BOX GHOST?”

“Yep.  It might take a while, but you’ll get more of those.”  She nodded towards the box in the ghost’s arms.  “Consider it an investment in future, um, fear.”

“FEAR?”

“Yes.  As in, um, fear me?”

“No, you shall FEAR ME!”

“Exactly,” said Jazz.  “Just like that.  Can you do it?  Or… is it beyond the powers of even the Box Ghost?”

“NOTHING IS BEYOND THE BOX GHOST!  I AM EXTREME IN EVERY WAY!  THE BOX GHOST WILL SHOW THE STRANGE GIRL WITH GIFTS THE WAY TO HIS SECRET PORTAL!”

At least something was going right.  “Thanks,” Jazz said.  “That sounds great.  I really appreciate it.  Where is it?”

“FOLLOW ME!”  The Box Ghost paused.  “AND FEAR ME!”

He flew off, and Jazz struggled to keep up.  Luckily, the Box Ghost was courteous enough to stop for her every once in a while.  The flight seemed to go on forever, but, eventually, they came to a stop in front of a twisting, spluttering portal.  

“Does this really lead to the Earth?” Jazz asked.  

“THE BOX GHOST DOES NOT LIE!”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to imply that.  It’s just… is it always so sparky?”

“IT IS UNSTABLE!  ONLY THE BOX GHOST IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO USE IT!”

Which meant that it could spit her out anywhere, at any time.  But at least she’d be on Earth, AKA somewhere she could eat the food and drink the water.  

“It doesn’t come out above an ocean, does it?”

“THERE ARE NO BOXES IN THE OCEAN.  THE BOX GHOST HAS NO USE FOR IT.”

“What about crab pots?” asked Jazz.

“THE BOX GHOST DOES NOT INTERFERE WITH THE COUNCILS OF CRABS.”

Jazz… wasn’t going to examine that too closely.  She braced herself and flew into the portal.  The transition this time wasn’t the smooth, blink-and-you’re-in-another-dimension it had been with her parents’ weapon.  It had turbulence, and lots of it.  It was like being in a washing machine.  Or a blender.  A really fast blender.  One that pulsed and shook and sang a song while it was at it.  

It spit her out ten feet above ground.  It wouldn’t have been a problem for a ghost, but for a human…  Well, at least she didn’t break any bones.  Instead, she laid, winded, on the ground.  Tall grass framed her vision on all sides.  The sun was hot overhead.  Which was… less than ideal.  It had been Autumn this morning.  However long from now that was.  

Jazz rubbed her temples.  All she had to do was send a message, satisfy Danny’s no-paradox rule, and then she’d be home.  Until then, she would survive.  She refused to saddle Danny with the guilt associated with her disappearing.  

She got up.  Looked around.  There was a dirt road.  She staggered over to it and flipped a coin to decide whether to go left or right.  Left it was.  

She grew steadier as she walked, but the heat was punishing.  She took off her sweater and was tempted to take her shirt off, too.  She was wearing a sports bra underneath.  It wasn’t like it’d be indecent.  

Unless she’d been dropped into the eighteen hundreds.  Best not to risk it.  

The dirt road became gravel, became poorly-paved asphalt, merged onto another, bigger road… A road with a recognizable name.  Jazz wasn’t that far away from Amity Park.  She could probably even call… home…

“I’m stupid,” she said out loud.  She pulled out her phone.  No service.  Typical.  She kept walking.  And walking.  And walking.  

And then she saw the smoke.  Right where Amity Park should be.  She ran, then.  

She crested the hill, passed the Welcome to Amity Park sign - something was off about it, but she didn’t stop to try and see what it was.  She hit the top of the next hill and stopped.  

That– That wasn’t Amity Park.  At least, it wasn’t her Amity Park.  The buildings were bigger.  Shinier.  Whiter, even.  The logo for the GIW sat proudly on one of the tallest ones.

And so many of them were smashed.  Burning.  Green blurs swirled and fought with white ones.  She sat down.

“And what if I wind up in the future instead?”

“I don't know, hope the rest of us don't cause the apocalypse before you get back?”

There was one more explosion, and then a high-pitched wail, a ghostly wail, threw all of the shapes back and away.  The white ones didn’t come back.  

Jazz… wasn’t sure what to do.  She watched.  She waited.  

And then a familiar shape appeared out of the air in front of her.  It was Danny, but… not.  He was thinner.  Sharper.  There was silver and ice in his hair, and blood and ectoplasm on his face.  “Hi, Jazz,” he said, smiling sheepishly despite the dark gleam in his eyes.  “Well… it isn’t the apocalypse, so…”  He spread his hands to either side, and the GIW building behind him fell over.  “Welcome home?”

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 8

chapter 7 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 9

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: when death comes knocking, you can only answer the door.

a/n: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek where do i even start 🥺 i’m just gonna say i’m sorry in advance and leave it at that, but if you read between lines you’ll understand. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! they do keep me motivated. as always, THANK YOU for reading. see you on the other side! x

warnings: 18+, mdni. a LOT of angst and drama incoming. cutesy fluff. established relationship (my babies 😭).  no smut in this one, don’t hate me! mentions of alcoholism and drugs as coping mechanisms. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). clickers steal the show 😖. death everywhere so be warned. swear words. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~5k.

tags aka the drama wagon (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

The patrolling shifts had increased around Chicago River and Interstate 90. The Rioters had allocated more resources to survey the borders of the area their people inhabited. In the following days to your disastrous incursion, clickers’ activity had peaked. They were coming closer, so it was decided to dispatch them as they neared.

You were all tired, but there was no rest for the wicked. They kept on moving eastwards, as if something was calling them. No one had been able to figure out why, but the answer to that question didn’t really matter. You suspected that something happened that night at the hospital ― maybe Sasha and her team did something they shouldn’t have.

You would never know, so you tried to stir your thoughts away from what would remain a mystery.

You rolled on bed, the early morning light shining a ray on your face. You grunted in discomfort. Your whole body ached ― those patrols were physically intense, but also mentally exhausting. After all, the infected had been people. A father, an auntie, a brother-in-law, a loving child… All those stories were lost to the wind, and you just hoped there still were people who remembered them as they had been before succumbing to the fungus.

You pouted ― That wasn’t how you wanted to start your day.

Still sleepy, your hand dabbed the bedsheets on your right, unconsciously looking for him.

Joel wasn’t by your side. You frowned in confusion and sat up on the bed, rubbing your eyes. As you got up and walked towards the en-suite, you heard Joel and Tommy talking on the other side of the door, where the living room was.

It was a heated argument ― an everyday occurrence lately. Since you three arrived at Chicago almost five months ago, the brothers appeared to headbutt very often. It didn’t take you long to realise that Tommy’s attitude had gradually changed over time, the alcohol being the main culprit. The bubbly, kind Tommy you had come to meet was buried somewhere underneath that ethanolic stench.

You missed his jests, his nonchalance, his light-heartedness. Buy you did understand him too ― he needed an escape from reality. You all did, really. It was just sad that was his choice of inflicting himself with absent-mindedness.

“You spent the night in the fucking cell, really?”, you heard Joel whisper angrily.

Tommy replied, but his speech was so slurred you couldn’t make out his answer.

“I don’t fucking care for your excuses anymore, Tommy, you need to get your shit together. I need you sober, for fuck’s sake ― the situation is getting dire here, we’ll need to leave soon. In this state, you can barely walk”, you knew Joel was getting frustrated attempting to reason with the younger Miller.

You contained a fatigued sigh ― Joel had tried his best these past months to help Tommy straighten out his path. But you couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped. You just wished Joel understood that. But you knew he wouldn’t give up on his brother so easily. His only living relative.

You sauntered towards the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You were in the middle of doing so when you heard Joel enter the room. His reflection appeared in the mirror in front of you and you smiled at him, your mouth full of toothpaste. The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly as he placed a heavy hand on the small of your back, his lips brushing your right temple. You closed your eyes at the soothing touch. You quickly bent over to spit the toothpaste and rinse your mouth.

“He’ll come around”, you said as his hand draped around your waist, yours stroking his forearm instinctively.

Joel humphed. “I hope so”, he muttered, his mouth pressed against your crown. “It’s not safe here anymore, darlin’, I think we should head somewhere else”.

“I hear Canada is lovely this time of the year”, you joked, hoping to lighten the mood. His expression didn’t flinch ― worry distorting his rugged, gorgeous face. “I know, I know… Could we wait a few days at least? Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve”, you blinked at him.

He considered it for a few seconds before giving in. “Alright, we’ll leave on the twenty sixth”.

You clapped your hands together, a smile widening your features. Joel cocked an inquiring brow.

“Well, Joyce is throwing a party on Christmas Day at hers and, uhmm, I kinda told her we were coming?”. His brow furrowed even more. “Pretty please?”, you begged, your fingers laced in a prayer.

You knew Joel didn’t like socialising nor big gatherings, but it was just one teeny tiny ask. You flashed your eyelashes at him.

“Okay, it won’t hurt, I guess”, he conceded reluctantly.

With an excited squeal, you turned around in his embrace, circling his neck with your arms. You stood on your tiptoes as Joel leaned forward to kiss you.

The day went by slowly. You had been assigned to the evening patrol ― your hunting duties put on hold until further notice. With all this clickers’ activity, it wasn’t safe to venture out. To your dislike, Joel had been in the afternoon one, so you kissed him goodbye when you took over. At least Tommy was with you.

You were stationed in the bridge on West Madison Street, the Lyric Opera of Chicago to your right. There was a total of ten people in your group, each one of you covering different positions. When clickers approached, you shot them through the rifle scope. It had become a mindless game, like the one you used to play in the arcade when you were younger ― Wolfenstein 3D.

Hours had gone by, and you had been standing up for so long that your feet hurt. You eyed the red, thick metal railing to your left and, with a little jump, you sat on top ― your legs dangling in front of you, facing southwards and the rifle conveniently placed on your lap. Tommy joined you a few minutes later.

He remained silent and so did you. Although he was somewhat sober, you could smell the alcohol on him. It was bad enough that he drank himself to oblivion in his free time, but it was not great he came to patrol with dulled senses.

You took a deep breath.

“Your brother needs you, y’know?”, you said with resignation. His eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance, but you could see the pain in them. “We’ll be leaving in three days, Tommy, and we both need you. This reckless path of yours could have dreadful consequences, not only for us, but for yourself… We are both here to help you out, but you’re shutting us out ― Joel is worried sick and, to be honest, so am I. And I get it, this world sucks… but you’ve got us. The people you are meeting up with… They aren’t good for you.”

He didn’t say a word for a long minute. It was probably not fair of you to pester him with your not-so-uplifting speech, but he needed to hear it. As much as you liked Tommy, what troubled you the most was that it would destroy Joel if he lost Tommy too. It had taken him a long time to open up, to start living again, and Tommy was undoing all that hard work Joel had put in.

He sighed heavily, turning to look at you.

“Do I? And please don’t get me wrong ― I’m happy for both of you. But you’ve got Joel and Joel’s got you. Again, nothing wrong with that, but it sometimes feels lonely, y’know? That’s what drove me to Laney and her group, they get me. Yeah, sure, the alcohol, the drugs ― it ain’t great, but it helps. But I know I need to get my shit together, believe me, I do, it’s just… hard”, he shrugged.

Your eyes softened, downcast expression. You knew you were just brushing the surface; it wasn’t just that he felt left out. This new world was devastating, it toyed with your mind, making you believe things that were never really there ― a figment of your imagination, of your worst fears.

You palmed his forearm to cheer him up.

“As hard as it is, I’m sure you’ll still come out the other end just fine”, you smiled, but he was evading your eyes. “You only need to reach out, Tommy. We’re here for whatever you need of us.”

You got home past midnight. You were so worn out, you just whispered goodbye to Tommy and headed towards your shared bedroom with Joel. The handle made a screeching noise, then the door creaked when you pushed it. You scrunched your face in frustration ― you didn’t want to wake Joel up if he had fallen asleep. He had trouble in doing so, his nightmares still haunted him.

You quietly closed the door behind you. The room was dark, the silence only broken by his faint snoring. You grinned ― he did snore, as much as it pained him to admit it. Tiptoeing towards your end of the bed, you scattered your clothes on the floor. Only wearing your panties, you sneaked under the bedsheets. There was no heating, but Joel’s body radiated enough warmth to keep you both cozy for the whole night ― so you curled up against his back, nipples grazing his bare skin, your left arm around his waist and your hand gently pressed against his chest. You could feel his ribcage raising with every breath he took.

He lulled you to sleep, your mind slowly drifting away. He really was your safe haven.

You smiled absentmindedly, a snug sentiment weighing in your belly. You kissed him where his shoulder blades met and whispered, “I love you.”

Maybe he dreamt it. He was not sure.

Maybe his unconsciousness made it up. He was not sure.

However it came to be, that “I love you” had been haunting his mind the whole day. His chest felt tight, a longing ache lodged in his core. Joel had not been able to get rid of that feeling ― being honest, he didn’t want it to disappear. As much as it was painful, it was also hopeful.

His heart fluttered with yearning at the memory, only coming back to reality when you elbowed his side. He had not heard what you said, but your features had lit up with your laugh. The biggest muscle in his chest skipped a beat at such beautiful melody.

“I bet you were the taciturn type as a kid, right, Joel?”, Joyce asked him, question marks dancing in her pupils.

“I was a normal, boring kid. Played a bit of baseball and went on a few fishing trips with our old man, but that’s about it. So yeah, I guess taciturn covers it”, he replied, spooning the stew into his mouth.

Tommy huffed taking a sip of the moonshine in his cup, but didn’t say anything.

The three of you ―Joel, Tommy and yourself― were in the canteen in the Art Institute of Chicago. Joyce, her granddaughter Ava, Walter and a few others were sat around the table, everyone sharing funny snippets of their childhood. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, which seemed to have lightened the mood a bit, some people had even sang some Christmas carols.

“What about you, sweet pea?”, Joyce turned her attention to you.

“I was a weird kid”, you admitted with a laugh. “Used to love bugs, and I really mean love bugs. I had a huge terrarium, a beautiful ant’s nest. I used to go out and picked some of them off the anthill in our backyard to bring them to my colony. Not gonna lie, it was fascinating seeing how the ants would work together to build their little glass community”, you shared while devouring Joyce’s stew. “Then one day, quite a few ants bit me as I was trying to relocate them to a different part of the terrarium, and they fucked me up real bad. Got a terrible infection, was in hospital for two weeks. When I came back, the whole colony was dead, my parents didn’t even let me have a look at it. It was heartbreaking. After that, I steered clear of any type of bugs. I cared for them, even named every one of them, and that’s how they paid me in return? Little bastards”, you cackled, shaking your head.

“You were indeed weird, sweetheart”, Joel muttered so low, you thought you were the only one who heard it.

You patted his hand with a chuckle, unconsciously leaning towards him, your shoulders touching. You always gravitated towards Joel, you just couldn’t control it. Your eyes met and you giggled ― his smirk widened.

“Guilty”, you whispered, his hand enveloping yours under the table.

You had forgotten Joyce was sat across you until she cleared her throat.

“So, you two lovebirds are a couple yet, or what?”, her not-so-innocent question caught you completely off guard.

Shit, shit, you thought, almost choking on your food. You had not talked to Joel about what you two really were. You loved him wholeheartedly, but you didn’t need to put a label to your relationship. At least not yet. You didn’t want to pressure him ― you knew Joel would come around when he was ready.

“Uh, well, we…”, you stammered, your heart racing so fast you thought you were going to throw it up in your bowl.

Joel’s hand gripped yours tighter.

“Yeah, we are”, he replied, matter-of-factly.

Your soul literally left your body. You scrutinised his face in awe ― your lips dissevered, sparkly eyes, speechless. A wave of relief washed over you. He did love you; you just knew it in your heart. The immense love you suddenly felt almost throttled you. If your brain was a functioning organ, you would have hugged and reciprocated him ― but your mind was still short-circuiting.

Joel’s hazel eyes held yours prisoner. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he didn’t need to be ― his orbs spoke for him. They were soft, tender, loving. You heard Joyce’s snicker, but your eyes could not leave Joel’s. There were so many things you wanted to say but couldn’t ― your heart was drowning in oxytocin.

“Why do you look so surprised, sweet pea?”, said the older woman, hardly containing a guffaw.

Before you could find any words to answer Joyce, a shrieking cry disrupted the festive atmosphere. People got up a few tables away from you, screaming so loud you couldn’t make out their words.

A few seconds later, another commotion took place but from the other end of the room.

“Infected! They are infected!”, someone shouted.

Panic spread quickly. People started running, cramming around the two exits. Pushing their way out, elbowing anyone in their way with no regards to children or the elderly. Then you saw a young girl in the middle of a circle, people trying to keep their distance from her. You recognised her from the patrols but couldn’t remember her name.

Then she propelled forward, tackling a man to the ground. He screeched loudly, trying to free himself.

“No, get away from me! Aaaarghhh!”, then silence.

You had gotten up. More cries came from the opposite direction, but you didn’t dare to look. Joel’s hand on your shoulder forced you out of your trance, and you turned to look at him.

His expression was a reflection of yours for a fraction of a second. The fear, but then the resolution.

“Move, move, we gotta go. Tommy?!”, his hands were on your back, pushing you to walk in front of him.

The younger Miller went in front of you, gun on hand, to find the way out. Then you remembered the firearm in your belt and swiftly gripped it. You were about to run behind Tommy when you realised. Suddenly stopping in your tracks, you turned around to face Joel. You looked at him intently, then to Joyce and her granddaughter.

You couldn’t leave them behind. Joyce was the best person you had known in a while. She was like family to you. And you had already lost all of your blood relatives. Joel had one look at you and understood you were not going to accept no for an answer.

“Joyce! Ava! C’mon!”, he shouted while approaching them. Joel picked up little Ava in his arms while Joyce ran towards you, thick tears blurring her vision.

You held Joyce’s trembling hand as Tommy guided you out of the building onto South Michigan Avenue. You looked back a few times, ensuring Joel was right behind you. Ava was sobbing loudly, her tiny face against the curve of Joel’s neck, wetting his t-shirt. The fearful look in his eyes told you a sad story ― you knew exactly who he was thinking of. A gut-wrenching feeling sat in the pit of your stomach.

The streets were crammed with people, everyone screaming names at the top of their lungs. You recognised a few faces: Walter, Eric and his mother, Troy, Kelsey…

“They’re coming through the bridge on West Adams Street!”, someone wailed.

All of you looked in that direction and saw a massive herd of clickers galloping towards you.

“RUN!”, you shouted at your group, pulling Joyce’s hand.

You all ran northwards, across Millenium Park. You could feel your lungs burning, your brain entering fight-or-flight mode, your heart racing so fast you were on the verge of having a cardiac arrest. But none of that mattered ― you were focused on getting out of there, all of you. Tommy, Joel, Joyce, Ava, yourself. You were going to make it out.

“Go to William Fahey bridge, it’s closer!”, Tommy yelled once on East Wacker Drive.

More clickers were coming towards you from the west ― you heard someone around you say that all the bridges on North Wacker Drive were packed with infected.

“They’re here! THEY’RE COMING!”, Joyce wept.

The whole moment was so hectic, with no time to process what was happening. You all sprinted to the only bridge in the hands of the government ― you had no other option. You were almost halfway through the bridge, just a few yards more and you would be on the other side.

As you were racing, you heard a gunshot behind you. You came to a sudden stop to check, letting go of Joyce’s hand ― Joel had just dispatched a clicker which had come too close.

“Joel! Come on!”, you begged, getting closer to grab him by his free forearm.

Then you saw them. Waves of clickers coming towards you, people falling to their demises. Your eyes widened, terror pumping through your veins. You shot a few of them, your aim perfect. But there were too many to fight, fleeing was your only real option.

“Don’t stop! Let’s fucking go!”, Tommy howled, waving at you.

Then chaos unfolded. Gunshots swirled around you. You all ducked behind a car to avoid the trajectory of the bullets ― the government soldiers were shooting to whoever attempted to cross the bridge, clickers and humans alike.

“Help!”, a cry to your left made you turned around in a panic.

Joyce was flat on her back, fighting off an infected. You couldn’t think, so you just reacted ― you leaped forwards, tackling the clicker. Knelt on top of it, its disgusting teeth snapped close to your hand. You felt a brief pang on your wrist as you lodged a bullet in its forehead.

With tears darkening your vision, you came off it and crawled to Joyce. Her eyes, devoid of life, stared at the cloudy, dusking sky. Her lifeless expression was filled with terror, tears still running down her cheeks. Blood was surging from her neck ― unconsciously, you covered the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“No, Joyce, come on, wake up”, you whispered, grief tugging at your lungs.

She could not be gone just like that. But she was. Joyce was dead.

“Up! Lift the bridge!”, a man’s voice was carried by the wind.

Suddenly, the ground underneath you started moving up, the bridge parting exactly where you were. With no time to think, Joyce’s body rolled off the edge into the river as you tried to hold on to something to avoid the same destiny.

That something was Joel’s firm grip on your arm. His eyes wild with dread, he pulled you up and back into his arms. His trembling breath caressed your temple as he hugged you tightly. You knew he was as scared as you were, albeit for different reasons.

But there was no time for the shock to wear off. Off the corner of your eye, you saw little Ava running towards the edge, kneeling on the border, her tiny hand reaching into the abyss underneath. “Nana! Come back, nana!”, her wailing tone gave you goosebumps.

“No!”, you and Joel shouted at the same time, both lunging forward towards her.

And then she was gone too. The rotten hand of a clicker wrapped around her tiny wrist, and she fell off the bridge. Her piercing shriek was still ringing in your ears.

Joel and you remained flat against the asphalt, disheartened and broken.

“I had to let go of her for one second, you were falling, I―”, his voice faltered, his eyes broadened with remorse, transfixed on the exact spot Ava had disappeared from.

He was reliving his worst nightmare again. Your heart bled for him. For Joyce, for Ava. For yourself.

“Joel, don’t―”, you couldn’t finish. Don’t do this to yourself, you wanted to say.

“Get up! MOVE!”, Tommy shouted.

He had fended off the clickers who made it across the bridge before it was lifted. You hadn’t realised his efforts until you swept your surroundings and saw the bodies littered around you. Joel shook his head to clear his mind, casting off all emotions, and got up to his feet, helping you up in the process.

Then the three of you started running towards East Illinois Street while the government soldiers kept the clickers at bay as some of them tried to jump from one side of the bridge to the other ― this time, at least, they were aiming better than they did before.

You were still in living hell, with no chance to digest what had happened yet. It was like walking blindly through the darkness, unable to find the switch to turn on the lights. Your emotions had deserted you, at least for the time being. You needed to find shelter before you could shatter.

You raced for what felt like hours but was only minutes. You turned the corner on Erie Street, near Northwestern Hospital. The streets were filled with soldiers and uniformed police, shouting directions at the unhinged mass of people who were trying to find cover.

You stopped running, feeling like fire was consuming your lungs. Joel and Tommy stopped too to catch a breath. You bent over, hands on your knees, to aid your uncontrolled breathing ― Joel’s hand rubbed your back.

“Laney, wait up”, you heard Tommy say, and supposed that Laney and her group had made it out too.

You frowned when you saw blood dripping from your inner wrist on to your jeans. You turned your hand around to check the wound out.

Your breath didn’t reach your lungs. Teeth marks were imprinted on your skin, a grotesque sight. Your heart came to a halt, and then it pounded so hard your ears rang.

I’ve been bit, you thought, realisation dawning on you. Fuck, I’m bit.

Even though you were internally panicking like you had never before, you straightened your back and looked at Joel blankly. It felt like it wasn’t you who was talking, as if you were seeing yourself from outside your own body.

“Joel, I’ve been bit”. Your voice didn’t feel yours ― calm, ethereal.

He was watching his brother walk away, and then his eyes darted to yours in less than a second. His pupils were dilated, his nostrils flared, his lips pursed. A vein twitched in his jaw, his anxiety peaking to the highest level possible. You saw his hand shaking when he grabbed your wrist to inspect it himself.

Joel didn’t say a word. He didn’t have time to do so. You hadn’t realised that Tommy had stopped walking towards Laney and had drawn his gun as he was retracing his steps back to where you were.

“Joel, move”, the barrel was pointing at you, his hand steady.

Panic set in. Was he really going to shoot you? Just like that? Like your life didn’t matter at all? Like he wasn’t your esteemed friend? In front of Joel? Was this how you were going to die after all?

Questions flooded your mind, death knocking at your door.

Joel positioned his body in between you and Tommy ― one hand reaching back to keep you behind him, the other one in front of him at waist level, palm down, to keep Tommy away.

“Tommy, please―”, he implored in a hush.

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew his features were torn. His defeated tone ate at your conscience.

“She’s been bit, Joel. She ain’t coming with us, she can’t”, as much as Tommy wanted to convey a reassuring tone, he couldn’t.

Why was he talking like you were not there, like if you were already gone?

“Tommy, don’t do this. I lov―”, your heart sank to your stomach.

“Don’t say it, she’s dead”, Tommy cut him off before Joel could finish his appeal. “If you stay, you’re going to die. Come with me please, we’ll go with Laney and her group, we’ll survive this. You will survive this”, he nodded in your direction.

You were “this”. He was telling Joel he would get over you once you were dead. And you wanted him to listen. You were doomed, there was no coming back from this. You had seen people turn ― you had a couple of days tops before you would get lost to the fungus. Some people only lasted hours. If he stayed by your side to see you wither away… it would break him. For good.

“Joel, listen―”, you whispered, wrapping your fingers around his wrist ― a silent plea dying in your lips.

“No, don’t say a word”, he barely looked over his shoulder, unable to face you yet. “Tommy, I can’t. I just can’t”, he said under his breath.

“Choose then. Either you’re coming with me or you’re staying with her. But I won’t stay by your side to see you destroy yourself.”

An anxious knot formed in your throat. Was Tommy really going to make Joel choose between you and him? That was so fucking cruel you couldn’t believe your ears. You gaped, trying to say something, but Joel took a step back which forced you to do the same.

“Tommy, are you fucking serious?”, Joel asked, a shift in his tone from incredulity to betrayal.

“There’s your answer, I guess”, the younger Miller replied angrily.

Tommy simply walked off, not looking back, not even once.

Both Joel and you froze in place for a long minute, trying to wrap your heads around what just happened.

Your eyes drifted back down to the wound. Pus and blood oozed out. Your chest heaved, reality setting in. You were going to die. This was not what you had in mind for Christmas. How could this happen? Why you? Even with your mind racing with trepidation, you didn’t regret killing that clicker. What you lamented was that it had been for naught ― Joyce and Ava were dead.

“Hey, look at me”, Joel’s voice brought you back. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs sweeping away tears you were not aware of. “Look at me”, he repeated.

You looked up at him through damp eyelashes, memorising his face. His beautiful brown eyes were swirling with shock, with pain, with darkness, with guilt, with loss. His jaw was so clenched his lips were just a fine line. You momentarily shut your eyes, nestling your cheek into his hand before kissing his palm and taking a step back.

You could not look at him directly. The pain was too grave, too profound ― so insatiable it was consuming you. “You gotta go, Joel. Tommy is right. I’m… I’m dead. It’s just a matter of days, maybe hours. You can’t stay. You can’t follow me where I’m going.” The words escaped your mouth in shortened bursts, unable to keep a steady tone.

He took a step forward and cupped your chin, forcing your head up. His sad eyes captivated you, pulling you into their orbits, as if you were a tiny meteor dancing around too close to the black hole of his irises.

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow you. Even to the fucking edge of the atlas”, he muttered breathlessly. “I love you, so don’t ask me to leave you behind. I’m staying, till the bitter fucking end”, your heart dropped to your stomach at his confession.

This was not how you had expected things to be. You were supposed to have time with each other, all the time in the fucking world. And that time had just been snatched from you mercilessly.

Life was so fucking unjust.

You couldn’t stop the tears any longer ― they overflowed your waterlines, your vision so smeared you couldn’t see his face anymore. Your head tilted forward, until your face was buried in his chest.

Joel hugged you tightly, feeling like he was starring in a twisted horror movie. A dark void had replaced his heart, which had been completely ripped off his chest. He was barren inside. His breaths were shallow, they didn’t even reach his lungs.

Had he forgotten how to breathe?

“We need to get off the streets”, he managed to mumble, holding your hand and taking you away.

[kayuripax]

Valve news and the AI

So. I assume people saw some posts going around on how valve has new AI rules, and things getting axed. And because we live in a society, I went down the rabbit hole to learn my information for myself. Here's what I found, under a cut to keep it easier. To start off, I am not a proponent of AI. I just don't like misinformation. So. Onwards.

VALVE AND THE AI

First off, no, AI will not take things over. Let me show you, supplemented by the official valve news post from here. (because if hbomberguy taught us anything it is to cite your sources)

[Image id: a screenshot from the official valve blog. It says the following:

First, we are updating the Content Survey that developers fill out when submitting to Steam. The survey now includes a new AI disclosure section, where you'll need to describe how you are using AI in the development and execution of your game. It separates AI usage in games into two broad categories:

Pre-Generated: Any kind of content (art/code/sound/etc) created with the help of AI tools during development. Under the Steam Distribution Agreement, you promise Valve that your game will not include illegal or infringing content, and that your game will be consistent with your marketing materials. In our pre-release review, we will evaluate the output of AI generated content in your game the same way we evaluate all non-AI content - including a check that your game meets those promises.

Live-Generated: Any kind of content created with the help of AI tools while the game is running. In addition to following the same rules as Pre-Generated AI content, this comes with an additional requirement: in the Content Survey, you'll need to tell us what kind of guardrails you're putting on your AI to ensure it's not generating illegal content. End image ID]

So. Let us break that down a bit, shall we? Valve has been workshopping these new AI rules since last June, and had adopted a wait and see approach beforehand. This had cost them a bit of revenue, which is not ideal if you are a company. Now they have settled on a set of rules. Rules that are relatively easy to understand. - Rule one: Game devs have to disclose when their game has AI - Rule two: If your game uses AI, you have to say what kind it uses. Did you generate the assets ahead of time, and they stay like that? Or are they actively generated as the consumer plays? - Rule three: You need to tell Valve the guardrails you have to make sure your live-generating AI doesn't do things that are going against the law. - Rule four: If you use pre-generated assets, then your assets cannot violate copyright. Valve will check to make sure that you aren't actually lying.

That doesn't sound too bad now, does it? This is a way Valve can keep going. Because they will need to. And ignoring AI is, as much as we all hate it, not going to work. They need to face it. And they did. So. Onto part two, shall we?

[Image ID: a screenshot from the official Valve blog. It says the following: Valve will use this disclosure in our review of your game prior to release. We will also include much of your disclosure on the Steam store page for your game, so customers can also understand how the game uses AI. End image ID]

Let's break that down. - Valve will show you if games use AI. Because they want you to know that. Because that is transparency.

Part three.

[Image ID: A screenshot from the official Valve blog. It says the following:

Second, we're releasing a new system on Steam that allows players to report illegal content inside games that contain Live-Generated AI content. Using the in-game overlay, players can easily submit a report when they encounter content that they believe should have been caught by appropriate guardrails on AI generation.

Today's changes are the result of us improving our understanding of the landscape and risks in this space, as well as talking to game developers using AI, and those building AI tools. This will allow us to be much more open to releasing games using AI technology on Steam. The only exception to this will be Adult Only Sexual Content that is created with Live-Generated AI - we are unable to release that type of content right now. End Image ID]

Now onto the chunks.

Valve is releasing a new system that makes it easier to report questionable AI content. Specifically live-generated AI content. You can easily access it by steam overlay, and it will be an easier way to report than it has been so far.

Valve is prohibiting NSFW content with live-generating AI. Meaning there won't be AI generated porn, and AI companions for NSWF content are not allowed.

That doesn't sound bad, does it? They made some rules so they can get revenue so they can keep their service going, while also making it obvious for people when AI is used. Alright? Alright. Now calm down. Get yourself a drink.

---

Team Fortress Source 2

My used source here is this.

There was in fact a DCMA takedown notice. But it is not the only thing that led to the takedown. To sum things up: There were issues with the engine, and large parts of the code became unusable. The dev team decided that the notice was merely the final nail in the coffin, and decided to take it down. So that is that. I don't know more on this, so I will not say more, because I don't want to spread misinformation and speculation. I want to keep some credibility, please and thanks.

---

Portal Demake axed

Sources used are from here, here and here.

Portal 64 got axed. Why? Because it has to do with Nintendo. The remake uses a Nintendo library. And one that got extensively pirated at that. And we all know how trigger-happy Nintendo is with it's intellectual property. And Nintendo is not exactly happy with Valve and Steam, and sent them a letter in 2023.

[Image ID: a screenshot from a PC-Gamer article. It says the following: It's possible that Valve's preemptive strike against Portal 64 was prompted at least in part by an encounter with Nintendo in 2023 over the planned release of the Dolphin emulator for the Wii and Gamecube consoles on Steam. Nintendo sent a letter to Valve ahead of that launch that attorney Kellen Voyer of Voyer Law said was a "warning shot" against releasing it. End Image ID.]

So. Yeah. Nintendo doesn't like people doing things with their IP. Valve is most likely avoiding potential lawsuits, both for themselves and Lambert, the dev behind Portal 64. Nintendo is an enemy one doesn't want to have. Valve is walking the "better safe than sorry" path here.

---

There we go. This is my "let's try and clear up some misinformation" post. I am now going to play a game, because this took the better part of an hour. I cited my sources. Auf Wiedersehen.

[seriiousgiirl]

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝕴𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖎𝖓𝖊.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭!𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 — 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝐼𝐼𝐼⊹ ₊ ݁.

❛ You lied to me! I did. You poisoned me! I did. You said you loved me! I do. ❜

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱. ⊹ ₊ ݁. regency!au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, tension, mutual pining, angst, smut will happen later, age difference, forced marriage, gothic setting.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The room was a flurry of activity as you stood before your mirror, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your reflection. Your maid, Eliza, bustled around, fastening the intricate buttons of your gown and adjusting the delicate lace that adorned your sleeves. The dress was a light lilac shade, a colour that highlighted your eyes and complemented your skin, making you feel both elegant and beautiful.

Eliza stepped back, surveying her work with a critical eye. "You look stunning, Miss Y/n," she said with a smile, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle on the gown. "Lord Ancunin won't be able to take his eyes off you."

You blushed at the mention of Astarion, the enigmatic viscount who had saved you in the dark streets of Baldur's Gate and had since captured your thoughts. "Thank you, Eliza," you murmured, adjusting a strand of hair that had escaped its pin. "I hope tonight goes well."

Eliza leaned in slightly, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. "Are you excited to see him tonight? Lord Ancunin, I mean?" Your cheeks warmed further. "I suppose I am," you admitted. "He has been quite kind."

Eliza chuckled softly. "Kind? More like charming. Everyone is talking about you two already. They say he hasn't shown this much interest in anyone since he arrived."

Your heart fluttered at her words, though you tried to maintain a composed exterior. "People do love to gossip," you replied, though the thought of being the centre of such talk made your pulse quicken.

Eliza's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Well, tonight will certainly give them something to talk about. Just be yourself, Miss Y/n. You have a way of captivating people."

You smiled, touched by her words. "Thank you, Eliza. I will try." With a final adjustment to your gown, Eliza stepped back, giving you an encouraging nod. "Now, go and make a lasting impression."

As you turned back to the mirror, the door creaked open, and your mother entered the room. Her gaze swept over you, her expression uncharacteristically soft. "You look lovely, absolutely stunning, Y/n," she said, her voice lacking its usual cold edge. "Remember to carry yourself with grace and poise tonight. It's important to make a good impression."

You felt a mix of pride and anxiety at your mother's rare approval. "Thank you, Mother," you replied, forcing a smile. "I will do my best."

She handed you a folded piece of paper, her eyes glinting with determination. "Remember, a lady must always be composed and elegant. Smile, but not too much. Speak, but listen more—men love when they are the ones leading the conversation, especially the rich ones. And most importantly, make sure to dance with as many suitable gentlemen as possible. I made you a list already. This ball is a crucial opportunity for us."

You unfolded the list, scanning the names with a growing sense of dread. The name of Astarion was nowhere to be seen. You tried to hide your disappointment, forcing a smile as you nodded. "I understand."

Your mother's eyes softened for a brief moment, and she gently cupped your cheek. "I know you do. I just want what's best for you, my dear." With a final adjustment to your gown, Lady Thornfield stepped back, her usual composed demeanour returning. "Now, go and make us proud."

You took a deep breath, the excitement and anxiety of the evening swirling within you. You knew the importance of the ball—not just as a social event, but as a chance to secure your family's future. As you descended the grand staircase, you resolved to face the night with grace and confidence, hoping that amid the glittering chandeliers and swirling gowns, you might find the path to your own happiness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The carriage ride to the ball seemed to stretch on forever, the oppressive tightness of your corset growing more uncomfortable with each passing moment. You held your breath as the carriage finally drew to a halt in front of the grandiose mansion, its windows aglow with the warm light of chandeliers. The sound of music and laughter drifted out, mingling with the crisp night air.

Your mother stepped out first, her posture as regal as ever, before turning to offer you a hand. "Remember, Y/n, tonight is about making the right connections," she reminded you, her eyes sharp with purpose.

As you stepped out of the carriage, the tightness of your corset seemed to constrict even more. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. The mansion before you was even more magnificent than you had imagined, with towering columns and grand archways adorned with flowers. The entrance was a bustle of elegantly dressed guests, their laughter and conversation filling the air.

Lady Thornfield wasted no time, her demeanour transforming into one of social grace as she greeted acquaintances she had made in the short span of your stay in Baldur’s Gate. You followed closely behind, feeling like a prized possession on display.

"Ah, Lady Thornfield, how wonderful to see you," a portly gentleman exclaimed, bowing slightly as he kissed your mother's gloved hand. "And this must be your lovely daughter."

You offered a polite smile as the gentleman's gaze lingered on you. "A pleasure to meet you, sir," you said, curtsying as was expected.

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied, his eyes appraising you with a familiarity that made your skin crawl. "I must say, you are even more enchanting than the rumours suggested."

"Thank you, sir," you replied, trying to mask your discomfort. "It is a lovely evening, is it not?"

"Indeed it is," he said, his eyes never leaving you. "I hope we will have the chance to speak further later."

As you moved further into the room, you were greeted by a series of gentlemen, each one more eager than the last to gain your favour. Their eyes followed you, making you feel like a coveted prize in a trophy collection. 

"Miss Y/n, may I have this dance?" a young man asked, extending his hand toward you. He had a charming smile, but there was something calculating in his eyes.

You glanced at your mother, who gave a barely perceptible nod of approval. "Of course," you replied, placing your hand in his.

As you were led to the dance floor, the young man introduced himself. "I am Sir Reginald Hartwell," he said with a slight bow. "Your beauty outshines even the most radiant of jewels tonight."

"Thank you, Sir Reginald," you replied, trying to keep your tone light and pleasant. "You are very kind."

The dance began, and as you moved through the steps, Sir Reginald kept up a steady stream of conversation, mostly about his own accomplishments and the size of his estate. You nodded and smiled in the right places, but your mind was elsewhere, scanning the room for a certain pale gentleman.

"Tell me, Miss Y/n," Sir Reginald said, leaning in slightly, "what are your interests? Surely a lady as captivating as yourself has many."

You hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. "I enjoy reading and spending time in nature," you said simply.

"Ah, a lady of refined tastes," he said with a smile. "Perhaps we could discuss literature sometime. I have quite an extensive library."

"That sounds lovely," you replied, though you couldn't muster much enthusiasm. As the dance came to an end, you curtsied and thanked him for the dance, relieved to have a moment to yourself.

As you moved back towards your mother, another gentleman intercepted you. "Miss Y/n, a moment of your time, if you please?" His voice was smooth, his manner confident.

"Of course," you said, forcing another smile. "And you are?"

"Lord Percival Hastings," he said, taking your hand and bowing over it. "I must say, you are the talk of the evening. Everyone is eager to make your acquaintance."

"That is very flattering, Lord Hastings," you replied, trying to hide your growing fatigue.

As he engaged you in conversation, you found yourself answering the same questions over and over—about your family, your interests, your thoughts on Baldur's Gate. It was exhausting, and you felt like you were being assessed, weighed, and measured against some invisible standard.

And just as you were thinking that there was no use staying at this ball, suddenly, there was a burst of noise—a mix of female giggling and excited chatter—that caught everyone's attention. You turned towards the source, curiosity piqued. The crowd seemed to part slightly, and then, finally, you saw him.

Astarion.

He looked even more handsome than you remembered, his presence commanding the room effortlessly. His curly hair was perfectly in place, the soft ringlets framing his chiselled and precious features. His wine eyes, sharp and discerning, scanned the room with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. 

But it was his outfit that truly took your breath away.

The fabric was rich and luxurious, and the shade of lilac was unmistakably the exact same as your dress. It was as if the two of you were coordinated, a silent, unspoken connection that set you apart from the rest of the crowd. The realisation sent a thrill through you.

Astarion caught sight of you, and for a brief moment, his eyes softened ever so slightly. However, his attention was quickly diverted by one of the girls at his arm, who was giggling and asking where he had found such a beautiful outfit for the evening.

"Oh, this old thing?" he replied vaguely, with a charming smile that seemed to mesmerise her. "Just a little something I had made. I'm glad you like it." Mothers and daughters surrounded him like bees to the most beautiful flower, each vying for his attention. The mothers presented their daughters with hopeful eyes, subtly nudging them forward, each one hoping to catch his favour.

"Lord Ancunin, have you met my daughter? She would be delighted to have a dance with you tonight," one mother said, her voice filled with eagerness. "And this is my daughter," another chimed in, gently pushing her blushing daughter forward. "She's been looking forward to this ball for weeks."

Astarion smiled graciously, his eyes flitting between the eager faces around him. "Ladies, it would be my absolute pleasure to mingle with such charming company tonight," he replied, his tone smooth and diplomatic. "However, I must leave my dance card open for now. There are so many wonderful guests to meet."

His words elicited more giggles and whispers of excitement. You watched the scene unfold from a distance, a mixture of admiration and a twinge of disappointment swirling within you. Despite the crowd surrounding him, you couldn't help but feel that your moment with him had been lost.

As Astarion gracefully navigated the attentions of the mothers and their daughters, his charm and elegance made him the centre of attention. It was clear that he was the evening's most sought-after guest, a fact that only heightened the anticipation and excitement of the night.

Your mother appeared beside you, her presence marked by the slight rustling of her gown and the familiar scent of her perfume. She glanced towards Astarion, who was still surrounded by a throng of admirers, and sighed with thinly veiled disapproval.

"Apparently, the man who covets our lands is quite popular," she remarked, her tone sharp. "It seems he enjoys the attention far too much for a gentleman of his supposed standing."

You could sense her irritation, the way her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes narrowed slightly as she observed the scene. It was clear she didn't appreciate Astarion's behaviour, his charm working a bit too well on the crowd for her liking.

"Mother, he’s just being polite," you offered, trying to defuse the situation. "Apparently he's also new in town, after all. It's only natural that people are curious about him."

Your mother's gaze shifted to you, her expression softening momentarily. "Perhaps, but politeness can easily be mistaken for something else in these circles. Remember, Y/n, you are here to secure our family's future, not to indulge in frivolous distractions— like him. "

You nodded, feeling the weight of her expectations once more. "I understand, Mother."

Your mother remained beside you, her gaze still fixed on Astarion as he charmed the crowd. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned closer, her voice low and edged with disapproval. "In any case, he is too old to have children," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "He won't be a good suitor for you, Y/n. We need someone who can secure our family's future, someone who can give you heirs."

You felt a pang of disappointment at her words. Despite the undeniable charm and the connection you felt with Astarion, your mother's pragmatic concerns cast a shadow over your hopes. You glanced at him again, his elegant figure standing out even amidst the crowd.

"Mother, we don't know how old he truly is," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "And he seems to have many qualities that could make him a good match."

Your mother shook her head slightly, her expression firm. "Appearances can be deceiving, my dear. Charm and elegance are not enough to build a secure future. We need someone younger, someone more suitable for a lasting union— a good man, unlike him."

You glanced at your mother, trying to keep your tone measured. "But, you said I would most likely marry the one who will own the lands. If Lord Ancunin is the one making the best offer, shouldn't we consider him?"

Your mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression a mix of annoyance and contemplation. "The deal with Lord Ancunin has not yet been concluded," she replied firmly. "And before any decisions are made, I've asked some qualified people to look into his background. We must ensure he is truly suitable."

You swallowed, trying to hide your frustration.

Her gaze softened just a bit, though her resolve remained. "I only want what's best for you, my dear. We cannot be too careful, especially with someone as enigmatic as Lord Ancunin."

You nodded, though a part of you resisted her logic. "I'll keep your advice in mind."

As the evening stretched even longer, it became clear that the ball wasn't unfolding the way you had hoped. The tension in the air was palpable; Astarion had yet to choose a lady to dance with, and his indecision seemed to heighten the anticipation and anxiety among the guests.

You could hear snippets of conversations around you, some filled with excitement and others with thinly veiled jealousy. One particular group of girls caught your attention. They were clustered together, their eyes darting towards Astarion as they spoke in hushed tones.

"My father has already arranged several dinners with him," she said, her voice carrying a note of pride. "Lord Ancunin and I have gotten along quite well. I'm certain he'll choose me for the first dance. It’s only a matter of time."

"Really?" another girl replied, her tone a mix of admiration and envy. "That's wonderful."

The first girl, her head held high, smiled confidently. "Of course, that’s only natural. Father said Lord Ancunin spoke highly of our estate and seemed quite taken with our traditions. Who knows, perhaps this will be the start of something special."

Your heart sank slightly at her words. The idea of Astarion already being courted by another family, especially one with such connections, felt like a blow. The evening was not turning out as you had envisioned. Instead of the excitement and romance you had hoped for, there was a growing sense of unease and uncertainty.

You glanced over at Astarion. He was still surrounded by admirers, his expression courteous but inscrutable. His eyes flicked around the room, never settling on any one person for too long. You couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, and whether you had made any impression on him at all.

As the tension in the room reached its peak, Astarion began to excuse himself from the cluster of admirers surrounding him. You watched as the girl next to you eagerly stepped forward, already beginning to accept his offer with gracious enthusiasm.

But then, to your surprise, Astarion's attention shifted. His gaze found yours, and his lips curved into a slight smile as he turned towards you, his movements graceful and deliberate. The room seemed to fall into a hushed silence as he approached, his eyes never leaving yours.

With a deep, sweeping bow, Astarion extended his hand towards you, his voice smooth and low. "Miss Y/n, would you do me the honour of a dance?"

Your heart leaped in your chest at his words, a rush of excitement and relief flooding through you. Despite the uncertainty and the whispers of doubt that had clouded the evening, here was Astarion, choosing you above all others. It was a moment that felt like a small victory.

You smiled in response, unable to hide the warmth in your eyes. "I would be delighted, Lord Ancunin."

His lips curved into a charming smile. "Please, darling, I already asked you to call me Astarion."

He led you to the centre of the ballroom, where the orchestra began to play a lilting waltz. As he took you into his arms, you felt a mix of exhilaration and nervousness. His hand was warm and steady against your back, guiding you effortlessly across the dance floor.

"Miss Y/n," he began, his voice like silk. He took your hand, the other on your hip as his eyes never left yours. "You look absolutely stunning tonight. The colour suits you perfectly."

"Thank you, Astarion," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The proximity of him, the shared colour of your outfits—it all felt like a dream. "I must say, you look quite dashing yourself. It seems we have a similar taste in colours.."

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "It appears so. Perhaps it is fate, or merely a fortunate coincidence. Either way, I am honoured to be in such perfect harmony with you."

The music swelled around you, and the lights of the chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the ballroom.  "You've become quite popular," you said, a playful note in your voice, trying to downplay your earlier jealousy. 

"I didn't realise I would have to compete with so many admirers. I've become quite the target," you said, your voice shaky. "I wonder how many of these admirers would fight to have a dance with you."

Astarion laughed, the sound deep and wicked. "They're all fools, my dear. For they're fighting for what they can't have. This night, my attention..." He leaned down, his breath hot against your neck as his fingers tightened on your hip, "...belongs to you, Y/n— I apologise if I didn’t have the chance to prove it to you when I arrived."

As you danced, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the music. 

Astarion purred as he intertwined your fingers, tugging you closer. His hot breath ghosted across your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in as he moved you to the rhythm of the music. Astarion's voice was low and velvety as he whispered in your ear, his breath sending a delicious shiver down your spine. "After all, I did promise you a dance last time we met."

You gasped, feeling your cheeks flush with heat. The intensity in Astarion's grip and the raw hunger in his voice left you breathless. "You did, Astarion." The way he led you across the floor was confident and rough in a way that was intoxicating. "But this dance... this is far more… passionate than I expected."

Astarion's eyes held yours, the depths of his gaze dark and alluring. "I've been waiting to have you all night, Y/n," he growled, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. "I find I'm craving your warmth, your touch."

You shivered, the heat from Astarion's body enveloping you. The way he spoke, the way his lips grazed your ear... it was all overwhelming. "Astarion, I... I'm not sure I can handle much more."

He chuckled, low and wicked. "Is that so? Well, I'm not one to back down from a challenge. Let's see how much more you can take." Ever so subtly, Astarion's hand trailed lower, fingers brushing along your spine before cupping your breast. A gasp escaped your lips, as his thumb found its way on your nipple adding pressure.

The dance floor swirled around you, the other guests mere shadows in the periphery. The music, the lights, the scent of Astarion's cologne—everything was heightened, more intense than you could recall. It felt so scandalous and forbidden to be touched by him like that, but it felt so good, intoxicating even.

"I've noticed you watching me," you confessed, your breath hitching. 

"Is it because you want to see me squirm under the weight of the admirers?" He quipped back, Astarion's smile was wicked. "Oh, my dear Y/n. I've been watching you because all I can think about is how I'd peel off that beautiful gown and have you writhing beneath me— if you'll have me.”

The admission sent a jolt of arousal through you, mingling with the butterflies in your stomach. As if reading your mind, Astarion pulled you closer, his body pressed flush against yours. His hand on your hip tightened, fingers digging in as he moved with reckless abandon.

As the dance came to an end, Astarion placed a lingering kiss on the back of your hand before releasing you from his hold. His eyes shone with an intensity that promised a secret, scandalous adventure. "I'm going to court you, Y/n," he whispered, his voice low and smooth. "I want every breath you take to be filled with anticipation for me. Every step you take, I want you to crave my touch."

You were left breathless by his words, the weight of their implication sinking deep into your bones. Astarion's confession sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you, igniting a fire within that you hadn't realised was there. "I..." you began, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. 

"I don't know what to say."

Astarion's gaze held yours, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "Say that you'll let me court you," he urged, almost pleading with you, his voice a seductive melody that sent shivers down your spine. There was a daring edge to his words, a promise of adventure and passion that stirred something wild within you. In that moment, you felt a surge of reckless abandon, a desire to throw caution to the wind and follow wherever Astarion led.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely audible over the music. "Yes, I'll let you court me."

Astarion's smile was like a bolt of lightning, electrifying and exhilarating all at once. He took your hand in his, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. "Good girl, I wasn't expecting less," he whispered.

At that moment, Astarion's courtship filled you with a sense of exhilaration unlike anything you had ever known before— You knew that your life would never be the same again.

The night stretched on, each dance with Astarion feeling like a fleeting moment of bliss in an otherwise chaotic world. As the music swelled around you, you found yourself drawn deeper into conversation with him, the hours slipping away unnoticed.

"You have a talent for dancing," Astarion remarked, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he twirled you gracefully across the ballroom floor.

You couldn't help but laugh, the joy of the moment bubbling up inside you. "I suppose years of practice finally paid off," you teased, the warmth of his hand against yours sending a thrill of excitement through you.

Astarion's smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Or perhaps it's just my impeccable lead," he countered, his voice low and teasing.

You rolled your eyes playfully, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'll give you credit where credit is due," you conceded, the lighthearted banter between you easing any lingering nerves.

As the night wore on, you found yourself drawn deeper into conversation with Astarion, each exchange revealing a new layer of his charm and wit. Topics ranged from the mundane to the profound, and you were captivated by his intelligence and insight.

But just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the spell of the evening, your mother's voice cut through the music like a sharp blade, bringing an abrupt end to your conversation.

"Y/n, it's time to go," she said, her tone firm but tinged with impatience.

You exchanged a disappointed glance with Astarion, the magic of the moment dissipating in an instant. "Must we leave so soon, Mother? The night is still young."

Your mother's lips formed a thin line as she surveyed the scene before her, her eyes lingering on Astarion with a scrutinising gaze. "We have an early start tomorrow, and it wouldn't do for you to be seen lingering too long with only one gentleman."

You sighed inwardly, knowing better than to argue with her. With a reluctant nod, you turned back to Astarion, a flicker of apology in your eyes. "I'm sorry," you murmured, feeling a pang of regret at the sudden end to your evening together.

Astarion offered you a reassuring smile, his gaze soft and understanding. "There will be other nights, Y/n. And I'll be waiting for you." With that, he bowed to you, placing a chaste kiss to your ring finger. 

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, easing the disappointment of the moment. With a final, lingering glance at Astarion, you allowed your mother to lead you away, the memory of the night's enchantment lingering in your mind like a sweet, intoxicating dream.

❛ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ❜

[mageknight14]

I loved how NEO pulled the rug out with Rindo’s character. At first, he generally seems much more sociable and outwardly friendly compared to Neku and then the game quickly goes "yeah, nah, he’s a huge fucking mess too." He’s a good kid fundamentally at his core but he can also be whiny, hypocritical, passive-aggressive, and kind of insensitive at times. He has a tendency to be judgemental and harsh to the people around him while not acknowledging his own faults, like when he complains about Beat joining the team even though he saved their lives beforehand because he’s not Neku or when he gives Fret shit for fawning over Eiji Oji and Kanon while falling for Motoi’s BS. He’s so pessimistic about himself and others that not even a death game that heavily emphasizes the value of teamwork can get him to fully come out of his shell, which is where his time-travel powers come in AND EVEN THEN it’s a double-edged sword since on one hand, it forces him to actively step up to the plate and survey the situation to find the best possible solution, which leads to him slowly growing out of his shell, but on the other, it also leads to him becoming overly reliant on his time travel so that he can walk back from potentially life-changing decisions without having to worry about it since he has a magic reset button. Which ends up biting him in the ass. Hard.

He’s one of those types of people who is ultimately a thinker and planner instead of a do-er, but his being young and overly impressionable takes this personality quirk to such an extreme that he's foundationally useless to most groups. He’s the type of person who you have in a group project who sits around and does nothing, but then complains with the project does poorly because he couldn't be bothered to speak.

He's so unconfident and directionless that he uses effectively Instagram as a means to listen to someone who sounds like some 2deep4u philosopher post dumb flowery bullshit that effectively has all the meaning of "Drink water when you're thirsty." and he admits to finding such "deep" meaning in these posts that it supposedly helped him through life. Because he's 15 and doesn't know anything.

However, all of this makes him interesting as a character because he’s, again, still a fundamentally good kid at his core. While he’s shown to have a fuse, he is also the kind of person who has the ability to think his emotions through. That's what we ultimately see when he and Fret finally talk and drop their beef. The game depicting Rindo's capacity for self-awareness and emotional reflection is a positive revelation of his character strengths. He proves that he's capable of recognizing when he's in the wrong and knows how to apologize, a trait he shows quite a few times throughout the story, while also doing everything he can to set things right as well as be more understanding toward how his friends feels.

He’s kind of the guy who will drop everything to help a little kid out, even when there’s no tangible benefit to doing so and he and the others are shown to be on limited time, shows empathy to his friends/fallen enemies, and feels massive amounts of guilt for his actions, even if he didn’t know better at the time.

Hell, the entire endgame is fueled by his selfish yet understandable desire to save the people he cares about most from total erasure, to the point that he’s willing to risk thousands of lives to do so. But not only is he shown to be internally grappling with himself regarding his decision but he’s also willing to take responsibility and ensure that EVERYTHING goes right not just for himself and his friends but the people of Shibuya in general, in a parallel to Neku’s own selfish if understandable decision to put the bonds he formed in the original game (particularly with Joshua) over the actual city.

Characters aren't interesting simply by switching between 2 different character traits. They're interesting when all those traits are being expressed at the same time for reasons that are consistent within their internal logic. You gotta be a good writer to pull that off and you gotta know when to show off these dimensions during your story to achieve proper dramatic effect when the time calls for it and NEO I feel does this pretty damn well.

[botanyshitposts]

just wanted to say that some months ago i went on a bit of a "mental illness tangent" and wrote down every single native species to my county, including its light and water needs. may or may not have been spurred on by some topic you mentioned...

one side effect i learned with that is that apparently i live in like. the ONE area of the us that doesn't really use fire much as a part of it's ecosystem, once you're inland beyond the pine barrens on the coast, obvs. kinda funny idk. like you have a whole continent that has large fire use in varying ways, and then in little old new england in the old mountains where apparently fire has not been present in 8000 years from research from sediments.

hi! just want you to know that this is both academic and political direct action in my mind and i think every community should have at least one person who knows what local Guys are supposed to be there and what they need.

next step would be to go see which ones you can actually find in remnant forests and stuff. if any dudes are missing it's an active cause for concern and you can start the process of finding Whoever In Local Government Is In Charge Of That, and you would be surprised to know that usually there is at least one person who's like, kind of supposed to be in charge of it but nobody pays attention to plants so it slipped under the radar, etc. or if you want to do more research first or want to know where to look you can go try to see when it was last actually spotted, because from my experience a lot of old sources from like, 1802 just get grandfathered in to modern records and you realize nobody's actually checked to see if these things are still there lately.

to check your own work against, plants.usda.gov has an online database that in theory is an up-to-date record of all plants in every state in the country-- notice that i say every state, because not all states specify sightings or populations by county, which is unhelpful for actually going out and seeing them near you. on a state-by-state basis, some states have their own databases which narrow it down to county, and then from there you can see which sources they cite and check to see how old they are. note that the usda cites the flora of north america as their primary source for the species ive personally come across, which is good because the flora of north america is crowd-funded, organized, written, and published by actual academics in the botanical community who go searching for these things and they have names and email addresses you can use to contact them, plus the completed families are free to access online on their website. because of the amount of people retiring with no replacement, however, it's still good to follow up.

im...nebulous on my understanding of who is supposed to be checking up on these guys in the government. either the USDA or the fish and wildlife service is the arm that's supposed to be regulating plants listed as endangered in your area, or at least enforcing poaching laws, and if it's something high profile they probably do, but then you look at the endangered species list in your state and see a guy you know hasn't been seen in quite some time and you have to wonder where they're getting their data, if they're doing their own internal surveys, if you can even access that kind of information because of the need to be careful around disclosing the locations of endangered plants, if this local Guy has actually genuinely slipped through the cracks of bureaucracy and has lost whatever fractionally small area of land it used to have in your county/surrounding county/state, if anybody is even paying attention, etc. it seems like your best bet comes down to contacting the one other person whos super into them

and then you go on inaturalist to see if anyone else has seen it and nobody has and anyway thats how you go insane

[doyouknowthischaracter]

Do you think the polls are inherently biased, because the well-known characters will be shared more wheras the unknown characters might never even reach their bubble where they are actually known by a lot of people?

Short answer is no.

Long answer is: well, if we want to be pedantic, an argument could be made that no method of collecting data via surveys, even self-administered surveys, is completely free of bias because that's just human nature and all you can do is minimize it by wording questions neutrally, trimming outliers, etc etc. With that out of the way, one very important thing to note here is that this isn't an opinion survey. The question being asked is very straightforward and the answer is not something that can be swayed or influenced by peer pressure, propaganda, unwillingness to disclose private information, or any other factors, be they internal or external. You either know a character or you don't. I mean, people could certainly lie, in either direction, but 1) why would you do that?? it's not even like we have winners or losers here, and 2) there's nothing I can do about it anyway.

Now, when it comes to sampling bias (which, from what I understand, is what you're actually asking about) my answer is still no, I don't think that's accurate. Popular characters will reach more people and get more votes overall precisely because they're more popular. If this were a tournament style blog or if I were asking your opinion on the character in question, then yes, I could definitely see how more well-known characters would be at an unfair advantage (or how tagging the polls with the character's name is encouraging that bias, as it's been suggested before), but this is not that! Well-known characters reaching their bubbles faster/more efficiently than obscure characters is an inherent part of being more popular. Everything is working as intended.

All that being said, there are a few factors which I think could influence results somewhat unfairly, but I wouldn't necessarily call them bias. They're more like limitations of the medium.

Firstly, the time and day of the week when a poll is published. I don't have access to this kind of data right now, but off the top of my head, I'd say Sundays around 10pm is when Tumblr users are most active. That, coupled with the fact that most users are from the United States, means that polls that come out of the queue on US Sundays during that time window have a chance to reach more people than all the others. However, this potential problem is organically circumvented by people going back to see previously posted polls, finding polls through reblogs or from tag searches, etc. So it's not really a significant difference. I haven't noticed the numbers reflecting this yet either, but in theory that's how social media works, so I thought it was worth pointing out.

Secondly, polls that were posted early on when the blog had fewer followers reached less people, on average, than polls being posted at the moment or that will be posted in the future. No argument there, that's just a fact. But, again, this is a limitation of the medium. Potentially, I could repost older polls at some point in the future and reassess characters' popularity, but how do I choose which ones? All of them? Wouldn't we just get stuck in a loop of reposting the same characters over and over then? That'd be no fun. So I don't really think there's anything to be done here, unfortunately.

Thirdly, meme-able characters will be see better engagement and consequently higher numbers of votes. Point in case, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Once again, not something that can be helped, not really. I do my best to maintain uniformity in how I format the polls and which pictures I choose (as high quality as I can find, cropped adequately, consistent size, etc.). But some characters will just have better chances of being shared around by virtue of featuring in memes or having some recognizable line or something like that.

To sum it up, overall I don't think there's an inherent bias in how the polls work at the moment. I do think there are certain factors that could marginally influence voting numbers, but not the votes themselves. (Which is why I've decided to compile two separate lists, by number of votes and by percentage-- they measure slightly different things, but that's a post for another day.) As long as every follower of this blog is delivered every poll to their dash and everyone pinky promises not to lie and screw up my numbers on purpose, then I'd say we're golden.

This is probably more than you asked for lol, but hopefully it all makes sense. And as always, feel free to share your opinion. I'm always happy to hear it!

[all-pacas]

i've randomly been watching some doctor who these past few days and i'm not here to be like a Hater TM but holy shit does the beast below have terrible worldbuilding. like this is actively driving me insane

so all of the UK is a spaceship now. cool. no problems so far. the central conceit of the episode is that instead of a real spaceship with engines and things, the spaceship is a big building built around? on top of? a 'space whale,' which is being enslaved and tortured. the end of the plot has amy freeing the whale from enslavement, but it's really nice and doesn't destroy the UK, just keeps flying them around. this is silly, but ok. like this isn't what's driving me insane. THIS IS:

we're told it's a dystopia. there are robot dummies everywhere surveying everyone. children are killed (?) (fed to the whale) for failing classes, but only if they take elevators? like if they walk home after school they're fine - to the point that one child reminds another - but if they take the elevator they die. actually, all prisoners are fed to the whale.

however, nothing … comes of this. we don't know what the rules are of this society, how people feel about it, anything. the central mystery of the episode is what is flying the ship, not what the hell is wrong with this country. the doctor just kind of takes it for granted this is a corrupt and terrible society and everyone pretends otherwise. IN ITSELF, this is still ok. BUT:

there's a whole side thing about how spaceship UK is still pretending to be a democracy; at any time people can vote to "protest" and if 10% of the population chooses this option……we don't know. it's literally never said, just by implication, they set the whale free and everyone dies. i get that this is supposed to be a metaphor about complacency, but also: we're TOLD this is a terrible society where people are routinely imprisoned and fed to a whale. is "lol it's their own fault for being complacent" the message?

IT GETS WORSE! the doctor then meets the queen. the show gets DEEPLY pro monarchy. she's a Hero! she's Fighting to Uncover the Truth! she doesn't know about the whale either, but she's still in charge of … this police state? this thing that is called a police state? even if she doesn't know about the whale, she knows kids get executed for failing tests!! yet she's presented as really cool and kickass. she has a cape! everyone loves her! why?? she meets a random child who has been critical of the rules and just lost her friend to the whale, and… the child is pleased to see her. the super cool leader of a police state OKAY.

the doctor and amy meet the people in charge of torturing and enslaving the whale. the doctor is forced into a moral choice: he doesn't want to free the whale and kill the entire UK, but he also doesn't want the whale to keep being tortured. he chooses to render it brain dead instead. he, and the episode, make clear this is a terrible option and that there isn't a great one. this is okay. what isn't okay: the guys torturing the whale are chummy. they're polite. they like the queen, they shrug the child murder off as "surprise! the whale doesn't actually eat the children!" (it eats the adults tho!). at no point is "btw, this is a police state with tons of murder and surveillance" addressed. the doctor does not express distaste for any of these institutions. no one turns to the Cool Queen and goes "yeah, but you're okay with the murdering of prisoners and police state stuff."

amy realizes the whale is actually super nice and WANTS to pilot the UK around (and eat people sometimes… look i get it, it's a carnivore, that's fine, just raises questions for the future). she turns off the torture devices and the whale starts flying around even faster and happier, no one dies!

the doctor and amy leave, the police state still entirely intact, the Cool Queen later showing up in another episode to be cool and fun. theoretically she abdicates at the end of this episode but no, doesn't happen. (which… is fine, this isn't a cinema sins episode, keep the throne who cares, but nice to see that literally nothing changed in this society). it's still a police state that surveys and kills people and children who fail tests! they just don't have to torture a whale to do it!

this is a heartwarming and touching happy ending, amy and the doctor hug over successfully saving a whale as children continue to get murdered for being bad at math

(okay yes the whale doesn't eat them, they don't actually die. but they're shown just hanging out?? so they don't go home either?? and everyone THINKS they're dead soooooo uhhhhhh)

i kind of hate this episode i think

also MINOR QUIBBLE a bit thing in the episode is that the spaceship doesn't have engines running and there are no vibrations or machine sounds. but it's a spaceship the size of a country? they must have like. air engines? also you don't need to constantly run engines in space ANYWAY? you just kind of keep going? you only need short bursts to change direction or something, there wouldn't be constant engine rumbles ANYWAY. but this is something sci fi gets wrong constantly so whatever

[bananasofthorns]

this will be the death of me

“Aphim. This game is your redemption - so I assume it goes without saying that you anticipate winning.”

Towering somewhere above him, his superiors stare. He does not bother with the futile action of craning his head back in an attempt to match Their gaze.

“Yes.”

“Good. Since you’re already in the game, you wouldn’t mind...taking care of a problem, would you?”

“Of course not.” He pauses. “What kind of problem?”

“The kind of problem that could end this whole thing. It would be very bad for all of us.”

“I see.”

“There is someone who...let himself in,” his superiors continue, distaste coloring Their voice. “He intends to disrupt this whole thing and make it so that there is no game. We haven’t been able to See him yet, but you’ll know him when you see him.

“If you could get rid of him, well. That would be a benefit to us all.”

“Of course. I’ll do as you wish.”

“Excellent.”

<><><>

“There are people coming,” Apate says, peering out of the shitty cave they’re in.

“Who?”

“I was gonna ask you that.”

Aphim joins her at the mouth of the cave with a frown. “Why would I know?”

Not far below them, two people - a blond man and an auburn-haired woman - are making their way up the mountain. The slowly setting sun lights them from behind. Except for the circle at the start, Aphim doesn’t recognize them from anywhere.

“Well, your eyes went all glowy earlier, so—” Apate shrugs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells her.

“Your eyes glow?” the blond man calls up. There’s a half-smile on his face, like he finds the concept amusing.

Aphim frowns at him. “I don’t think so.”

Apate seeing the tattoos active was bad enough, especially since she seems to have inexplicably come from somewhere outside the game. He doesn’t like the idea of two more strangers knowing about them, even if they shouldn’t know what the tattoos mean.

Luckily, the topic drops and the man and woman introduce themselves as Beau and Orla, respectively.

“Were you two thinking about settling here?” Beau asks, surveying the area.

Aphim shrugs. “I haven’t laid claim to anything.”

“I’m going wherever you’re going,” Apate adds cheerfully.

Aphim closes his eyes and briefly asks the universe for strength. “Do you want her,” he asks Beau flatly.

“I...don’t think that’s how that works?” 

“Unfortunate.”

Beau laughs. The sun behind him makes him shine gold at the edges. Aphim looks away.

“We were thinking about settling near the border,” Beau explains, “but if you two are planning to base around here, we could find somewhere else.”

“I haven’t decided on anything.”

“We could base near each other, maybe.”

Aphim blinks. He hadn’t expected that offer; for a death game, Beau seems to be happy to make friends. Still, he finds he doesn’t hate the idea.

“Alright.”

Apate doesn’t offer any objections to his agreement, though if she had, he probably would’ve ignored them.

“Should we keep looking, then?”

“Sure. I’d like to get more than three whole coal,” Aphim adds acerbically, shooting a distasteful look over his shoulder at the cave.

“Oh! Well, if you need coal.”

Beau holds out his hand. Without thinking, Aphim matches the gesture. He startles when Beau drops a few pieces of coal into his palm; their skin brushes when Beau moves away. His fingers are warm.

Aphim tilts his head in confusion. The simple kindness of the gesture is disarming.

“Thank you,” he says, belated but genuine.

Beau’s grin is as bright as the sun setting behind him.

<><><>

There isn’t much to do in their mountainside hole except sit and wait out the night, so Aphim inevitably finds himself studying his companions - or, in Apate’s case, ignoring them. She has settled so close beside him that they’re nearly touching, so he has no choice but to focus some of his attention on her, but she at least stops trying to talk to him when he doesn’t respond to anything she says. It’s a temporary respite; he savors it.

Across the small room, Orla still seems on edge, but Aphim can’t blame her. It’s only the first night and they all have little more than stone tools, but wariness is vital for a game like this. He wonders how far she’ll make it.

Beau is the one in their small group that intrigues him the most. His easy-going cheer from earlier is gone, replaced by fidgeting discomfort. Aphim puzzles over the change; it could be something as simple as claustrophobia, but he doubts it. 

Beau won’t look at him anymore. He’s not sure why that bothers him as much as it does.

The night passes slowly. None of them have the resources for a clock yet, nor did they leave a hole in the wall to see out of, but mobs still rattle and groan outside. Other than that, they sit in silence.

Again, Aphim finds his attention drawn to Beau, but this time he finds Beau already looking back. They both freeze. Aphim’s heart kicks up a beat.

At the center of Beau’s eyes, where his pupils should be, is a glowing purple symbol that Aphim knows better than he knows himself. You’ll know him when you see him, his superiors had said. The realization sweeps through him quickly. He can almost feel the tattoos on his arms burning.

It is neither the time nor the place to confront Beau. He settles for a sharp grin and a wink. It’s teasing, just on the wrong side of threatening.

Beau looks away first. Aphim studies the tense line of his jaw and wonders.

[jayteacups]

Hi Jay how are you? If you don't mind I was going to ask you if I could consult you about an idea I wanted to add to my oc because you are an ocxcanon writer so I thought it would be better to consult you about my idea. I'm thinking of adding a flaw to my oc that is insensitive to pain and ache. This rare disease (or is it appropriate to call it a congenital trait?) is called marsili syndrome, and as far as I've researched, people who have it are alien to pain, so they are alien to emotions such as anxiety and fear.

As someone who is trying to make my oc look canon, I wonder if it would be ridiculous and unnecessary to add this and at the same time, most importantly, I am worried that it will look too much like mary sue. And right now her story is not complete, but one of the scenarios I'm thinking about is the possibility of her getting titan shifter powers in the future, and if so, I can't help but wonder if she would be ultra mary sue, insensitive to pain but regenerating herself.

Here, what do you think about all this? I also want to say that you don't have to answer this. I won't be offended.

Hi anon! I've been alright, could be better could be worse 😂 I hope you're doing okay too anon! I'm flattered that you came to me for OC x Canon advice haha I'm definitely no writing expert but I love hearing about other people's ideas for their AOT OCs!

Disclaimer I'm definitely no expert on this topic, but I think the idea of someone having Marsili syndrome or some other type of congenital insensitivity to pain is a very unique and interesting idea especially pre-powers! There's a lot you could do with that, since these types of conditions are known to be very dangerous since pain is supposed to keep you alive and let you know if something is wrong. If somebody physically could not feel pain, especially in the Survey Corps' line of work, where severe injuries are common... there could be several scenarios where, for example, your OC could be very injured on the battlefield, but not feel pain and so she keeps trying to fight, but she doesn't realise she's bleeding internally, or that any limbs are broken, so she could end up doing further harm to herself by trying to fight, and this could lead to some interesting interactions with other characters. Or even - she could accidentally burn herself or get some kind of infection and not feel any pain from that, so she has to actively remind herself to be careful whilst injured as to not worsen it, because most people when they're injured are always reminded that something is wrong because of the pain, and so they automatically try to be careful to not worsen the pain.

Idk if I'm really making sense but yes I'm agreeing with you that I think that could be interesting to explore! Though I don't think she'd be completely void of anxiety or fear - but yes, baseline fear (and reflexes such as drawing your hand away from a hot pan you touched accidentally) would definitely be affected.

After getting titan-shifter powers, I see your worries about your OC being a Mary Sue, but to be honest, I don't think that would automatically make her a Mary Sue. There are still many other ways you could give your OC flaws and limitations as well - maybe a personality/behaviour flaw, or her struggling to get along with teammates because they experience pain and therefore a lot of their instinctual behaviours are surrounded around that, and she can't really understand it because she doesn't feel physical pain. E.g., maybe she's the reckless type, because again, injuries don't mean as much to her because she can't feel pain from them and her body doesn't notify her of its limitations really, but her recklessness could put her teammates at risk, who aren't titan shifters, who do very much feel pain and therefore are a lot more aware of the limitations of their bodies' capabilities, and therefore wouldn't be as reckless. There's a lot of interesting conversations to be had there, I think.

At the end of the day though, please don't worry about Mary Sues - write whatever makes you feel happy, write the fic plot that you want to write! It's all for fun :)) Have a nice day!

[elmundodeflor]

In the span of 10 years, Hanji writes Levi one letter for each birthday they spend together.

"12 Things I Never Told You" pays homage to his and Hanji's bond through space and time, and depicts the loving light in which they saw him.

You can read the full fic and 12 letters here, on AO3.

In the meantime, here's one of the letters for you to check out;

Levi,

When I gave you the tea-can earlier, the look on your face could have only meant two things:

1) "This must have been expensive as hell."

2) "You're batshit crazy for spending on it."

I told you, though! I wasn't gonna throw you a birthday party, but you had to expect a gift from me, at least. I like going all out!

Anyways, it was a nice surprise that you came down the lab with two mugs instead of one. And that you talked about your mother.

You told me that you had this same tea-can at home, in the Underground. And that your mom had gotten it for trade from one of her clients that lived up here. Your entire face softened when you mentioned her— how graceful she was. It was like seeing sugar melting on the stove.

Of course, I didn't ask— if she's alive, or what happened to her. I didn't mean to be intrusive. But the way you spoke in past-tense... oh, I'm sorry, Levi. I'm so, so sorry. Really. If she was anything quite like you, then I'm sure she was a wonderful woman.

To be honest, I don't know either— whether my mom's alive or not. You see, I never talk about this for a reason. I ran away from home when I was fourteen. My parents were... well, let's just say... not good people. I was mischievous, and rebellious, and asked too many questions. They most definitely did not like that.

My grandpa was the closest thing I ever had to a father, or a friend. He did die, though. He was mischievous, and rebellious, and asked as many questions as I did. I guess, back then, it not only made my parents uncomfortable, but the Military Police as well...

It was the reason I joined the Survey Corps, you know? You may not believe this, but I was once full of rage, too. I'm just lucky I could turn it into something better— passion, purpose. I'm certainly not proud of how it used to be. You should have seen me, all those years ago; shouting down the hallways, kicking titans' heads... I just hope you never get to see it again. If you do, I'm scared you might never look at me the same, and that I never forgive myself for it.

I have no clue how you do it, though— carry yourself through life. Back then, if they'd given me the names of the fuckers who took my grandpa, I'd have killed them on the spot. You, on the other hand, (and I know you'll get mad at me for saying this) are gentle. If you wanted to, you could break necks with a single blow. Or seek revenge towards the world for what it's done to you. But you choose not to. You actively, every day, choose not to.

Yeah, yeah, you probably don't like me reminding you of all this. But you're kind, Levi. You stay in the lab with me while I’m working, and you trust me enough to tell me about your mother. And you share this expensive-ass-tea I bought for you.

You're a good person. Much better than I'll ever be. I know you don’t think that you are, and that you worry others may also think that you’re not. But it’s true— you’re a good man.

See? It doesn't even matter I spent half my budget on this! (You’ve been warned, you won’t ever hear a word about it). You deserve to have nice things, little one. Also, it was pretty neat to hear that tiny hum of satisfaction you made when you drank from your cup. I know not many things surprise you nowadays, either. So, I'll take my pride in knowing I did— HA!

Hope you had a good night. And that you had a great birthday— yeah, that too!

Happy you're with me for another year.

See you around,

Hanji x

P.S: Thank you for the tea. Literally the best one I had!

[tickle-bugs]

For the warmup prompts can you do Beetlejuice and Lydia (platonic! I do not ship them romantically in any way whatsoever) with the dialogue of “I bet I can get you to say my name.” If not, I totally understand!

So for people who haven’t seen/listened to the musical the vibe is completely different from the movie LMAO less “this is our weird uncle beetlejuice the family won’t talk to him he’s wanted by the feds and can’t come within 500 feet of the house” and more “cool but still weird cousin beetlejuice who collects strange rocks, is always in danger of being actively actively on fire, and is wayyy too into dark humor”. It’s a good show! If you like comedy musicals with a rock lean to the soundtrack, you’ll probably like it. It’s got a Little Shop of Horrors sensibility to it, I think. 

If anyone tags this as ship w/ Lydia and Beetlejuice I will crawl out of your screen like the girl from the ring and gnaw on your bones I’m so serious

AU where the plot of this show doesn’t take like. A week LMAO. Basically Lydia hasn’t said BJ’s name yet but she also hasn’t decided what to do with her dad yet. So they’re at an impasse. Lydia regularly goes to hang out in her haunted attic and lament because Delia won’t go up there, thus making it safe. Beetlejuice keeps doing Say My Name-style ad pitches to get Lydia to summon him properly but he’s not very good at it. 

EDIT: FORGOT THE BODY HORROR WARNING OOPS!! It’s very mild but just in case anyone needs it <;3

Full-Time Spectres

Lydia’s life is far from conventional, perfectly so, but she’s started to adapt to the strangeness in the walls of her house. She doesn’t have the one ghost she wants most of all, but she’s got three that do just fine for entertainment and scheming purposes. She’s gotten used to the cold spots, the occasional flicker of the lights, and Adam’s habit of walking through walls rather than doors--he figured out that he could and never wanted to stop. 

Some things she’ll never adjust to, though, like her attic being strewn with scraps of brutalized board games.

Monopoly’s been pinned to the wall with a knife, Ludo sits perfectly still on a shelf with suspicious-looking green liquid in the shot glasses, and a chess board hovers in the air, eternally aflame. It’s a massacre and she doesn’t know where half of these things came from. 

“What’s, uh…what’s happening here?” Lydia kicks the door shut behind her. The door creaks open. She kicks it closed again with a frown.

Adam looks up and squints at the door. His eyes dart around as if he can see the schematics of it and diagnose the problem from halfway across the room. Lydia allows herself a tiny smile. 

“Adam’s teaching me to play checkers.” Beetlejuice beams, which is unsettling in itself. 

“Well, I tried to reach him to play chess, then a few other things…it didn’t go well.” Adam pushes his glasses up his nose and surveys the board in front of them. He captures one of Beetlejuice’s pieces with a triumphant little ‘aha!’.

Beetlejuice takes a long, pensive look at the board. Very thin tendrils of smoke curl out of his ears as he tries to decide which piece to play. Adam, sweet Adam, goes to help him make an advantageous move, but Beetlejuice shushes him. 

“What are you doing?” Lydia sidles over to Barbara, who fumbles with an old lamp. She sets it down before she can shatter it. 

“Well, it was going to be a surprise but…” Barbara gestures excitedly to a small nook in the attic. She’s rearranged various boxes of her former belongings to build a shoddy sort of booth. A heavy, ugly floral curtain hangs precariously over the doorway. 

“It’s a dark corner!” Lydia gasps sarcastically. 

“No—well, yes, but it’s supposed to be a kind of mini dark room? I don’t know much about them but I know you’re always taking pictures.” Barbara shifts awkwardly.

Oh. Oh. 

Lydia cradles her camera in her hands, running her thumb along the outside. The pebbled texture is a kiss to her fingertips. If she concentrated hard enough, she can remember the feeling of her mom’s warm hands over her own, showing her how to hold the camera. 

“If you don’t like it—“ 

“You made this for me?” She whispers. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. 

“Still workin’ on it, but yes.” Barbara gestures lamely. 

“You…didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing but time. Might as well use it right.” Barbara shrugs. Lydia bounces on her toes.

“I’ve still, um, gotta clear out all of our junk. Adam and I don’t need it anymore, not really, and you need room to breathe. I know it’s not much, but--”

Lydia crashes into Barbara for a hug. She’s icy to the touch, but her touch is the most comforting thing Lydia can imagine. Barbara pulls her in close, cradling the back of her head with her cool hands. There is no heartbeat in her chest, but Lydia can feel that it’s not empty.  

A memory of her mother prickles at the back of her mind. She pushes it down. 

“Do you want help?” Lydia pulls away and looks towards the dark room, ignoring the twinge of grief in her gut. She can see its potential around the edges.

“It’s your surprise! You can’t help with that!” Barbara gasps, affronted. 

The curtain falls heavily from the hooks and thumps into the ground. A plume of dust kicks up and Lydia coughs. 

“Okay. Maybe you can.” Barbara scratches her head. Together, she and Lydia hoist the heavy curtain back into precarious-looking hooks embedded in the wall. As they back away from it, silently begging it to stay in place, Beetlejuice sits up ramrod straight. 

“Adam, Barbara’s throwing away your coin collection,” Beetlejuice gasps and points over Adam’s shoulder.

“What? They’re vintage!” Adam whirls around. Beetlejuice moves a bunch of pieces around, making a bunch of captures, and eats a piece for good measure. He winks at Lydia. She fondly rolls her eyes. 

“You know I would never.” Barbara says. Adam deflates. She kisses his forehead. He grumbles a little but accepts it.

When Adam turns back to the board, Lydia has the express joy of watching him go through the five stages of grief in real time. He looks from Beetlejuice to the board in sheer despair. 

“Why do you keep eating the pieces?” Adam puts his head in his hands. 

“Because, Adam dearest, it makes you mad.” Beetlejuice pats his shoulder solemnly. Lydia snorts.

“Well, I’m officially out of games.” Adam pats his thighs and stands. He ambles over to Barbara and appraises the curtain. He puts his hands on his hips and starts muttering about supports and tracks. Lydia tries to follow along but her eyes near-instantly glaze over. 

“Sooooo, Lydia.” Beetlejuice slides over to her. “Have you given my offer any more thought?”

“You still haven’t given me a convincing argument. Calling yourself ‘the worst of the best’ isn’t exactly a glowing review.” Lydia wrinkles her nose. 

“These two like me!” Beetlejuice points at the Maitlands. Barbara gives a teasing ‘meh’ gesture just to see him splutter in offense. She laughs softly. 

“I’ll admit, I’m coming around on him.” Adam chuckles. 

“Thank you, Adam. Mwah.” Beetlejuice blows a kiss in his direction. Adam turns a little pink and goes back to working on the curtain. Barbara whispers something in his ear that makes him turn even pinker. 

“They like anyone. I’ve met cardboard with stronger opinions than them.” Lydia scoffs, then turns. “No offense.” 

Adam and Barbara both shrug. 

“Fair point. Counteroffer: you hate your dad, I hate your dad, let’s kill him.” Beetlejuice gives his most enthusiastic jazz hands. Lydia stares at him blankly. 

“Denied.” She pushes his hands out of the way. 

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you suck. Your fate hinges on me and you can’t even get me to say your name. You spend all your time cheating at board games because you need me more than I need you. That’s pretty lame for a big, scary demon,” Lydia says mockingly, curling her fingers into claws. When Beetlejuice gives her the finger, she gives two right back with a smirk. 

“Lydia, be nice,” Barbara chides, goosing Lydia’s side. She yelps and smacks her hand away. 

Beetlejuice gasps. Lydia slowly meets his sparkling eyes. 

“No.” Lydia points at him. Beetlejuice smiles slowly, wicked and full of mischief. 

“I’ll kill you. I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you--”

Lydia steps back, Beetlejuice steps forward, and all hell breaks loose. Lydia springs over a pile of Maitland junk and ducks under Adam’s arm. She shoves him into Beetlejuice’s path.

Beetlejuice simply picks Adam up and deposits him elsewhere like a Maitland mannequin. He squeaks and leaps out of the way of their chase.  

The two of them circle each other around an unbuilt dining room table kit, Lydia just barely keeping out of arm’s reach. She bolts past a dilapidated spin-your-own-yarn kit and dives through Barbara’s legs to hide behind her. 

Beetlejuice stops and visibly considers the consequences of doing the same. Barbara gives him a withering look. He tries to circle around her, but Lydia’s excellent at moving her around like a meat shield. Beetlejuice visibly starts scheming. 

Barbara looks at Lydia, looks back at him, and slides out of the way. 

“Barbara!” Lydia screeches in outrage but there’s not enough time to screech and run. He grabs her and pulls her into a bear hug. 

“Thank youuuu, Babs!” Beetlejuice grins at her. She shakes her head fondly and honorably discharges herself from the battlefield. 

“Hey Lydia…I bet I can get you to say my name.” He cackles evilly. Lydia hisses at him, but damn it, she’s already giggling nervously. He swoops his hands over her stomach, wiggling his fingers but not quite touching. 

“B-Beetlejuice!” She squeaks and rocks up onto her toes in lieu of running. 

“That’s one!” He singsongs, finally touching down on her stomach. She folds into his hands—unwise, really—and curses Beetlejuice to the high heavens and below. 

“Think we should help her?” Adam leans over to Barbara. They both watch Lydia worm around in Beetlejuice’s arms, not making much of an escape attempt despite the volume of her threats. 

“Nah.” Barbara moves a crate of nearly-unused embroidery hoops out of the way with tender care. The curtain collapses again. Both Maitlands sigh. 

“Beetlejuice, you fucker!” Lydia growls, but quickly loses it to laughter. He’s doing this infuriating little pinchy-thing to her sides, one that makes her leap clear off the ground each time. She tosses her head back and cackles, her whole face scrunched with the force of it. 

God, she hasn’t laughed like this since…well, it’s been a while. She’d forgotten that she could. 

“Eh, that probably counts. One more!” Beetlejuice finds a deathly spot on her lower ribs and decides not to leave it alone. 

“Beeeeeeeeeeeee--AHHH!” 

“Hm, yeah. See, now we’re gonna have to start over.” Beetlejuice tasers her sides, right at that spot, and feigns disapproval. Lydia makes a noise at a pitch audible only to dogs and demons. 

Crunch. 

Lydia’s foot connects directly with his face in a frankly-stunning high kick. He drops her roughly. Something goes flying across the room and hits the wall with a quiet thump. Barbara gasps sharply and covers her mouth in shock. 

Beetlejuice touches his nose—or rather, the space where it used to be, and a thick hush falls over the attic. Everyone’s eyes drift to the nose, now fallen among jars of the most rancid-looking kombucha on the face of the earth. It twitches plaintively. 

He laughs, loud and boisterous. His lack-of-nose whistles as he does. Adam picks up the fallen nose and gags before tossing it to Lydia and wiping his hands on his shirt. 

“Got your nose,” Lydia giggles weakly, depositing it into Beetlejuice’s hand. 

“Nice shot.” Beetlejuice chuckles, uncomfortably nasally, and shoves his nose back into place with an awful crack. He takes a long, wheezing inhale and gives her a thumbs up. 

“So…” He sidles close to her, bringing back the jazz hands. 

“No.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He sighs. 

“Lydia, are you alright?” Delia’s voice curls faintly up the rickety staircase. She climbs up, but not all the way—Lydia can tell by the shuffling of her awful shoes. 

Everyone freezes.

“Lydia?” 

She opens her mouth to answer Delia and Beetlejuice squeezes her sides. She yelps and whirls around, but he doesn’t even have the decency to feign innocence. He just does it again, waiting for the precise moment she goes to speak. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m o-okay.” Lydia wrestles with Beetlejuice’s hands, her voice shaking with barely-restrained giggles. 

“Oh god, please don’t make me come up there.” Delia’s ‘whisper’ is anything but. Beetlejuice snorts. 

“I’m fine! Just, uhm, doing spring cleaning.” Lydia calls back, stomping on Beetlejuice’s foot. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Okay.” A long, heavy pause from Delia. 

“You can go now!” Lydia yells. Delia’s heels click quickly down the stairs, back towards the dreary living. 

“You’re insufferable,” Lydia hisses at Beetlejuice, punching his shoulder. He holds his hand over his heart and gives a grand, sweeping bow. When he stands up, he smacks his head against the dagger in the wall. Lydia snickers at him.

He turns around like a penguin, never one to do things normally, and makes a delighted noise at the pierced Monopoly board. He pulls the knife out of the wall and pokes his finger with it a few too many times, fascinated with the sharpness of it. 

He stretches, makes a bunch of vague measurement and aiming gestures, then lobs the knife straight upwards. It lodges into the ceiling with an enthusiastic ping! The blade warbles with the force of it.

Beetlejuice slaps the Monopoly board down on the floor and plops down in front of it. Adam bemoans the state of the attic ceiling as Barbara consoles him. 

“Wanna play?” Beetlejuice snaps his fingers and the board changes, shifting into black, whites, purples, and greens. Graveyard moss creeps along the edges of the board. Monopoly components spawn into existence on the board, appearing in puffs of fog and comically-quiet wails of the damned. 

“Sure.” Lydia sits opposite him. She pokes at some of the moss. It sprouts to meet her touch. 

“If you get stabbed, you lose?” Beetlejuice casts a cursory glance to the still-wobbling knife. The blade shifts slightly out of the ceiling. 

“Deal.” Lydia sticks her hand out to shake. Beetlejuice takes it with gusto. 

“You guys wanna play?” Lydia turns to the Maitlands. Barbara and Adam look at each other, communicating in that telepathic way of theirs. Barbara grins and leads Adam over to the board to sit. 

“I call thimble!” Adam reaches for it. Beetlejuice swats his hand. Adam reaches again. Beetlejuice swats him a little harder. 

“You can’t have the thimble. I’m the thimble.” Beetlejuice pinches it between his fingers. 

“Can I have the thimble?” Barbara leans close to Beetlejuice and looks up at him through her lashes. Lydia never would’ve guessed that a demon could blush, but sure enough, Beetlejuice’s face takes on the slightest bit of color. 

“I sense that I’m being manipulated.” He narrows his eyes. 

“Is it working?” Barbara smiles. 

“Yep.” He slaps the thimble into her hand. She passes it to Adam. He beams. Beetlejuice rolls his eyes but his gaze lingers on them for just a bit too long. 

“Well played, Babs. Well played.” Beetlejuice scoops up the racecar piece and frowns at it. Its tiny metal form melts and reconfigures into a small hearse. Satisfied, he places it right next to the cat piece—Lydia’s, of course. Barbara takes the top hat with pride. 

When Beetlejuice jumps Adam for his extra get out of jail free card—of which there are a suspicious amount in Beetlejuice’s version of the game—Lydia laughs and swipes a bit of Beetlejuice’s money. Adam’s hiccupy cackles are the backdrop for Barbara robbing the bank in broad daylight, taking as many bills from the tray as her heart desires. 

Lydia’s life is certainly very strange and painfully unusual, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. She can only hope that her mom will love being part of the attic’s menagerie of ghosts and ghouls as much as she does. 

[five-rivers]

Life's Great Lie 15

AO3

Edit: Sorry I forgot the readmore!

.

Predictably, the sand dumped them on top of yet more sand. 

“Oh, jeez,” said Valerie, squirming.  “I think there’s sand in my underwear.”

“The risks of going to the beach.”

“This is not a beach.”

In fact, they seemed to be in the middle of a sweltering wasteland.  Tucker scanned the green and swirling sky for landmarks.  Although things moved frequently in the Ghost Zone, they tended to move together. 

Tucker shrugged.  “It’s sort of a beach.  Beach-like, anyway.  You should suit up.”

Valerie scowled at him, but activated her suit, the red crawling over her limbs.  Before it had finished assembling, Tucker had roughly figured out where they were.

“Far Frozen is the closest.  Unfortunately, Skulker’s Island is closer.”  He pointed at the skull-shaped island.  “We’ll want to avoid him until we have backup, but we might want to swing by later.”

“You’re kidding,” said Valerie.

“Not really.  He’s a pain, but he’s got that weird sense of honor.  He won’t go after Danny when he’s mind controlled.”

“Yeah, but he might go after me.  Or one of you two idiots.  It’s not like Norse gods are common.”  She flicked her hand out towards Thor, then looked at him.  “What is he doing?”

Thor was also surveying the sky, looking grim.  “So…  This is Helheim.”

“Maybe?” said Tucker with a shrug.  “I don’t really know how well your history lines up with mythology, or even if there are, like, other afterlives.  Could be a completely different afterlife.”

“It will be difficult to find Banner here.  I had hoped he would be somewhere nearby.”

Tucker hadn’t.  He was all for giving the guy a good long time to cool down. 

“Well, maybe we can get Skulker to find him for us.  He’s good at that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, if you want him to hunt Dr. Banner down,” said Valerie. 

Tucker turned to look at her.  “You sound very incredulous for someone who came to help me recruit ghosts to fight aliens.”

“And you sound very judgmental for a guy who’s going to be riding shotgun on my hoverboard.”

“Hey, this staff isn’t just for show.  I can fly, too.”

“You what?”

.

“Oh, hey, is that who I think it is?” asked Tucker as they started to angle down into the heart of the Far Frozen.

“It is!” exclaimed Thor, putting on a burst of speed.  “Banner!” 

Dr. Banner jumped, partially dislodging the thick fur blanket the yeti’s had draped around his shoulders.

Well.  That was easier than expected. 

“Don’t startle me,” he said.  “Did you not see what just happened?”  He stressed the words, but the rest of him was a picture of practiced calm. 

“Now, now,” said Frostbite, “I think you have a much better handle on your condition than you think.”

Dr. Banner responded by rubbing his face.  “Everything about this week is so…  How did you even get here?”

“Magic,” said Tucker, raising his staff.  “And Valerie’s hoverboard.”

“And my hammer!  It’s good to see you, Dr. Banner!”

“You’re a doctor!” exclaimed Frostbite.  “Why didn’t you say so?  We’re always thrilled to meet fellow healers.”

“Oh,” said Dr. Banner.  “Um.  I didn’t realize you were…”

“The Far Frozen has some of the best doctors in the Realms,” said Tucker. 

“We like to think so, certainly!  Are you here to pick up your friend?  Will the Great One be joining us as well?”

“Er, about that.  We need your help…”

.

Stark Tower was in that strange architectural limbo between ‘almost finished’ and ‘move-in day.’  Sure, such a big building in such a big city would have people moving in as it was finished, not just after the finishing touches, but it was far from full.  The top, private, floors were the only ones that were entirely fit for habitation.  Most floors lacked furniture, finished paint and other decor, and key wall and ceiling panels.

And, therefore, people. 

Ground floor security was easy to take out.  From there, it was just a matter of getting the portal set up.  Wires put in place.  Final touches on the portal device.  Alignment.  Breaking into Tony Stark’s private bar. 

“Are you sure you should be doing that before a battle?” asked Danny. 

“We do not become intoxicated nearly so as quickly as you humans.”

He paused, digesting that.  “Do Asgardians get alcohol poisoning?”

“No,” said Loki.

Too bad.  That meant Danny couldn’t cause mischief by knocking bottles out of Loki’s hand to protect him from the evils of alcohol. 

“This is really quite good for a human brew,” mused Loki. 

Danny shrugged.  He wouldn’t know.

A streak of red and gold outside the window caught Danny’s eye.

“They’re here,” he said.  “At least one of them.”

“Wait for him,” ordered Loki.  “I am sure we will not have to wait long.”

.

Tony flew by the tower again, this time spotting Loki through the windows, leaning against his bar.  With the portal device having reached the point of being self-sustaining (despite him and the Fentons both believing it wouldn’t get to that point just yet), it looked like he might have to go to Plan B.  Or C.  Honestly, he’d lost track at this point. 

He landed on the platform, past where the gauntlet would have activated.  He didn’t want to strip this armor.  Even if it was a bit banged up, it was the only set he’d modified to deal with ghosts.  With Fenton. 

Now, if the aliens started showing up, he might have different priorities. 

He glanced upwards at the portal device at the top of the tower.  Nothing yet.  The Fentons had assured him that he’d know for sure when it was finally activated. 

He walked in. 

“Please,” drawled Loki, “tell me you're going to appeal to my humanity.”

“Uh,” said Tony, improvising.  “Actually, I’m planning to threaten you.”

“Really,” said Loki.  “That explains why you’ve kept your armor on.”

“Hm, yeah, I know, not very hospitable of me.  I’d offer you a drink, but it looks like you’ve already made yourself at home.”

“Stalling me won't change anything.”

“Oh, I know, I know.  But I’m not stalling.  I’m threatening!  By the way, you doing okay over there, kid?” asked Tony.

Fenton gave him two thumbs up and a dopey grin.  “Copacetic.”

“Practicing for your SATs there, kid?”

“Nah, I’d use something like superlative or splendid if I was doing that.”

“Right,” said Tony.  “Anyway, you sure are drinking a lot.  Having second thoughts?”

Loki rolled his eyes.   “What is there to have second thought about?  The Chitauri are coming, and nothing can change that.  What do I have to fear?”

That… sounded weirdly resigned. 

“The Avengers?”

Fenton snorted.  “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, that just sounds like the name for an edgy boy band.  Do you have matching outfits.”

They didn’t, thank God.  Teenagers were brutal.  “You won’t be laughing when you’re up against the rest of the team.  Earth’s mightiest heroes.”

“Well, yeah, you’ve got to save your air for breathing in a fight.  Hey, Loki, can I call you Loki Ono?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, she’s famous for breaking up a band.”

“No.”

“We’re not the Beatles, kid.”

“Yeah, if you were musicians, I’d actually be scared.”

“What, and you’re not scared of the demi-god, the super soldier, the Hulk, and a pair of master assassins?  All of whom your boss has managed to piss off?”  At least partially by kidnapping Fenton, but that was beyond the point. 

“Not really,” said Fenton as Loki continued to sip Tony’s top-shelf… actually, no, wait, that was the mead.  Why did Tony even have mead?  “Not even sure what a Hulk is in this context.  That’s not the name of your helicarrier thing, is it?  Because if so, yikes.  Might as well call it Titanic II.”

“Okay, fine, you’re a teenager, you’re not scared of anything.  What about your parents?  And what’s his excuse?  Kinda sucks to be hiding behind a kid, man.”

“Enough,” said Loki.  “I have an army.”

“We have a Hulk.”

“Do you?”  Loki smirked, then stalked forward until he was standing just outside of Tony’s reach.  “For all your talk of allies, you are awfully alone up here.  Tell me, have they abandoned you and whatever ill-formed plan you have to, what, exactly?  Save a few more lives?  Stave off the… inevitable?”

“You’re missing the point.  There’s no version of this where you come out on top.  Maybe your army comes.  Maybe it’s too much.  Maybe you win the day.  But that’s as far as it goes, because what we can’t protect, we’ll avenge.”

Loki regarded him coolly.  “Vengeance, is it?”

“I consider it more balancing the scales of justice.”

“And do you think this world is in balance?”  Loki laughed, the sound slightly hysterical.  “There are those who would disagree with you!”

The tower shuddered, just slightly.  Tony twisted to see a beam of light pushing its way into the sky.  So much for his hope that Loki would have to do something to the portal to make it work.  But that had only been Plan G. 

“Take care of him.”

Tony turned back to see Fenton directly between himself and Loki.  The boy smiled the kind of smile that wouldn’t be out of place on an exhausted child actor.  Cherubic and unhinged. 

“Speaking of vengeance, I never did pay you back for what you did to Tucker, did I?”

He put his hand flat against Tony’s chest and shoved. 

.

This was one of those good news, bad news situations.  Only, it also had a worse news category. 

Good news: Mr. Stark, Iron Man, whatever, had added ghost countermeasures to his armor. 

Bad news: They hurt. 

Worse news: They didn’t hurt nearly enough to stop Danny. 

Good news: Loki seemed to be processing some of the cognitive dissonance that had (presumably) been shoved down his throat via mind control. 

Bad news: There wasn’t any more time for him to process it.

Worse news: Even if this fight turned out the way they hoped, Loki would probably be killed for what he’d done. 

Good news: Selvig had successfully put a couple of really nasty fail-safes into the design of the portal device. 

Bad news: No one that wasn’t mind-controlled knew about them. 

Worse news: There was an alien army descending on the streets of New York, and despite all his hinting, it looked like his ghost army plan had fallen through. 

Millions of people could die today. 

Danny would be, at least partially, responsible. 

But there wasn’t time to contemplate any of those problems, because being thrown through a window didn’t really stop a guy with jet boots. 

Iron Man shot a volley of ectoblasts at Danny.  The mechanism for the blasters seemed to be shielded, or at least notably altered from his parents’ original designs, so he couldn’t steal the spark from it like he’d been able to do with the SHIELD agents in Germany.  That was fine.  Danny deflected half of them and snatched the other half out of the air before throwing them back, pushing Iron Man further away from the window. 

Please let him decide the aliens were the bigger threat.  Danny didn’t want to be stuck fighting him. 

Luckily, his prayers seemed to be answered.  Iron Man pulled away, spiraling to meet a flight of small alien ships.  Danny watched him for a moment before turning and following Loki out to the balcony. 

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now we wait,” said Loki. 

.

The Ops Center threaded its way between skyscrapers.  “Not a lot of places to park, here, guys,” said Jazz, glancing over her shoulder in hope of guidance.  “Someone’s going to have to give me more directions soon.”

“Just keep following that light,” said Captain America, shrugging on a backpack of some sort.  “You’ll want to wait until you’re as close as possible to turn on the ghost portal.”

Jazz did a doubletake.  “Is that one of the emergency parachutes?  I don’t know when they were last checked—”

“They’re from the quinjet,” said Black Widow, striding by with a parachute of her own.

“But—”

“We’re hoping you can park us on a skyscraper, don’t worry,” said Barton. 

“Easy for you to say,” grumbled Sam. 

“I don’t know, you’re the one with a jet pack.”

“I’m the one that knows how to use a jet pack.  And I’m staying with the Ops Center, anyway.”

Something Jazz was glad for.  The Ops Center was great, but it would be a sitting duck once it was parked and acting as a platform for the portal, and she, well, she had an arrow hole in her shoulder.  Not great for the whole fighting thing.  Or even really for flying. 

This injury would definitely have repercussions later in life, which was something she was trying not to think about too much right now. 

“Oh, what is that?  Is that a space whale?” asked Sam, leaning forward over Jazz’s shoulder. 

It did in fact look like a space whale. 

“I don’t know,” said Jazz.  “Should I put down?”

“We’ll want our portal as close as possible, sweetie!” called Maddie from somewhere in the depths.  “Keep going!”

“We’re not quite done with it yet, anyway!” yelled Jack. 

Black Widow hissed something in Russian.  Jazz reciprocated the sentiment.  They didn’t really have time. 

But what they had would have to be enough.  The radar screen lit up, beeping urgently. 

“We have fliers inbound.”

“Great,” said Black Widow.  “Let’s see if we can’t get a couple.”

.

Natasha stood next to Barton and watched as Captain Rogers cranked open the lower hatch, then tapped her earpiece.  “You’ll have to get us over them and slow,” she said.  “Still think you can do that?”

“I said I could,” said Jasmine Fenton. 

Natasha almost rolled her eyes.  Teenagers.  Except she’d never been quite like that.  Never got the chance. 

(She couldn’t help but think that Jasmine Fenton would have made a great Widow.  She already had ignoring pain down.)

“Hold on tight, everyone.  Ride’s about to get bumpy.”

The Ops Center tipped upward suddenly, forcing everyone to grab onto the handrails, and accellerated. 

“So, uh,” shouted Barton over the wind, “I don’t think we actually discussed how we’re going to do this!”

“That’s because we’re not!  I am!”

“Oh, that really makes me feel a lot better!”

“Contact in five, four, three—”

The rest of Jazz’s countdown was cut off by the impacts of the chitauri’s weapons on the Ops Center shield.

“Be ready to cut shielding!”  She saw black-brown outside the window, getting closer.  “Now!”

She jumped.  Free fall lasted less than a second and then she was bringing her knee down on an alien helm.  She twisted, kicked, and grabbed the handlebars.  Time to see whether or not these aliens thought similarly enough to humans to design vehicles in a way she could understand.  Not at all guaranteed, given that American and Russian vehicles often felt like they were made on two different planets. 

But that was what the parachute was for. 

It was fine. 

She pulled back, the vehicle arcing, reversing course.  Great. 

“Bringing it back around.”

“Great, tell me when you need me to let you in.”

“The portal is ready,” chimed in Maddie Fenton.  “Should we activate now, or…?”

“See the building at our two o’clock?” asked Captain America.

“Yeah?”

“Anchor there.  Hawkeye, is that a good enough position for you?”

“I can make it work.”

“Great,” said Natasha.  “Captain, get ready for pickup.”

“Roger that.”

.

Jazz pulled a lever and felt a jolt as two thick Fenton Cables hit the roof of the building under them, securing the Ops Center as much as it could be away from its home base on top of Fentonworks. 

“Ready, sweetie?”

Jazz locked eyes with the spindly, monster-spewing white tower extending upwards from Tony Stark’s skyscraper.  At this range, she could see small figures moving around on the roof of the building. 

“Yeah, ready,” she said.  “Ops Center secure.”

The lights flickered, and a high-pitched whine emanated from belowdecks.  Then, from right beneath where Jazz’s pilot seat, a horizontal beam of bubbly green shot out before splashing against nothing, only meters away from the Tesseract portal beam.  She twisted her controls, changing the Ops Center’s bearings and sweeping their portal beam further away from the other portal beam.  She didn’t know what crossing them would do, but she didn’t want to find out. 

The end of the ectoplasmic beam twisted, trembled, flexed, and a vibrantly green portal swirled into existence. 

“Guess we’re just waiting on Tucker, now,” said Sam. 

“Or on Danny,” replied Jazz, grimly.  The figures on the roof had stopped moving. 

She was quite certain one of them was her brother. 

.

“What in the Nine Realms is that?” demanded Loki. 

“A ghost portal,” said Danny. 

Loki bared his teeth and visibly started to grind them.  “One of your parents’ creations?”

“Most likely.”

“Do you know how to disable it?”

“Probably, yeah.  Are you going to tell me to do it?”  If he did, and if Loki was clever about his wording, Danny would have to hope that his nature as a ghost would be able to overpower the mind control in at least this specific instance. 

Loki glared down at him.  “No,” he said.  “You’re staying with me.  Let them play with their toys.  They will be no match for the chitauri.”

.

“… And that’s why we need your help.”

Pandora nodded gravely.  “I see,” she said.  “We will join you.  An invasion of Earth affects all of us, even here.  I will send one of my fastest messengers to the Dragon Kingdom, so you may lead us to the portal at once.”

“Er, problem,” said Tucker.  “There is no portal yet.  It’s—”

The Fenton Finder beeped.  He pulled it up from where it hung on his belt, scanning the screen.

“Never mind,” he said.  “Portal’s right this way.”

.

.

.

This is probably it for this fic for the next month or so! I'm participating in the Phic Phight again this year, and that usually sweeps me away quite handily. You might see more chapters for Dannymay, though!

Wish me luck!

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

The discussion about the mistrust of the player character in PLA had me thinking a bit about this whole "outsider to the outsiders" thing going on.

While the player character is very innocent and not deserving of the shunning, I think people tend to interpret the betrayal as a sign that the village(of outsiders) doesn't like outsiders at all which is obviously not the case. They are literal refugees, traders, farmers, academics, etc from all around and they are very much trying to reach out and incorporate the clans into their relations. So that's not why they turn on you.

It's more of your standard rumor mill witch trial born from you falling from the sky(where the spooky rift is!) in a big showy spectacle. Then having strange clothes and an almost inhuman ease with pokemon that even the experts who have been training and studying with them cannot fathom. Now these new problems have started and the magical sky person is the only one who can fix it! Witchcraft!

YES EXACTLY!!! oooooh this ask made me so excited when i saw it in my inbox you have no idea. like, an argument can be made that the clans are isolationist, especially wrt each other (and early dialogue abt mai also suggests that jubilife and the clans are also still relatively remote but that's off topic), but by nature jubilife can't be the same way. kamado even self-describes the galaxy team as a "group of outsiders" in hisui. a security corps guard jokingly refers to them as the "Ragtag Expedition Team." so to say that they're fearful of strangers, or don't easily accept them, is clearly wrong.

not only that, but there's a list of galaxy team principles framed in the player's house, and one of them is "Those who are weaker must be helped." so like, while kamado & other people in the team tend to be rather harsh about everyone paying their due, it's really not a matter of like, disliking new people in the team, y'know? it's more about the fact that survival in hisui is difficult, and they're constantly fighting an uphill battle to sustain everyone, so there really is basically no wiggle room for anyone to not contribute whatever they're able to, which is something that's reiterated over and over in the early game. (also there's like, a considerable amount of old/older people in the village, which to my understanding is fairly unusual for this kind of project since it demands so much physical labor under trying conditions, so presumably that also contributes to the sense that everyone's jumping on this strong able-bodied young person. and also i'm curious about the reasons behind that demographic being so well-represented. this is me getting sidetracked that's just a thing i've been wondering about.)

anyway yeah. the reason ppl are distrustful of you is that you FELL OUT OF THE SKY. you have no past but some ambiguous link to the crack in reality which people already see as some kind of bad omen or worse. and then you're like, instantly all buddy-buddy with these creatures that most people not in the survey or security corps are scared shitless of, to the point of being terrified to leave the safety of the village for fear of encountering any. like that's the other thing to me is that your talent with pokemon isn't just seen as weird, to people already scared of them it would probably be actively really intimidating. especially since you don't have the credentials of prior training, like zisu and the rest of the security/survey corps do! they're just taking it on faith that you do know what you're doing. even if you're very nice and helpful, the more fearful jubilife people would probably see you as a passive threat to the village on account of all those weapons of mass destruction you're casually carrying around in your back pocket that may or may not even be under your proper control.

& then like you said, the rumor mill has its way with you, compounded by the situation with the nobles, and by the red sky event, i mean, i don't think most of the village hates you. not after you've done so many fetch quests for all of them whwjkwhk. it's just that they're quietly sort of afraid of you, which is not at all an emotion negated by how helpful you've been. and that's why you get kicked out.

[sinni-ok-sessi]

Fic writer interview

Tagged by @bitterflames, thank you!

How many works do you have on AO3? 21, a number that surprises me every time by being both more and fewer than I think it should be

What’s your total AO3 word count? 186, 378 (again, feels like this is both way too many words and also not as many as it ought to be)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Moonlight as My Guide (The Untamed) The Naming of Small Things (The Untamed) Continuing Professional Development (The Magnus Archives) Noli me tangere (The Magnus Archives) Spin Me Right Round (The Untamed)

Nothing suprising here, given the ridiculous size of those two fandoms, but I am always charmed by the love CPD gets, given it's mostly me making jokes about a librarianship conference I went to once

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Aaaagh, I wish I did? I'm bad at thinking of things to say! I think I do better at responding in small fandoms where I know/know of most of the commenters and 'thank you for being on this small liferaft with me' feels like an appropriate sentiment

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I don't really do angst-angst, but The Winding Roads They Led Me Here is probably the most obviously not-a-happy-ending thing I've written?

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? I am surveying my corpus and learning that wow, I write a not inconsiderable number of things about learning to live when you don't really want to? Shan't be analysing that too closely, tyvm, but I do remain pleased with the way And Green the Ground Below and Breathe In For Luck came out. For sheer straightforward glee at the ending, it's gotta be never knew a part of you / you didn't set in ink

Do you write crossovers? No, I imagine crossovers at great length and then make no moves towards writing anything down (see: the sprawling Nirvana in Fire/Vorkosigan series Entity that gets passed around between me and several friends, which consists entirely of one of us going 'hey have you thought about if X met Y?' and then yelling about that for several hours straight)

Have you ever received hate on a fic? lol, only from the one person who told me 'toxic xiyao' was ruining MaMG, which is very funny to me because that's kind of the point in that fic

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yeahhhh but I find it very difficult. A long, hard process, in fact. As for 'what kind', uh, mutually obsessive D/s dynamics pretty much covers it, I think

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yeah! Someone on Wattpad was translating MaMG into Spanish, though idk how far they got

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No because I am very secretive about showing people my writing until it's 'presentable' and I think that would kill me

What’s your all-time favorite ship? [Douglas Richardson voice] Sir is fickle and changeable [/Douglas Richardson voice], but I think the ship I have spent longest actively contemplating is proooobably MCS/Jingyan?

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? All of themmmmmmm. (No, I would really like to do more with the Langya Hall prequel fic, but I think it's currently beyond my confidence as a writer so...)

What are your writing strengths? Fraught conversations and minute observations of body language, my beloved

What are your writing weaknesses? Plot? I don't know her. Pacing? A distant acquaintance at best

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I doubt I ever would, because I'm not confident in the spoken forms of any language I quote-unquote 'know', and I also find the 'multilingual character uses non-English endearments for their beloved' trope to be...a little painful, but I'm not averse to the idea on principle, though I suspect it requires more skill than people generally think to pull it off well

What was the first fandom you wrote for? hhhhh fucking. Sherlock Holmes (ACD stories), I think. Maybe the Psmith books by PG Wodehouse? I think it's for the best that the fic I wrote as a teen is marooned somewhere on LJ

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? I'm not going to do it, because it involves way too much compartmentalising not to set off my RPF squick, but god those sad boat men from The Terror are compelling and would bring me nicely back into my wheelhouse of repressed Victorians and also the Navy (I think I never actually finished writing anything for the Hornblower fandom back in the day, but my god it was not for lack of trying)

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? usually my most recent fic tbh (in this case, Make A Mercy Out of Me, which is, uh, unrepentant Disguiser smut and therefore of interest to like. three people worldwide, but that's fine)

tagging: @tallangrycockatiel, @goingsparebutwithprecision and anyone else who's interested and hasn't already been tagged