#this was a fun little self indulgent project

[vaniccio]

i'm only fighting gods today (1/?) In which Genesis learns that the measure of a hero is not by who he defeats but by who he protects, and the Warrior of Light alters the course of another star by doing what they do best: inspiring hope in those around them—and hitting things really hard. (Post Endwalker, Pre-Crisis Core.)   Ao3 Link here. Image credit here.

"Attention, passengers: the train will be arriving shortly. Please mind the gap.” 

Mihren’s eyes blearily crack open. Yawning, she jostles as the train rolls to a halt and remains seated as others idly gather their belongings.

A moon ago the shrill of grating metal always sparked a headache. A moon ago everything sparked a headache, as though her mere presence here chafed against some fundamental law of existence. These days the noise felt akin to more of a dull buzz. 

‘So. What’s next for our humble adventurer?’ 

‘That’s simple. Something new, of course.’

Once the passenger car doors open, she adjusts the bag slung across her shoulder and shuffles out after the crowd. 

Of course the next leg of her adventure wouldn’t be something as simple as delving into long-lost ancient ruins or solving one of the fantastical mysteries Emet-Selch laid out prior to his dramatic departure. No, in true Warrior of Light fashion, she overshot that particular goalpost by malms. Though, in hindsight, perhaps she should’ve expected the Crystal Tower to act strangely after being put through so much. Especially now that G’raha no longer tended to it. 

At least she’d have another story to share when she got back—whenever that might be. This reflection felt so far removed from the Source that she’s not even sure she’s on another shard to begin with. Everything was strange. 

But as she steps onto the bustling platform and raises her hand to shield against the glare of the sun, she finds no apprehension about being in an unknown place. She’s never been one to turn down the promise of a new adventure. 

Midgar is huge. 

Midgar also smells. Stale, metallic, with a hint of something cloyingly sweet. It sticks to the roof of her mouth like Eulmorian toffee. 

She can’t help but wonder if the Garlean capital was like this. Before Zenos turned the city into a spawning ground for despair. Before the Tower of Babil blackened the sky with its spikes and horrific aura. Before—

—before a long, long list of ‘befores.’ 

The Shinra building isn’t as foreboding as the tower, doesn’t evoke the same gnawing dread, but neither is it particularly pleasing to look at. The engineers of this world didn’t appear to share the same appreciation for sleek and sharp edges that Garleans did. Architecture here subscribed heavily to the concept of ‘form follows function,’ and the function of the entire city revolved around spreading something she still can’t fully wrap her head around: mako. 

A substance responsible for powering everything in sight, flowing through gargantuan tubes. It feels like aether whenever she bothers to focus, but always just a step to the left that she hesitates to label it as such. Parts of the flow feel light and airy, while others are heavy and dense to a degree that has her wondering how it doesn’t crystallize in the pipes. At times she’s reminded of her foray into the aetherial sea and the branching paths within—and how the aether felt there—but unlike the Aitiascope, concentrating too much on the pipes weaving through the city here always leaves her feeling a touch dizzy. 

Some days she attributes mako to this world’s equivalent of ceruleum. On others she hesitates to do as much, since ceruleum never sent goosebumps prickling down her skin. 

“We’re not open yet. Please return in—oh, Mihr. Hey. You’re early.”

“You said you expected an influx of customers today,” Mihren says as she steps through the store’s entryway, mindful of the single raised step leading into the open-floor room. She elbows the door closed behind her. 

Sophie’s Potions and Tinctures is a quaint little store nestled on the corner of W 79th and N 77th Street, plate-side, Sector 5. As its namesake suggests, inventory includes potions, ethers, and other various bits and bobs. Its owner is a slip of a girl—thin and pale and far too young to be on her own—but with a backbone of steel and an unwavering drive to help. 

A sigh comes from the counter followed by the sound of the register dinging. “For plate construction injuries, yes. They’re resuming work today.”

“So soon?”

“Further delays are ‘unacceptable’, as I hear it.”

Mihren shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the wall. “And the people working on it had nothing to say on the matter?”

Sophie offers a tight-lipped, knowing smile. “Do you have your cure materia with you?”

“You know you needn’t ask me that each time.” 

“Do you?” 

Mihren holds up her arm. A simple silver bracelet dangles from her wrist, socketed with a swirling green orb. She gives it a little jingle for emphasis. 

“Good. Thank you." Sophie's shoulders drop. "I expect to run out of stock today. Any extra bit of healing we can offer will go a long way."

“I brought more materials that may be of help.”  

“More oddities?” 

Mihren swings the bag off her shoulder and onto the work table. Bottles clink together as she nudges them aside. “I’ll turn them into all sorts of wonderful tinctures. Have some faith.”

“So long as they’re restorative and not afflictive,” Sophie says dryly, crossing her arms. “And don’t explode. Again.”

“You can’t figure out what sorts of secrets these things hold just by looking at them. And I cleaned it all up last time, didn’t I?”

“After scaring the owners of the shops across the street. I think they have a public security team watching me now.” 

Mihren gives her a droll look. “The same public security team that buys your potions and salves?” 

Sophie offers another thin-lipped smile and returns to organizing the check-out counter. Mihren feels her good mood fade as she organizes her own work station, separating the drake wings from bat fangs and other potential alchemic bits she scrounged up. 

It still doesn’t sit right, watching Sophie fidget and send nervous looks towards the door at the mention of what should be the city’s law enforcement. The injustice of it simmers low in her chest. She carefully shoves the disquiet into a neat little box alongside all the other things that rub her wrong about this city. The list grew day by day and despite the urge to do something—biding time and gathering information is Thancred’s forte, not hers—she forces herself to be patient. There are no Scions here to watch her back. No city-states supporting her, no connections to draw upon. The only authority she has is her own. 

Even so, she can hear Alisaie’s encouraging words: So what if you’re to stand alone? When has that ever stopped us? Stopped you?

Alphinaud’s voice, in contrast, is one of reason: Don’t be rash. Consider the situation prior to enacting a plan.

Gods, she misses the twins. 

“I’ll be careful,” she finally says with a sigh. “No explosions. And even if public security comes around I’ll make sure they don’t bother you.”

Sophie snorts. Her fingers tap away at the store counter. “You’ll what, fend them off with your cure materia?” 

“Sure."

“That you used against monsters below the plate.”

“You know how the phrase goes: kill them with kindness.”  

Sophie huffs out a curt laugh at that. “I still can’t get over how weird you are.”

Mihren’s lips quirk up as she kneels to rifle through the cabinet below the desk. “You’re the one who gave me this job.”

When she mulls over it, meeting Sophie simply made sense. Peculiar greetings and circumstances aside, they got along like a house on fire. In a classic case of ‘good intentions gone wrong,’ Sophie had gone down to the slums after hearing about an accident, took all the wrong turns, and ending up surrounded by monsters. Mihren, disoriented after once again being deposited head-first in some strange land, disposed of the creatures before she even managed to figure which way was up and which was down. 

Regardless. Like attracts like, and it is no small wonder that she ended up here despite the sheer size of the city.  

She clicks her tongue. “But you’ll be happy to know that with what you have here at the shop, I can churn out maybe two dozen or so potions. They’ll be a hint different than what people are used to—mostly the taste, I reckon—but the effect should be the same.” 

She learned many suns ago that the limiting agent here is always flora. Finding lavender or chamomile or any sort of herb worth including was like trying to sieve for gold. Even mistletoes are a rarity on account that there are no trees in Midgar—a fact so absurd she still struggles to believe it. Even Garlemald with all its steelwork and machinery had trees and weeds. 

Sophie strolls over to cast a curious glance over the spread of items on the table. “My mum collected books from near everywhere but they don’t mention any recipes like this. I still don’t understand how you know what to mix.”

Mihren sparks a fire under an alembic. “You said it yourself—” she waves her hand to disperse the faint wisps of smoke, “—I’m weird.” 

The day passes in a blur. Sophie’s potions fly off the shelves faster than expected and Mihren finds herself healing sprains and aches and a variety of construction-related injuries.

The work is mundane. She feels like a fledgling conjurer. 

It makes Sophie happy however, and despite the monotony, Mihren slips into the rhythm of it without complaint. White magic is meant to soothe—even when she carefully avoids channeling her aether through the materia glimmering on her wrist. 

Contrary to the name, it is unlike any materia she’s ever come across. Nor is the little marble a soul crystal. It feels far too cold, far too rigid when she prods at it. The soul crystals in her pockets sit warm with the memories of past practitioners and ripe with their experiences. Full of lessons intended to be passed onto future generations—to inspire others to build upon what already exists. 

These things in comparison? Limiters. The last time she tried to etch her knowledge into the small gem it nearly shattered in her face. 

What’s worse, is that each time she tries to use it, the blasted thing molds her aether into something else entirely. Like a blacksmith pouring molten iron into an impression it squeezes her fluid cure spell into an altered, stiffer version. She’d tried casting on herself once and felt like she’d been smacked in the face with a wet towel. The effects of it were still restorative, sure, but the spell had about as much bedside manner as Estinien. 

She refuses to use the gem.

Still, she keeps it on her wrist. People here got weird when she didn’t. 

The rest of the week passes in much of the same fashion. Having the time to be idle like this—having the leisure to take in everything day by day without crisis after crisis looming on the horizon—is odd. Welcome, but odd. She figures this is what her life would’ve been like had she stayed in Ul’dah. If she’d followed her mother’s wishes and became a businesswoman on the Sapphire Exchange instead of spending her days at The Quicksand. If she’d decided to run a shop, full-time.

Would someone else have taken up the mantle of Warrior of Light in her stead? 

“Mihr?”

She blinks the room back into focus. Sophie stares back at her with a markedly unimpressed look, hands on her hips behind the register. 

“What?”

“Your… whatever that is, is bubbling. Again.”

The shop’s bell dings as Mihren flies off her seat and sprints to the work table. Of course there’d be customers now. She curses under her breath and sweeps a hand over the alembic to freeze the entire damn thing. 

“—I’m tellin’ you, man! The stuff here works better than the standard stuff we’re given.” 

“Does it?”

“Yep. SOLDIER’s honor. Look at all these!”

She spares a glance over her shoulder at the figures lingering by the door. Two men, dressed in uniform. One with a dark knight’s greatsword strapped to his back, the other with a sword strapped to his waist. Not Sophie’s usual brand of customers, but even with one look she can tell they're from Shinra. Adventurers don’t wear matching uniforms like that—she’s not sure Midgar even has those—and everything about the two oozes military. There’s none of the haughtiness that she’s used to seeing on Garlean soldiers, however, so she leaves them be. 

Their conversation drones out as she refocuses on the mess before her.

She crosses her arms and eyes it with distaste. It’d be difficult to salvage any materials. Crystallized liquid and broken glass pieces jut out of the alembic she was using in a frozen fractal burst, and good thing she’d iced it then and there. Had the reaction progressed any further, Sophie would’ve talked her head off.

Sophie would’ve—

Mihren blinks.

Sophie wasn’t going through her usual sales pitch. 

With another curious glance over her shoulder, she finds Sophie standing rigid-straight behind the register, staring at the two Shinra officers in the potions isle as though she’d been struck with levin. Mihren’s gaze sharpens at once.

“Look, they’ve even got antidotes and ethers.”

“Shinra also provides both,” comes the dry response.

“Yeah, but didn’t you hear me? This stuff’s got a kick. Last time I drank one it—"

They don’t appear hostile. The taller one keeps glancing at Sophie as though the odd behavior has also snagged his attention, but is otherwise content with leaving it be. The younger one seems entirely preoccupied with the glimmering bottles on the racks. He raises one up to catch the light and grins when the colors swirl. 

Mihren catches Sophie’s eye and subtly nods at the door leading into the back of the store. Sophie offers a single relieved look before ducking out. 

Mihren turns on her heel, tugs off her alchemical gloves, and chucks them behind her. “Are you two looking for anything in specific?”

“Oh, hey! You guys got any more of those potions I bought last week?” 

“Zack—”

“We’re out of stock today. Apologies.” She doesn’t recognize the boy. If he’d been around last week then Sophie must’ve seen him. She’d said nothing about the encounter, though, so her reaction at the sight of them doesn’t make sense. 

The taller man’s gaze flicks past Mihren's shoulder. “Does that happen often?”

Droplets faintly drip on the floor behind her. She sniffs, a hint irritated that a puddle's formed already. She’d cast the spell with a bit more strength than that, hadn't she? “Two components didn’t play as nicely as I thought they would.”

“Do they often not?” 

She arches a brow, crosses her arms, and rests a hip against the counter. “Unexpected reactions are a hazard of the craft. You can’t make an omelet without cracking a few dodo eggs.” 

That earns her a stare from both the men. 

She wonders if she'd said something odd again.

He holds her gaze before casting a critical glance at the wall behind the register. Some of Sophie’s alchemic paraphernalia hangs on display, surrounded by a handful of other papers with Shinra’s logo stamped on them. Licensing permits—a whole series of them. The sight seems to mollify him.

“Angeal, c’mon. Accidents happen.” 

Probing eyes linger on the frozen mess behind her a second longer, then briefly flicker to the materia on her wrist, before sweeping back towards Zack. Mihren practically feels the moment his attention slides off her.

“We’ll have more potions in stock soon," she says. "Once I clean this up I can get started on another batch but it’ll take time for the ingredients to meld and settle. Come back in a bell.”

“In a bell?” Zack echoes. 

“An—” Gods, she keeps doing that. “—hour. Maybe two.” 

He frowns and shifts to one foot. “I don’t know if we have that time to spare.”

“We don’t,” Angeal says firmly, already turning towards the exit. “This was your one stop, remember?” 

“Aw, man…” 

“Would any other restorative items be of use? Tinctures? Infusions?” 

Zack perks up. “Infusions?” 

Angeal, undeterred, corrals him towards the door. “No, thank you,” he tells her over his shoulder—over Zack’s sounds of complaint. “We must be on our way. Have a good day.” 

Mihren idly waves them goodbye. It feels like she’d just been slapped with the label of, ‘eccentric, avoid when possible,’ with that painfully polite dismissal. 

The bell above the door dings with their departure, and she waits until she can’t hear Zack’s voice from the street before turning on her heel. She finds Sophie sitting on the steps behind the store, elbows resting on her knees, shoulders hunched, staring at nothing in particular. Mihren spares a glance down the alley before settling down beside her.

“You all right?” 

“…yeah. I’m good.” 

“Did you know them?”

“They’re SOLDIERs,” Sophie mumbles as though that’s all the explanation needed. “I don’t like them.” 

Mihren’s heard the term a handful of times now. Related to Shinra—as most things here are—and clearly something to do with their military. “They sound like they’re important.”

Sophie's expression goes flat. “You really don’t know who that was, do you?”

“Should I?”

Sophie huffs, shaking her head, but the absurdity of Mihren’s ignorance seems to pull her away from whatever triggered the despondence. “That was Angeal Hewley. He’s a first class SOLDIER.”

Mihren nods sagely. “Important, as I said.”

“Very important,” Sophie repeats dryly. “All of the first class SOLDIERs are. Sephiroth and Genesis, too.” 

Sephi—what? “Sephirot?”

“Sephiroth,” Sophie corrects, toeing a discarded bottle by her feet. “Haven’t you seen him in the ads and billboards? His face is everywhere. You’d have to be living under a rock to miss that.”

Mihren tries to imagine a Meracydian primal hiding somewhere within the confines of the Shinra building. It doesn’t click. The place looks big enough to hide a primal, sure, but its tempering effects would be apparent. 

Humming, she chalks the name as something else to add to the list of odd similarities between this world and the one she knows. "Well, SOLDIER or not, they've left. And with that little display on my work station, I'm not sure if they'll be back."

"I told you no more explosions," Sophie snorts, but straightens out and dusts herself off. "But good. Here's hoping they don't stop by again."

Nights in Midgar remind her of nights in the Crystarium, back when the everlasting light loomed endless above the city, blinding and radiant. It was hard to get a good night’s sleep then; she needed to be thoroughly exhausted to ignore the light trying to pierce her eyes and muffle out the high-pitched ringing in the sky. 

Nights in Midgar oftentimes feel the same. The noise is easy enough to ignore during the day, but some nights it crescendos to a high enough pitch that it becomes impossible to ignore. It rings and rings and rings—

She yanks the covers off the couch. Irritated, she strides across the room—mindful of Sophie asleep next door—and throws the living room window open before swinging out onto the connecting fire escape and taking two steps at once all the way up to the roof.

There had to be a reason for the ringing. Surely others couldn’t sleep like this? But—no. A glance from the rooftop tells her nothing is wrong. Save for the hum of the street lamps and occasional passing car below, there are no lights on in other homes. The district is asleep. 

Did no one else hear the noise? 

Scowling, she leans both elbows against the railing, hangs her head, and closes her eyes. She’d get to the bottom of this. Tonight. Or she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. 

Her attention drifts towards her feet. Then down, lingering along the wet roads, before plunging further still. There must be one of the giant pipes somewhere in the steelwork below. A faint throb starts behind her temples as she focuses and zeroes in on the flow of—aether? 

“Too thin for aether,” she mumbles, frowning and hunching inwards, eyes still closed. 

Mako. All of it is mako, she reminds herself. Mako is the fluid powering the city. Aether can certainly be water-aspected, but mako felt more something. An unknown quality she’s yet to put her finger on. 

She reaches up to rub the space between her brows in consternation. The dull ringing seems to extend even further below, but the longer she lingers on it, the more it morphs into sounding like it is echoing from everywhere—as though it is steadily filling the air around her, much like the presence of an elemental. 

There’s more variation in the flow of mako tonight, too. The same fluctuations she’s felt several times before. Changes in pressure, perhaps? In volume? Could the density change depending on the time of day?

Sighing, she hangs her head again and breathes in the crisp night air. As usual, she’s managed to get more questions than answers. She should’ve expected as much. 

Can you hear me? 

Her eyes snap open. A violent chill goes down her spine, sparking goosebumps all across her skin. 

Impossible. 

She hurls her focus back towards the pipes—

And hears nothing.

The wisp of the presence she’d just felt is gone, replaced by an almost aggressive flow of mako. She strains to listen for it again and again, and succeeds in only giving herself a throbbing headache.

[quinn-pop]

mtdd week day 1 - sworn partners

can you tell i like drawing fluff

[florenceandtheinkmachine]

post tiny normmy when they least expect it

[rad-roche]

still enchanted with the idea of making a little mod that does nothing but add readables. that would be within my power i think. notes, newspapers, case files, letters and such. absolutely no gameplay benefit beyond forgetting you've installed it and finding the odd letter you're sure you've never encountered. i love making tiny Things.

[binah-beloved]

Book of You

Binah x Reader Library of Ruina Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: None

~ * ~

The Floor of Philosophy smells like black tea and raindrops, fresh with the dew of evening mist, the kind that only appears at midnight under the light of the moon. Quiet and serene, with shelves filled to the brim with books, the eighth floor of the Library exists as a place of calm silence, stars twinkling against the ceiling. But you’re not here to see any of it. The assistant librarians often speculate how their patron spends her hours outside of observing battles- the few who deliver books to Binah report that they often see her drinking tea, sitting at her usual table with a peaceful, contemplative look on her face- although occasionally, the librarians whisper in hushed tones, they’ll catch her walking along the aisles, staring intently at the title of each book for a moment before moving on to the next. It seems as though she’s looking for something, they all muse, huddled in a circle. But what? Not something, but someone. You. Binah can hear her assistants’ whispers, no matter how quiet they try to be- it’s amusing to her, catching snippets of conversation and theories as she passes by, each more outlandish than the last. But they’re never quite right, always missing the fact that she’s searching for a living, breathing person instead of merely an object, the one assistant librarian who hasn’t awoken from slumber yet. She remembered you even when her mind was hazy from sleeping for so long- your smile, your laugh, the way you made her cold, deadened heart skip a beat. You had toiled away at the Corporation together for cycle after cycle and slowly, surely, she had grown attached, although she had tried to resist. Arbiters cannot form attachments, it’s a danger to their work and occupation.

But mostly, it was a danger to your well-being, and that had worried her the most. Binah recalled looking up at the light as Angela reformed everything and everyone, the Arbiter’s hand curled against your warmer one. She had glanced at you, gauging your reaction, and your exhausted appearance drew a droplet of concern from the well of emptiness within her, the shadows in your eyes more prominent than usual before Angela had snapped her fingers and everything vanished. With how tired you seemed, it’s reasonable that you’d want to stay asleep for as long as you could. Truly, it’s understandable. She tries to be understanding- really, she does- but Binah wants nothing more than to be selfish, to find your book and wake you up again because she misses you, more than she’s ever missed anything in the world. It’s lonely up here, in her floor, the skittish assistants not being much good for conversation- and she tries to be more welcoming! She invites everyone over for tea, for books, for a chat, but rarely does anyone take her up on the offer. They’re all still afraid of the Arbiter she once was. So Binah ends up alone, quietly sipping her tea and thinking, as she always does. And she decides that being lonely is dreadful, that she doesn’t like it much, and her search for you resumes even though the Library is endless, even though she’s looked for days without any luck, even though Angela once flatly told her that she might never find you, not ever. Even if it takes eternity, she’ll find you, and you’ll find her- Binah believes in nothing except for this. It’s late one afternoon, near the end of another day filled with fruitless searching, that her keen eyes spot something familiar. A book just like the others comes into view as she steps closer, except this time it’s scripted with a name she knows well on its spine, the elegant handwriting shining with silver ink as she carefully removes the novel from its shelf.

Your name. You. Her heart warms as she traces her fingers over the letters, holding your book with the lightest touch before setting it down on the ground. With deft movements Binah flips open the first few pages then steps back as light emanates from the book, your form appearing with the crackling snap of a thousand sparks. You yawn and blink tiredly, then turn your eyes towards the woman standing before you, and a small, genuine smile forms on Binah’s lips as you gasp in surprise. She looks a little different, with longer hair and different clothes- but so do you, your uniform crisper and less worn than it’s been in years, courtesy of a certain Library Director- and you look positively in awe over Binah’s new appearance. She lets out a soft chuckle and reaches a hand for you to take, her grip firm as she helps you to your feet, making sure you don’t stumble. Your eyes widen as you admire the Library, such a stark contrast from the cold metal of Lobotomy Corporation, but Binah’s hand gently tilts your chin so you’re facing her instead, needing to see your liveliness after so long with only books. For a moment you swear she hesitates, debating with herself before slowly pulling you into an embrace, arms wrapped securely around your waist, and you hug her back eagerly, mumbling that you missed her. Binah hums in quiet agreement, the stiffness of her shoulders easing away almost imperceptibly, and the Patron Librarian of the Floor of Philosophy is finally at peace.

[millenniumringg]

WHO YOU GONNA CALL?!

Based on the beloved movie Ghostbusters, but with a yugioh twist👻

Halloween approaches, and so does a new yugioh AU >:) For a long time I’ve dreamed of a ghostbusters AU, and now you should also dream of one because a fic (loaded with chapter art) is coming TO THE INTERNET!!!

The week of October 22nd, the fic will be posted to AO3 with updates happening sporadically leading up to Halloween! Stay tuned and watch out for the first chapter poster to be posted here on Oct. 22nd >:)

Let the countdown begin!!!!

[lexosaurus]

The Phantom Martian: Chapter 6

Things are picking up, and with this chapter, almost all the pieces are in place.... Can you picture me right now? Grinning evilly, rubbing my hands together as I sit on my throne surrounded by hellfire? Yes yes yessss I am. Very excited. Very excited right now.

This fic is a crossover between Danny Phantom x The Martian. You don't have to have read/watched The Martian to understand this fic. The tl;dr of The Martian is "funny man gets trapped on Mars during a NASA mission." There, now you have all the context needed to enjoy this fic!

xxxx

Summary: When Astronaut Mark Watney went to Mars, he knew there was a chance he'd never come home. Now, though, he's determined to last long enough for NASA to save him because this whole dying for science thing is not as fun as it sounds.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton is just trying to keep his identity a secret amidst a potential crisis with his powers. Seriously, what's up with that weird current under his skin? Why is he having so much trouble controlling it? And why does it feel so familiar...?

In a fit of determination (and possible stupidity), Danny goes to Mars to save Watney, only to add to both their crises when he arrives and can't get home. Will NASA save them? Will Danny have a home to return to if they do?

Chapter WC: 4928

Fic Tags: Danny Fenton & Mark Watney, Canon Divergence, Ecton AU

Chapter excerpt under the cut

xxxx

Danny tapped his food, anxiously awaiting the news. He wasn't sure why he felt some sort of…personal responsibility.

Is that what it was?

But no, that was silly. Phantom was a ghost.

And maybe it would have stayed a silly thought had reporter Cathy Warner not uttered a phrase that knifed through Danny's very core.

“...there are no superheroes on Mars to save Watney, are there?”

Dr. Kapoor laughed, his voice polite and easygoing. “No saviors descending from the sky on Mars, unfortunately! But that's what my team is for at NASA. We have all twelve of our Martian satellites taking round-the-clock photos of the Ares 3 site and tracking Watney's movements. The European Space Agency has kindly supplied both of theirs for our mission as well.”

Danny froze.

No saviors descending from the sky, Dr. Kapoor had said.

No superheros on Mars.

What if…what if Danny could change that? 

But how? He couldn't…he didn't have any semblance of control over his portal powers. Hell, they were nothing but just a glorified light show right now.

But what if that changed? Could he rescue Mark Watney then?

[cathalbravecog]

i'm the antonymph of the internet

[canisonicscrewyou]

Making art & writing from scratch, while I wouldn’t say feels natural to me, feels like… straightforward. It’s not easy, certainly, but it’s like an action I can do mostly upon will or request.

Making fanwork feels like gnawing my own arm off. Feels like I’m detonating a bomb and I gotta run and hide as soon as it’s pulled. Feels like I’ll scratch out of my own skin. Neither of these are negative experiences in creating art, by the way.

[atherix]

sorry for the silence and lack of updating, had family over for about a week now and I’ve been playing good host. Family goes home tomorrow tho so I should be back to writing like usual <3

[strawberrywindow]

i want to try and start making/getting into animatics but the only idea i currently have for one involves putting it to a song and that's probably not the best thing to START learning with lmfao but go big or go home right, not like i'll be getting to it anytime soon with how goddamn busy i've been and how many other things i want to do first 🤣

[drabblejester]

How would genshin impact characters or hsr characters respond if reader said “Do you still love me if I was a worm?”

would VARIOUS GENSHIN/HSR CHARACTERS still love you if you were a WORM?

requested by: anon :3

pairings: sampo, sparkle, neuvillette, and dottore x gn!reader

content warnings: none !

comments: the dottore is self indulgent sorry my liege. i love him

NEUVILLETTE:

You’re both sitting in his office, you pulled up in a comfortable chair while he sits in his throne-like one. You’re pretty empty brained, but a question soon pricks up. Would Neuvillette still love you if you were a worm?

You turn to him, blinking before asking the question. His gaze turns to you quickly, turning from attentive to confused in an instant. His eyes stare through yours.

“A worm?”

“Yes, a worm.”

“… Why would you suddenly turn into a worm?”

You hadn’t thought that far. You space out for a bit, mulling over the question in your head before deciding on an acceptable answer.

“That doesn’t matter- would you still love me?”

He thinks about the question heavily, bringing a finger up to his chin as he contemplated. Looks like the both of you really had to think about this.

“Mm. I would miss you, but I would still give you a plentiful enclosure. With many fruits, and plenty of dirt to.. squirm around in.”

You accept this answer, placing a light kiss to his nose before going off to your mind.

SPARKLE:

“Nope, I wouldn’t!”

Her answer is very plain and simple, grinning at you as if she just won an argument. You pout at her, how cruel!

“Wasn’t Aha’s emanator a worm? Why would I ever be different!” You yell (playfully), gently pushing Sparkle.

“I’d crush that little worm, and I’d crush you too and watch all your little wormy guts spill out! Bleegh!!” She cries, rushing towards your torso to reenact a FNAF jumpscare(THATS THE BEST WAY I COULD PUT THIS IM SORRY.)

You fall backwards to the floor, squirming around as she tries to grab at you again and again. If anything, you really look like a worm right now.

“What did I ever do to you! Wouldn’t even put me in a little box? Not even a fun one with glitter and flowers-“

“Not a chance!”

“Well, what would YOU do if YOU were turned into a worm?!”

She thought for a few seconds, before answering with a big, big smile. She approached you, skipping around you like she was playing ring-around-the-rosie.

“I’d expect you to make a massive enclosure just for me! And fresh food daily, and misting, and lots and LOTS of love…”

SAMPO:

You ask the question to him while you’re both on your phones, simply existing together. He turns to look at you with a puzzled expression, before it softens up again.

“Ohoh- isn’t this one of those little coupley questions~?” He purrs, gently tapping his fist against the top of your head. His smile is contagious, resulting in you inheriting it as well.

“Well, good ol Sampo ‘Worm Expert’ Koski will be HAPPY to answer your question! Ahem, excuse me-“

Sampo proceeds to fix his hair dramatically, clearing his throat before adjusting the collar of his shirt. You watch him as if you’re watching your favorite show.

“A nice little glass enclosure so I can look at you, some fruits and veggies, oats- do you like oats still? Oh, so what- I’m getting off-track!” He whines.

His little performance totally captures you, and you find your head being moved to his lap rather quickly. You stare up at him, one hand folded over his as you watch him ramble.

“-And regular watering, making sure your enclosure is nice and wet. Don’t forget the temperature just to your liking! And some other things…”

DOTTORE:

You’re met with a dismissive grunt from him as soon as you even speak. He waves his hand in your direction halfhazardly, going back to the little engineering project.

“Did you even hear me? I said-“

“-I heard you just fine. I’m not answering your question, go ask another segment.” He grumbles, in a mildly annoyed mood (as always).

You wind up leaving his office, going down the darkened corridors to find another segment to answer your question. Although you pass multiple of them, they all seem busy and unwilling to talk.

Eventually you stumble across the perfect segment to ask. Yet again, you repeat the question. He simply looks at you strange, before going back to walking down the hallway.

“Can you hear correctly?” You shout after him, to no response. He could hear you just fine- he just didn’t have an answer.

You carry on the hallway, and into rooms, for a very long time. The moon sets and the sun rises before an answer finally creeps up on you.

Dottore puts an ungloved hand on your shoulder from behind you, glancing up and down at you. Your breath hitches in your chest, awaiting some lovely and well-thought out answer, totally befitting of the Doctor-

“No.”

Dottore walks away, leaving you unloved as a worm.

my lieges would you still enjoy me if i was a worm

[xamag-draws]

BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

[transformers-spike]

AH IM SO SORRY. TY FOR LETTING ME KNOW THO, IM THE ONE THAT ASKED FOR THE TFP MEG X CYBERTRONIAN😭🙏

BUT YES IM FINE WITH OMEGAVERSE HUMAN HEAT CYCLE OR WTV ITS CALLED. TY🥹💕💕💕

No prob fam, I had fun making this because holy fuck I haven't been able to write anything wholesome with TFP Megatron in a long time.

You are a precious thing, gazing up at him with naive trust. What started off as a temporary experiment has turned into a unique pet project. Useless to the Decepticon cause, yet irreplaceable to him. You quietly sit in his lap during meetings, arching your back to meet the digit petting your helm as his commanders avert their optics from your tiny frame. The presence of his beloved pet on the Nemesis is disquieting to his troops, and he delights in their discomfort, savoring the jitters of their EM fields whenever they catch sight of you. Recently however, the soft pulse of unease has turned into a low but intrusive buzzing. The sweet smell of your arousal is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. In two meager cycles you've become a quivering mess, loins begging for friction. There's no denying it, you've reached your reproductive cycle. When he brushes a digit over your cheek, you're burning with desire, sheepishly avoiding his gaze as you struggle to contain your eagerness and avoid rubbing up against his servo.

Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect the natives were never altruistic, much less noble.

When he strokes the wetness between your legs, you buck into him, euphoria carved into your soft features. He entertains your instincts, holds you down and frags you with a digit until you overload. The sounds you make are to offline for. He decides at that very moment you are worth the energon he's about to waste.

Mass displacement has seen its uses during the war, but the drawbacks among a shortening supply of energon has rendered it volatile and thoughtlessly wasteful. Yet, under these circumstances it proves more than necessary.

You are no Cybertronian, but the softness of your flesh renders your differences obsolete. The transfluid welcoming his spike sends a wave of charge down his spinal struts. You grip his servo, desperate for more than you can take.

“Eager for my spike, pet?” he purrs as he nuzzles your neck.

Your scent is endurable for his species, but he cannot deny its intoxicating properties. How many other humans have you mated with? He cannot imagine anyone resisting the sweetness of your loins. Your entrance struggles to take a spike of his size, and yet it swallows him with an eagerness he cannot bear to lose. It makes his spark radiate with pride.

The adoration in your optics sends a new jolt of charge to his member. You cup his face in your servos and kiss him harshly, scrambling to satisfy your all-consuming hunger, his sharp denta dangerously close to your lips.

He frags you slow and steady, savoring the noises you make as you desperately cling onto his frame, digits finding seams in his plating and burying themselves in the soft mesh of his protoform. A hiss loosens from his vocalizer, optics narrowing as the charge breaches his limits It takes all the entirety of his self-control to stop himself from destroying your poor human interface. Still, he frags you like never before, hard and fast, slamming his hips into you with enough force to bruise. You cry out, hardly an innocent party, clenching around him until your little body is full of his transfluid. When he pulls back, you’re shaking under him like a glitch mouse caught between a cybercat’s paws. It’s enough to pull the scarred corners of his lips into a smile. He reaches out a servo to languidly stroke your cheek, and he allows you to grab hold of it and place a tender kiss to his palm. His spike twitches inside of you, transfluid pooling between your legs. And yet, you haven’t stopped bucking against him. A squeak escapes your voice box when he wrenches you against him and buries himself up to the hilt. Evidently, one round isn’t enough for your kind; humans are no better than beasts in heat. But if you want to be bred, who is he to refuse? You grip onto him as though the Nemesis is about to crash.

On a purely biological level, you are completely incompatible. And yet, it doesn’t stop him from craving something more. A hypothetical seed he yearns to plant inside of your frame, one you will carry graciously, for you have lent him your very being.

Overload after overload, he has left you a shivering mess, servos balled up into fists as you fruitlessly attempt to steady your tremors. He smiles against your neck, servo forcefully keeping your thighs spread while his digits scoop up stray transfluid and stuff it back into your insatiable body.

[officialspec]

can you pleeeeease post your dm sexuality/gender hcs on here.... 🥺 i don't have a twitter but i wanna know. it's like a pandora's box to me now i'm like scratching at the door. let me in

heres the link 2 the thread (mild spoilers btw) ill post a transcript under the cut for ppl who dont have twitter

first off i think laios relationship to sex is super removed for like 50 reasons without even getting into his actual sexuality

he grew up in a place with very repressed ideas about sex and has a lot of fear about asserting his presence in situations

his special interest takes precedent over any social interactions he has and the level of closeness he feels towards people

he has a hard time figuring out his feelings towards other people both bc hes autistic and bc he has freaky deviantart fetishes that make sex in his mind a very abstract concept <- this one is me projecting mostly

that aside, i feel like gender-wise hes attracted to ppl so infrequently it may as well be entirely case-by-case

the idea of him being gay appeals to me from the 'raised with traditional values he Does Not fit into/hasnt begun to question it yet' perspective, i lauve characters who put a lot of stock into performing a role thats expected of them and fail miserably for unknown (gay) reasons

from his perspective tho i dont think he would ever really label himself anything. hes going to pride parades in the shirt+shorts Ally Fit to clap for his friends

hes also 'cis by indifference' imo... i love tmasc laios hcs it just doesnt mesh w his personal history to me. i do think hes got some kind of therian gender thing going on (not trans or nb but a secret third thing) but i cant see him changing anything abt his appearance/pronouns to accommodate that post-canon. hes just doin his thang

falin is in a similar boat for gender. i LOOVE tfem falin but the village repression thing has been bugging at me so i dont think i subscribe to it anymore (canon purist sorry) BUT if u hold that hc i am clapping and cheering regardless

instead i was propagandised to a while back and i LOVEEE the idea that being fused w a male dragon and the residual traits she has after being revived have given her a type of gender euphoria she didnt realise she was missing. a little boygirl swagger if u will

sexuality-wise i also dont think she would care to label herself, shes a lesbian by virtue of only being interested in One woman and zero other people. without marcille i do think shes still exclusively attracted to women, and i like to imagine she might experiment around a bit during her travels post-canon (pre-relationship). hearing abt it might put marcille on the news though

marcille is very simple That is a transfem lesbian. she cant get pregnant, shes obsessed w being femme and all that combined w her half-tallman struggles to be seen as 'properly feminine' by elf standards reads very transfeminine to Me. also her bookboy crush REEKS of comphet its not subtle

i think a more comfortable marcy might have the space to experiment w being elf butch like her manga boys but thats mainly self indulgence for me. utena could have saved her

senshi is gay his whole thing is abt not being able to perform dwarven masculinity to a proper standard (soft hearted, not as strong or rugged as his peers) which is like gaycoding 101. also hes a bear. homosexuality be damned by boy can work a grill

adding onto this i rly think senshi got some type of euphoria from being an elf in the changeling chapters. he was feeling himself so much i think he was using it as an outlet to have fun being a little fem and fruity without needing to justify it. do u understand

i dont have any particular opinions abt him gender-wise beyond that. his bulge is an essential part of his character design but i also saw a transmasc senshi a couple days ago that made me nod my head thoughtfully so i could go either way

chilchuck is cis and bisexual this is just canon. not even just his old man crush on senshi altho i do think thats very funny but they put his ass on a cover themed like hes in a dating sim with all the men and women in the cast and then slapped it in front of a chapter called "bicorn". i simply cant pass up that kind of overt signaling. its so fucking funny what else is there to say truly

izu to ME is a transmasc aroace lesbian (this one has the least basis in canon i just know it to be true) shes a little genderfluid with it nd uses he/she i think. i like to imagine she consistently uses masculine personal pronouns to refer to herself either way tho (boku, ore)

i think izutsumis gender/sexuality is entirely secondary in priorities to her body dysphoria. she has a lot of learning and acceptance 2 do before that kind of self discovery is on the docket and in my mind eschewing gender on some level is part of that. get sillay

shuro is cishet but at least he feels bad about it. next listen listen to me i dont think he would ever actually examine this but i need u to put on ur tin foil hat with me for one second. i think estrogen could have saved her. i have more thoughts on this but im not gonna propagandise too much on this post just know that im right

kabru is a transmasc bisexual this is also practically text. his whole thing of being treated like a doll by milsiril to put in pretty dresses, plus i think it would be pretty easy for him to stealth in the west since tallmen are seen as inherently more masculine than elves

(i also think changing genders is just more common for elves. theyre androgynous enough that it wouldnt be hard and like who in their right miiiiind would be the same gender for 500 years. dwarves too)

i think he started presenting as male socially in the west but didnt need to consider medical transition until he moved to a more mixed culture where other races might see him as a woman

i dont have to explain the bisexual part. have u seen him

namari is a butch bisexual this is just canon straight up. shes not transmasc but i think the default settings for dwarven women is like 4 years of T regardless. shes a hit at all the local cruising spots despite her renfaire nerdisms i know this

and just bc im thinking abt em kiki and kaka are identical and kiki is tfem :} theyre both attracted to women but kaka is a sub so i forgive him

THATS ALL 4 NOW theres a lot of characters so i cant have thoughts abt all of them at once but i hope this was good. im right about everything forever as per usual

[senmiyaazx]

12 months and 365 days

Crowe x GN!Reader

context: memories of your first year spent in loneliness, and memories of your second year spent with crowe. (aka how you met crowe)

cw: a little self indulgent. mentions of bullying. self deprecating and social anxiety.

word count: 1673

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

It's your first day.

You're very nervous.

Of course, you finished high school before. But college was different.

And you didn't have anyone you knew here.

It's okay. You reassure yourself. You just gotta save up enough money to pay the debt, make a few friends and graduate. It's easy enough, right?

It's... your third day.

You haven't talked to anyone yet.

It's alright. It's only your third day.

You'll be fine.

Besides, there's this cool person you've been sneaking glances at lately. Hopefully you'll build up enough courage to talk to them!

Something gnaws at your nerves.

It's been two weeks.

Two weeks since you came to this city.

Two weeks spent alone at a table in a busy cafeteria. Two weeks of sitting in the corner of the classroom as if you don't exist.

It'll be fine. You can get by with no friends. You just have to pay the debt, and you'll be back home like nothing ever happened.

It's fine.

Three weeks.

You're paired up with someone for a group project.

They're nice. Really nice.

You found out you share a lot of common interests.

They ask to be friends. You accept.

You're really happy.

1 month.

Oh.

They've forgotten about you.

It's okay. You expected it so it didn't hurt much.

It seems they already had an existing friendgroup before you.

It's not your place to be upset. You were strangers after all.

It's okay. Just focus on your job. You'll be home soon.

Five months.

Why don't they ask you for a pen? You're right here.

You have complete school supplies. You always take notes in class.

The person in front of you asks your seatmate for a paper. They don't have one.

You did.

Why don't they ask you?

Why don't you talk to them?

You can't. Because you're too anxious. Scared.

Fear of getting judged.

It's frustrating.

College isn't so fun when you're doing it to save your only home. When you have no friends.

Seven months.

You've gotten used to it.

Sure, you can talk to your group mates just fine. Act friendly and all that stuff. But it never lasted long. Nothing ever did.

It's nothing too concerning now. You accepted the fact you were too much of a coward to just talk and reach out to someone. You're an outcast, and it'll stay that way forever.

Even if your inner self begged to be able to rant about your interests, your hobbies, your troubles.

Two more years of this hell.

Before you knew it, you're in your second year.

First day.

Nothing unusual. You're still alone.

It's boring.

Four more hours till you go home.

Second day.

There's this guy who introduced himself to you.

He seems friendly.

He told you his name, but you forgot. Oh well, it's not important.

Not like you two will be close anyway.

One week.

He keeps talking to you.

You learned his name now. Crowe.

You weren't exactly a jerk either, and it was rude to show your obvious disinterest in someone, so you tried your best to put on a smile as you listened to him.

It's awkward. He's aware of the tension in the air.

You feel bad, but it's okay. Give it a week and he'll move on.

Three weeks.

He. Won't. Leave. You. Alone.

What's wrong with this guy? He keeps acting all buddy with you.

You don't know him. He doesn't know you.

It annoys you how he acts like he does. How friendly he is with you.

You're sure he has some sort of ulterior motive.

Ah, whatever. It's not good to assume. At least you have someone sitting with you at lunch. Even if you're a little irritated.

Four weeks.

You volunteered to be a helper at the school gardens. It's good. Extra credits and a place for you to hang out. Alone.

Now you no longer have to be in the cafeteria.

Five weeks.

He found out about the garden. Keeps pestering you about it.

"Can I join? Can I help? I wanna see! Let's eat lunch there together!" He says.

It's.. so annoying. But you felt bad for him, so you accepted. Grudgingly.

Now you have someone pestering you in your comfort spot. Great.

He tells you he didn't expect you to be interested in gardening. You told him you lived on a farm. He's curious, but you refuse to tell more.

It'll be a waste of time if he'll forget about you in the end anyways.

Two months.

He's still there. He's weirdly persistent on being your friend.

You're starting to doubt yourself now. Had you judged him too much?

Still, it's hard to act friendly now when you've spent an entire year being ignored by everyone on the campus despite your attempts to communicate.

He doesn't seem to mind. You feel weird.

For once, you allow yourself to soften a little around him.

Three months.

It's been a terrible week. Burnout has caught up to you. You're in an incredibly tight budget and you're nowhere near halfway to your debt.

Is there really hope for you? Your father?

Right. You're doing this for dad. The farm.

You can't give up now that you've come so far, yet...

The frustration and stress is too much. He noticed this, of course. He's always so observant when it came to you. Noticing all the little changes and details that nobody else did. Not that anyone else paid much mind to you in the first place.

Still. It's weird. It makes you feel overwhelmed and a little overstimulated.

And it's because of the stress, you think. It's the stress and anxiety that you've been bottling up for years— and ended up lashing out on him.

He's hurt. You know it. You feel incredibly guilty.

You fucked up, didn't you? You always did. Now you lost the only person who actually liked you.

It's all your fault.

Three months and two weeks.

You haven't talked to him since then, despite his attempts to reach you.

You're the first to leave when the bell rings. You lock yourself up in the garden when it's lunchbreak. You dash out the school gates when it's time to go home.

You've seen the way he looks at you. Worry and pain plastered all over his face. It makes your stomach twist. You're guilty. You're aware of how much of a jerk you're being.

But you have no choice. After all, you were born to be lonely.

I'm sorry, Crowe.

Six months.

It's been so long. You're sure he's forgotten about you. Like you expected. It hurts, yet you ignore the pain.

One day, however, you're cornered.

You've always been an outcast. One that's genuinely forgotten by everyone.

Unlucky as you were, you never had to experience bullies in your life.

And now..

One of them pushes your bruised body to the ground. You shake. They laugh at you. Fuck people and their greed for superiority.

You hate it. Hate this. Hate yourself. Why can't you just get up and fight back? Are you really going to let them step over you like this when you're already miserable enough?

C'mon. Get up. Stand up!

Someone yells from a distance. That voice, all too familiar. One that makes your heart drop.

"Crowe?"

It all becomes a blur. You're on the ground, frozen in fear as you watched Crowe take the hits for you. Defending you as if you've known each other for years.

Why? Why would he do this? You don't understand. You don't understand him.

It's so damn annoying.

Slowly, you stand up. There's a rock nearby. You grab it.

And throw it against the bastard's head as hard as you can.

He passes out. His other goons turn around to face you with a murderous glare, and you tremble as they approach.

"One more step and I'll scream so loud everyone will think you're a serial killer." It's a stupid threat. You have no guarantee it'll work.

To your luck, it does. They turn away with a 'tsk' as they pick their friend up. It seems they don't want to cause any more trouble than they already did. Hypocrites.

You immediately turn to face Crowe with a harsh glare, striding towards him despite the pain in your body.

You grab him by the collar, bringing him close to your face as you yelled, confusion and pain evident in your voice. Desperation. "Are you stupid? Why the hell did you do that?! There's literally no reason for you to defend me, so why?!" You shake him back and forth. You shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be angry at him when he helped you.

You're just.. so damn lost.

He doesn't mind the way you take your anger out on him when he should. He should be annoyed with you. He should be as mad as you for getting angry when he's the one who helped you.

Instead, he laughs. He fucking laughs.

"Because you're my friend!" He grins stupidly, and you have half a mind to punch him the way those bullies did.

You don't. Instead, you let him go as you felt warmth rush to your cheeks and all over your body. Till your heart aches and leaves a stinging pain in your chest. Till the tips of your fingers tingle and leave your palms sweaty. Till your knees feel weak and you sit down on the ground with your head held in your hands.

"You're.. so annoying, you know that? You're fucking insane." Your voice was shaky. Yet you couldn't help the smile that crept up to your lips.

He stayed. He didn't forget about you.

You have a friend. His name is Jericho Ichabod.

Three years — present.

You're in the greenhouse. Brittney and the others are somewhere in the garden, doing their own thing. You're glad they're enjoying this little space of yours.

Crowe's saying something about flowers. You don't listen much, simply staring at him as you nod and smile.

You have a crush. His name is Jericho Ichabod.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

a/n: i've had this on my mind since the update. unfortunately I don't have any ideas for a sol fic yet:(