#trying not to hate everything I draw challenge impossible

[oreokins]

speedstorm anxiety doodles

ft. some joy too,, tho don't really like how the joy ones came out,, aghhh

[theonottsbxtch]

Hi again! It’s 🐴

I have a request for youuu. What if there is a spy!reader that has been at blows with spy!Oscar Piastri? They’re enemies that will eventually turn to lovers perhaps? 👀 I do love me a good enemies to lovers trope sometimes.

SKYFALL PT.1 | OP81

an: hello again sugar! oh my god the fun i had so much fun writing this, it's a short series. i wrote it all yesterday when i was on a massive coach trip up to see my friend and i am now in love with spy!oscar piastri RAHHH, i also had to name this skyfall because that's like the trademark song for formula one

wc: 2.5k

The rain was relentless, a steady downpour that washed over the narrow Italian streets, cloaking everything in a hazy mist. The city had always had a certain charm, but tonight it felt like a battlefield. She moved swiftly through the shadows, the collar of her coat pulled up, shielding her from the cold rain. She’d memorised every turn, every alley. There was no room for mistakes tonight.

She approached the dimly lit café, her pulse steady, her mind sharp. This was supposed to be an easy job—retrieve the data, disappear. But in her line of work, things rarely went as planned.

Inside, the familiar hum of quiet conversations filled the air. Tourists sipped espresso, locals lingered over wine. She took a seat by the window, her eyes scanning the room beneath her calm exterior. The contact was late. She hated late.

Just as she began to grow impatient, the door swung open, and he walked in.

Her breath caught in her throat. Him.

Oscar Piastri.

Of all the spies in the world, it had to be him on the same mission as her.

He strode in with that same infuriating confidence, the same icy precision that made her blood boil. His eyes flicked toward her, and for the briefest moment, a spark of recognition passed between them, but his expression remained unreadable. He was good at that—masking every emotion behind that cold, calculating demeanour.

They had a history, and it wasn't a pleasant one. Their agencies had been at odds for years, and every time they crossed paths, it ended in a battle of wits, and occasionally, fists. Oscar represented everything she loathed—arrogance, superiority, and an unnerving calm that made him impossible to shake.

She kept her eyes on him, but her heart raced faster now. She couldn’t afford to lose focus. He was here for the same reason she was. The data. The intel. A mission neither could fail.

Oscar made his way to the counter, seemingly unaware of her presence, but she knew better. He never missed anything. Every move he made was deliberate, every step calculated. When he glanced her way again, their eyes locked, and this time, the tension between them was palpable. It crackled in the air, sharp and electric, drawing a few curious glances from other patrons. It could have been cut with a butter knife.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew.

Of course, he knew.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain still. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her riled. Not again. Not like last time.

But that smirk. That damn smirk was infuriating.

He slid into a seat at the bar, casually ordering a drink. His back was to her, but she could feel his attention on her, a subtle challenge in the air. They both knew what this meant. Their agencies might have sent them for the same intel, but there was no sharing in their world. It was winner take all.

The only problem? He was as skilled as she was. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little better.

The waitress approached, handing her a folded napkin along with her coffee. She didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. She unfolded the paper carefully, her hands steady despite the irritation bubbling beneath her skin.

"Looks like we’re playing this game again, sweetheart. Try to keep up this time."

Her fingers curled around the napkin, crumpling it as she glanced up at him. Oscar didn’t turn around, but she could sense the amusement radiating off him.

He was baiting her.

This was how it always started between them. A game of cat and mouse. Only neither of them was ever quite sure who was which.

She stood up, throwing a few bills on the table when she noticed her contact. If he wanted a chase, she would give him one. But this time, she wouldn’t let him win. Not again.

She stepped outside, the rain cooling the heat of her frustration. As she disappeared into the night, she could feel his eyes on her back, watching, waiting.

But if Oscar Piastri thought he could outsmart her this time, he was sorely mistaken.

She moved through the rain-slick streets, her mind racing ahead of her. She knew Oscar wouldn’t wait long to make his move. He never did. This was a game they’d played too many times before, and she knew the pattern. He would strike soon—he had to. They were after the same intel, and neither of them could afford to let the other get ahead.

She ducked into a narrow alley, her hand resting lightly on the concealed weapon at her side. Her eyes scanned the rooftops, the windows, anywhere an ambush could come from. Oscar was as subtle as a shadow, but she knew his tricks.

Her ears caught the faintest scrape of a shoe against wet pavement, and she spun around just as a figure emerged from the dark. Oscar, dressed in black, his eyes gleaming under the streetlight’s faint glow.

“Took you long enough,” she called, her voice dripping with challenge.

“I thought I’d give you a head start this time,” he replied smoothly, his deep voice cutting through the rain. He stepped closer, his movements fluid, predatory. “How kind of me, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

She scoffed, her muscles tensing as she prepared for what was coming. Oscar was many things—arrogant, infuriating, dangerous—but slow wasn’t one of them. He’d never given her a head start in his life, and he wasn’t about to now.

The brief moment of stillness stretched between them like the taut string of a bow, tension building, unspoken. Then, without warning, he lunged.

She darted backward, her reflexes sharp, as his fist cut through the air where her face had been seconds ago. He was fast, faster than most, but she was ready. She countered with a sharp kick aimed at his ribs, but Oscar caught her ankle mid-air, twisting just enough to throw her off balance.

Before she could react, he yanked her toward him, spinning her in a blur of motion. Her body twisted through the air, her legs wrapping around his neck as she locked her thighs, using his own strength against him. For a split second, she thought she had the upper hand, feeling his body jerk in surprise as she clung to his shoulders, her weight dragging him downward.

But Oscar was quick to recover. He snarled under his breath, his hands gripping her waist as he spun, using the momentum to slam her back-first into a nearby table of a cafe that most certainly didn’t deserve this. The wooden surface cracked beneath the force of the impact, and pain shot through her spine.

He didn’t stop. His hands were on her throat before she could regain her footing, the pressure cutting off her air as he loomed over her, his expression dark and dangerous. His body was close, too close, and the heat radiating from him only made the fight more intense.

She struggled beneath his grip, her vision swimming as his fingers tightened. She had to admit, he was stronger than she remembered. But she wasn’t going to lose this one.

A wicked grin spread across her lips, even as she gasped for breath.

"Careful, Piastri," she rasped, her voice teasing despite the situation. "If you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask."

For a fraction of a second, his grip faltered, his dark eyes narrowing in irritation. That split-second was all she needed.

With a sudden, powerful twist of her hips, She used his distraction to break free, her legs kicking up to hook around his arm. She yanked hard, flipping him off balance and sending him crashing into the ground beside her. She rolled, agile as ever, and landed on top of him, pinning him with her knee pressed firmly into his chest.

Oscar gasped, his chest heaving beneath her weight as she leaned down, her face inches from his.

"Guess I still have the upper hand, sweetheart," she whispered, her tone mocking, breathless, but victorious.

He glared up at her, lips pressed into a thin line as he struggled beneath her, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed a mix of frustration and something else. Something darker, deeper.

But she didn’t linger on the moment. She leaped off him, her body moving like liquid as she darted toward the edge of the alley, knowing she needed to escape before he recovered.

Oscar was strong, but she was faster. He wouldn’t stay down for long, though. They both knew this was far from over.

As she melted into the shadows, her heart pounding, she couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had shifted something between them. The game they’d been playing for years now felt different, more dangerous. The stakes had always been high, but now, there was something else simmering beneath the surface—a heat neither of them was ready to acknowledge.

Not yet, at least.

************************************************************************

The sterile lights of the Mercedes Headquarters flickered overhead, casting sharp shadows on the cold concrete walls. Her footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway as she approached the director’s office, her mind replaying the events of the night. She hadn’t expected to run into Oscar—certainly not like that. And yet, here she was, about to explain why she had come back empty-handed.

Her stomach knotted, not from nerves, but frustration. She’d let him get too close. She’d let him distract her. And now, there would be hell to pay.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door to her boss’s office. The room was dimly lit, with a desk cluttered with files and a single lamp illuminating the figure seated behind it—Director Wolff. He didn’t look up as she entered, but the air around him was heavy with expectation. She had been here before—too many times, honestly—but something about this time felt different.

“Agent,” Wolff said finally, his voice low and gruff, as he finished signing a report and set the pen down with deliberate precision. His piercing blue eyes lifted to meet hers. “I take it you have the intel?”

She stood straighter, her jaw tightening. “No, sir.”

The silence that followed her words was thick, suffocating. Wolff leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he regarded her with a look that was both calm and dangerous.

“No?” His voice was soft, too soft, and that made it worse.

She shook her head, holding his gaze. “There was... interference. Agent Piastri showed up. He’s working for—”

“I don’t care who he’s working for.” Wolff’s words cut through hers like a knife. “I care that you don’t have the intel you were sent to retrieve.”

She swallowed hard, knowing there was no good explanation for this. “We fought. He got in my way, and the situation escalated. By the time I—”

Wolff slammed his hand on the desk, making her flinch. “You let him distract you.” His voice was low, but laced with fury. “This isn’t the first time Piastri has interfered with one of your missions, is it?”

She gritted her teeth. “No, sir.”

“And yet, every time you come face to face with him, you come back empty-handed.” Wolff stood, walking around his desk with a measured calm that only added to the tension in the room. His tall frame cast a long shadow as he stopped in front of her. “I’m beginning to wonder if you have a weakness for him, Agent.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Absolutely not. He’s a distraction, but—”

“But nothing,” Wolff snapped. “You’re one of the best agents I’ve got, but lately it seems like Piastri has you off your game. Why is that?” He raised an eyebrow, scrutinising her in a way that made her feel exposed, vulnerable. “Why is it that whenever Agent Piastri shows up, you forget your mission?”

“I didn’t forget my mission.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she couldn’t help it. The insinuation that she had been anything but focused stung. “He ambushed me, and it slowed me down. I was going to—”

“You were going to what?” Wolff’s tone dripped with disappointment. “Let him slam you into a table again?” His eyes flicked over her, taking in the faint bruising on her collarbone, the subtle strain in her movements. He knew. Of course, he knew. He always knew. “I heard what happened, Agent. And don’t tell me he caught you off guard, because that’s not an excuse I’ll accept.”

She clenched her fists at her sides, biting back the anger that threatened to bubble over. He made it sound so simple. So black and white. “He’s not just anyone, sir. You know that. He’s trained, just like I am. Better, in some ways. I’m not going to pretend that he doesn’t—”

“Better?” Wolff cut her off, his voice rising for the first time. “If he’s better, it’s because you let him be. He knows how to push your buttons. That’s his strength. And you let him. Again and again, you let him get into your head.”

She winced. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know this. Oscar had a way of playing with her, of winding her up, of distracting her just enough to gain the upper hand. And she hated him for it. But more than that, she hated that Director Wolff was right.

“I didn’t let him,” she said, her voice quieter now, more controlled. “But I underestimated him. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You’re damn right you won’t,” Wolff said, his eyes hard. He moved back to his desk, leaning on it as he folded his arms. “Because next time, if you fail to retrieve the intel because of him, I won’t be so forgiving. This is your last warning, Agent. I expect results. Not excuses. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” She said, swallowing her pride. She couldn’t afford to push back. Not now.

“Good.” He didn’t soften, didn’t let her off the hook. Instead, he straightened and looked down at her with a calculating gaze. “We have a mission coming up. A big one. I was considering putting you on the team, but if you’re going to let Piastri get the better of you again, I’ll reconsider.”

“I won’t,” she said firmly, the weight of his words settling heavily on her shoulders. “I’ll handle him.”

“You’d better,” Wolff said, his tone cold. “Because if you don’t, someone else will. And I won’t be as concerned about what happens to him—or you—next time.”

She stood there for a moment, the gravity of his words sinking in. Wolff wasn’t bluffing. If she didn’t prove herself, if she let Oscar interfere again, her career could be over. And worse, the agency wouldn’t hesitate to take out both of them if they became a liability.

She turned to leave, her thoughts a whirlwind of frustration, anger, and something else. Something that gnawed at the edges of her mind, though she refused to acknowledge it.

Oscar.

He’d been under her skin for too long, and now, it was affecting her missions. That couldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it.

But even as she left Wolff’s office, her heart still pounding from the confrontation, a small part of her wondered if it was already too late. Oscar Piastri wasn’t just an enemy anymore. He was something far more dangerous.

And she had to figure out how to beat him, before he beat her.

part two

[ballsandbabes]

Harder than I thought

authors note: Hi everyone, this is the first time I've done an illustration for one of my stories. I draw under the tag ‘D.Mon’. I hope you like it. // y/n = your name// not proof read// GIF not mine // Have fun <3

pairing: michael kaiser x fem!reader

summary: What if youd swapped duties with Kaiser, after nagging him forever about how hard your job was. So when he decides to drag you onto the pitch, its not the only reason your heart begins to race ;)

genre: romance, enemies to lovers I guess

word count: 6.2k

You just got your bachelor's degree in marketing and management. Happy to have finally done it, you were faced with the next challenge: What now? You hadn't really thought much about what you wanted to do with your degree during your studies.

A good friend of your mother's, Anrei Teieri, had a job with a football programme and suggested that you try the sports industry during a visit. You had always been sporty and were particularly interested in basketball and swimming.

For lack of alternatives, you decided to give it a try. And now you were here. For a year now. But this wasn't how you had imagined your very first job. Because you were pretty sure you had the hardest job in all of Bastard München—not because it was technically demanding, but because your job involved him.

Michael Kaiser.

Football’s golden brat. Germany’s arrogant "crown prince". And the absolute bane of your sanity. You were his personal assistant. Emphasis on personal, which, as it turned out, meant "do everything short of breathing for him."

And right now, that meant sprinting across the training grounds with his cleats in one hand, his protein bar clenched between your teeth, and your phone buzzing in your pocket with overlapping meeting notifications. It was stressful, although that is probably an understatement. It was as if you were living two lives. You had to think about everything, his diet, appointments, press, even his private appointments like dates, were managed by you.

“Kaiser!” you shouted, skidding to a stop near the pitch, sarcasm dripping from your voice,“Your royal shoes, Your Highness.”

He didn’t even glance at you at first. He was stretched out like a cat in the sun, all smug smiles and silky hair that glinted gold in the light.

“I didn’t forget them,” he said lazily,“You’re supposed to bring them.”

“I’m your assistant, not your maid,” you grumbled, tossing the cleats next to him.

“Semantics,” he replied, finally turning his smug, beautiful face toward you, “You look winded, Schatz. You should start training with us.”

He loved calling you that. It started when you asked him for his passport for the game in seville. While you were busy giving his details to the team's airline, he'd got hold of your passport, which you'd left on the table. It turned out that you were also German. Knowing that you would also know what this nickname meant, he now always called you that. You hated it. You weren't his ‘treasure’, you were his servant. At least that's how it felt when you had to run errands at six in the morning.

“Oh, you mean actually collapse instead of just feeling like I will?,” You plopped down on the bench nearby and took a long sip from your water thermos, “If I knew this job meant babysitting a full-grown toddler with a God complex, I’d have picked something easier. Like working in a marketing agency or something.”

“You love it,” he said with that annoying lilt of arrogance,“You’d be bored without me.”

“You left your phone in the fridge yesterday,” you said flatly,“I had to defrost it to get to your text messages.”

“That was a creative decision. Cold calls, you know?,” he smirked. You snorted, shaking your head,“You’re impossible. I hope you know that.”

He grinned wider,“And yet, you’re still here.”

You opened your mouth to argue—but the smirk he shot you made your heart betray you for a beat.

Damn it. It wasn’t that you didn’t like your job. It was just that Michael Kaiser made it very difficult to focus on anything except the way his shirt clung to his abs, or the way he always seemed to know just how to fluster you.

So you’d developed a strategy over time: complain about everything. Constantly. Loudly. He thought it was funny. You told yourself it wasn’t flirting. (But it was definitely flirting :)

___ _ _ _

It was one of those days, the mountain of work barely manageable. yes, and then there was kaiser, an active blockade that prevented you from going about your tasks. You would have liked to nail the door to his office shut. Unfortunately, you couldn't. Which is why you've been standing in the playing booth for the last ten minutes or so, having what you think is a much-needed conversation. you didn't want to admit it, but inside you loved these little random moments.

“Michael,” you said flatly, “you cannot keep texting me ‘important question’ and then follow it up with a selfie and ‘do I look hotter in blue or black?’ That’s not urgent. That’s narcissism. I got actual work to do...”

Michael leaned back in the locker room bench, one leg lazily draped over the other, spinning his phone between his fingers. His eyes sparkled with the kind of smug mischief that usually preceded international incidents. You had actually called him about the press appointment for the game at the weekend, but then it had once again slipped into a lecture from your side, when you had to actually step into the locker room, because he didnt want to come to you to discuss the matter.

“I’m cultivating my brand, Schatz,” he replied without shame, “You’re the keeper of my empire. You should care.”

You crossed your arms,“Your "empire" is built on ego, dry shampoo, and late-night calls to ask whether your features look too sharp in certain lighting. Like fans could die from you looking to good...”

He tilted his head,“You said they were devastating.”

“That’s not a compliment, it’s a warning. People trip over them,” you replied with annoyance. Michael chuckled, a low, warm sound that always made your stomach do backflips. He leaned in, elbow resting on his knee, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” his face displaying a smirk.

“I’m always annoyed,” you deadpanned.

“Exactly.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your tablet. You were trying to update his schedule, but it was difficult when he kept staring at you with that smug little smile—like he was watching a show only he understood the punchline to.

“I’m filing a report,” you muttered, “Personal assistant verbally abused by narcissistic striker. Emotional damages include migraines, sarcasm fatigue, and... chronic exposure to shirtless selfies.”

Michael smirked, “You save those selfies.”

“Because I need evidence for HR,” you explained.

He stood, stepping close, just close enough to loom—annoyingly tall, annoyingly confident, annoyingly aware of the effect he had on you.

“You could just admit you like me, you know,” he said casually, brushing a golden strand out of his face. “It’d save you all this dramatic whining.”

You looked up at him, unimpressed,“I don’t like you. I tolerate you. The same way people tolerate reality TV. It's chaotic, it lowers brain cells, but it’s weirdly addictive.”

“Ouch,” He clutched his chest,“Brutal.”

“You love it,” you now teased him.

“I do,” he said, that cocky grin softening just slightly, “Especially when you get all flustered trying not to smile.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you turned back to your iPad screen and said, “If you’re done stroking your ego for five minutes, you have training in twenty. And you still haven’t filled out the media request forms for the pre-game interviews.”

“I thought you were handling that,” he said.

You glared, “I’m your assistant, not your secretary, Kaiser. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, moving toward the exit, hands in his pockets,“You’re the girl who yells at me every day and still brings me my favorite protein bar.”

You called after him,“That’s because if I don’t feed you, you might collapse mid-backflip and sue the club.”

He turned around with a wink,“Or maybe it’s because you care.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Damn him. You hated how he made teasing sound like confession. How every throwaway flirtation felt like a test—and how badly you wanted to fail it.

“Stop looking at my mouth, Kaiser!,” you snapped.

“I was looking at your lips, actually,” he said, backing out the door. “There’s a difference. They are pretty.”

And with that, he vanished down the hallway, leaving you with a heart pounding far too fast and a very dangerous thought:

If you didn’t do something soon, this entire job was going to turn into one big, unavoidable, steamy disaster.

___ _ _ _

You dramatically flopped into his chair in the team lounge one morning and announced, “I deserve a raise or a Nobel Prize.”. He barely looked up.

“What now?” he asked, sipping an energy drink that absolutely wasn’t approved by his nutritionist.

“You had three interviews booked at the same time yesterday,” you said. “Three. I had to call your sponsors, your agent, and your mother to fix it. Also, you’re scheduled for two different hair stylists today. At the same time.”

“I like variety,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re a menace. It was a total disaster to rebuild your calendar so everything would work just fine,” you muttered. He set his drink down, leaned back in the chair like a king on his throne, and raised an eyebrow,“You know what, if it’s so hard, how about we trade?”

You blinked,“Excuse me?”

“You join me in training. For a month. Full schedule. And I’ll take care of my own life. No assistant. Total independence. More free time for you.”

Your jaw dropped,“You’d forget your own name after three days.”

He grinned, “Then prove it. If you last a month on the pitch, and I keep my life together, the loser buys dinner.”

“And the winner picks the outfit,” you added, smirking.

He gave a low laugh,“You’re cruel. Deal.”

___ _ _ _

Training was hell. Cardio at 6 a.m., tactical drills that made your legs feel like jelly, ice baths that nearly made you cry. The team, of course, found it hilarious. Raichi gave you a supportive thumbs up. Ness tried not to laugh every time you tripped over a cone. The boys were very pleased that you were now part of the training programme. And then there was Kaiser?

Kaiser was having the time of his life.

“You’re sweating,” he teased one afternoon, tossing you a towel,“Cute.”

“I’m plotting your murder,” you muttered. He leaned in, breath warm against your ear,“Do it after dinner. I already made reservations.”

And meanwhile, his life without your help?

An absolute disaster. He missed two interviews, forgot to reply to three sponsors, got his hair cut wrong (a national emergency), and was late to practice twice.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped when you smugly handed him a crumpled fan letter he’d forgotten to answer.

“I’m just impressed,” you said sweetly and full of sarcasm,“I didn’t think it was possible to double-book yourself with yourself.”

He groaned,“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You bet your smug ass I am,” you laughed as a reply. But somewhere between the playful bickering and the chaotic schedules, something shifted between the tow of you. What had begun as a serious hatred of his schedule and his person had now become something like an edge. something that belonged to him, without which he would not be himself. Something you tolerated, because of him.

It was no different on his side of the emotional world. He missed the sarcastic jokes you used to make when he messed up again. Or how you'd fall asleep cutely on the keyboard in his office because you couldn't take it anymore. The constant moaning and fussing about his inability had become music to his ears. So he started lingering near you after practice.

You on the other hand, started looking forward to his stupid texts.

You caught him watching you during drills, expression softer than usual. You’d both been dancing around it for weeks, really—like one long, drawn-out press conference of denial.

Until the final day of the bet: You were sprawled on the pitch, utterly exhausted. Sweat dripped from your forehead, your muscles screamed, and your lungs felt like they’d been lit on fire. Kaiser had given you two sets of his own tracksuit clothes to make it feel like his everyday life, he had said. that meant you were sitting there in the black shirt with the gold trim and the bugunder-red tracksuit bottoms with his initials and his match number. The others had made fun of it. They had said it was like a house number, so you knew who lived in the house together. It was an open secret that the others thought you were like an old married couple when you were together.

Kaiser dropped down beside you with a water bottle and that stupid grin,“You survived.”

“Barely,” your breath still unsteady.

“You win,” you gasped,“You’re… actually in shape. Who knew?”

He laughed,“And your schedule was a living nightmare. I missed three hair masks and I think Adidos is mad at me for not showing up to the shoe launch.”

You rolled your eyes,“Really??? The shoe release?? I worked so hard on that deal for you...You can’t function without me.”

He leaned closer,“I don’t want to.”

You froze. He was looking at you—really looking at you. No smugness. No jokes. Just something real.

“I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he said softly,“You’re not exactly subtle either.”

You blinked,“Was it that obvious?”

He grinned,“You called me a ‘walking migraine with abs.’ That’s basically German for ‘marry me.’”

You laughed—nervous and bright and maybe a little breathless.

“And now?,” you asked. He smirked, “Now I cash in on my prize.”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, “Dinner. With me. No running around. No emails. Just you.”

You stared up at him, “And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll just have to keep booking back-to-back hair appointments until you give in,” he teased. You laughed again, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned into him.

“Fine,” you whispered,“But only if I get to pick the outfit.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling, “Deal.”

___ _ _ _

You sent the message an hour ago:

"Be ready at 7. Suit. Formal. I’m picking you up. Don’t ask questions. Just trust me." – Y/n 😘

No response. Just a single read receipt and a suspicious lack of follow-up sarcasm. You were wearing your favorite dress—dark red, sleek, perfectly sculpted to your figure. Modern lines, no frills, just class and edge. The matching lipstick had taken you three attempts and two makeup wipes to perfect. But one thing was for sure, the two hours of styling where totally worth it. It felt good to be able to really doll up. You weren’t even sure why you were this nervous.

It wasn’t a date...Okay, it was definitely date-coded.

But still.

You had pulled strings to get tickets to a private advance screening of your favorite old German film—one Michael had, in his words, “definitely pretended to have seen to impress someone once.”

You smiled just thinking about his face when he realized the theater was empty. He didn’t know you knew he had rented it out.

Of course he had.

___ _ _ _

You pulled up outside his place at 6:59 sharp. The building was sleek and modern—exactly the kind of penthouse palace you’d expect a Kaiser to inhabit. And then the door opened.

Your mouth went dry. Michael stood there in a deep navy-blue suit that somehow made his hair look even more golden than usual. A white shirt underneath, buttons half-done, tie in his hand. And he was staring at you like he had forgotten the entire German language.

“Wow,” he said finally.

You smirked, stepping inside,“That’s it? Just wow?”

“I’ve seen you in sweatpants, high ponytails, and with three pens stuck in your bun yelling at me for double-booking a photo shoot,” he murmured,“And I thought that was cute.”

He let his gaze travel down slowly, lingering just enough to make your skin feel too tight.

“But this?” he continued,“You’re trying to kill me.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking,“Then die quietly and put your tie on so we wont be late.”

He held it up,“You’re the assistant. Help me. Besides you were the one, who wanted to dress me...”

You rolled your eyes but stepped closer, taking the silk from his fingers. His scent hit you—clean cologne, a hint of mint, and something just inherently Kaiser. Warm and impossible to ignore. You looped the tie around his neck, fingers brushing his collarbone. He watched you the whole time, eyes flickering between your lips and your hands.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

You huffed,“I’m not.”

“You’re breathing like I just made you run laps,” he stated the obvious.

“I’ve seen you run laps. That’s not impressive.”

He laughed under his breath, and you paused with the tie half-knotted. His hand came up, fingers brushing your wrist—lightly, casually.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice dropping.

You swallowed, “You’re stalling.”

“I’m enjoying the view,” he smirked. You stepped back, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks, “Shirt next. You’re barely decent.”

He smirked, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Michael.”

“Y/n,” he got back at you teasingly. You rolled your eyes again and reached for his waist, grabbing the button of his pants.

And then it happened. You looked up. He looked down.

A second stretched thin between you—his breath catching, your fingers frozen at his fly, the silence charged with something very different than before.

He was close. So close. And when your knuckles brushed against his abdomen, he tilted his head like he was already leaning in.

“Stop looking at my lips,” you whispered.

“I’m thinking about kissing them,” he whispered back.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

But when you finally buttoned the last piece, his hand slid gently to the back of your neck—and this time, there were no jokes. He kissed you like he'd been waiting all month. Like all the teasing and tension had finally found its spark.

And god, did it ignite. His mouth was warm, commanding but careful, like he didn’t want to rush but couldn’t stop himself either. Your hands curled into his jacket, pulling him closer, lips parting like second nature.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, breath shallow.

“That was... overdue,” he murmured. You licked your lips,“We’re late.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” you smirked, still flushed from the kiss.

“Fine,” he said, “But I’m kissing you again after the credits.”

___ _ _ _

You tried to play it cool when you arrived. Act surprised. Gasp a little. Look impressed. But the second you stepped into the dark velvet of the private theater and saw the single set table tucked to the side—candles, wine, catered food—you turned back and smacked his chest,“You rented the place.”

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Didn’t want distractions. Or other people seeing me cry if the movie’s boring. I have an image to obtain.”

“You are ridiculous,” you said under a light laugh.

“You love it,” he said as he gave you one of his charming winks.

You glared,“A little.”

Dinner was incredible. The movie was even better. And through it all, Kaiser stayed close—but not in his usual arrogant way. He asked questions. Listened. Smiled when you quoted your favorite line before it happened. Let you grab his arm during the emotional parts.

It was the softest you’d ever seen him.

And the most honest you’d ever felt with him.

___ _ _ _

The city lights glowed below as the two of you stepped onto his terrace. It was late. Quiet. Cool wind brushing against your bare shoulders. You leaned on the railing. He stood behind you, his suit jacket draped over your arms.

“I had fun tonight,” you said softly.

“Me too,” he smiled, looking at you. You turned, meeting his gaze again in the silver-blue light.

This time, you didnt felt like teasing. Just the space between you, waiting to close.

He stepped in, cupped your face. You let him.

The kiss was slower this time. Deeper. More certain.

You curled into him, fingers in his hair, lips parting with soft sighs and lingering touches. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and it wasn’t just tension anymore—it was want. His mouth found your jaw, your neck, your smile as he placed a hickey onto it.

And when you kissed him back with a soft, breathless laugh, you finally admitted it to yourself:

You weren’t just falling for him.

You already had.

I hoped you liked the story and the illustration.

[asher-agere]

Heheh! Could you do Cg! Tsukasa and Little! Akito ?

Or vice versa! :3 I just enjoy them a lot Romanticly (when one isnt little ofc)

But I kinnie them both and I just wanna see other ppl Hcs! Especially since they were both kids that didn't get much attention(??) 🫶 OFC NO NEED! JUST A SILLY LITTLE GUY!

HOORAY FOR THE SILLY LITTLE GUYS I LOVE THEM

Caregiver Tsukasa + Little Akito

────⋆˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖⋆──

ᯓ★ Starting as usual with an age range! I think Akito regresses down to 4-6, he’s fairly big! And very capable of doing most things. Not a baby!! As he reminds Tsukasa constantly. However he’s must definitely just a little kiddo. Just a tiny little guy. Bite sized if you may. Tsukasa definitely babies him more than he’d like, however Akito is also a tsundere and even though he says he doesn’t like it… Yeah he loves it! It makes him feel sooo tiny and he’ll get all red and blushy and Tsukasa loves it!

⋆ I’m just saying this at the beginning because I’m so repetitive about this one and I don’t care in the slightest. Little! Akito! Loves! Playing! Soccer! Just let him be a kid again! Tsukasa isn’t the best at the game, and honestly a lot of the time Akito can genuinely beat him. But that’s ok! Tsukasa prefers the celebration afterwards anyway. He’ll cheer so loud for Akito!!!! And he usually gets Akito a treat at a prize! Akito’s more than happy with this, and it only encourages him to do even better in the future!

ᯓ★ Volume control? What’s that? I have my personal headcanon that little Akito just screams to express any and all strong emotions, Tsukasa only encourages this though! Because even if he’s being responsible and asking Akito to quiet down (Rarely), he has to scream louder than Akito to be heard! Obviously he can do it, his vocal projection is like off the charts. But Akito just views it as a challenge. And so he screams even louder- It’s truly a mess. Most of the time Tsukasa will just start loudly laughing and yelling along with him and it’s fun! Tsukasa is always the most responsible, he prioritizes making sure Akito is enjoying himself!

⋆ Tsukasa is the type who wants to brag about his little one to literally anyone that will listen, and even to a few people who won’t listen! Akito however is very private with his regression, not wanting many people to know about it. And Tsukasa respects that of course! However he also is definitely a little pushy for Akito to tell his friends (Ones Tsukasa knows are safe to tell), and once someone knows, Tsukasa is impossible to shut up! Showing off drawings and pictures. Toya is the most common one to deal with this, he’s a good listener

ᯓ★ Pet names! I’m honestly struggling to think of nicknames these two would use- I know Tsukasa would be over the top with everything, maybe trying to sound fancy? So he’d use things like “Little One”. Oh also! He calls Akito things like “Prince” or “My Knight in Shining Armor”! Because. White Day Akikasa I love them they’ve altered my brain chemistry. Akito doesn’t use many pet names for Tsukasa because he thinks they’re dumb and embarrassing, however if he’s fussy for whatever reason he definitely calls Tsukasa “Kasa” in a very whiny voice. Whiny voice or nothing, take it or leave it, final offer

⋆ Akito is the type to push off his regression, when Tsukasa notices this happening he’ll ask Akito to “help him practice for a show” and then give Akito some kind of childish role to play. If Akito is ok with troupe members, Rui specifically, knowing about his regression Tsukasa will explain the situation to them and they actually make a show to fit these needs. That way Akito can’t say Tsukasa is making it up! Tsukasa adores the opportunity to dress Akito up in cute childish “costumes”, usually the little one is too fussy to get changed after he’s already regressed

ᯓ★ Tsukasa tells the best stories ever! Akito usually hates bedtime, but getting a bedtime story usually makes it worth it! Usually… He’s still gonna be a brat about it though! Always claims he isn’t tired or if one thing is slightly off he simply can’t sleep. So Tsukasa disguises bedtime as story time! He denies any intentions of getting Akito to sleep, acting offended that the redhead would even suggest such a thing! But also like… He’s rubbing Akito’s head in that way that makes him sleepy, and reading a story about all the animals in a forest going to bed for the night… Akito truly doesn’t stand a chance, Tsukasa knows what he’s doing!

⋆ Akito can be picky when it comes to eating veggies! Carrots for example? Super yucky… Tsukasa of course encourages eating vegetables! He wants Akito to be big and strong! Akito has learned that the best defense is to ask for green peppers next time! Suddenly Tsukasa has much less praise for the benefits of vegetables. They find a common ground though! Neither of them hates veggies in general, they’re just picky. So they’re able to talk it out and work together to find veggies that they’re both able to enjoy!

ᯓ★ Akito loves going out and finding a handful of bugs to go hand to Tsukasa. Tsukasa absolutely hates this and he screams so much each time- Which of course only encourages Akito even more. Akito doesn’t really care for bugs much on his own, but if he can use them to scare Tsukasa? Suddenly he loves the creepy crawlies! He won’t tell Tsukasa what he’s holding, he’ll just insist Tsukasa holds his hands out. He’ll also shove them in pockets! So that while Tsukasa changed him out of muddy clothes he gets handfuls of bugs!

────⋆˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖⋆──

Literally writing this on my way to a concert. Plus I took 2 finals today- (𖦹ᯅ𖦹) Also hot take inspired by the request. It’s ok to still be romantic with your partner if they’re regressed I think. Like obviously keep it SFW, but like a kiss on the lips is fine I think because like I remember watching little kids kiss on the playground and being all giggly and embarrassed… Imagine a little one asking their caregiver “So… You’re my… BOYFRIEND???” Like it’s a scandalous role. Idk guys seems adorable to me…

[DNI ID: An orange box with a grey border. Akito to the right and a stack of pancakes to the key. Grey text reads “DNI if your blog isn’t child safe. I will block NSFW accounts” End ID]

[thesorcerersapprenticeu]

Chapter 10: Indebted To

Summary:

The end of an era, and at the same time the conclusion of an act. With Singed at your side, your new mentor and teacher, you try to build a new life for yourself. It was to be expected that this would not be without challenges for your psyche and well-being. But as you continue to develop, you are hit by another stroke of fate that sets everything on a different course once again.

Notes:

Oh my god, this chapter is just...phew. Welcome back! Yeah, took me a bit, but what more could you ask for than a chapter of this fanfiction on a Sunday. I've (maybe) proctastinated a little, but I have to say that this chapter is the best yet, and longest, in my opinion. Almost 7K words of pure development, science, magic, relationships, old memories and a breach of trust that destroys everyone again. But I don't want to say too much, welcome to your new home of Singed, and have fun reading this chapter!

---

"Hydrogen?"

"63%"

So this is how it looks now:

You, two years later than then, next to Singed in a laboratory. The green lights illuminate all the equipment, all the test tubes, individual substances that even react to the light, and of course your and Singed's face.

You've grown a little, according to Singed still too little for your age, but you didn't mind. You had slightly longer hair, which was quite soft and lay on your shoulders. You weren't anorexic, but you were so incredibly thin that you hated looking in the mirror and seeing your ribs.

"Oxygen?"

"26%"

Your mental maturity and intellect inevitably increased. With Singed as your teacher, the foundations were laid. You, continuing to research magic and Singed as a mentor in the fields of science, such as chemistry and biology. While he teaches you things about humans, you continue to research areas that a normal person would never get to.

It was funny when you thought back:

How you were weeping at Vander's corpse, with newfound magic flowing through your arm and slowly but surely healing your body.  How your mind was in as much shambles as the Cannery. How you clung desperately to your 'Steel Ball' and your Two Books because they were the last things you had left from your old life.

Your memories of Vi, Powder, Claggor and Mylo were already a little hazy. Not in the sense that you couldn't remember how they looked or what they did, it was more an ethical question of whether any of you could ever live a normal life.

Your life was already anything but that in this corrupt world.

A little later after the incident in the Cannery, you realized that you could use the magic that flowed through your body through the Corpse's arm. At first, it was difficult to control the aura that flowed through your life energy and the arm. In your room at Singed's home, you were awake almost every night for the first few weeks, trying to find a moment when you might be able to use one of your spells.

But it simply didn't work, at least not yet. Magic was and is a complicated thing, it wasn't written in your two books, but this reality made you aware of it.

It was impossible to create something out of nothing.

"If one wishes to obtain something, something of equal value must be given"

These were the laws of magic, which you diligently noted down in the books. In general, you began not only to read, but to write notes and discoveries in the books yourself. The book with the map of Jayce Talis was almost completely empty before, but you filled it with drawings of the Corspeparts and descriptions that you were best able to give.

But even if no spell of your own was created from your magic, there was something that was just as powerful: Rotation. You noticed it before, the letters on your arm pointed it out to you, but you hadn't understood it yet.

Rotation was a natural force in this world. You don't normally see it, but if you look very closely, you can find it everywhere. The energy with infinite potential, and more importantly, it reacts incredibly strongly to magic.

One night when you wanted to try something, you came up with the following theory:

You, sitting on your bed, books to your left and right. Sweaty hair due to nervousness, a serious look and an idea that you now wanted to test. In front of you, on your blanket, lay a blue crystal that Powder had given you back then.

The idea was that the Enforcer Gadget might be able to stabilize it and create an incredible source of energy.  So you stretched out your two arms, went to both sides of the crystal and focused your magical aura on it.

When a bright blue light, a dangerous feeling and a threatening explosion followed, you stopped immediately. But less than a minute later, Singed was already at your door. You, who thought you were in trouble, were wrong, because Singed wanted to know all about the energy that these small crystals emit.

And after three months of hard work, you both made it: Spheres, about the size of a baseball, blue and more dangerous than any weapon a single person could use. The rotation gave you the ability to spin them incredibly fast in your hands, allowing you to throw them at things and, in the case of a human, even ripple their muscles.

So, you called them Steel Balls. Since you, the too small and weak boy, had a big disadvantage in a direct fight, you could now compensate for this. A good rotation on your steel ball with your right arm, a good throw and determination brought you one step closer to victory.

And after a year, you even learned to adjust the rotation so that it worked like an algorithm. You put it on, through the magic of the corsepart, threw your steel ball, fulfilled the purpose, and your steel ball flew back into your hand, truly magical.

But no matter what, somewhere deep inside you couldn't shake the thought that this life didn't suit you.

Of course Singed was a good teacher, in his field he was definitely second to none, even if he often told you that there were other people who came close to him, you just knew that they were far from his level, at least in practice.

You could disappear every day, just run away and somehow ask someone in town for help, I mean, who wouldn't want to take in a little boy like you? Besides, Singed wouldn't care if you disappeared, he's just thinking about his experiments anyway...

And that's exactly why you were here.

To save Vander.

The tall and physically strong man who was about to die was a task in itself. Even Singed wasn't sure at first whether Shimmer would bring him back or heal his injuries. According to blood and oxygen data, Vander was already brain dead, and without brain, no life.

But you created the Shimmer version that would ultimately save Vander. It took time, and you learned incredibly quickly, which Singed noticed. The process was logical to you, but you seemed to have more understanding of the chemistry behind the drug than Singed himself, the creator of it.

"No, less of the serum and more of the growth hormones." Singed's voice rises through the large lab, the size and equipment making it echo at the same time. He is sitting behind you at a small table, giving you instructions. "To push the nerves to their limit, you have to... give them a push."

Meanwhile, you're standing at your little work table, with your standard coat on your silhouette, mixing various chemicals in a test tube. You've only been here a few weeks, with Singed, and you're already researching his drug, the 'Shimmer', with him.

Although you knew what the drug could do, it was really interesting for you. Since your parents only ever conducted legal experiments in the kingdom and other things back then, it was important to see the other side, and here you could even work on that.

This is your very first attempt at chemical drugs. Before that you may have read about them in one of the books at home, but of course they were not a guide.

You get more and more nervous when you think about how Singed is just a few steps behind you and you are trying to mix his special drug - it was a strange situation that you could never have imagined before. All your chemical knowledge that you had stored away somewhere, now tested by a genius.

Shimmer was incredibly complicated, but you quickly got the hang of it. You had no other choice, Singed doesn't give you instructions, nor does he explain how the drug is structured. You have to do everything yourself while he watches you and evaluates you like a teacher evaluates a student.

You mix a kind of dopamine booster into the purple liquid and the color immediately changes - it becomes more intense, almost glowing. A fine, iridescent smoke rises, like mist curling in the air. The mixture begins to pulsate slightly, as if it is coming alive, and a sharp, metallic smell fills the room. It feels as if you have created something uncontrollable - and that was exactly your goal.

You know the ingredients of Shimmer, at least you think you do. But to heal Vander's wounds and internal bleeding, you need a much stronger version of it. More stem cell activators, more viruses that introduce genetic information into cells and all sorts of other things to help Vander regain his former strength.

You hold the container in your hand and see how the liquid inside pulsates gently, as if it had its own heartbeat. The glow is mesmerizing, an intense, dangerously beautiful purple that makes the shadows dance in the room. There's something eerie about the smoke that rises from the mixture - it wafts around your fingers in fine clouds and leaves a cool, tingling sensation on your skin.

A feeling of pride flows through you, mixed with a nervous excitement. You've done it, for the first time in your pathetic life. You have created something that resembles pure power - but at the same time you are aware of the danger that lies in this small, liquid catastrophe. Part of you hesitates, wondering if you're doing the right thing.

But the other part of you, the part that showed Pure Determination and did not hesitate to kill for its goals, showed you what you were doing it for:

Your eyes wander from your workstation to the large glass cylinder placed in front of you, in which Vander's body is preserved. His swollen skin, and the veins visible through the shimmer currently flowing through his body, evoke in you a reference to the object you are holding in your hand.

Your heart beats faster as you put the container down. At that moment, you feel like a creator and a destroyer at the same time - and the power you hold in your hands sends a cold shiver down your spine.

In a way, the Shimmer even reacted with you, and Singed noticed that right away, and something else as well.

Impossible?!

There stood Singed, looking directly over your shoulder at the test tube in your hand. His mind raced with thoughts as he kept his gaze on the substance in your hands.

This boy...He made Shimmer for the first time, and it's already better than my recipe. And all this without experience? If Heimerdinger only knew what a genius I've found... But he's dangerous.

His gaze fell on you again as you stood at the workstation and looked down at the test tube.

He was sure he wasn't imagining it, the substance was trying to warn him.

Exactly at the point where your fingers were attached to the glass, the substance began to boil and a putrid smell to be released, a warning that literally stung him in the eye. As if magma was emerging, wanting to be seen, reading signs of incomprehensible potential.

His potential will catch up with us all at some point, whether it's Heimerdinger or me. He has already surpassed even this boy called Viktor... I have to teach him before it becomes my undoing. And he's only been here for seven weeks...

His Talent is Magnificent...And Terrifying. With the magic that flows through his body...

I have awakened a monster.

"Carbon?"

"9%"

But no matter how many new skills you've discovered, steel balls or magic, no matter how much new knowledge you've acquired and how much of a genius you've become, the memories, feelings and consequences of that one day continue to haunt you.

Depression of the worst kind, sudden hallucinations of Mylo, Claggor or Vander standing in the distance. But no matter how hard you try to get to them, they disappear at the last moment and realization sends you back to reality. You thought it was schizophrenia combined with trauma.

However, Singed seems to have found another disease that affects you. He doesn't have a name for it, but your size and strength should develop slowly due to puberty, but it does so much slower than the average human.

He made an assumption that you may have had contact with chemicals from an early age.

At that moment you stopped dictating the chemicals in the human body, and were briefly, very briefly shocked. Hundreds, thousands of memories of your real family flooded your mind, especially the days when you watched them in the lab.

The memories of your mother, father, sister and brother appeared like a tumor in your brain that you should have cut off a long time ago. Insults, snide behavior and so much more that you had to endure in that household.

And no one had ever believed in you.

And now look at you: Your body is flooded with magic, you have a part of the Wizard's body. You have become proof of the impossible, so to speak, which everyone used to see as nothing more than a fairy tale.

Now you could explain spells from the book, even perform some of them and much more. You would never have expected to be able to do something like that, and now look.

Furthermore, in the two years you spent at Singed, your magical abilities grew far beyond anything you could have ever hoped for.

You could feel life energy in a kind of sixth sense. You could already feel the aura that was converted from energy and now surrounds the body from afar, as well as the intention and feelings behind it. With Singed, it was always calm, constant and absolutely in harmony with his work.

You called it an aura because everyone had one, which actually supports your theory. Aura was basically life energy that helps the human senses to perceive things. But no human could feel it or control it... Except you, at least. Through the right corpse arm you could let the magic flow through your body, and also anchor it outwards to protect yourself or 'scan' the environment.

So you have literally evolved, unlike before, so let's get back together:

Back then: small and petite, engrossed in books, without any physical strength. Reserved, insecure - more anxious than anyone else in the group. Marked by a painful realization of your weaknesses, with a goal in mind that seemed unattainable, and surrounded by people who were far too good for you in your eyes.

And now: Still small for your age, but full of danger. A body imbued with magic and steel balls that can manipulate the muscles of others with a single throw. A mind that is constantly sharpening and developing. Yet deep within you still lingers the guilt and shadows of the consequences left by your past.

Your connection to magic, through the corpse arm that is in you, certainly made you a different person.

All beginnings are difficult, but this is not a new beginning, but a rebirth.

You have been reborn as The Sorcerer's Apprentice.

But even as a reborn, the past still pulls at your shadow. Especially because what happened back at the Cannery is your fault. You had to try to prove yourselves with Powder, and what happened? Sacrifices and consequences that couldn't be worse.

It's funny to have seen the white side of science from your parents back then, and now to find the talent from you on the dark side. It's like you were never going to be part of the scientist family anyway, and now you're more sure of it than ever.

"Protect her"

Every time you remembered Vi's words, you had to throw up. There was no other way you could bear the guilt, it was tearing you apart and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

And so the memories of Powder resonated with you for the next while, and you finally understood: You liked her.

You're sure that you're probably the last person to have understood it properly. It must have been really obvious and the others must have always talked about it among themselves, how embarrassing.

Your yearn for Powder only got stronger without her presence, so strong that even Singed noticed it during the experiments and often asked if "something was wrong?". Of course you didn't tell him, it would not only be embarrassing but also complicated. He actually understood and left you alone, apparently realizing that you didn't want to be reminded of it.

Powder's eyes, her soft skin, her smile... Having everything taken away from you hurts so incredibly. And not knowing what had happened to her since that day gave you so much pain in your stomach that you often had to cry yourself to sleep.

But the shock hits you harder than the explosion in the Cannery.

You destroyed their lives. Not just hers, but Vi's, Vander's, Claggor's, Mylo's and every other poor soul who witnessed your determination. Not only you had to live with the consequences, they all did, at least the ones that survived.

As you lay buried under the thousands of pieces of rubble, you could hear Powder and Vi outside for a moment. You were sure you heard Vi angry, and Powder crying or screaming, all because of you.

And then one day came...

It was at night, you're pretty sure.

Singed's home, as he called it, was incredibly quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the wind blowing through the whole construct, leaving a light melody as it bumped against it.

You sat on your bed almost every night, unable to close one eye. Because when it happened, you had bad nightmares, nightmares where everyone blamed you for everything you deserved. Mylo, Claggor and even Vander, who seemed to have lost their lives because of you.

You've been counting the days since you've been here. 906 days since the explosion at the Cannery and the attempt to save Vander.  906 days since you stopped sitting on her bed with Powder, laughing or talking about something. 906 days since you've been battling sleep deprivation and depression every day, brought closer to the edge every day.

You focus your magic on your whole body, you see it with your open eyes. Your aura radiates a permanent, calm white that floats evenly around you like a gentle mist. It feels peaceful and stable, almost calming, yet there is an unshakeable strength in its quiet presence.

It was something like meditation, and at the same time it helps you to deal better with your magic. You didn't have this sixth sense for years, and you've only had to live with it for two years.

You imagine what it would be like if you had one of your Steel Balls in your hand right now. The shimmering blue color and how it would fly if you put enough magic into the rotation. And after it hits its target, it spins and magically flies back into the palm of your right hand.

Your legs feel strangely heavy, your head strangely light and the whole situation strangely alarming.

What is that feeling?

It doesn't take a second, and you're already standing at the door to your room. It was right next to the lab, so you had a good view of the huge glass container where Vander is kept. The various lights shining throughout the lab, some of which hit your eyes, make you dizzy.

And then you realize it.

This is not Singed's aura.

Your mind sharpens within seconds, even if you are insanely tired, it feels wrong not to pay attention now. So you try a little harder with your magic and your logical and rational thinking.

And so your gaze falls on him.

Silco.

You didn't even need to analyze the features. His height-tall and imposing, though his thin frame gives him a wiry, almost spectral presence. His skin is pallid, with a greyish hue that seems to absorb the dim light around him, and his jet-black hair is neatly styled into an undercut, stark against his weathered features.

His aura had a minimal difference to Singed's, it was spiking. Singed was always calm, but you're not sure about him, it looks like he could explode at any moment, like he's hiding an incredible amount of anger with a calm demeanor.

But you're not worried about his aura or his appearance, rather:

What is he doing here? And what does Singed have to do with him?

"I hope he survived without injury?" Silco's calm voice carries throughout the lab as you continue to peer through the door slit.

"Yes, but not without internal bleeding." Answers Singed, also with a calm tone and an undertone.

They both stand in front of the glass container, so you can see them both at the same time. However, if one of them were to turn backwards now, it would definitely not be good for you or Singed.

"He was like a brother to me..." Silco finally speaks, taking a step closer to the container. He puts his right hand on it and looks up, where Vander's face was covered by the dark-colored liquid. "It's a shame he went that way."

"Well... You can't always count on everything..." Singed mentions after a few seconds, still in the same voice, but now in a different position. He moves two steps away from Silco and leans against a table while fiddling with the bandage on his face with one hand. "Especially not with humans."

Your eyes fall on Silco. After all he's done, he's here now, standing within ten feet of Vander, who you gave everything you had to save. The many cables, combined with the dark light reflection, already make Vander look dead, but you wouldn't let that happen.

You concentrate on Silco's silhouette and think about your tactics and your chances.

He wouldn't even notice me if I was fast. Singed would react too slowly, I'm sure of it. I could simply strengthen both my arms with magic and break his neck...

He deserves it.

It was a dark thought, but you had changed since then. The little boy who wouldn't even hurt a fly was already gone, now everything was filled with cold logic and feelings that were too much for you.

He deserved it, you echo in your head. Your look at Vander brought back the memories you were trying so desperately to forget. The reaction was anger, after all, he is also responsible for Vander's death, and much more.

What is he doing here anyway? And what is he discussing with Singed?

"You said he would survive..." Silco puts his hand down, turns to Singed and fills the silence with a scowl. He puts the hand that was on the container in front of his chest and squeezes it into a fist. "How strong do you think he is compared to the other monsters?"

Your heart stops for a moment, the unexpected clarity of his words pulls you out of your composure. Your hands tremble and unconsciously form into fists, your knuckles snow-white with tension.

Your magic flows through your body and with all your might you force yourself to control it, to hide it - but it becomes more difficult the more your desire for revenge flares up inside you. You know that if you give in, everything here will go up in flames and they will feel you through your magic.

Singed finally breaks the silence, his voice calm, almost casual, but with a hint of caution. "He is unstable. More dangerous than the others because he has more control over himself. But that's what makes him unpredictable. He understands what he is - and what he can do."

Silco nods slowly, a sharp spark of curiosity in his gaze that briefly displaces the icy determination. "Interesting..." he murmurs, his voice low and thoughtful.

But then his gaze briefly falls on you.

You've never moved so quickly before, after all, your body reacted completely automatically. For a moment, you forgot your anger and hid as quickly as you could. Your body is hidden behind a corner, your breathing as shallow as possible, but something about his posture makes you think he's noticed you.

A slight tremor runs through your muscles. You're sure your magic is making itself felt - like a touch of electricity lifting the air around you. You can barely hold back the words that rise up inside you, a silent cry of retribution, but you know that one false step could ruin everything.

Dammit! Did he see me?

"And if he escapes our control?" Silco suddenly asks, his tone sharper as he steps closer to Singed.

"Then," Singed replies with a small, imperturbable smile, "we have to kill him before he can kill us."

These words pierce you like a cold dagger. Your grip tightens around the corner, your nails scrape against the wall. Your magic screams inside you, begging to be unleashed. But you force yourself to calm down. Not yet. Not yet.

Letters form on your right arm, literally carving themselves into your skin again, but you don't notice. The situation in the room in front of you gets all your attention.

Your gaze falls for a brief moment, incredibly brief, on your steel ball. It's just lying there next to your bedside cabinet, so close that you could just grab it. Take it, fill it with a little magic, which is converted into rotation anyway, and simply throw it.

"We'll be fighting together again soon Vander..." For a moment he turns away from Singed again, glances at Vander and then looks around. All the experiments seem to catch his eye, while his mind seems to be somewhere else entirely.

You calm your breathing, concentrate on the conversation and make a decision:

That's it now. Singed just used me to pass Vander on to Silco in the end. I'll never forgive you for that, you bastard.

But what are you doing? You were dependent on Singed. You can't just go out into the wide world without any solid facts. Where would you go? You can't go back to your real family, after so many years you wouldn't be able to go back mentally.

So, what now? You want to disappear, but completely alone? You, absolutely alone in this dark and disturbing world?

Normally you would turn to Vander now, ask him for answers... And he would be able to provide you with some. But he wasn't far away from you, about ten meters in front of you, in a large glass container that was barely keeping him alive.

I did this. I Killed Vander.

Your magical aura disappears completely. You don't tremble, not a single movement follows from your body as a result of your thoughts, which are tearing you apart from the inside.

He wouldn't have died if I hadn't been there.

Your chest tightens as the memory resurfaces, raw and vivid, like an open wound that refuses to heal.

Vander is gone...?

The realization twists in your gut, sharp and relentless. The anchor of your world, the man who kept you steady - ripped away in a moment of chaos.

NO!!!

The scream reverberates in your head, a desperate attempt to push the truth away. But it clings to you, heavy and suffocating.

Silco killed him. Not me!

Your fists clench, your nails digging into your palms as you try to find someone, anyone, to hold responsible. Silco's face flashes before you, his cold, calculating smirk, the embodiment of everything you want to destroy.

I had to follow him.

You try to rationalize, to make sense of the senseless.

I should've known better.

Your stomach churns. The guilt, a familiar poison, takes hold.

I didn't do it!

Your inner voice cracks, a futile defense against the crushing weight of your conscience.

It was me. I knew it.

The admission is a whisper, barely audible over the roaring in your ears.

NO!!!

The floor beneath you seems to shake as you fall to your knees. The world around you blurs, the walls of the room seem to stretch and warp as the exhaustion and emotional strain wash over you. A fine film of tears breaks free and runs down your cheeks, but you no longer feel the pain - only the emptiness.

The magic that burned so vividly inside you just moments ago has vanished, as if someone had turned off the power. Your body suddenly feels heavy, like an empty shell, and your hands, which were just ready to turn into a weapon, are now shaking uncontrollably. Your eyes, once sparkling with anger and defiance, lose their light, becoming dull and empty.

The room seems to stand still for a moment, as if the world itself is pausing to watch you collapse. There are no words, no thoughts, just the paralyzing silence that settles around you. Your aura, which was once the only layer of protection, is now gone - the strength you defended for so long is nothing more than a fading shadow. The coldness growing inside you is stronger than any other sensation you have ever known.

Somebody help me.

The cry comes unbidden. Tears streak your face, hot and uncontrollable, as you clutch at the emptiness in front of you.

Someone help Vander.

The words are a plea, a wish that time could reverse, that some miracle could undo the unthinkable.

Someone...please help Vander.

But the silence answers you, merciless and final.

No...he's beyond help.

The truth crushes you, leaving you hollow. The weight of your failure presses down until you can barely breathe. All that remains is the sound of your broken sobs, lost in a void that feels endless.

You hear a voice from outside "But fire without control..." He pauses, his eyes narrow dangerously and his voice becomes dangerously calm. "...always ends in ashes."

You have to disappear. The decision doesn't hit you like a bolt of lightning, but slowly seeps into your consciousness, a painful but irrevocable conclusion. A true scientist follows logic - and logic screams in your face that you can't stay here any longer.

Your eyes fall on the bedside table where your most important belongings are. Your hands are shaking, but you are already moving in your thoughts, collecting, sorting, planning. Inside, you are on your knees, crushed by the weight of what has happened, but your body is functioning mechanically.

My Steel Balls, you think, a touch of pragmatism in the midst of chaos. The two spellbooks, clothes... and preferably something to eat.

You don't wait another second. You stand up on shaky legs, your hands wiping the tears from your face. There is no time for weakness, no time for doubt. The plan doesn't form in your head, it simply exists, clear and unavoidable: you have to leave.

You reach for the bag lying in the corner and start throwing your things into it. Your steel balls land clattering on the bottom of the bag, followed by the spellbooks you absentmindedly grab from your bedside table. Your mind is still blank, like a machine that is only tuned to function. There is no hesitation, no pondering - just movement.

You hurry through your small room, lifting clothes from the chair and stuffing them carelessly into your bag. Your hands are still shaking, but you force them to calm down, your breathing short and intermittent. The thought of food crosses your mind and you throw in a few rationed supplies, bread and some dried meat, without a second thought.

Waiting. Waiting until Silco has disappeared. Waiting until Singed is back in his room.

Your heart pounds like a drumbeat in your chest, every breath heavy and tense. You walk to the door, peering through the small gap to keep an eye on the lab outside. It's a wait that feels like an eternity, but you know it's necessary.

Then I'll disappear, you think, and the thought gives you a strange sense of calm. No plan B, no doubts. Just the first step - out of here. You take a deep breath and prepare yourself inwardly for the moment.

Your eyes linger on the bag and the comparison with the Haul from back then hits you like a blow. It was the moment when it all began - the chaos, the losses, the suffering. But you force yourself to push this thought aside, to ignore it as best you can.

Am I really doing this now?

A quiet doubt settles in and for a moment you stop moving mechanically. Your mind switches on, your feelings are left out. You force yourself to think soberly, even if reality almost overwhelms you.

If I disappear now, I have absolutely nothing.

The thought weighs heavy, pulls you down. You no longer have a family. Your friends? The few you had are long gone or... worse. And Singed? A teacher, yes, but one who overstepped boundaries and shamelessly exploited you to weaponize Vander.

I have to survive alone in the world.

The image of you alone in the streets of Piltover and Zaun spreads through your mind. The cold, the hunger, the constant danger.

What should I do anyway?

The question remains unanswered while your mind feverishly searches for possibilities.

How am I supposed to get out of Piltover? And where to?

The city seems like a huge fortress, and the world outside is no less threatening. Your steps falter and your grip on the bag tightens. The panic tries to find its way back into your head, but you force yourself to stay still, to think.

A plan. You need a plan. But the clock is ticking, and the walls of this small room feel like they're going to constrict you at any moment.

I have to find the other corpse parts.

The thought hits you like a thunderclap, and for a moment everything around you stops. Your breath catches and your heart races as you stare at the bag containing Jayce Talis' notebook. The pages you had only half-heartedly flicked through before now start to make sense.

He's looking for them too...

A spark of hope, no, a plan begins to form in your head. If you follow this path, if you find the Corpse Parts, if you develop your magic - then everything will be different. No problem would be too big, no threat insurmountable.

I don't care what I have to do for it. I'll get those corpse parts. Whatever it takes... I will do it.

Your eyes lose their light again, an expression of complete devotion and determination takes over your face. You stop in the middle of the room, your breathing heavy, your mind filled with a dark determination that also frightens you.

But deep inside you feel that the burden is tearing you apart. The memories of everything you've lost, the feeling of betrayal by Singed - it's too much. You are still a child, at least a part of you. And yet life forces you to act like an adult, to make decisions that could break even a veteran.

Your head lowers, your hands clench into fists. The world may bring you to your knees, but a promise is growing inside you. An oath to yourself:

I will find them. And no one, not even myself, will stop me.

As soon as the apartment sinks into silence, you seize the moment. With your bag over your shoulder, you sneak through the lab, your steps as quiet as possible. Your gaze sweeps over the countless experiments set up here, each apparatus a testament to Singed's sick genius. You grab a few chemicals that seem useful and carefully put them in your bag. To be on the safe side, you tell yourself, even if you don't know exactly what for.

But just before you reach the door, you stand rooted to the spot. The huge glass container rises up in front of you, its cold glow illuminating the dark laboratory. Your gaze wanders upwards to where Vander is floating in the liquid. His body is still, motionless, and yet you can see the traces of life that are still inside him.

"I'm sorry, Vander," you whisper, your voice barely audible but heavy with guilt. You feel the lump in your throat, the tears threatening to burst out again.

"If I were stronger... I could take you with me."

Your gaze lowers, your hands tremble slightly, but then you force yourself to look at him again. It's a promise that germinates inside you, a spark that gives you stability in all the chaos.

"But I will come back."

The words echo in your head, an oath to the man who once saved your life, to the rock that protected you. Then you turn around, your heart heavy, but your steps determined.

There is no turning back.

Like a bitter joke from the heavens, the rain starts as soon as you pull the door shut behind you. The drops patter softly but steadily, like a gentle tapping on the surface of the world, as you leave home behind you - or what's left of it.

The cold rain washes the warmth of the past from you, layer by layer. It soaks your hair, cools your skin, but inside the emptiness burns. Every step feels like a farewell, not just to the place, but to the part of you that once existed here.

You throw on your black coat, the fabric of which lies heavily on your shoulders - like a second skin that protects you and yet bears everything you are. You fill the pockets with calm, almost mechanical movements. The notebook slides in, its edges rough, full of secrets. Next to it, the two Steel balls find their place, cold and familiar in your hands, before disappearing.

Then you pause. A moment of silence in which you take a deep breath. Your determination feels like a fire that burns quietly inside you, unstoppable. You adjust your coat, pull on the hood and get ready.

There is no more hesitation. Only the path before you.

The streets of Piltover are quiet at night, almost eerie. The rain has made the cobblestones shiny and dark, the shimmering light of the lanterns dances in the puddles. Your footsteps echo softly, but it's loud in your head - deafening.

How could this happen? The thought nails itself into your mind, repeating itself over and over again. You had a plan. A place where you belonged. But all of it was wiped out in an instant. Singed's betrayal, Silco's plans, Vander's condition - it was too much.

I should have been stronger. The words are like a mantra that tears at your heart. Your will, which you thought was indestructible, has been broken with an ease that terrifies you. Everything you thought you were now feels like a lie.

The memories come in waves. Vander's smile. Singed's experiment. Silco's voice. Everything mixes together, a chaos that almost makes you stagger. Your steps become heavier, your breathing shallower.

Maybe I'm not strong enough. Maybe I never will be...

But then - another thought. An image forms in your mind's eye. The corpse parts. The possibility they hold. You remember the notebook in your pocket, the drawings, the descriptions. When you find them, when you unite them... then everything could be different.

You stand still, the rain pelting down on you, but you barely feel it. Your hands clench into fists, the cold night air bites into your skin, but a fire flares up inside you.

No matter what it costs. No matter what I have to sacrifice. I will find her. And I will never have to think like this again.

With this thought, you continue on your way. The night may swallow you up, but your gaze is now only directed forward.

Wait for me, Piltover. I'll be back soon.

But not as Y/N.

But as the Sorcerer's Apprentice.

When will you see everyone again?

Oh, sooner than you think.

A thin, bitter smirk flits across your lips as you form the words in your head. They reverberate through your mind like an echo, unstoppable, insistent. You imagine their faces - Silco, Singed, Vi, maybe even... Powder? But this time you will not return as someone weak, not as someone they can break.

Your grip on the bag tightens and your footsteps echo through the empty streets, accompanied by the gentle rhythm of the rain. The night will swallow you up, but you know - you will return, smarter, stronger, more dangerous, ready.

Soon enough.

Notes:

And that was it again with the new home. But what should you have done, Singed was just using you and you fell for it. But now with the beginning of the search for the Corpse Partsm the development of your magic and everything else will be even more exciting. The next of my stories to get an update is I think the Hold on story, or Rat, honestly, no plan. Thanks for reading, please comment how you liked it and leave kudos!

[wrydd]

one night jonathan mentions about his dream of new york. "you shouldn't hold off your dreams." says billy. his voice is harder than it meant to be. he hates himself the moment the words come out of his mouth. he doesn't take them back. he never does. instead he draws another breath from the cigarette between his fingers. he doesn't look at his side, doesn't know if he can handle the broken look on the other's face.

"i don't. i prioritise. i choose my family."

billy scoffs. not at jonathan, he admires his devotion, he finds the words funny because he can't say the same. it's not a choice for him. he is always forced to choose his family.

"did i say something funny?"

to billy's surprise, jonathan doesn't sound upset. there's that rare tune in his voice when he is ready to accept a challenge.

"yeah," billy takes a quick drag from the cigarette and flicks it to the abyss in front of them, "you're still in denial." there's a smile at his lips when he turns to jonathan, he can't help it, he loves it when he finds something to push the boy.

"you know they can survive without you, right? but no," he stretches out the last syllable to not sound so serious, gets close to jonathan. now that his hand is empty, he doesn't know what to do with it. it's hard not to hold the face in front of him, so he puts it between them, on to the camaro's hood where they are sitting, "admit it, it makes you feel important-"

"billy, i can't just leave them."

"you can't just leave them."

they say at the same time. the look on jonathan's face changes at that so quickly that billy forgets what he was going to say. it's not anger in his eyes, it's not desire either.

just when billy decides to push him more and starts with a "yeah, yeah, i know, but..." jonathan says something that makes him pause. no, makes him freeze. he feels his every sense opening. he is aware of and numb to everything all at the same time. he doesn't even know how he managed to say "what?" or how jonathan heard him with how clenched his jaw was.

"i can't leave you, either."

he doesn't know if he heard it right. he must be. he was focused only on jonathan's mouth. and from the look on his face, billy knows he's serious. he means it.

"are you out of your fucking mind!"

he should feel flattered, really. but he can't bear to be the thing that keeps him from his dreams. he doesn't care if his anger can be heard in his voice. "it's your fucking dream, man, how can you be this stupid!?"

"there are more important things than impossible dreams."

he can't believe what he is hearing. how can someone say it with so much sincerity and without a hint of sorrow?

"i'm not one of them and you know it. i'll leave this shithole the minute i've got the chance." his voice is even now. like every time he lies. he knows the only way for him to get out is death. either his or neil's. maybe when max goes to college, he wants to think, neil would make him go with her. but even that is a slim chance. he is not someone who lets go of the leash.

"i know." jonathan says. the way he doesn't take his eyes off of billy's makes him feel like he's suffocating. "i guess i'm stupid for loving you." and there's that hurtful little smile billy was trying to get from him. it means victory. it means everything that the shadowy voice inside his head says is true. it means he ruined it for good now. the only thing he wanted this much since childhood, and the only thing that he won't even get close to deserve. "is that what you want to hear?"

billy wants to jump off of the cliff. considers it seriously this time. but the hand that reaches to his cuts his thoughts. he wonders how this could happen every fucking time. he looks down at the fingers slowly wrapping around each other. it's almost a reflex at this point. he can keep himself from touching the other but whenever jonathan makes a move, whether it's a rough kiss or a gentle touch like this, he feels the floodgates open inside his chest.

"i've made the decision long before you. and i know you will leave one day, i want you to leave. you're not happy here."

billy wants to say something. scream at him. wants to ask him what kind of a sick love confession is this. he feels like crying. instead he grabs jonathan's neck with his other hand and lets his emotions pour through his lips. a surprised sound escapes from jonathan but he gives into the kiss. billy can feel the boy's eyes go wide before they close. he can feel how his muscles relax despite billy's demanding mouth.

it's not like any kiss they had before. it's neither soft nor slow. it's passionate, but there isn't the taste of blood like the most times. no bites, no want for pain, no fight over dominance, just warm tongues hugging each other.

when they pull apart, his hand at jonathan's neck, brushing his fingers to the little hair there, jonathan's hands are at the sides of his face, forehead on forehead. there's a dreamy smile on both of their lips. "it's not impossible," his voice is not as loud as it meant to be, "you can still do it." he puts a distance between them and looks at jonathan in the eyes. "i can help you if you want." he can't help the way his smile gets wider. "you know my scores are better than yours."

"quit it already!" is the last thing jonathan says before he attacks for another kiss.

[lucy90712]

Road to recovery- part 8

Masterlist

Part of me was hoping that the hate would slow down a bit but of course it didn't. Every time I checked any form of social media all I saw was people posting about how much they didn't like me and assuming that I'm only friends with Pablo to gain something. I thought I'd be able to handle the comments but I just can't there has been so many more than I thought there would be and people have said such hurtful things about my appearance and my character. Pablo keeps apologising and asking if I'm ok and I just keep telling him I'm fine which is a bit of a lie but I can tell he already feels bad enough I don't want to make him feel worse by telling him how I really feel. The worst part about it is that everyone seems to be drawing attention to the things I was already insecure about which hasn't helped my mental state at all.

Today though I have a chance to cheer myself up a bit as I have a big check up with my doctor to see how my recovery is progressing. I think it's going pretty good so hopefully he agrees and says something positive as that would really lift my spirits. I've been nervous about the appointment today as well which has really made the last few days even more challenging on my mental health but I'm trying to stay positive as I know wallowing in sadness and anxiety won't do me any good. 

Alonso came to pick me up a bit before my appointment; when I got in the car I expected him to tease me about everything that happened with the game this weekend but he didn't instead he asked if I was ok. I was going to lie to him too but because he's my brother he knows exactly when I'm lying so I had to tell him the truth. It was kind of nice to get all of my feelings off my chest and Alonso was really supportive and gave me some good advice. He's been through things like this before with getting hate for his performances out on track so he told me to just delete the apps off my phone for a bit that way I'm not tempted to look at what people are saying. In fact he stole my phone and did it for me as I think he knew I probably wouldn't do it myself. 

Once I had my phone back I went into the hospital on my own leaving Alonso to wait in the car for me. The wait for my appointment wasn't long at all and then I went in and was immediately taken for some new scans to see how everything was healing. After scans I was subjected to a load of tests on my range of movement, how much weight I could put on my leg and how much pain I was in. The testing was rigorous and honestly quite exhausting as it's been a long time since I've done this much movement with my knee but for the most part it felt good. After I had done everything the doctor left for a while to review it all and look at my scans which left me just staring at the wall hoping to hear good news. Just as I was daydreaming the door opened again and the doctor came back in, his expression was impossible to read which for some reason filled me with a few more nerves.

"Ok Lola things aren't progressing as we would like them too internally you aren't healing as quick as we thought you would and your movement isn't at the range we would expect it to be" he said 

"What does that mean?" I asked holding back tears 

"For now it doesn't mean too much this can happen as we can't always accurately predict how quickly people will recover but we will set another one of these appointments in a few weeks and if we aren't seeing improvement you may need a second surgery so that we can see what's going on" the doctor explained 

"Ok" was all I could manage to say 

"I know this isn't what you wanted to hear but don't let it discourage you if you keep working hard you won't need the surgery" he said 

We scheduled my next appointment and that was as long as I could hold it together. All of my emotions that I'd been holding onto for the last few days came out all at once, as soon as I left the hospital doors I burst into tears and I couldn't do anything to stop them. I made my way back to where Alonso parked but before I could get into the car Alonso had got out and wrapped me in his arms. He tried to get me to stop crying and tell him what was wrong but I just couldn't he tried everything to help me all of which had worked before but today nothing could stop me. Eventually he gave up and let me get in the car so we could go home because right now all I want is to just go home and get to grips with my emotions as I clearly have a lot to process. 

As much as my eyes were filled with tears I could tell that Alonso didn't take the turn to take me back to my place which meant he was going to take me somewhere in hopes of cheering me up. I really didn't want to go wherever it was he was planning to go but I was sobbing too much to tell him to take me home. We went a bit further before the car stopped and I looked round a bit as at first I didn't recognise where we were but then I saw Pablo's house and realised we were just down the street. I should've known Alonso was going to bring me here but this is the last place I want to be I don't want Pablo to see me like this. I knew we said we would help each other out but I know for a fact Pablo is doing better and I know he's in a better place mentally and I don't want to ruin that by projecting my problems onto him that wouldn't be fair. 

Alonso had to practically drag me out of the car and down the road which was rather easy for him as I'm not strong enough to put up too much of a fight. We walked down the street to Pablo's house where Alonso left me to ring the doorbell, part of me was hoping that he wouldn't be in even though he said he had no plans today. Of course after just a few seconds the door opened and I locked eyes with Pablo who straight away rushed over as quick as he could and wrapped me up in his arms. I wanted to stop crying but for some reason I only cried more once I was in Pablo's arms it was like he made me feel safe enough to truly let all of my feelings out. Pablo said a few words to my brother before taking me inside and allowing him to leave. 

Pablo took me to the sofa and allowed me to settle into his embrace with my head buried in his chest so he couldn't see my tear stained and probably red and puffy face. His hand was gently stroking my back trying to calm me down while he whispered comforting words in my ears. It wasn't anything special what he was doing but hearing his words and feeling his hands on me did wonders in helping calm my emotions which I didn't have any control over. As my tears began to slow down Pablo kept rubbing my back and he even wiped some of the tears from my face that he could reach as I was still hiding most of my face. I never would've thought he would be so good at comforting me I mean he's always so hyper and full of energy I never imagined that he'd be any good at keeping calm and radiating that onto others but clearly he is. Once I had completely stopped crying and my breathing was getting back to normal Pablo put a hand under my chin and got me to look at him.

"Can you tell me what's wrong I hate seeing you so upset and I want to help" he said 

"The doctor said my knee isn't healing properly and I might need another surgery if things don't get better" I said still sniffling slightly 

"I'm sorry that sounds awful but that's not the only thing on your mind is it" he probed further 

"No that's it" I lied 

"Don't lie to me please just tell me what's wrong I'll do whatever I can to help and I won't judge you you know that" he said 

Damn why doesn't he have to be able to read me like a book.

"Ok I've been getting a lot of hate since we were seen together at the game and it's been getting to me a bit I thought I could handle it as I'm used to criticism but I can't some people are just so mean" I admitted letting a few more tears fall 

"I knew it was getting to you people on social media are assholes because they don't feel the consequences of what they say but none of what they say is true" he said 

"But they keep talking about how I must be using you or how I don't deserve to even be friends with you which that part is kind of true" I rambled 

"No it's not true I can't even imagine what my life would be like without you I love spending time with you just because you aren't famous doesn't mean you don't deserve to be friends with me and despite what they say I know you aren't using me I know you would never do that" he said 

"And before you say anything all of the things they say about your appearance aren't true either you are beautiful inside and out and they are just jealous" he added 

Hearing him say that put a smile on my face. Pablo has never really complimented me before he's told me my outfit was cool a few times but he's never called me beautiful so hearing it made me feel a lot better about myself. He must've noticed that I was finally smiling again as he told me I looked pretty when I smiled which only made my cheeks heat up but luckily my face was already red from crying so Pablo probably wouldn't have noticed. Although I kind of wish he knew how he made me feel because as time goes on it's getting harder and harder to hide my true feelings from him. 

Pablo's POV

The pain in her eyes just shattered my heart. She's been my rock throughout every step of the way so far so to see her breakdown right in front of me really hurt. This whole time she's been the strong one never letting anything get to her but finally it's caught up with her and part of it's my fault because we got seen together at the game and now people are tearing her apart and one person can only handle so much. I feel so awful that I'm part of the reason she's so upset but knowing that I can be there for her and calm her down makes me feel a bit better. When she arrived she was hysterical and her brother told me he couldn't get a word out of her so he wanted me to try so that's what I did. I'm not very good at keeping myself calm at times let alone other people but I tried my best and after a while of just rubbing her back and whispering to her she calmed down. It felt good to be the one to help her because she's done so much for me that anything I can do to even remotely repay that I'll do in a heartbeat.

Hearing the way she criticised herself as well it pained me. She's the most beautiful and kind person I've ever met so to hear her say that she thought she didn't deserve to be friends with me hurt but what hurt more was to see that those horrible people got to her and made her feel insecure in herself. Throughout the time we've known each other I've always wanted to tell her just how beautiful she is but I've refrained as I know once I open the flood gates there's no going back. Once I start complimenting her I'm scared that I'll let my feelings show but today she needed it so I knew I had to take the risk. Seeing the smile that my compliments gave her made the risk feel worth it though as I'd do anything to keep her smiling 24/7.

Looking into her eyes as she smiled and blushed at my words made me feel some type of way. I've felt something for her since we first met and I've kept those feelings repressed until now but I don't know if I can do it any longer. She's just the most perfect girl I've ever met and I don't want to lose her whether that be to another guy or to the fear of what us being friends might mean for her. I have to tell her how I feel in hopes that as long as she feels the same way it gives her a reason to stick around even when things are tough like they are right now. As scary as it is I have to take the risk. 

[yakuzabrainrotlive]

Once again taking it very slow with IW, I want to savour the game properly. And also I want to kinda draw this out because I'm so used to having one of these games in-progress at all times.

Can we. Can we PLEASE not call it that 😭😭

Scariest shit I've seen in a video game. Absolutely terrible. Thanks, I hate it!

Can I be real. I ADORE Tomizawa. I need him to live through this game. Please. I can't bear the thought of him dying. He's seriously a TOP 5 character contender for me! The most relatable guy in the series fr.

Loving how the game isn't afraid to address problems within the legal system! I don't know the ins and outs of the US police, but I do know the system is less than savoury.

I wonder how accurate all the political stuff about the US-Hawaii relations is. If anyone knows, let me know! I'm very interested about how much or how little of what's portrayed in the game is made up or if it's all very exaggerated.

What's with these protags and approaching gun-wielding people?? I mean, sure; Kiryu did survive 3 whole bullets in Y6 on top of getting bashed on the head with a metal pipe dozens of time by a buff dude. But, babygirls, even you're not making it if the bullet ends up between your eyes or in your heart! I'd say please value your own lives more, but that's an impossible challenge for Kiryu and Ichiban, it seems. Thankfully they're both absolute tanks with minds of steel.

Like I said; absolutely no self-preservation. Sheesh, Ichiban; you could at least pretend to be a little bit shaken up😭 you're unsettling best boy Tomizawa!! And me, kinda.

These two... Why are they actually the goofiest pair of characters ever. They might actually surpass Majima and Nishida in terms of silliness in my books. Absolute dorks, the both of them.

I'm really liking how genuine and open Kiryu is with Ichiban. He's not trying to keep up the tough guy act NEARLY as much. It's interesting to see the... maybe not mask, but the kind of a pretense he often has going on, dropping. Maybe it's his age, or he just trusts Ichiban that much. Or maybe it's the better environment. Maybe a little bit of everything.

My poor man... you're gonna have to get used to this stuff if you don't wanna die of a heart attack or stroke within the next 48 hours. God, I love Normal Characters interacting with Ichiban and/or Kiryu and being totally flabbergasted because

a) how is this man alive?

b) how can anyone be this good and self-sacrificing? AND LIVE?

c) how is anyone this calm and collected after almost dying in multiple horriffic ways within the time span of a few hours?

[fishtheflowerchomper]

This is a vent bc I really need someone to talk to

I'm scared ill never get anywhere in life. I'm 16 and I'm just not good at anything. I try so hard but I'm shit at everything I'm good at. It's not even a thing of practice. For example, I love singing and have sung practically since I could speak. I sang even though my sibling always told me I was horrible and I've constantly been working on technique but my voice still sounds horrible and I really want to perform to people but I get so embarrassed bc I know they just find me annoying. I also love writing and drawing but it's the same story with that as well. I know I don't have to be good at something to like it but I don't know how I'm going to make a living in the future. I barely have initiative and I just want to give up and kms but I promised my sibling I wouldn't

I just don't know how I will survive. I'm constantly trying to escape from my anxiousness and I end up avoiding everything.

I desperately need therapy but I'm too scared to talk to my parents. I don't want them to know they have two mentally ill kids.

I just need help I don't know how to go on

Thanks for reading

hello!! <33

i understand the feeling of feeling like you are horrible at everything you try and that you enjoy. i feel that too with the things i enjoy. i also like the same things as you do, im not the best at them either.

honestly, i think that you should keep trying at what you like. if you end up giving up on singing, which is totally okay if you do, you can always work more on your other two hobbies, drawing and writing. i know for a fact that you do not have be a good writer, people will still read it if you ever publish a book or post something you wrote online.

drawing is probably going to be bigger challenge (speaking from experience), it takes years for some people to find their art style. it could also take someone else a day to find their art style. thats okay. if you are having fun whike drawing, thats kinda all that matters. drawing isnt ment to be something thats stressful, its ment to be fun. art is a way to express yourself, drawing is one of those ways. no matter if you think your drawing sucks or is perfect, someone else will have a conflicting feeling about it. people on tumblr love others art, i love seeing others art.

if you are really passionate on singing, dont give up. do your best to keep singing. if you do give up, thats okay. you can always try again whenever you feel like it. i dont sound good singing and i dont ever sing. but when i do, its usually when im really happy and im by myself. i tend to find its easier to sing when you are alone where no one can judge you. maybe the next time you are home alone, trying singing and see how you feel without any judging?

have you tried any other things? im not trying to be rude in anyway, i promise, but maybe you need to try something new? it might take many things to find what you are good at AND enjoy. but still, you dont have to be good at it!!

while you find something you would enjoy doing as a job, you might have to get a job at a place near you. i know it sucks, i hate retail too and i havent even gotten a job in retail yet. retail is never fun, but itll keep you afloat while you try to find a more enjoyable job.

you should try to ask your parents to go to therapy, but if you cant do it or they say no, you can still come to my blog and we can chat! im not as good as therapy, as im not therapist, but chatting about your problems with at least someone could maybe help with some things? you dont have to talk to me if you dont want to, of course, but im still here if you need me! <33

therapy is something that ive never been to so i wont be much help there, but i hope if you can get therapy it works for you <333

youre welcome!!! remember that ill be cheering you on to do the tasks you feel are impossible!!! and if you fail, thats perfectly fine!! youve got this!!!! <333333333 🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

[floweyheadcanons]

Some more headcannons and questions coming up! Clover can't dance for the life of them, so Flowey helped them by moving their feet to the right bars on El Baildor's fight. Clover felt indebted to him for doing that, but Flowey just told them it was painful to watch them fail over and over and over again. Flash forward to the Omega Flowey fight, Clover is the last to rebel because they still feel indebted to him. They don't want to leave their best friend alone. They realize that what Flowey is doing isn't justified, but a small part of Flowey, that Clover can feel, is feeling like this is justified, for Chara, for Clover...When Frisk wins, Flowey sees a figure behind Frisk, holding out a hand. He sees Clover with a genuine smile, wanting him to join them with doing justice. But Clover isn't there. Flowey understands and tries to tell Frisk and, by extention, Ghost/Hallucination Clover, that he can't. He doesn't understand why they show care to him after all that. He doesn't understand... Flowey has talked to Papyrus about Clover. He likes to see his reactions to their adventures and everything. Seeing someone adore this child while never knowing them makes him seen like the care he had for them wasn't him being weak, but Clover having that ability on monsters. Flowey like card games. He also likes chess, but card games are his favorite. He's good at them, that's way.

Now here is some for the Gusty Gaggle and Feisty Five, well, one of the Feisty Five at least. So the Gusty Gaggle are all actors in the Ghosty South. I mean, like everyone is am actor there. Flowey plays the role of the murderous Flower monster that is part of a gang, and is the brains, with a human and another monster. Clover plays the leader, and human. Kanako plays the happy monster with a bit of scare to her. They basically play themselves, in the Gusty Gaggle. They are actors but not. Also, Mooch and Flowey are friends. Theif and murderous flower bring friends just makes me happy. Mooch is also Flowey's favorite Festiy 4 member.

Now some questions! Who does Flowey hate more, Ceroba or Alphys, and why? Has Flowey ever became friends with Sans in past resets? Does Flowey feel a sense of belonging with the amagates? Has Dalv ever realized he didn't draw the draws Flowey drew? What's his relationship with Decibat and El Bailador? Who is Flowey's favorite Festiy Four person? Out of Starlo, Axis, Martlet, and Chujin, who does Flowey like and hate the most? What kind of games does Flowey like and dislike? Did Flowey ever watch Chujin, and, by extent, The Wild East and Kestukane's before Clover fell? If so, did he judge Chujin for being an idiot? Why does he feel the need to keep his throwing skills up? And, where would Flowey stay most of the time on the surface? Frisk's town or The Ghosty South?

(AAAA- I LOVE HIM!!! HIM AND ENDOGENY IS SO CUTE!!!! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!!! Also, him to Kanako being like, "Hey! Welcome to the children revived club! Don't tell your mother we are here okay? I hate her!" is so funny to me. HE'S SUCH A LITTLE GUY!!!)

those ideas up there are PEAK?! try not to cook challenge (impossible)

i honestly think the idea of the gusty gaggle both acting and not acting at the same time is really cool, it's more like they overblow their personalities, i really like that.

this is the funny headcanon blog so it's time for the questions now!!

1 .Who does Flowey hate more, Ceroba or Alphys, and why?

Flowey hates Ceroba more because at least Alphys changed. And even before that she pretty clearly was tortured by what she'd done, while I don't think it'd be as obvious to Flowey that Ceroba was suffering too. Does not help that Ceroba has also tried to kill Clover.

2. Has Flowey ever became friends with Sans in past resets?

I'm awfully fond of the idea that at one point or another Sans had some sort of big brother-ish relationship with Flowey because he just has that effect on people™ and would rather not fight this nerd, so yeah! I'd actually be surprised if at no point were they on good terms.

3. Does Flowey feel a sense of belonging with the amagates?

Yeah, it makes him feel better to know he's not the only little freak out there... Not the only experiment gone horribly wrong.

4. Has Dalv ever realized he didn't draw the drawings Flowey drew?

He's probably realized a few weren't his because they were a little too bad. Don't blame Flowey ok?? He hasn't had proper hands for a comical amount of time. I think in secret he'd redraw those because they're usually fire ideas, just bad illustration-wise.

5. What's his relationship with Decibat and El Bailador?

Flowey is a little hater, so I think he'd be a big El Bailador anti... Probably follows the guy around with a comical amount of signs that say things like "CANCEL THIS DANCE MANIAC!!!" "THIS BUFFOON MUST BE STOPPED!!!" that all point in his direction but when Baily turns around to look at them they're gone. Decibat, on the other hand gets a pass. I think Flowey would like sleep in Deci's cave because it's nice and quiet... Probably sneaks in Echo Flowers sometimes because he thinks it's funny™.

6. Who is Flowey's favorite Feisty Four member?

I'm indecisive on this one, but it'd probably be Mooch because he can't help but respect a devious little thief. I think in a couple saves he'd probably help her with her little heists!

7. Out of Starlo, Axis, Martlet, and Chujin, who does Flowey like and hate the most?

Chujin: Mostly considers the man a joke, wouldn't say he hates Chujin.

Axis: Bro is on thin ice. Flowey is always very close to destroying that bucket of bolts and considers him very irritating to be around and a needless nuisance.

Starlo: Finds the guy somewhat annoying, but also interesting. Mostly upset with him for attacking Clover and for being so easily excited into doing stupid things. Would probably like him more if he wasn't an idiot.

Martlet: Wants to pluck every feather off her one by one, and hear her scream. Why does she keep INTERVENING??? She's part of that stupid guard, she wants Clover dead, she doesn't get to decide they're important to her. Her existence fills him with rage.

Of them all, I think he hates Martlet the most for trying to steal Clover away, and likes Starlo the most because he IS just a little goober.

8. What kind of games does Flowey like and dislike?

I think he'd like things like puzzle games (they make him feel big brained), RPGs, and first person shooters and shoot em up games (especially if they're combined. he likes feeling tough.)

9. Did Flowey ever watch Chujin, and, by extent, The Wild East and Kestukane's before Clover fell? If so, did he judge Chujin for being an idiot?

He probably judged Chujin very heavily for being an idiot. I think for the most part he probably watched Chujin the most out of the other Ketsukanes (with Ceroba probably being the one he watched the least) because he finds his stupidity very entertaining.

9. Why does he feel the need to keep his throwing skills up?

It's a worry of his because what if he needs to throw something far for one reason or another but he can't? And what if that thing is something so important that it CAN'T just be forgotten about??

10. Where would Flowey stay most of the time on the surface? Frisk's town or The Ghosty South?

He'd probably visit Frisk's town every now and again but I think he'd prefer The Ghosty South as he'd probably feel more at home and able to be his truest self there. Frisk's town is probably just boring to him as well.

[sagaapprentice]

Chapter 5 is up

I feel like all these chapters have been fairly short. I’m used to writing longer pieces but I get to the end and I’m like “I mean…this seems like the most logical break” but it’s like that drawing of a horse where you have the beautifully rendered one section and then you have to hastily fill in everything else

Basically, I have a lot of everything after this like…actually planned out and written. I just have to get through all the set-up, something I have always hated doing and I’m trying to force myself to work through wheeeeee

Anyway enjoy Azriel’s inner monologue as he tries not to objectify Elain’s ass in yoga pants (challenge: Impossible)

[chiangyorange]

You ever think about how Isles added a. Checks notes. Goddess of flow. Because I think about that.

thank fuck isles canonically is not a real realm that exists

nah but fr tho i DO actually have quite a few thoughts on how isles fits in to the overall narrative of mianite being such a strange offshoot compared to s1 and s2 read more if u want, i will say that its gonna get rambly and also im going to drop a few of my design notes about the isles gods specifically if that interests you

i have been piecing together lore via friends and the mianite wiki (which is a fucking dumpster fire for anyone that's trying to look for a specifics in lore but i digress) so not everything people may care about will feature in here (like the whole light/dark thing. gandus, she shadows, w/e im just focusing on the overall story. sorry but there is only so much i can handle atm) i DO actually think that isles is really interesting despite my initial dislike for it towards the end (yes yes ik but i can admit that i was a little. too indulgent of myself at the time) ANYWAY i think isles was some sort of like... fucked up puzzle box reality???? of the s1 world because there are just SO many references to s1 like ianites heart being stolen and dianite slowly becoming more demon-like and all those theories way back when of isles really being s-1 like its a prequel of s1 world which i think its semi true?? basically my thoughts are; isles is an offshoot mimic world intended to emulate the life of the s1 gods in their youth for whatever reason, and in their timeloop is trying to create a trap? a new world? essentially perfect the mannerisms and legitimacy of a real realm like the realm of mianite and the realm of ruxomar. why tom n jordan got pulled into it interrupting the timeloop for a moment, who knows. (also in reflection? thats so fucked up and rude to karl like king is trapped in a timeloop for no goddamn reason) the 4th god is weird tho and i hated every minute of it stop trying to make trio into 4 challenge (impossible, apparently) i choose to believe that the 4th god thing only happened because of fucked up timeloop interruption consequence ONTO MY DESIGN NOTES

so. you probably noticed that their hands have visible joints like a doll or a marionette puppet. that is entirely intentional bc i legit think the isles gods are not real and instead constructs made with to have god-like powers. (shameless plug to the og post here if you wanna see every design ive made of the gods layed out all at once)

each design is supposed to be just a little uncanny like with all of them having pupils compared to the s1 and s2 gods who i draw them without. their smiles are a little too wide to match with their eyes. the green and red of ianite and dianite's eyes are a little too bright and noxious. overall i really wanted them to look as unsettling as possible if you imagine them limp and slumped over like a broken doll and theyre all dressed in something that is a little too perfect you know? like mianite looks like a friend you meet in the town square, ianite looks like a damsel princess, dianite is a handsome prince, like theyre all dressed a little too royal from a classic fairytale-- theyre too good to be true.

augh i think i have more to say but theres already so much in this one post that ill save it for another time

[hortusmossii]

To New Begginings

Hello, everyone!

This is my first blogpost, and i have no idea where to begin. I want to say so many things, and at the same time thoughts feel so fleeting... But I shall try nonetheless.

I think I should draft a summary first, basically so I don't get lost. So, here is what we're gonna talk about:

What drove me to start this blog?

Where am I coming from?

What steps do I wanna follow?

1. What drove me to this?

Short answer? Capitalism.

Long answer? Well. I was a long time Twitter user. I had been on that site for over a decade, and it is linked to some of the most important parts of my life. That's where I found amazing people that to this day remain some of my best friends. It was my peaceful nook away from the hardships of daily life. It was a place where I could, during those challenging teenage years, figure myself out without unasked for criticism. It was, in many ways, home.

But then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. The Most Divorced Man Alive bought the site and carved its corpse into a hateful, fascist den crawling with ads, bots and Human Rights Violations. I couldn't see my friends anymore. My friends couldn't see me anymore. And, most importantly, I couldn't in good conscience keep being a part of a site from which the global face of Everything That Is Wrong directly profits. A single individual had killed a very significant part of my life. It was gone, and I couldn't do anything to bring it back. I felt (still do) defenseless.

While pondering all this, I started thinking about all the other Bad ThingsTM that the current mainstream social media had had me accepting as normal. For starters, I had grown accostumed to 140 characters as the default thought length, and therfore suffered extremely when expressing myself more extensively (appart from Academic contexts, but that's a whole different way of communicating, in my opinion). In fact, this is the longest I've written about what I think in ages. This connects with the other symptom I was feeling, perhaps even more starkly: My attention span was gone and not expected to return. I used to be able to focus on a book or a drawing for hours at a time. Now, I can't go 10 minutes without checking the phone. It was driving me insane and keeping me away from what I really want to do, which is learning, building, creating.

So yeah. Something had to change.

2. Where am I coming from?

I am old enough to have experienced the Old Web before the bleak, centralized Corporate dystopia we experience today, but not old enough to have participated in it as a creator. I do remeber, however, the feeling of entering a web and exploring it in detail, instead of skimming over it because the Infinite Scroll Abyss makes it impossible to do otherwise. I remember not needing an account for everything. I remeber experiencing the Internet through a single, unmoving device. As a quote that hit me hard when I read it says:

"The Internet used to be a place."

I thought that place was dead. But then I found out about the so called "Indie Web" and about the community of people still internetting for the sake of internetting, without thinking about money or engagement. And I thought: hey, maybe I can do that.

What steps do I wanna follow?

So. The choice was made. I uninstalled all socials from my phone, so the Internet is something I can only check at home, and the rest of my time my mind is free. I deleted most of my accounts everywhere (including Amazon and things like that because if I wanna escape corporate giants might as well go all the way). I am yet to delete my main Twitter account, even though I haven't used it in three months, it feels like the final step and I'm building up courage to do it. Then I plan on creating my own web where I can express myself freely, keep full control of all the things I post and not fear the moment a capitalist fucko will make me move again. Everything is perfect!

One problem is, I have almost no idea of coding, and definitely no idea about how the web, or websites, work. So I started learning! I'm going through freecodecamp's curriculum and hope to learn enough to start building my own functioning site as soon as possible. Another problem, though, is that i don't have the money to afford hosting right now, nor do I have the knowledge to set up a home server (altough this would ideally be the final step of the plan!). But in the meantime, I need to start writing. If I don't, I would end up with a shining new web with nothing to store inside. That's where this blog comes in. I will try to use it to write longer texts, about whatever I find interesting. I need to build up a habit, and that cannot wait until I have a web of my own. So, take this as an in-between place, a mansio on the road until I arrive home.

I think that more or less covers it. I have tried this before, and always ended up downloading everything again within a week. This time, tho, something feels different. I think this time it will work. And me writing this is kind of a way of commiting to it. I am excited about this new chapter of my life :)

That's it for today! I'm actually so proud of myself for writing all of this without checking my phone xd If you have any comments, any tips or wanna share your experience, I would love to read it!! Thank you for reading till the end. ^^

P.S.: I'll leave here this unrelated picture because I took it and thought it was really cool :3

[kii-chan-reloaded]

I'm frustrated that I am so incapable at critical thinking that after 12+ years of playing Magic, a 16 minute video about fucking Goblin Grenade made me finally realize the exact reason why I both love playing Magic in concept and hate playing Magic in any sort of organized setting.

And now I need to get the words out of my head before I go insane. As an act of benevolence, I'll put all my pointless ramblings beneath a read more. You're welcome.

The video poses the simple question "What is your favorite Magic card?" I waffled on it for a minute, going over some candidates in my head, but the clear winner for me was Progenitus.

It's everything a Timmy like me wants - a big, stompy creature that is instantly a threat that is both hard to get rid of and to shut down. But, coming off probably a month straight of my main source of entertainment being video essays, I was essentially tricked into breaking it down further and expressing my reasoning why:

Progenitus is a challenge.

It's the game designers putting a seemingly impossible-to-cast creature in your hands and taunting you to even try to cast it. Casting Progenitus, even in EDH where play is typically slower than any 60-card variant and has the benefit of almost the entire pool of Magic cards to pull from, isn't a reliable or easy thing to do. It essentially turns the game into a puzzle - How can you cut corners to cast this obvious threat before your opponents can do anything to stop you?

And that "puzzle" aspect is where I draw my fun from in Magic. I don't approach Magic as a competition. I don't have fun restricting or controlling my opponents. My fun comes from solving puzzles - from finding creative ways to circumvent expectations (i.e. pulling off difficult alternate win conditions like Maze's end or Hellkite Tyrant), and from giving my opponents difficult puzzles to solve (i.e. Progenitus and/or Ulamog, affecting the board state in insane ways with chaos group hug, etc)

Clearly, this is in contention with how the majority of people who play Magic at organized events approach the game. They want to win. They want to come out on top of their opponent and walk away with the rewards, social or material. They're not interested in setting up puzzles, they want to get the game over as quickly as possible and to make sure they always have the upper hand.

I always just assumed that I was just a "casual" Magic player, someone who is "bad at Magic". But it turns out, I have just been playing a different game than what 90% of my opponents were.

This also feeds into my recent inclination to try to become a judge. By distancing myself from the emotional aspect of the game, the only thing remaining is the bare mechanics of Magic, an intricate and dense web of rules... A puzzle to be navigated and solved.

I have yet to decide if this invalidates my desire to judge or if it reinforces my place as a judge. Because that would require critical thinking, which I am incapable of unless someone makes a fun and engaging video showing me how to first.

Anyway, rant over.

[monsterkiss]

One of the things I appreciate a lot about choosing to do Cringetober is that it made me feel closer to my F/Os because I've been spending all this time drawing them and thinking about them.

Another thing is that it pushed me to draw selfship art probably for the first time in about 3 years. It provided me with ideas (prompts) and motivation (time constraints + it being a challenge that lots of other people are doing, and jumping on the bandwagon seems to be interesting/entertaining enough for my brain).

Generally it's also been keeping me somewhat busy since it created this sort of artificial schedule I'm trying to follow and, then again, pushed me to draw more in general. It reminded me that I also can, in fact, draw more than once per several months. That even if drawing has felt pretty damn hard for a while now, even impossible sometimes, I still can manage to do it, and do it in a way I like and then again, not spend literal months trying to finish one single thing, reminded me that I can finish some drawings relatively quickly.

Of course it helps that like I said, it provided me with a list of prompts, gave me motivation and sort of a schedule… Once again I'm reminded that I work best with time constaints or some kind of pressure. (Even when I really really hate it... not in this particular case but lots of others.)

Because in case of a monthly challenge, I know that if I fall behind the "schedule", even if it doesn't actually matter, but I'd be dragging behind while more and more days of Cringetober pass, and that doesn't feel good to me, and then I'd end up feeling overwhelmed and would probably just completely drop it. That's also why it's important that I've chosen to ignore some of the prompts and not try to do everything because otherwise, again, I'd get overwhelmed and would hardly finish anything, and that's also why it's good that for some prompts I've made pretty messy and simplistic drawings. I've actually never managed to stick to a monthly drawing challenge this long before, I think.

So just, this has been pretty cool.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Childhood

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

+ This Game of Ours

Jason’s eyes snapped open at a sound that no human should be able to hear.

Ever since he’d been resurrected from the Lazarus pit, his senses had grown abnormally acute – amongst other strange things. 

Sometimes he swore he could even hear Y/N’s heartbeat. It was easiest to do with her, after all he was so intone with her very being.

But all of that made nearly impossible for anyone to sneak up on him – let alone in his own home. Which someone was. He could feel it.

Jason’s eyes glanced down at Y/N, who was sound asleep on his chest.

Ever so carefully, he lifted her body off of him so he could slip out of bed.

But Y/N was a light sleeper, unfortunately. She must’ve inherited that from Bruce, even though she wasn’t even raised by the man.

Y/N winced as her eyes opened just in time to see Jason grabbing one of his hidden guns from below their bed frame.

“What’s going on?” Her voice raspy.

“Nothing,” Jason lied. “Stay here.”

Now that she found out about another hidden gun in their apartment, Jason knew he was going to return to a lecture from Y/N. She never hid her hatred for guns, and had asked him to keep them out of their apartment.

“Jason…” Y/N whispered desperately, now more awake and concerned.

“Stay here,” Jason said, more firmly this time.

Then he quickly kissed her, leaving even less room for her to argue.

In only his black boxer briefs, Jason snuck out of their bedroom and into the living room without making any sound. Y/N had always been shocked at how quiet her giant boyfriend could make himself.

Just as Jason raised his gun, he heard the familiar voice.

“Put some clothes on, Todd.”

Damian stepped out of the shadows.

To Jason’s surprise, he was in civilian clothes and not in his Robin uniform.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, breaking in like that?” Jason reprimanded as he uncocked the gun.

But before Damian could defend himself, the bedroom door squeaked open and Y/N was rushing out into the living room.

“I told you to stay there,” Jason growled.

Y/N rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s overprotectiveness. “Obviously I recognized Damian’s voice, Jason.”

Then Y/N looked at her half-brother for a second and quickly realized Damian had come there for a reason.

“Everything alright, Damian?” She asked carefully.

“Yes,” he lied.

Jason remembered when Damian despised Y/N. He saw her as a threat to his claim to the Wayne throne. But Y/N had immediately made her intentions clear. “I have my own reputation, money, and career that I built without a name attached to me. I want nothing to do with Wayne Enterprises,” she had told Damian as soon as she realized he saw her as some sort of competition.

It took Damian months to even acknowledge Y/N. And he really only did because both his father and Dick – basically his surrogate father – scolded him for not doing so.

Slowly but surely, the two grew closer.

Y/N didn’t put up with Damian’s attitude. But she also didn’t scold him like a child. If he was rude or aggressive, she spoke to him the same way she would speak to a grown man who behaved in such a manner. Somehow it made the boy slowly start to respect her more.

Eventually, they bonded over their mutual love of the arts. Damian was impressed with her photographs, while Y/N was honored whenever Damian decided to share his drawings with her. Y/N had gifted Damian his first camera. And Damian once gave her a few lessons on the basics of sketching and painting.

Who knew Waynes were the creative type?

And it was when Damian’s pets all seemed to be obsessed with Y/N that the boy finally decided to get over his original opinions and feelings.

It was by no means a short or easy battle. But the rest of the family was relieved when Damian finally accepted Y/N as one of their own.

“How about I make us some hot chocolate?” Y/N offered Damian.

The boy just shrugged, but she noticed his eyes subtly light up.

She never understood why he refused to let himself feel joy in the simple things. It was like she could catch him stopping himself from being a kid.

“I’m going to bed,” Jason announced with exhaustion.

It was clear to him that Damian came to see his sister, not him. And he was nice enough to leave the two of them alone. Even though he was a bit bitter that his girlfriend was being stolen from their bed.

Before turning back to the bedroom, Jason invaded Y/N’s space and gently grabbed her jaw before pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Gross,” Damian groaned.

Jason glared and pointed at the boy. “You’re in our apartment, demon spawn. I’ll kiss my girlfriend if I fuckin’ want to.”

Y/N just laughed as she watched Jason close their bedroom door behind him.

“Come on,” she nudged her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s make some hot chocolate. I think I have some of Alfred’s cookies hiding somewhere, too.”

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Damian mumbled.

Y/N smirked and shook her head. Tonight, she wasn’t taking the bait. 

Once Damian decided he didn’t hate Y/N, he jumped right to making it known that he did not think Jason was good enough for her. But she knew it was an act – mostly.

“Why aren’t you on patrol?” She asked casually once they had giant mugs of hot chocolate and cookies in front of them, making sure to give the boy extra marshmallows. 

“I’m grounded,” Damian muttered.

Y/N tilted her head. “Grounded?”

It seemed like a far too normal concept for a family of vigilantes.

“Yes,” Damian confirmed.

“I’m guessing that means Bruce and Alfred don’t know you’re here…?”

“I snuck out,” he admitted.

“Why did you get grounded?”

“Father found out I was skipping school. And then that I skipped the school dance.”

“Why does it matter if you skipped the dance?” She asked, clearly confused.

Y/N was also struggling to imagine Bruce caring about such a trivial thing like that.  

“Father wishes for me to have normal experiences that young man of my age is expected to have,” Damian said with a roll of his eyes.

“School dances are lame,” Y/N commented.

Damian sat up straighter, not expecting that to be her response.

“I skipped prom. I didn’t want to go,” she added.

“Why not?” The boy challenge, somewhat caught off guard by that.

Y/N shrugged. “Bad music. Bad dancing. Tacky dresses. Just wasn’t all that appealing to angsty, teenage me.”

Damian just nodded slowly, and then got quiet.

“I have no desire to be normal,” he finally stated after a few minutes.

“I’m not taking his side, but I get why Bruce wants you to do these things, Damian. You were robbed of a lot of things because of the way you were raised. I’m not saying that it’s bad or good. But I think Bruce just wants to give you the opportunity to experience the life of a – well...of a kid.”

“And was your life normal?” Damian quickly asked.

Y/N nodded. “So normal that it was boring.” She laughed, “My entire life was normal until I met all of you weirdos.”

That got a smile out of Damian.

But then it slowly dropped and he seemed to get lost in his head.

“I don’t…I don’t have any friends,” Damian finally whimpered.

Y/N was shocked by the boy’s emotion.

Damian was always composed.

“It’s like they speak a different language. And it’s one I can never learn.”

“Oh, Damian,” Y/N sighed as she rushed from her seat to kneel beside him. “I know it must be hard to try and fit in. But you’re not doing anything wrong. None of that’s your fault.”

“Father is more than aware that I don’t need the education,” Damian’s voice shook as he tried not to cry. “He only forces me to attend so I can make friends. And that is one thing I am unable to do.”

Y/N let him breathe and have an opportunity to continue before she spoke again. 

“I hate school, so I skip. And the school dance seemed so ridiculous to me, so I skipped that too – even after father specifically requested that I attend.”

Y/N sighed, “And did you tell him how you’re feeling when he grounded you?”

Damian shook his head no.

She hadn’t expected anything different. She could easily imagine Damian lashing out at Bruce when he received his punishment, saying that the requests were a waste of his time and beneath him. 

Damian was good at hiding his emotional pain – maybe even better than their father.

Y/N was sure Bruce didn’t have a true understanding of what Damian was going through.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Damian asked.

“Of course,” she gave him a sad smile. “How about we take this hot chocolate to the couch and watch a movie?”

Damian shrugged. But it wasn’t a no.

Y/N let him pick the movie.

He chose Fantasia. 

When Y/N didn’t hide her surprise, he explained that he respected the animation and loved all of the classical music. Even when they did a child-like activity, he still always found way to remind the world that he was no normal child.

An hour later, both of them had fallen asleep on the couch with the movie still playing.

When Damian felt another presence, he awoke with a jolt and grabbed his hidden knife, holding it to the throat of the intruder.

But it was Jason, gently bringing Y/N’s sleeping body into his arms.

“Once again, demon spawn, you’re in our apartment,” Jason hissed with annoyance.

The man was completely unfazed by the feeling of a blade threatening to slit his throat. 

Damian huffed.

“I’m taking her to bed,” Jason explained the obvious. Then he nudged his head at the love-seat across from Damian. “There’s a blanket right there if you want to sleep on the couch. Or you can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

But Jason paused, with Y/N sleeping in his arms, as he noticed a strange look on Damian’s face.

“What?” He urged.

“If you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you myself,” Damian growled softly.

Jason looked utterly unimpressed. “You’d have to get in line,” he answered, making sure to keep his voice quiet to prevent waking Y/N.

But then Jason’s face softened. “Look, kid, I think you know that she’s the best thing to ever happen to me. I’d die before doing anything to mess this up.”

“Hmph,” was the only noise Damian made in response.

Jason rolled his eyes and carried Y/N back to their bedroom.

In all honesty, he couldn’t fall asleep while she had been in with Damian. With Jason’s weird enhanced hearing because of the pit, he was able to catch a bit of their conversation.

Jason softly place Y/N back in bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. When he joined her on the other side of the bed, she didn’t even wake as she slid back into his arms.

Now Jason could finally go to sleep.

When there was a knock on the apartment door the next morning, Damian and Y/N shared a look.

“I’ll get it,” Y/N sighed.

Jason had made all three of them breakfast that morning.

But now Damian pushed the food around his plate, knowing this was the end of his small rebellion. Who knew what his new punishment would be?

Y/N opened the door to unsurprisingly find her father.

Bruce was wearing a full suit, despite it being a Sunday morning. On top was a heavy, black overcoat with the back of the collar slightly propped up.

“You could have least told me he was here,” Bruce greeted his daughter.

She smirked mischievously and shrugged. “I’m no snitch.”

Damian appeared behind Y/N, not seeing the point in dragging this out any longer than necessary.

“Alfred’s downstairs with the car,” Bruce told his son evenly.

The disappointment in both his expression and tone was obvious.

Damian looked up at Y/N. “Thank you for having me, Y/N.”

“Next time, use the actual door so you don’t give me or Jason a heart attack.”

Damian smiled at that before walking past his father and down the hallway.

“Can I talk to you a second?” Y/N asked Bruce.

Her father seemed surprised by the request, but nodded anyways and closed the door behind him.

“I think Damian is really struggling – more than you think, I mean.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. “He hasn’t even been remotely injured from patrols in months…”

“No, Bruce,” she quickly cut off. “Not as Robin. As Damian.”

Bruce was quiet.

“He doesn’t know how to fit in, Bruce. And you’re putting a lot of pressure on him to live a normal life. Bu he’s never gonna have normal. That was taken away from him before you even knew he existed.”

“He said that to you?” Bruce asked.

She nodded. “In so few words, yes.”

“And I’m assuming you have some advice,” he quirked a brow.

“Well, yeah. Maybe you should just homeschool him.”

“Y/N, the whole point of him going to school is to be around kids his own age. We both know the education is beneath him already.”

“But that’s the thing, Bruce. He’s never going to relate to any of those kids. Going to school makes him feel like a freak. Let him get homeschooled.”

“He needs to learn to make friends,” Bruce argued.

“You’re right. He does. But not with the spoiled brats of Gotham Academy. How many superheroes are you friends with?”

“He doesn’t consider them friends!” Jason shouted from the kitchen.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine. How many superheroes are you acquainted with, who have kids around Damian’s age?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

“I know you like to keep your personal life away from Batman. But those are the only kids that Damian is ever going to relate to in some way. Do you get what I’m saying?”

To her surprise, Bruce nodded. “You’re right.”

Her brows shot up. “I am?”

Y/N had really expected him to fight her on this.

Bruce chuckled. “Of course you are. Out of everyone in this family, you are the only one who can say they had any semblance of a normal childhood.”

Suddenly his phone dinged and he glanced down at it.

“I have to go,” he regretfully told her.

When he looked back up at her, his face softened. “Come to the manor soon for dinner,” he asked her gently.

She gave him a soft smile and nodded, “I will.”

Bruce nodded in the direction of the kitchen where Jason was hiding. “And bring that one with you, will you?”

Y/N laughed. “He’ll go wherever I go. He’s like a puppy, that one.”

“I can hear you!” Jason called out.

Bruce laughed and stepped forward to give Y/N a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for looking out for Damian, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Bruce.”

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