#tumblr nearly ate this post. horrible

[cosmos-dot-semicolon]

Who's your favourite Dicey Dungeons contestant?

Robot! It embodies Dicey Dungeons at its best.

Writing-wise, Robot really struck a chord with me when I first played the game ('oh wow who could've seen that coming from the guy that wrote-' shhhhhh). All of the protagonists in this game have some sort of message attached to them: a sort of comment on how their mindsets clash with their actual fate-

-hey did anyone see that? i'm sure it was nothing. Anyways, they're all surprisingly relevant to modern life despite the game's fantastical design, but Robot's really is the most unique and effective of them: you have limits, and you can't win them all.

Growing up, there was a very real pressure for me to be 'productive' as a kid as a result of my rocky upbringing and undiagnosed neurodivergency. I always had the idea in my head that if I just worked Betterer and Harder and Always, things would eventually reach an equilibrium point and I would never have to worry about anything again. You wouldn't be looked at as a weirdo because you'd be so good at your thing everyone would have to accept you! You wouldn't have any mortal problems anymore! You wouldn't ever have to make decisions in your life because you could simply attempt everything, with no consequences. Ever.

Also there was like, a huge glut of self-help and grindset culture being pushed in the mid 2010's. I don't know if you remember when 'I'm good at multi-tasking' was the hot new thing to put on CVs (until studies discovered it was actually worse), and how there were 100 TedTalks on how to stop procrastinating, but it was so fucking prevalent even in secondary schools back then. And also it was religious propaganda.

This wasn't really investigated much until the end of the decade, where a lot of peoples' fascination with tech wore off, and it became clear capitalism was the problem. We all know now that people work better when they have time to clear their minds, and it's kind of insane to spend your one life grinding out work.

So the fact that a kids' game managed to tackle this subject better than entire sectors of the publshing industry -- by making one kind of nutty but lovable character (who turned down immortality for not missing out on work) -- is just fantastic.

And everything in Robot's gameplay is made to suit this goal. It isn't that hard to master, as you've said in the past: you just need to know when's a good time to stop, and what best works with your build. You're in control of your gains and your losses; you can handle probability better than you think you can, if you're just willing to meet her where she stands. I think that's the core philosophy of Dicey Dungeons' design, and Robot constantly getting unique mechanics being based off classic games of chance like Blackjack and coin flips really emphasises that. You really get the sense that the dev had this idea polished right down to the last detail.

Also I just love how you usually have a full 6 pieces of equipment with Robot compared to like 3-5 with the others. You get a lot of room to explore different synergies. It's very hard to optimise your slots fully, and you end up with a couple of boring (but also potentially life-saving) redundancies.

And on a more subjective note, Robot just feels like it has the most personalised design of the main characters? It would've been so easy to lean into 'beep boop', or base another archetype off D&D, or make shallow nods at the concept of 'humanity' for a robot character, but no! Robot's fun! And a try-hard finance kid! And adorable! You get to see all of Marlowe Dobbe's cool theming with her art, Holly Gramazio's witty but reflective writing style, and Terry Cavanagh's hilarious equipment names and past as an actuary, all in one character!

Also it's autistic and uses it/its and that's so mecore

[fanficsbysteve]

Chasing Shadows

Note: You can thank @weewoo911 for this idea not leaving my brain so I had to write it before I could continue on my other WIPs. Thank you for this and I hope you enjoy. I’m ignoring the Abby thing because that was BS, and I don’t like it. This will probably be multiple chapters. All from Tommy’s POV cause its more fun to write. Not sure how many chapters though. I'll keep you posted as I write them.

AO3 Link

***

Tommy sat at the second floor table, his phone out, mindlessly scrolling through the various apps he had downloaded. Twitter, Tumblr, those kind of apps. The ones where you created a username and maintained some level of anonymity. He loved being able to spend time just looking at things he enjoyed without people knowing what he was doing or who he was. Lately all he had been doing though is reblogging images of actor Evan Buckley. Evan Buckley in “My Heart Yearns.” Evan Buckley in “Christmas in the Poconos.” Evan Buckley in “The Things That Ate You.” Evan Buckley in “What Happens Happened.” This man was currently the king of the B-Movies and Tommy loved every single one of them, owning many of them on DVD or Blu-ray so he could watch them over and over again.

Tommy was a gay man and was coming to terms with his homosexuality. He hadn’t told anyone in his life yet. That wasn’t any of their business. But he was slowly hating himself less as the days progressed. Maybe he would tell someone when he didn’t hate himself as much as he did, maybe Hen would be the best option. She was an out and proud lesbian with a loving wife, she wouldn’t judge him like he judged himself. He felt dirty looking at the pictures he did online. He felt horrible just thinking about the things that he wanted all those men to do to him. Particularly Evan Buckley. That man could do things that weren’t in any holy book to him, and Tommy would probably thank him for it. And it still made him feel dirty inside. Not nearly as much as others. Just a little. Nothing Evan Buckley did could make him feel completely like he was a horrible person going to hell.

So, Tommy was scrolling while they sat around the 118. It was quiet *knock on wood* and Tommy was enjoying the quiet time. They had finished all their various “chores” and Bobby was already cooking some dinner. Everyone knew to leave Bobby alone while he was in the kitchen, “Seen any good movies lately?” Chimney’s voice broke the silent revery that Tommy’s mind had taken. His real name was Howie Han, however everyone called him Chimney. Nobody really knows why, and Chim likes to keep it mysterious. Tommy thinks its because Chimney’s are tall and built well. However, their Chimney is anything but that.

Tommy looked up from his phone, “Nothing really. Just the usual B-movies that nobody really watches.”

“Why do you do that to yourself?” Hen asked looking up over the newspaper she had been reading, “They are always so painfully bad.”

“I know,” Tommy smiled, “But they make me laugh. You never watched Mystery Science Theatre 3000? They basically made a career out of watching the worst movies that cinema has to offer. And they are gloriously bad. Making up commentary for them is half the fun.”

“I’ll just have to take your word for it,” Chim replied, “I took Tatiana to see that new Marcel movie. Can’t remember what I was called but it was ok.”

“I’ll stick to my sappy RomComs and B-movies,” Tommy replied, “They never disappoint me to the point of forgetting a title.”

Tommy went back to his phone. He was on Tumblr right now, curating his queue, enjoying his timeline. It had taken him some time, but he had finally gotten it to the point where he enjoyed just spending hours scrolling, finding new posts for his own blog and queue. He admitted that he was a bit of an Evan Buckley stan account at this point. His posts were mostly either pics of Evan Buckley, gifs of Evan Buckley, videos of Evan Buckley, or stories written about Evan Buckley. He was just so handsome, and it made Tommy’s stomach turn itself over and over. From the tattoos that covered his body in special places, so that adorable little birthmark above his eye. Tommy wanted to plant a kiss on that mark so badly.

Tommy went to the kitchen to get another refill on coffee. He hadn’t slept much the night before but that was his own fault. He had gotten distracted by watching Evan Buckley movies and he just wanted to finish at least one. One lead to another and suddenly it was an hour before he had to get up and get ready for work. Tommy visibly yawned as he poured another cup, “Late night?” Bobby asked while he cooked.

“Just got distracted,” Tommy replied, “Didn’t realize what time it was and just didn’t end up sleeping much. Coffee is my best friend today.”

“I’ve had those nights,” Bobby smiled, “Usually they involved a beautiful woman.”

Tommy choked a bit on his coffee at the face that Bobby made at him, “um…uh…yeah…beautiful woman,” was all that Tommy managed to get out of his mouth before he hurried away, his face beet red.

He sat down in his chair and pulled his phone back out. He went back to his absent scrolling, smiling inside at all the new pictures of Evan Buckley that were appearing online recently. He had gotten a starring role in a TV show that hadn’t been announced yet, but Tommy was a premium member of the Evan Buckley fan club, so he got all the insider information. He admitted that it was childish to have that membership, but nobody knew who he was, and he was the only one who knew he had it, so why not. It got him all kinds of insider information, and he was a Millennial, so he was allowed to do this. Evan was supposed to be filming the pilot for this show he was cast in sometime in the next few months. Tommy would definitely be watching that show.

“Dinner’s ready,” Bobby announced as he put plates of food on the table. They always served family style, taking what you wanted from the plates and passing them along. It was a tradition that Bobby had started. It was never like this during the Gerrard Era or any of the other dozen chiefs they had since. Just Bobby wanted to make the changes that made working at the 118 better.

“So, I have an announcement to make,” Bobby said as everyone had plated up their meal and was starting to eat, “We will be having someone come and shadow us a little bit for the next few months. They will be filming a new show called HotShots soon. It’s a show about firefighters, and they want some of their actors to get some firsthand experience. To add to the realism. The higher ups have approved of this as they feel this would be really good PR for the LAFD. Several different stations have had different actors who have been cast in the show come shadow us for a bit.”

“Any idea who we got?” Chimney piped up, “Hopefully it’s Samantha Callens, I heard she was cast in something and maybe it was this. She can really learn what its like to be a female firefighter from our Hen here.”

“Shut it Chim,” Hen piped up.

“No, we have someone different,” Bobby said. He pulled out his phone to check his emails, “Give me a second here to find it. Ah yes, we have someone named Evan Buckley coming.”

Tommy did a spit take with the coffee he had just been drinking, sending it flying across the table. Nobody was sitting across from them so that was a blessing, “You know that guy?” Chim asked having dodged to the side to avoid the coffee, Chim was in the chair next to the spot opposite Tommy.

“No…not really…he’s just been in a couple movies I’ve watched,” Tommy stuttered, trying to wipe up the coffee he spat all over up.

“Well, he starts tomorrow,” Bobby said, “And I expect everyone to be on their best behaviour.”

Tommy sat down in his chair, his heart racing and threatening to burst out of his chest. Evan Buckley was going to be here, in the 118, with Tommy. Tommy silently took his phone out and looked at the top of his Tumblr page, staring at his username: kinardbuckleyxoxo was all it said. Tommy knew that it was going to be a long few months. Very pleasant. But also, very long.

***

Note: Chapter 1 complete. Chapter 2 the real fun begins. I usually try and make sure that I have at least a buffer of a few chapters going before I post but I wanted to get this out into the universe so that people can let me know if they enjoy it. So, leave me some comments and likes and give me any feedback you want. Also if anyone has a fun title idea, please let me know cause I'm at a loss. (I may have written this in an hour and a half after I woke up and saw the idea from @weewoo911)

[formula-ghost]

leaving my thoughts/opinions abt wildflower in your inbox cause tumblr hasn't let me comment on anything. (i'm gonna talk as if reader is a another character lol)

ps this is no hate to your writing or anything. it's basically just me commenting on their actions as if it was a tv show or smth.

in my very personal non biased oscar opinion, the reader is exaggerating. oscar may have lied but he didn't manipulate her and it was very obvious to her that he was hurting. they slept together out of both their consent and reader is putting the entire blame on him as if she didn't play a heavy heavy part. especially considering that lily was the one who broke up w oscar, reader made it seem like it was all his fault. lily was partially controlling imo and she wouldn't openly communicate with oscar until something got a little out of hand. she literally accused him of cheating like???? "Or maybe you were so used to Oscar’s lying and manipulation that you couldn’t imagine someone talking to you just for the sake of friendship." this pissed me off sm like why is reader so annoying (don't hate me lol) and then the whole her saying she wasn't good enough for oscar like yk damn well that's not what he meant lol. personally they both were in the wrong but the reader hates personal confrontation and put the ENTIRE thing on him like girl wtf.

anyways girl you ate so hard with this fic truly idk who to suport and be like omg you're so nice like every single person is sm in the wrong like help they need to really breathe and understand eachother but yeah i love this fic and your work and i love youuu. mwuah

I am so glad you sent this because I feel like you 100% got at what I was trying to do!

My whole goal with this fic was to create a story in which each character is simultaneously innocent and guilty. So yeah Oscar is not the best boyfriend to Lily but he doesn’t cheat and yes he does sort of use reader but also reader sort of uses him back. Lily is a horrible communicator but also has been third wheeled in her relationship for so long. Reader kind of has been the backup girl but she has also allowed it to happen and used Oscar in her own way.

I wanted to make this fic as realistic as possible in that way—just showing the complicated messiness of these situations as they happen in real life, rather than just leaning into the “good guy bad guy” trope by making Oscar/Lily awful while Lando/reader are perfect. I feel like that’s the undercurrent of the song Wildflower itself, too: the speaker/Billie is crushed by the weight of what she’s done but also grappling with asking what was so wrong about it in the first place.

Also you’re 100% right about the reader being another character. I used to do x OC fics when I was younger but people don’t like those as much as x readers, but it’s nearly impossible for me to actually write a blank slate reader :/ so they’re basically OCs with no name/face

Unfortunately, if you’re annoyed with reader, it may get worse before it gets better. Not to spoil anything but Lando is being a bit sus, and who’s the real manipulator here?

I want to put it out there too that I’m not offended at all if people don’t like one of my stories or characters and I welcome constructive criticism and feedback! I’ve been a writer for nearly 10 years now (there’s so much lore) so I have thick skin. Obviously be respectful (if you just send something that says “your story sucks kys” I will just delete it) but I welcome all discussion and opinions on my work.

But anyway I am so glad that you’re liking it tho! I lowkey feel like the chapter is flopping but it’s probably because I didn’t post at peak times (at least that’s what I’m telling myself so I don’t get sad lol) or it’s just my insecurities being mean. I can’t wait to keep writing it!

[blossom-hwa]

omg same anon here that requested the model soobin + designer reader that was so good aoaajddkjjjs&#@*kdj thank you ☆_☆

also i feel like i might have sent a similar ask to the following (maybe tumblr ate it) but if no one yet has straight up asked for taehyun fandancer au then plz taehyun fandancer au. and/or any other txt members in the same au if you want (no pressure to again though it's ok !!!)

I am so late...it's fine it's fine it's fine LMAO anyway idk if anyone is still looking for their drabbles from the summertime fest, but I'm trying to do them now - hope y'all enjoy :)

this is an excerpt from a fic idea I'm trying to flesh out; it might be a little confusing but here's the gist - fan dancer mc is trying to hide soobin, the missing crown prince, from those who want to kill him, and in the meantime taehyun is trying to court them and mc desperately wants to say yes but can't because caring for soobin is first priority (they promised a friend). horrible dilemmas I feel for mc so bad (I want taehyun too </3)

summertime drabble fest: send me an idol from the list (Stray Kids, Ateez, TXT, Seventeen) + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

REQUESTS CLOSED!

~

Title: In the Eyes of the Night

Pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 2.1k

Genre: slight angst, fan dancer!mc and nobility!Taehyun

Warnings: mentions of blood

~

Once backstage you nearly fall onto one of the benches behind the gauzy curtains that frame the dais, dropping your fans and gingerly taking off first your shoes, then the wrappings around your feet. They come away sweaty and smelly, which is only to be expected, but a pained hiss escapes your lips as you peel cloth off the blisters that burst during your time on the stage, leaving stains of yellow and red on the fabric.

Your stomach drops. It's not as if you had expected anything less, not after what happened last night, but seeing the mess of blood and pus in the light somehow makes it all worse.

"Need some help?" Juyeon's deep voice sounds overhead. You meet his concerned smile with a wry grimace of your own. "Don't worry about me," you reply, already grabbing one of the clean towels nearby. "Your performance is next, right? You should go prepare. I'll be fine."

His eyes flicker over to the clock on the wall and a grimace of his own passes over his lips as he registers how little time he has left. "I'll send someone with water," he promises. "Clean your feet properly."

"Thanks, Juyeon. I'll be fine," you reassure him, even as the stinging pain threatens to bring tears to your eyes. "It's just a few blisters."

Juyeon disappears into the gauzy curtains, and you take the moment alone to stretch your feet onto the bench. Stars above, your legs ache something awful. Normally you would just attribute this to the endless cycle of performance and practice, but all that running around yesterday took everything out of you. The adrenaline of the chase, the fear that you would be caught, captured - or even worse, that the prince you were hiding would be seen -

Not for the first time, you curse your friend in the shadows for saddling you with the responsibility of a missing prince. How do you hide a prince in your own tiny room? How do you keep him out of sight but still get him food, get him water, get him the basic things he needs to survive? She didn't tell you anything when she dumped him on you, didn't tell you anything except that he was the prince who the royal family had declared missing and that you needed to hide him or else people would kill him. 

You're not an assassin. You're nothing special, not like she is. You can't use a knife. You can't wield a sword. You're just a fan dancer and nothing else and the responsibility of a prince is going to kill you, if it doesn't kill him first.

Ugh. You rest a hand on your heart, forcing deep breaths. "Everything is fine," you mutter to yourself, as though saying it aloud will make it true. It is true, in a way. Your prince wasn't seen last night, for all the danger you were in. He wasn't captured. He wasn't killed. You were able to distract those who would hunt him, even if your bare feet and legs took more cuts than you were used to on the sharp stones outside. Even if it took all of your remaining energy not to collapse in a heap of silk and fans onstage. 

Gahyeon comes running over with a small basin of cold water. You thank her, brush her away when she offers to help, and begin cleaning up the mess of blood on your stinking feet. As soon as it's all cleared away and you've wrapped the open sores in clean bandages, you force yourself to stand and limp to your room. With every step, pain hisses up your legs, but you make it there in the end. 

You tap the door slightly, knocking once, twice, three times in a pattern to announce your presence. When a few knocks sound in return, you slide it open and step inside, closing it quickly behind you. 

Soobin sits in the corner of the room, looking small and hunched over for all his height. His eyes are dull, despondent. "Hello," he mumbles. 

All of your previous curses about the responsibility of a prince melt away, replaced by pity in the face of the crown prince's misery. "Hello, Your Highness," you murmur respectfully. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," he replies quickly, which is how you know he isn't. "Are your feet alright?"

"Just a few cuts and blisters." You smile a little, trudging over to the small mirror set on one of the walls. "I'll survive."

"...I'm so sorry."

"There is no need to be," you respond firmly, turning around from touching up your makeup. "You are my prince and I swore an oath to our friend in the shadows to keep you safe. If I have to bear some pain in my feet for it, no matter. I'm a dancer, anyway." You smile at him. "I'm used to it."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't try to apologize again, so you count that as a win. "You said someone helped you last night," he says, changing the subject.

Your eyebrows furrow. "Yes," you reply lowly, unwanted memories rushing back of shadows and snarls and blades flashing in the moonlight - and above all, one familiar voice shouting for you to run as his sword slashed down, starlight shimmering on the metal. 

Your heart skips a beat. Taehyun Kang. In the moment, when you couldn't breathe and couldn't think, you couldn't believe it was him. But you've replayed those seconds over and over in your mind, and there's no question anymore. Taehyun of the family Kang, one of the middle nobility who frequents your performances and has been trying to court your interest for almost two months...

He saved you. And you can't even thank him, because he didn't see your face, and you can't reveal that that was you. 

"Did you see who they were?" Soobin asks. 

You wipe your fingers on a towel by the mirror, eyes carefully downcast. "No," you reply, and truth be told, you're not sure why you lie. Maybe because you want to keep this moment to yourself. Maybe because deep down, you aren't sure it was really him. 

Maybe because you don't want to acknowledge how hard this makes everything, knowing that you owe Taehyun your life when all he professes to want is your love - and you can't even give him that, however you might want to, for fear that your duty to a missing prince will come to light and all your shadow friend's carefully-laid plans will be ruined.

"I must go now," you say, turning back around. A pair of soft slippers waits by your door and you slip them over your bandaged feet, wincing. You cast the missing prince a soft smile. "I'll be back later, with some food and water."

Soobin nods. He looks exhausted. "Thank you."

With a final smile, you slip out of the room and step lightly down the halls, forcing yourself not to limp the entire way. 

. . .

Back in the crowded main hall, Jinyoung waves you over the second you step in his direction. "Can you take the section in the corner?" he asks, gesturing to an area close to the stage. 

For the second damn time that evening, your heart skips a beat. Because before you even look over, you know who will be in that section. At least who will be taking one of the tables there. 

Taehyun. 

"Of course," you say anyway, because while Taehyun's stare may be unrelenting, he's never disrespectful - in fact, it's cute when his friends tease him for his never-ending stare and his cheeks tint with more blush than you can attribute to the alcohol. And you can't lie - you like seeing him. You like being around him. He makes you feel comfortable in a way few other men have, and even if he's been clear with his intentions, he's never forced you to make an answer to him, only greeted you with kindness and care. 

Gods above, your heart aches to finally say yes to one of his offers - to buy you a drink, to take you for a meal, to walk with you on the shoreline under the night sky. How could you not, when those sparkling eyes shine at you with all the grace and care in the world? But you can't sacrifice your duty to a missing prince for even a few nights spent in Taehyun's arms - it's too dangerous, with your friend in the shadows gone. Until she returns, and who knows when that will be, you must stay put.

A wry smile curls your lips. Stars, it would be so much easier if he were less easy to fall for. 

Someone hands you a tray of drinks, and you begin to make your way through the chaos. The first group that waves you over isn’t his. It’s a rowdy group of sailors who laugh a little too much and talk a little too loudly, but they’re harmless as they thank you for the several glasses of alcohol that you pour out on their table. The second group isn’t his either, nor the third, nor the fourth. Slowly, you wade through the chaos, flashing a pretty smile at everyone who deigns to meet your eye, filling orders as fast as you can until you find yourself near the stage. 

The music is louder here, and it slowly thrums its way through your body, settling your heart. Beomgyu is dancing now and you allow your eyes to meet his once, an encouraging smile on your lips just before you turn to serve the table to your right. Then you turn to the left. 

Taehyun's small group is a friendly sight to your eyes. Your smile grows a little as you pour out their usual drinks, laughing and bantering as they thank you. By the time you've reached Taehyun, who is on the other side of the table, you feel somewhat better. 

"Good evening, my lord." You smile softly, taking in the empty glass before him. "Would you like your usual?"

"No, Y/N, I'll be fine for tonight." His voice, soft-spoken as always and so different from the commanding shout that rang through the air last night, fusing you with the energy and adrenaline to run. And all of a sudden you're back in that moment, under the dark sky, cornered, feet bleeding, breath sharp and fast with panic...

"Y/N?"

You force yourself to breathe. To come back to earth. You dig your foot into one of the floorboards and the pain that flares from one of the blisters forces you to focus. "I apologize," you say quietly, ignoring the strange look that Taehyun is giving you now. He can't know. He won't know -

"You're limping."

His words pierce through the fog of your thoughts, hitting your ears with a startling precision.

You’re limping. 

You straighten immediately, ignoring how the pain in your feet flares when you do. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re limping,” he repeats, and one glance at him is all you need to know that you didn’t convince him at all. The dark eyes that stare at you with so much intensity fall down to the floor where your feet stand, hidden beneath your robes. When he looks back up, only gentle concern floats in his magnetic irises. “Are you all right?”

Something in his voice almost makes you tell the truth, that no, you aren’t quite fine, you probably shouldn’t have danced today but you had no choice when the only other option was to explain where all the sores in your feet came from - and for a moment, you almost feel tears well up in your eyes. What is it with him, this noble with eyes as intense as his voice can be gentle, this son of a lord who has never once taken his eyes from you but always manages to stare with a respectful distance, never once making you feel like something less than human? 

Why is he so perfect, and why is it that for all he wants you, you can't have him?

But training kicks in, the easy, bland smile lifting the corners of your lips as your exchange begins to catch the attention of the rest of his friends. Just in time, really, though there is still a little ache in your chest when you nod. “I’m fine,” you say. “Thank you for your concern, my lord, but I assure you I’m all right.” You turn away from their table, then, making sure not to limp on your way. 

No matter how much it kills your feet to do so.

[secondhand-lions]

HI TYPOS!! gonna scream. tumblr ate most of this back when it was just tags so now i gotta rewrite... so much. of this. okay

ok i've got this post open on mobile so i can see all of your tags AND answer your questions at the same time. onward!

re: great khans + motorbikes: greatest failing of fallout is having biker gangs with no bikes. every time there's a biker with no bike an angel loses it's wings. fnv would've been better with horses and motorbikes. also shoutout to tumblr user papakhan

re: constantine's claustrophobia v. cockpit: i imagine he learned how to fly a cropduster /before/ moving to Boston, when he'd still be out in the Great Plains, so his claustrophobia was not /nearly/ as bad as it is at the time of fo4

y'know how when you're driving and you sorta start to think about the car as an extension of your body? it's kinda like that; where the claustrophobia isn't bad BECAUSE it's just an extension of himself (+ also the freedom of flying kinda cancelled out the claustrophobia maybe?)

however if he tried to fly now i think his skin would feel too small and unfortunately it's not in a fun transgender metaphor way; it's definitely a period of his life that he looks back on fondly even if he can't imagine himself like that anymore. shit maybe it IS a fun transgender metaphor. fuck

this guy's cis. swear to god he's cis. ALSO THANK YOU FOR SO MUCH YUMMY PLANE INFORMATION

re: Constantine's drumming: when he's bored yes!! used to do it when he was nervous as well, but that was sorta drilled out of him during his time as a field medic (can't be twirling surgical instruments around anymore. rip. sad.) later game fo4 he probably gets back into the habit (but still not with surgical instruments)

re: Sirenity's strength+endurance: 1) sorta! big MT bumped her STR from 8 to 10 b/c of the Reinforced Spine perk, and i've considered having him get the endurance implant from Dr. Usanagi but it's more thematically relevant to have that 10th END point be from the one you can get at the end of the Lonesome Road dlc. so. we'll see if i can decide on that

2) oh yeah they DEFINITELY crash and burn multiple times. i think the keyword there is “burn”. Sirenity is as brilliant and terrible as the sun. and the sun is always burning! can't you feel it?

his dogshit luck stat (2) combined w/ the high endurance manifests as her BEING in horrible situations and getting hurt (horrible luck) BUUUUUUUUUUT somehow scraping through (high endurance)

i've thought too much about Sirenity's stats in terms of how they show up in their story. most of it's a parallel/reversal of Ulysses' stats because they're. hhhuff okay they! are! i'm rotating them in my head constantly and i'll make a post about their stats uhh. later. eventually.

okay now we've gotten to the point where tumblr ate shit, so this is all a 2nd draft without referencing the 1st soooooooo. we'll see.

re: Constantine v. sleeping: :3. SO glad you remembered that baby shaun was a condition for safe sleeping!

as for the immediate aftermath, ha, nope. nuh uh. he DOES try and not let himself get sleep deprived enough that he starts, like, hallucinating, because he knooooowwwssssss that'll just be horrific on his already horrible mental state. i'm talkin' seeing people he associates with safety (nora, hestia, his ma if i REALLY want to hurt him) as his brain tries to trick itself into thinking it's safe enough to sleep. maybe even some fun combos with war flashbacks. oof.

fun fact 95% of Constantine's in-game sleep hours have been when he's been travelling with Preston :3 he calls him a good luck charm after the second time he gets five consecutive hours :3 so that's sweet in a bit of a fucked up way. imagine preston being called a good luck charm.

ok lighter topic re: lakelurks/mirelurks: Sirenity (i) find lakelurks ecologically/evolutionarily interesting (i have. an entire page of notes. on lakelurk biology + possible reasons for existing.) and generally considers them a higher-danger pest, especially considering the pack/schooling(?) tendency.

Constantine doesn't get why mirelurks and mirelurk kings and mirelurk hunters are all called "mirelurks" because those are all? pretty different looking species? begrudgingly accepting of it on the basis of "well, the name tells you where they live and how they'll try to jump you" which is, honestly, one of the best ways to name something in the wasteland. Habitat+Hunting Habits, easiest crash course on How Not To Die.

[me] <- projecting their love of ecology and linguistics onto their ocs

re: Sirenity's potential place problems: hoookay how do i explain this... it's not that they have a problem with the Enviroments. that's just How The Place Is! not the Place's fault! they can't get mad at the Place! it's that there's People issues.

he spent most of OWB in a state of incredulous "sure, this might as well fucking happen" so nothing was really hitting as it should've. the Divide is Like That because of people problems, and sure, they're more used to open roads, but it's not like they're a stranger to that sort of environment. the canyons of Zion make them mildly uncomfortable in a purely tactical sense; they don't like being funnelled in like that, and they don't like that they might not see the people who have the high ground.

Sirenity doesn't like thinking of people as a variable to be worked around, is only begrudgingly accepting of it as Something You Have To Do Sometimes, and kinda hates that they've accepted it. poor ol' loverboy.

re: Constantine v. Diamond City v. Goodneighbor: there's too much of the parts of pre-war living that Constantine hated condensed into one spot for him to like Diamond City much at all. the social structure, the whole Having A Wall Will Fix Everything Actually mentality, the cops, the way the neighbours try their damned hardest to find anything even remotely wrong or different about you so they can out you as a commie synth, the cramped buildings, the ratrace.

the wall to Goodneighbor isn't a fix-everything wall, it's just a fact of wasteland living. the gate doesn't close on it's own. he still has his qualms with the place (the cops rebranded as the thing that encouraged neighbours to spy on eachother, the lack of harm reduction past destigmatization [which is an issue with the game's production at it's core but is still fun to think about literally], the whole?? democratic oligarch anarchy??? thing????) but the residents making an active point to not give a flying fuck about who you are? that definitely helps.

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIi

🚗 CAR — does your oc have a driver's license? can they drive/operate any automobiles/machinery besides cars?

🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)?

💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits?

🔱 TRIDENT EMBLEM — can your oc swim? do they enjoy swimming?

💚 GREEN HEART — does your oc prefer being inside or outside?

for both sirenity and constantine !!

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!! omgg ok ok ok

🚗 (sirenity): not a whole lot of opportunities to get proper licenses out in the wastelands, but they could figure it out i believe in them. knows how to ride a motorcycle (thanks Great Khans). could probably figure out how to operate heavy machinery (+ cars + vertibirds) if given enough time and a manual they can read

🚗 (constantine): motorcycle! has his drivers license from before the war. rudimentary vertibird training. crop plane/small aircraft license because i think it's funny

🎻 (sirenity): anything and everything! mainly guitar and fiddle, knows how to tune a piano

🎻 (constantine): he's a drummer!

💤 (sirenity): light sleeper (wasteland) - can't sleep when there's something to do. tends to go until they drop unless they know that they won't get the opportunity to sleep again for a while

💤 (constantine): light sleeper (trauma) - has a specific set of conditions needed for him to feel comfortable enough to sleep. starts sleeping deeper once more of those conditions are met.

🔱 (sirenity): knows how to swim! swims for fun when it's safe and they have time, especially when there's other people to play with.

🔱 (constantine): knows how to swim! had plans to swim as physiotherapy before the bombs dropped, but those got interrupted for obvious reasons. can't really swim now because of the radiation, but definitely would if there was the opportunity.

💚 (sirenity): outside, all the way. they like being inside well enough, but they go stir-crazy wayyyyyy too easily and being inside restricts their movement in a way that makes them uncomfortable.

💚 (constantine): inside until it gets rough (claustrophobia) and then outside until it gets rough (agoraphobia). we love a king who's perpetually mildly uncomfortable. here's a little fun fact for you! he has a capital-R-Rough time in Diamond City, and much prefers Goodneighbor. Goodneighbor provides the juuust right ratio of "open space":"safe building" ratio, his only qualm is that the Third Rail is underground. lord knows he could use a drink

[maidenariana]

It has been well over two weeks since my last post. I have been in the depths of seasonal depression that was exacerbated by the holidays being rather horrible for me this year. It does feel like I am on an up swing out of it though. I finally did a stream last night and enjoyed hanging out with those that watched for nearly three hours. A week ago doing that felt daunting even though for me streaming is just a part time fun distraction. Seasonal depression is so strange. It saps all of my energy and the simplest thing feels like a huge task. That is so not how I normally am in everyday life, on an average day I can take almost anything the world throws at me in stride. I did come up with a few things that I did that helped me change my circumstances. 1. I avoided the comfort foods I was starting to rely on and ate in an extremely healthy way for a few days. Gut health is huge! 2. I took my time getting ready as if I was going out for a night on the town. Too many days looking like a feral Ariana can be scary. 3. I purposely looked at my calendar and began focusing my thoughts on fun things coming up that I have planned with friends. It does not matter how far they are out on the calendar.. just getting your head out of the present dreary feeling is what is important. 4. I watched less TV. Binging shows is something I certainly do like most of us these days but I am also keenly aware of how it affects my health. It's not great. Anyway, I hope this helps someone else work their way out of a rut. I want to be clear I have never been on medication for depression and my seasonal depression comes and goes. We are all different and this may not help you but it probably would not hurt to try 😉 #thingslookingup #definitelylookup #maidenariana #hazeleyes #fuschiagirl #curlyfuschiahighlights #blondegirllife #blowoutstyles #heylookitsariana #lgbt #transvengers #flowerdress #sweaterdress https://www.instagram.com/maidenariana/p/CY4lFtiOqhP/?utm_medium=tumblr

[foxyslide]

🦋DIARY🌸

TW

TW

TW Ed talk, ugly mugshot, ramblings, cals burned, intake, weight

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🌸

🌸

🌸

🌸

(Not from today)

These are the pics I removed from my previous post because I got paranoid someone would recognise me, but then I thought I have a generic face and even if someone does so what 🤷🏽‍♀️ we’re both on edtumblr let’s chat about it. Why should I be embarrassed about what I’m going through? We’re all insane on this side of tumblr. Plus ppl might recognise me through moot yellow anyway.

Had coffee 15kcal

Cycled 27miles -1,620kcal my knees were hurting I was so tired, from the first mile. 

Drinking elderflower and apple drink 5kcal

In bed chilling, need to water the plants but now dunno if I’m gonna do it today. I was sleepy while cycling, even tho we slept till nearly the afternoon. If I don’t water them today I will have to water them tm morning. I hope none of my plants will die from my laziness… 

Hubby smoking and eating hasn’t been affecting me too much. I am a little hungry and I do have some low cal food in case of an emergency but again since quitting 🍃my mind is clearer and I have a lot more control over my actions, so I’m not too worried about lasting till tm. 

I think what tripped me up was smoking on my period. This time I will have to just not smoke, to keep my clarity and control. I’ll just get through the pain on my own. 

Hubby ate pizza and he’s eating cake and ice cream now, it’s unhealthy but it doesn’t show on his body so I think that’s why he isn’t worried about changing his diet. He’s always been skinny, his entire life. 

Btw I caught myself having horrible thoughts about him eating the other day. He was eating and I looked at him and thought “fat pig” 😨 straight up. Judging him. Right after I was like NO FUCKING WAY I will NOT turn into my fucking mother. I will NOT project my own insecurities onto other ppl, I never have and never will again. That was disgusting. It was a shock but I’m not worried about it, even if it happens again I can catch myself, I am determined to be a good person to the best of my ability and not turn into my family members. I really want to be a good person. I told hubby about all this so he knows. He’s not bothered he jokes about it now. Shows how secure he is in his own self image.

After cycling I only lost 100grams the fuck. I do remember the post saying upping your cal intake will boost your metabolism and make you lose weight faster, but this is the beginning for me I wanna fast to regain control. I will be having more food once I start work again. Gonna stay around 800kcal as usual, changing it up every now and then so my body doesn’t get used to any one amount of cals. Just one week. Let’s see what one week can do. Now that I’ve got pics of myself I wonder if I’ll see a difference next weekend?

🌸

[faust-the-danger-noodle]

I wrote this post before but Tumblr mobile ate the changes I made to the draft, so here is the re-written version that isn’t nearly as good.

So let me just start out by saying that I really like Lucio’s route, and I’m glad to see him grow and change. But honestly? His “redemption” doesn’t feel fully earned without him answering for what he did to Julian and Muriel.

Like, Lucio has at least answered for a little of what he did to Asra and his parents, and he has apologized to Nadia for how he treated her when they were married. He’s even made amends with his mother.

But for force-feeding Julian a plague beetle? It was at least acknowledged during the Moon update, which is something. But since he wasn’t actually dealing with the real Julian, it lacked gravitas. This one I can almost look past not being properly addressed since it’s tied in with the Plague and his fear of death, which is being worked on. But it just feels like a disservice to Julian’s suffering for this to not be explicitly talked about.

And for enslaving Muriel and forcing him to kill in the Coliseum? This hasn’t even been touched on in Lucio’s route, and being that there is only a few updates left, I seriously doubt that it will ever be addressed. I mean, obviously Lucio and Muriel will never make amends, but considering it’s one of the worst of Lucio’s transgressions, it’s frustrating that he hasn’t acknowledged how horrible what he did to Muriel was.

Idk, I just wish these things would have been given the attention they deserve in Lucio’s route.

[welllpthisishappening]

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

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Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says​ and @eleveneitherway​ who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further. 

In the absurdity factor, at least. 

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

About the whole goddamn thing. 

She’d never shut up about it, he knew. 

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people. 

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking. 

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors. 

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue. 

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game. 

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too. 

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them. 

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them. 

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream. 

Belle elbowed him. 

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand. 

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award. 

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty. 

Like in a fundamental sort of way. 

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either. 

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck. 

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses. 

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head. 

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted. 

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will. 

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level. 

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate. 

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth. 

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary. 

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them. 

Where it wasn’t a game at all. 

Damn. 

Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly. 

Belle pinched the side of his wrist. 

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening. 

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him. 

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough. 

He wasn’t enough. 

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing. 

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero. 

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now. 

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.” 

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent. 

Gotten better shin pads, probably. 

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem. 

Heart, too. 

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips. 

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks. 

He kissed the bridge of her nose. 

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew. 

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that. 

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course. 

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections. 

Zelena probably did. 

Ariel would use that. 

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly. 

Which had to count for something, he figured. 

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic. 

Something in the same realm as melting, probably. 

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing. 

They’d get there eventually. 

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.” 

She scrunched her nose. 

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request. 

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream. 

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went. 

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away. 

Belle took the phone. 

The kid’s phone. 

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster. 

In, like, the history of photography. 

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high. 

Without the threat of inevitable crash. 

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe. 

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

[crystalirises]

The Exiled and The Forgotten

Hello! So this is a fic about Tommy and Fundy just talking about their issues in Drywaters. Essentially, this is part of a series of one-shots where Eret and Fundy find Tommy in exile and they take him to Drywaters to heal. This is a continuation of ‘Safe and Sound’ (which I think posted before on Tumblr?) and ‘You Reap What You Sow’ (which is on my ao3 one-shot book since I haven’t gotten the permission to crosspost here on Tumblr.) You should probably read those two first before understanding this one.

TW:  Abandonment Issues, Implied Cheating (not really but Fundy thinks so, I don't write about actual cheating I just can't ;-;). and Mentions of Suicide and Suicidal Thoughts (Tommy pls ;-;)

Pls stay safe everyone!

ao3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/74251095

Fundy didn’t know how long he had been out, but it was the distinct smell of smoke and meat burning that made his eyes snap open. The hallway was dark, save for a small sliver of light that came from beneath the kitchen door. He yawned, wiping at his eyes as the world slowly focused into view. It took him a moment to realize that he was on the floor, a tattered blanket draped over him as though to keep away the chill of the night that seeped into the thin walls of the house. He forced himself to sit, startling awake as he realized that he must have fallen asleep while waiting for Dream to leave. Dream to leave… Dream… Dream had been there… Tommy…

Tommy! Fundy flung the closet door open, heart pounding in his chest as he found it to be empty. He took a deep breath, the smoke strong in the air as if… Fundy stood up, the blanket left discarded on the ground as he made his way to the kitchen, nearly tearing the door off its loose hinges in his haste to get there. A strong and sickening torrent of heat attacked him, choking as he tried to bat the gray smoke away from his face. “Tommy! Tommy! Tommy, where the fuck一”

“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU SHOUTING AT THREE IN THE MORNING?!” Fundy jumped at the response, coughing and wheezing as he moved away from the direction of the smoke. 

As the smoke began to clear, Fundy saw Tommy standing by the poorly made table, two smoking plates of steak - if they could be called that - on top of it. Tommy had an exasperated look on his face, as if Fundy was being hysterical for no reason. “Tommy, why are you cooking at 3 AM?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and you told me not to leave the closet until Dream left. He left an hour ago. Honestly, man. I don’t know what you ever saw in that psychopath.” Fundy rolled his eyes, not ready to continue that point of conversation. He wasn’t sure if his heart could take it. The fox hybrid eyed the meat that was on the table, surprised that Tommy had even thought about making him food. Well, the meat looked awful and burnt to a fucking crisp but Fundy wasn’t going to say that outloud. “Are you going to keep standing there or are you going to sit and eat?”

“I would but… eh… I usually eat when the sun is up.” As if to emphasize his point, a yawn escaped him as Fundy settled on sitting against the creaky window ledge. Tommy shrugged, turning towards his meal. Fundy tried not to wince as Tommy began to eat. “Nightmares?”

“What fucking else? How the fuck could you sleep with Dream threatening to bash your door in? I couldn’t sleep a wink.” Fundy ran a hand through his hair, sighing as guilt ate at his heart. Tommy was right, he wasn’t sure how he’d fallen asleep. He forced himself to stand, moving to sit next to Tommy in some semblance of comfort. Fundy wasn’t really sure how to comfort someone after a nightmare. No one ever showed him how. He spared a glance at the teenager, shivering as he noticed soot clinging to Tommy’s shirt sleeve. “You know I think it was good that you found me. We both know Dream could’ve broken down the door if he really wanted to. Guess that’s what you get for being on his good side. He doesn’t act like a bitch around you.”

“Can we talk about something else? I’d rather not discuss my ex-fiance and the many reasons why he didn’t just smash my door.” They settled into an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn’t unnatural. Ever since Fundy and Eret brought Tommy to Drywaters, there has been an atmosphere of awkwardness and tension that permeated the air. Fundy couldn’t recall the last time he had even spoken to Tommy, the memories of tragedy and war muddling whatever positive moments he’d had in the past years. When was the last time they’d had a proper talk? When Tommy had mocked him in Pogtopia or when Tommy had publicly disowned him and threatened him during the elections? When did ‘uncle Tommy’ slowly change into just ‘Tommy’? Fundy couldn’t recall. “When you were in exile… what did you… you never told me一”

“Can we talk about something else? I’d rather not discuss my ex-fiance and the many reasons why he didn’t just smash my door.” They settled into an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn’t unnatural. Ever since Fundy and Eret brought Tommy to Drywaters, there has been an atmosphere of awkwardness and tension that permeated the air. Fundy couldn’t recall the last time he had even spoken to Tommy, the memories of tragedy and war muddling whatever positive moments he’d had in the past years. When was the last time they’d had a proper talk? When Tommy had mocked him in Pogtopia or when Tommy had publicly disowned him and threatened him during the elections? When did ‘uncle Tommy’ slowly change into just ‘Tommy’ ? Fundy couldn’t recall. “When you were in exile… what did you… you never told me一”

“It was during Manburg when I first met him.” Tommy fell into shocked silence, and Fundy took that as a sign to continue. “I don’t remember much about that day, but I know that I was upset. So, like I usually fucking do, I ran away to the forest until I collapsed by a lake… He was there.”

Fundy ignored Tommy muttering underneath his breath and continued with the story, “Ya know I thought he was going to kill me but he surprisingly left the moment I got there. So, I kept coming to the lake each time I was upset and he was always there, staring into nothing like the idiot he is.” He wished he could keep the amusement and endearment out of his voice, but he couldn’t help but remember the man that he’d fallen in love with. “One day, he decided to stay long enough to ask why I always looked upset each time I went near the lake, and it was stupid of me to tell him but… all I ever wanted was for someone to care enough to ask. So I told him why.”

“Horrible decision, really. 0/10 shouldn’t have done that.” Fundy nearly laughed as Tommy scoffed, rolling his eyes that they were practically disappearing into his skull. “You could’ve chosen anyone but you chose the green boi. I’m not fucking surprised, you got Wilbur’s tastes in people. Should’ve taken lessons from me, big man. I’m a fucking expert in people.”

“Sure, you are. Is that why you’re still single?”

“Oh shut the fuck up, furry.” Fundy found himself cackling at the nickname, somehow not as irritated as he should be at 3 AM in the morning where he was usually ready to just kill anyone who decided it would be funny to wake him from his slumber. “Go on. Tell me about how you fell in love with Dream of all people. I won’t judge your tastes, but they’re clearly fucked.”

“Whatever, Tommy. I told him. It was hard, do you know how painful it was to pretend to be someone I wasn’t? To act like I hated my own dad, to be hated by everyone all for a part that ultimately never even gave me anything? Dream was so nice about it too… he listened. He actually listened. He didn’t mock me or ridicule me or insult me… he just listened. I know. I know. I shouldn’t have revealed what I was to an enemy, but I just… someone had to know. I needed to tell someone.” Tommy had remained disturbingly quiet as Fundy spoke, his lips pressed into a thin line. “And he understood, at least that’s what he told me. He said he knew how I felt. He knew my pain and it was so easy . It felt like it was meant to be and I… I fell, hard. He knew what it felt like. He knew my pain and it was felt so good and so real that I一”

Fundy hadn’t meant to cry, or let out a whimper. He quickly tried to wipe his tears away. Gods, he was supposed to be the fucking adult here. Fundy felt a hand pat him on the back, an awkward gesture that helped Fundy cement himself back to reality. He sniffed, casting Tommy a smile. “I proposed. We were supposed to be married in a few weeks… guess I have to cancel the wedding invitations and preparations. I feel… stupid. I clung to the one person I thought… fuck it.”

“You could have talked to us. You had Niki. You had Eret. Why Dream?”

“I had no one, Tommy. In Manburg, I was alone.” Fundy ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the tips as his tail curled around his waist. “And I… I thought he understood. I really thought…”

Fundy took a shaky sigh, recalling the signs that he should have seen. “You probably said it to cheer me up but Dream doesn’t love me. I don’t think he ever did looking back on it now.” He felt the urge to curl into himself, to pull his knees closer to his chest and just bury his face in his arms. He glanced over at Tommy, a frown playing on the teenager’s lips. Fundy couldn’t bring himself to act childish, not around Tommy. “I should have seen the fucking signs. The way he wanted to keep us a secret, the way he never even looks at me when we meet in public, the way he had chosen to spend all of his time protecting George. It was always fucking George. It was so fucking stupid of me to even think that he cared. Slip of the tongue, what a fucking joke. Those flowers were always meant for George. It’s never me, Tommy. No one ever chooses me.”

“George?! Dream… what the fuck. I’m going to kill that son of a bitch一 How fucking… No one messes with the fucking Soots!” Fundy forced a laugh, hoping that his tears weren’t showing as he turned towards Tommy - who had forgotten about his steak, much to Fundy’s relief cause Tommy needed better food than that. Tommy’s eyes were narrowed, his hands gripping the edge of his seat. Fundy smiled, even if he knew that Tommy’s bravado and threats were nothing but for show. Tommy only cared about him because Fundy was protecting him. Once Dream was no longer a threat, Fundy would go back to being forgotten. As it should be一 “Hey! Stop that! I can see the self-pity in your eyes, stop it! You shouldn’t be this fucking sad... I mean, don’t be sad!”

“I’m not sad.” He rolled his eyes, tail lifting and falling as Fundy looked down at his boots. “It’s fine, Tommy. I get it. I’m okay with it. We barely even care about each other as it is. I’m not一”

“Going to lie to yourself? Yeaahhhhhhhhh, I can read you like a damn book, big man. You aren’t getting anything past Tommyinnit.” Fundy shook his head, conflicted on how he should feel by it all. Tommy was acting like his old self and he felt guilty at doing a shitty job as a caretaker. Fundy was supposed to be helping Tommy, not the other way around. “HEY! STOP IGNORING WHAT I’M SAYING AND LISTEN! I’m not just gonna… fuck off once this whole thing is over. Hell no. We’re all gonna be living in L’Manburg, every single one of us. One big fucked up family. We might even get Technoblade back if we convince him to break up with anarchy.”

There’s a smile on his face, Fundy can tell despite the ache in his chest. For a moment, he feels like a little kid again, looking up at his - at the time - taller uncle. He had been embarrassed, being older than Tommy but still somehow less mature. And now… he was tired. “Promise?”

Tommy scoffed, reaching out to smack him on the back of the head. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Fundy laughed at that. It was the same response that Tommy had given him all those years ago. The war was just beginning at the time, and Fundy had been frightened that he had decided to dig himself a little fox mound to hide in. Wilbur had tried everything in his power to get him out, but Fundy had refused to leave… until Tommy showed up and jokingly mocked him for being a baby and to “get out and fight like the man Fundy was”. What got him to leave was Tommy promising him that they’d all be alive by the end, that “uncle Tommyinnit was going to beat everyone and win the war for us!” Tommy always did have a way of making everyone feel hope.

“Thanks. Sorry for一” Fundy stopped as Tommy casted him a glare. He had nothing to apologize for… wow, that’s a first. He shook his head, trying to clear any negative feelings he may still harbor. There were many problems to be spoken about, and they both couldn’t say everything in one night. “Well, you’ve heard my shitty life problems… You don’t have to talk about yours, Tommy. What you went through, it’s a lot. I understand if you can’t really talk about it yet一”

“WELL TOO BAD BECAUSE FUCK YOU, I’M TELLING THE STORY, BITCH!” Fundy groaned as Tommy practically threw himself on top of the table, the plates rattling and nearly falling off the edge if Fundy had reached out to grab them. The table shook as Tommy began to pace on top of it, his energy a little too much than what Fundy could handle for a 3 AM talk. He leaned back, ears pressed to the top of his head as Tommy finally settled on sitting on top of the table, facing Fundy with a grin on his face. Fundy frowned, noticing how Tommy’s smile didn’t quite match the look in his eyes. It felt like Tommy was putting on an act, and Fundy knew all about acts and pretending. “Now, I’m a big man, you know? I can handle myself! I’m Tommyinnit! But… this exile, wow, it uh… it sucked bigtime. I fucking hated every moment.”

A somber look appeared on Tommy’s face, guilt appearing in eyes that had seen too much of the world despite Tommy’s youth. Fundy bit his bottom lip, knowing that look far too well. “I fucked up. I get that. I fucked up and I said shitty things to Tubbo when all he was doing was looking out for everyone. Selfish… Maybe… Maybe I was selfish. We had peace and I screwed it up because… for some discs?” Fundy felt a pang in his chest as Tommy raked a hand through his hair, shaking and pulling as though trying to make sense of it all. “I missed him. I missed L’Manburg, sure but I missed Tubbo. The thought of seeing him again kept me going because my exile had to end sometime and then I could go back and see Tubbo again. The thought of going home again kept me sane… at least it was holding me back from… from…” Tommy began to tremble, fear flashing in the teen’s eyes as his breath began to quicken in pace.

"You don't have to say it, Tommy. If you're not ready to say it, then you don't have to." Fundy reached out to tap Tommy on the arm, breaking him out of his panic as he looked around the room, as if cementing himself back to reality. Fundy's tail hung low, sad to see that Tommy was still suffering even if he did try so hard not to show it. Fundy didn't like seeing Tommy so… scared. "You can… tell me another day, ya? It's difficult, I get that. Maybe you can tell me one day, but maybe not today. You don't have to force yourself, you have every right not to talk about it. Tommy—"

"I want to. I want to get it off my chest because who the fuck else is going to listen to me?" Tommy snapped, rubbing a hand at his mouth as his eyes shut tight. Fundy wasn't sure if it would help but he reached to hold Tommy's hand, squeezing it. Tommy didn't let go, his hold tightening around Fundy's as his eyes finally blinked open. "I… I wanted it to be over. I wanted it to be so fucking over that I… I thought of… leaving. Just leaving, one final goodbye to the world. All it would have taken was one step off the platform. The lava looked so inviting, so warm and Logstedshire felt so fucking lonely and cold I— I wanted to go. Dream fucking stopped me but I doubt he did that out of the goodness of his heart. He said he cared about me too, about how he was the only one who cared about me… Fundy, how is Tubbo? Does he? Does he miss me? Dream said Tubbo didn't care, he was lying, right? Tubbo missed me, right?!"

"Tommy. I don't what the fuck Dream told you but Tubbo missed you. He didn't want to exile you, you know that." Fundy felt that Tommy needed more than assurance, needed more than words to quench his fears. He stayed where he was, unsure if Tommy would even want a hug from Fundy of all people. For the time being, all he could say were what he hoped would help Tommy realize that Dream had lied. His blood boiled at the thought of Dream wondering what he had done wrong, how could that idiot be so fucking stupid? Tommy was hurting and Dream continued to rub salt into his wounds. He shivered, wondering what would have happened if he and Eret hadn't found Tommy. Gods… would Tommy have been— Fundy felt sick at the thought of having another ghost haunt L'Manburg. "When you left, Tubbo threw himself into his work. He barely went out of that stupid office and he just kept planning and planning. He never said it out loud but everyone knew he missed you. He's… he's not doing so great either, ya know? I think it would be good if you two meet up! Oh! I could bring him over to Drywaters sometime… We could go to L'Manburg but I don't trust Dre— Dream enough that he wouldn't send or stay near Drywaters for a while. But, whatever. Fuck Dream. We're… we're going to plan a good ol' reunion. That would be good, ya? We could do that, right?"

"Yeah… that would be fucking great… AND OF COURSE TUBBO MISSED ME. FUCKING DREAM AND HIS LIES." Tommy jumped off from the table, nearly sending the plates to the ground, again. Fundy laughed, weak and almost pitiful in his ears as he looked over at Tommy's smile. It felt so surreal about how Tommy could still remain smiling despite everything he had just been through. "One day, I'm gonna beat the shit out of that fucker—"

Tommy paused, gaze snapping towards the curtain-covered windows. There was a worry in his sky blue eyes, a terror that was gone just as quickly as it had come. "That bitch better not be out there or I'm gonna kill him myself. Yeahhhhhhhh, I could do that. Show him what happens when you mess with Tommyinnit and his fucking family. How dare he…" Tommy began to tap his foot against the floor, anger burning in his eyes as he continued to rant.

"Tommy… are you okay? Are you okay now?" Fundy hadn't missed the way Tommy had glossed over the whole… he had wanted to give up. He couldn't help but fear what pain Tommy had through. Fundy wanted to cry, wanted to cry for both of them when Tommy refused to do so for himself. He couldn't help but move closer, wanting nothing more than to just hug his uncle until both of them felt somewhat better."Did you… Did you really want to?"

"I did. I was just so tired, so alone and stuck that I didn't know what the fuck I was supposed to do. I was exiled from my own country and I screamed and kicked the whole time. Tubbo… I hurt him. I hurt a lot of people. Fuck, I hope I didn't cause Ranboo problems since he tried to defend me. I—" Tommy took a deep breath, finally collapsing back into his seat, exhaustion in his gaze as he rubbed his hand on his mouth. Fundy moved a bit closer, hesitating before finally placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder. It wasn't a hug… neither of them were really good with giving those anyway. It was either Tubbo or Wilbur who started them and it was always Fundy or Tommy who would quickly pull away. "Thank you. I'm happy to know that he isn't mad at me, I wouldn't fucking blame him. I was a dick. I'd like… I'd like to see him again. Maybe plan ahead for whatever awful shit Dream wants to do."

“Ya… I’m sorry about what you had to go through.” Fundy patted him on the back, Tommy scoffing at the awkward display of assurance… but it was the best they both could do. Tommy patted his hand in return. “Dream’s gonna pay for that, he has to pay for that.”

“I just want to go home.” Tommy sighed, closing his eyes. “I just want—”

“You’ll see L’Manburg again, Tommy. Not today, not tomorrow but someday. I’ll make sure of that.” Fundy wished that they could leave right then and there, but he couldn’t risk it. Not with Dream still out there, waiting and plotting. “You’ll be home again. You’ll be happy again.”

Tommy hummed a low tune beneath his breath, a habit that reminded Fundy of Wilbur. 

After a moment, Tommy finally looked up, a hint of tears in his eyes. “Promise?”

“Ya…” Fundy wasn’t the best protector, but by the gods was he going to try.

“I promise.”

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

But ye, hope you guys like this! Bye bye!

[cult-of-the-gundead]

Chinfession

I created sentinelprimestan at the end of July for the purpose of something I didn’t know at the time. Eventually, I went and started using it in september, around when yourfavlovesdirtboss started posting, as a way to stir up minor chaos among TFF (To help hide my identity, I made a second tumblr account to add as a second user for the blog). However, some tumblr users outside of TFF caught wind of it, so I decided, why not have a little fun?

But before that, the first real person I trolled was dumbass-bee, who I argued with about sentinel before saying I was going to punish him. I then trolled beeprowlz, and tried to make them go inside their minecraft furnace. Sorry to both of you.

And before that, I sent most people in TFF a simple tumblr ask consisting of “Chin.”

Anyway, back on track.

The first true “target” ended up being littlemisstfp, who i first elected to punish with the saws of hell, then The Fetus. TFF thought this was a Bloodborne reference, but it was actually a Super Meat Boy reference, and I had fooled them all. I then decided to have The Fetus “corrupt” sentinelprimestan, and edited some faceless sentinels in paint, before having it come to.

Next up was little-bullheaded-shit. I sent them an ask demanding to know if they loved sentinel, but their first answer was confusing. So I continued with a second ask, and when the answer was revealed to be a “no”, I went on with the punishments. They demanded me to threaten them, so I brought out The Fetus again, who caused a blackout on sentinelprimestan.

After that, I then decided to amp up the creepiness of the blog. Starting posts with “Hello. This Is SentinelPrimeStan”, and post a post that simply had “10” An hour before 10 PM in my timezone, I sent some TFF users asks that simply said “Sentinel Is Coming”

When it hit 10 PM in my timezone, I made a post about the ritual starting now, and so it began. I made several nonsensical posts about Sentinel and Chins that would waste your time if I told you them all so I’ll just say that I replied to some stuff said in TFF, and I dulled the colors of the blog as it went, until it was all black and white.

At the end of the ritual, I began ating people on the server to talk to them about how they feel about sentinel and chins and stuff. I then judged their future, if they would be killed by The Fetus, if they would join sentinel, etc…

After that, I made little bits of lore about The Fetus, and the fact it is an elder god older than the universe with great, forbidden, horrible power that is on sentinel’s side for unknown reasons.

Then, I went onto day 3 of this (After fucking up and sleeping from 3 PM to 6 AM). I posted numbers spelling out "Hello" in A1Z26 and strings of numbers in seperate posts that, when put together, spelt out "Can you guess who I am" (before saying that I sent some asks). This signaled that The Fetus was currently in control of the blog, and I slowly shifted the colors again, this time to a brightened version of the original colors.

The Fetus then described the true form of Sentinel Prime. Control went back to the real mod, who wondered what happened, and changed the color back to the old ones. The blog went back to normal… until they realized the time, and that it was impossible for them to have slept through nearly 2 whole days like that!

Also other TFF users also mentioned getting weird asks about “wanting dirt on those chins”, but this time I was innocent.

Sentinelprimestan then began to panic, they had no clue what was going on and they had weird posts on their blog about sentinel. Eventually they came to a conclusion: leaving the blog be.

I then ended this little tale with that, mainly because I had no other ideas of what to do.

Sorry if I scared anyone, and thanks for reading this nonsense.

[regeek]

Thoughts about the Deltora Gem Guardians

I’ve fallen back into the fandom of a book series I read as a kid thanks to great art, memes, and analysis by tumblr users like @doomofthehills, @sisterofthesouth, @rat-king-reeah, @dragoninmypocket, and @dragonloverdoran​. I’ve been rereading the books and ahve a lot of thoughts about them. Theres a really good post by @mask131​ about how each book reflects the stone in it that got me thinking about the gem guardians. 

Deltora is interesting for it’s themes of anxiety and despair. Sure, each book has a big scary monster, but often the stakes are as emotional as they are physical. Lief clearly struggles with anxiety, and has two attacks (in Shifting Sands and Shadowgate) that almost read like dissociative episodes. A lot of people have said they interpret the struggle against the Shadow Lord as a metaphor for living with depression or anxiety. Rereading the third series this is quite obvious, but I think there’s a bit more woven into the monsters of the original series. All of the Deltora books have a unique, memorable monster in its climax, some of the most diverse in fantasy fiction. But I think each of these monsters has a deeper meaning. In addition to being twisted versions of the ideal each Gem represents, I think they are each intended to represent a negative thought pattern, one that led them to their monstrous life and one the protagonists must keep themselves from falling into. 

First up is Gorl, who I think represents Delusion. I’m not saying he’s meant to be a metaphor for actual psychosis symptoms (though he is one of the more unhinged characters in the series) but rather self delusion. Gorl lives in his own little world, unaware of even the most basic developments of Deltora’s history. He’s also one of the least interested in the stone he guards, obsessing over a different treasure our protagonists don’t even want. Gorl has been consumed by both his own greed and guilt, incapable of accepting the reality he has created for himself. He is a mass of paranoia and ignorance, trapped in a prison of his own making. (A theme later touched on in Isle of Illusion.)

Soldeen is one of the easiest to peg: Depression. Happiness and despair are examined from multiple angles in the Lake of Tears, and in Soldeen’s case he represents the tendency for people to drag others into their own misery. This is most clear when he attempts to force Manus to live with him, but is generally why the Lake of Tears is such a depressing place: it’s ruler would rather force others to join in his misery than find happiness for himself. 

Reeah is also pretty obvious: Narcissism. It is curious how vain Reeah is, given that pride isn’t one of the main themes of City of the Rats. It is an interesting bit of foreshadowing that Reeah considers itself the most valuable of the Shadow Lord’s servants, the “Chosen One.” We see a lot of the Shadow Lord’s minions feel the same way, though in Reeah’s case it might be true. Reeah was tasked with not only guarding the Opal, but the source of the Grey Tide. Reeah is also the guardian most responsible for corrupting its section of Deltora. The City of Rats exists solely to feed Reeah, giving it a kingdom where every other creature is tiny and insignificant compared to it. But the rats small size is made up for by their numbers, and ultimately they end up feeding on Reeah as it fed on them. 

The Hive can be seen as representing Conformity or Compulsion. This sort of thing is par for the course for hive minds in fantasy and sci-fi, but it’s interesting how the Hive affects the minds of those around it. Rigane the Mad and Lief struggled to keep their inviduality when exposed to the will of the Hive. It nearly pushed them into a life of mindless obedience through sheer force of will. The Shadow Lord and his followers always tried to manipulate and control others through trickery and deception, the Hive used brute force. One of the most chilling lines in the series is when Lief realized the warning didn’t say “mindless will to survive” but “mindless will to serve the Hive.” It’s interesting that we never saw the Hive’s queen, though we know it had one. I would assume she was a creature of compulsive service too. The Hive wasn’t about serving an individual, but service for its own sake. 

Gellick represents Spite. While Reeah focused on how high it was above others, Gellick relished in punishing those below it. Gellick was petty and demanding, doling out harsh punishments for the smallest slight. It demanded nothing less than complete subjugation and was barely satisfied with that. Gellick was like a petulant child, reminding me of Dudley Dursley. Gellick was able to get away with this abhorrent attitude because it was so certain nobody would rebel against him, as they needed his poison. Gellick took full advantage of this to be as bossy and horrible as possible for he never believed anyone would resist. 

The Glus is a little hard to pin down, but I would argue it represents Instinct. Instincts aren’t necessarily bad, but in order to make it in life you have to resist your base urges every now and then. The Glus’ origin story adds an interesting layer, depending how you interpret it. Either it preserved the girl who cared for it in its web forever, or it ate her despite her kindness, ruled only by its own hunger. Either way I think the Maze of the Beast is not the ideal environment for the Glus, and it can be thought of as an invasive species. I imagine the Glus is meant to crawl in the ocean floor, its massive size free to explore the open sea. It is as trapped in the Maze as its victims, refusing to leave a habitat it was not meant for. I find it notable that the way the trio escaped the Glus is by damaging its home, and it ignored prey in favor of its obsessive need to repair its environment. I also find it interesting how the only two Guardians that are not destroyed are the Glus and the Hive, who are also the only two that are natural parts of Deltora’s ecosystem. 

The Guardian of the Diamond is kind of tricky. He’s the most intelligent, and most human of the guardians, so his personality is the most complex. He’s also explicitly associated with greed, pride, hate, and envy, making it hard to associate him with a single theme. However I think that overall he is a creature of Sadism. He is obsessed with games and puzzles, forcing his victims to play them. But he delights in the knowledge that no matter what they do, they are doomed to failure. He is excessively polite and glib, even though he plans to kill everyone he meets. And why wouldn’t he be? He knows they can’t steal the Diamond, and even if they figure out his puzzle, the revelation of his “true name” will make them abandon hope. So he sits on the side, taunting his victims with false kindness and reveling in their inevitable suffering. 

It should be noted that in each book, Lief, Barda and Jasmine succeed by rejecting the lifestyle of each guardian. They destroy Gorl with the prison of vines he built around himself. They convince Soldeen to pull himself out of his own despair. They feed Reeah to the masses he lorded over. They retrieve the Lapis Lazuli from the Hive by replacing it with something of equal size but no value, and Lief keeps his sanity with the help of his friends. They destroy Gellick by uniting the Kin and Dread Gnomes in rebellion against him, and his own awful personality is what ultimately kills him. They distract the Glus with a more powerful instinct than its hunger. And they play the Guardian’s game but keep up their resolve the whole time, even at its emotionally devastating conclusion. 

Anyway, hope any DQ fans reading this liked it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, And I’m thinking about doing a similar thing for the guardians of the Four Sisters. 

[megashadowdragon]

(cont.) 2. If anything, Ironwood erred toward compassion. He shouldn't have released/trusted RWBY, but he did. He didn't have to evacuate Mantle (infiltration risk) but he did. He could've declared martial law earlier, since he knew the city/Council was compromised (he didn't, and it cost him). He could've recalled important people to Atlas (eg Pietro) instead of letting them help Mantle (conservation of scarce resources). And as you said, he shouldn't have told people about Salem. (cont.)

itsclydebitches: 

I’m so sorry, anon, I seem to be missing part one here. I don’t know if I accidentally deleted it at some point or if tumblr just ate it :/

But under the general subject of “RWBY failed to give Ironwood a truly callous response to these circumstances and thus far there are no ‘good’ plans here,” I’ve honestly been surprised by the number of fans emphasizing how (supposedly) useless Ironwood’s plan is in the long run. I’ve read through long breakdowns about how even if they’re high enough to escape the grimm they’d be unable to sustain themselves and everyone would eventually starve. With the takeaway being, “Ironwood’s plan kills Atlas in the long run so he’s more heartless for abandoning Mantle than we originally thought, since that sacrifice won’t even save a portion of the population in the end.” However, ignoring that this is a massive conclusion based on RWBY’s incredibly flimsy world building (I don’t think we know enough about Atlas to prove one way or the other whether the city could live self-sufficiently up in the sky/for how long), these responses are missing the point. Ironwood is buying time. He’s retreating to regroup. Not to fight Salem then and there because, you know, immortality - a lot of fans are also insisting that a retreat is only a valid option if he turns around and re-enters this specific battle - but rather to fight her in the long term. Days, weeks, months, even years later. He’s trying to ensure that his top fighters, two relics, a Maiden, and at least a portion of his people are out of Salem’s reach so that they can find a more hopeful solution down the road. It doesn’t matter whether Ironwood could only keep the Atlesian people alive for a month, or a week, or just three days. The point is that those three days are more time to think and strategize than they currently have with Salem literally on their doorstep. I think that’s why we don’t see a more complicated plan like the one you’ve laid out above: that takes at least a bit of time to think through, conceptualize, and weigh against other options. Ironwood heard out of nowhere that Salem had appeared, while in the middle of three other emergencies (heat down, grimm attacking, Salem’s men on the loose) and had to come up with a plan in a matter of seconds. Obviously we, the viewers, will always be able to come up with something “better” with months of time to think it over, in the safety of our homes. But retreating would provide some of that much needed space/time for everyone to think. Retreating might encourage Salem to back off if she can no longer access what she came for. Retreating will allow the group to recover, regain their aura, prepare for another fight. If Atlas is truly safe up there maybe the relics can stay while the people head back down, keeping them continually out of Salem’s reach. Even if they’re not safe limiting the grimm army to just the flying grimm is already a boost. Maybe with even an hour of time where they’re not fighting for their lives someone could come up with a plan. It’s true that we don’t know for sure what would come of buying time, but no one is going to find out what possibilities might be made into reality if Ironwood isn’t allowed to try.

To simplify things with another wonky comparison, pretend some evil supernatural killer has broken into your home. They’re blocking access upstairs to where a bunch of your friends are and you have no way to reach them. If you try to attack this creature you die. If you try to sneak past it you die. No one has come up with a solution that allows everyone to make it out of the house alive and the chances of death aren’t just high, they’re nearly guaranteed. How do you fight a creature that just reforms every time you do damage? How do you defeat them and protect your friends? No one has figured out an answer. Ironwood is the one going, “The back door is open! It’s horrific that we can’t get the people upstairs but we need to go. Head into the wood where maybe this creature won’t be able to find us. If we escape we might be able to figure out a way to still save some of our friends before they all perish. If we escape we’re going to keep this Magical Relic safe that’s potentially the key to defeating this creature in the long run, saving the whole world. At the very least we’ll survive and isn’t that better than all of us perishing?”

Team RWBY are the ones insisting that the only heroic option is to charge the creature head on. We don’t leave friends behind. Noble, but a death sentence - and one that does damage to the overall war (it’s not just a personal self-sacrifice). They’re also locking the back door to make sure Ironwood and others who might want to escape have to stay and fight with them, all while knocking out four allies for trying to get them to stand down.

Meanwhile, a good portion of the fandom is going, “Ironwood wants to run into the woods? That’s absurd. You can’t survive in the woods! They’ll get lost. They’ll starve. There are other creatures out there that I’m sure would kill them even though we’ve never heard about such creatures before. This isn’t a good long-term option.”  

But it’s not meant to be a long-term option. It’s meant to be the one option that might a) keep them alive in the short term and b) allows them to come up with a plan. Any plan at this point. To still save some of Mantle. Or keep the relics safe. Or help ensure that the 1,000 year attempt to defeat Salem doesn’t end here and now. Something to make this situation a little less horrible.

That’s not coldblooded pragmatism. It’s common sense in the face of noble heroics. Team RWBY should be commended for their bravery and their devotion to the people of Mantle (even though they didn’t care about the people while stringing Ironwood along…), but that doesn’t mean what they’re doing is smart. They know about this war. They know that their decisions are so much bigger than themselves and the immediate problems in front of them. They know there’s a long-term to think about, but so far they haven’t demonstrated any willingness to take that into consideration. It wouldn’t be so bad if the story just framed this around their trauma - some in the group literally can’t leave people behind after the death of Pyrrha - but insisting that this is the only Good and Smart solution here doesn’t work.

whitleyschn33

I was literally just thinking about this after running into one of those "here's all the reasons leaving Mantle means Atlas will die in the long run" posts. What those people don't seem to get is that with the only other plan on the table - stay and fight - there is no long term because in universe as of the finale, staying and fighting is a death sentence.

At least there is a long term to consider with Ironwood's plan. There will be time to regroup, recover, minimize the amount of combatants being faced, and take the time to come up with a new plan. Because yeah - odds are they can't stay up there forever. But they don't have to. They need to get out of reach to buy time for a better plan. Staying and fighting means game over - everyone dies, Salem gets two Relics and a Maiden, and the majority of the people that are in the loop about her threat are gone.

Is having to leave people behind tragic? Yes - but I think choosing to sit and let everyone die and let Salem get what she wants when there is a chance you can save some of them - maybe even most of them, depending on how much of Mantle has evacuated - and prevent her from being halfway to her goal of essentially killing the entire world is worse. I wouldn't sleep easy, but if I was in that office, I know who I'd be siding with - the guy that has a chance to save Atlas, part of Mantle, and the Relics, vs the girls that have proven to be liars and are advocating for an option that's essentially a suicide mission.

[monsterywriting]

Oct 3rd - Lightning (drow)

AN: thought this posted yesterday I just realized Tumblr ate it;; the next one shot should be finished & posted later tonight

word count: 1,019

You had been in the middle of changing out of your lounging clothes when the first flash of lightning struck, and only a few seconds after you could hear the distant rumble of thunder.

Checking your phone for the time, you saw that it had already been nearly 15 minutes since your friend Tarik texted you that he was on his way over to pick you up for dinner, too late to tell him to be careful as he was almost there.

Worried, you quickly threw on a clean shirt and wandered into the living room to wait, keeping an eye on the weather outside. The sun had set an hour ago, so you couldn’t tell how bad the weather was, though you had an idea based on the constant lightning and thunder.

While you hoped the weather would move on, the sky seemed to open up and let out a torrential downpour just to spite you, flashes of light showing you the trees all sideways in the howling wind and rain pelted your roof and windows.

As soon as you saw the beam of headlights in your window, you raced to your front door and opened it, Tarik jumping out of his car and racing inside.

“Hey,” Tarik scowled in annoyance as he greeted you, dripping rainwater all over your floor, “so much for going out to The Eatery tonight.”

Though he had only been in the rain for a few moments, the normally prim and proper drow was completely soaked. His silky white hair was now clinging to his scalp, making his long, pointed ears poke out even more, and as you ushered him to your bathroom, his onyx skin was ice cold.

But even as his designer shoes squelched with every step, Tarik ignored it to keep his air of elegance while he walked. The term “drowned cat” came to mind, but you managed to refrain from saying it out loud, knowing that would only serve to make Tarik even angrier than he already was.

You went into your bedroom to grab him a change of clothes, hearing the water of your shower turn on. After finding a shirt and sweatpants Tarik himself had no doubt left at some point, you quietly snuck into the bathroom and left them on the toilet before returning to your living room, the rain not even close to letting up by the looks of it.

You had met the drow at your first real office job after graduating, both your cubicles right across the aisle from each other. While you had originally found the snarky, uptight man intolerable, he had quickly become one of your favorite co-workers there. Even after you both quit and moved on to different jobs, the two of you remained close.

“I can’t believe this,” Tarik walked out of the bathroom complaining, wearing the clothes you brought him and his hair wrapped in a towel, “15 percent my ass.”

You snickered as he collapsed on the couch next to you, taking the opportunity to rest your head on his lap, “we can always just stay in and watch a movie.”

“That’s not the point,” Tarik groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, a habit you were all too familiar with having seen him deal with customers on the phone.

“What, then?” You asked, ready for the usual drama queen spiel.

“I wanted tonight to be special,” Tarik leaned down, his expression so serious and his face so so close that you felt your heart rate pick up and look.

“Why? We hang out all the time,” you laughed nervously, refusing to meet Tarik’s gaze, sitting up and retreating to a safe distance under the guise of grabbing your phone from the coffee table.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Tarik attractive. However, you always squashed any burgeoning desires you had for something more, absolutely certain Tarik would never return those feelings for you of all people. After so long of being friends, you didn’t want to ruin everything with one-sided feelings.

“You always do that!” Tarik snapped, throwing his hands up in the air in a way that only he could make look like a somewhat natural reaction.

“What?” You said defensively, crossing your arms, worried you had made your train of thought obvious.

“Every time I feel something from you, or think maybe you feel the same- you shut me out!” Tarik said accusingly, “I even planned to tell you how I feel tonight but now I see I would’ve just made an idiot out of myself!”

You had gone rigid when Tarik all but confessed he had feelings for you—in his own convoluted way but a confession to you nonetheless. You nearly knocked Tarik over as you interrupted his longwinded complaints about embarrassing himself to pull him into a kiss, effectively leaving him speechless before he quickly deepened it.

At some point, you had crawled onto Tarik’s lap, the both of you desperate as you each poured your emotion into the kiss. The towel on Tarik’s had had also fallen to the floor, leaving his damp hair falling down in long waves.

You broke away first, chuckling as Tarik looked annoyed by the loss, “You were gonna confess your undying love for me at The Eatery?”

Tarik rolled his eyes but grinned as he accepted your teasing, “Perhaps. Maybe pay the waiter to sing to you in front of everybody trying to enjoy their dinner.”

You crinkled your nose in disgust, knowing neither one of you would enjoy that kind of attention, “Sounds horrible. May have had to turn you down on principle alone.”

Tarik’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you closer to him, making you painfully aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing underneath his sweats.

“Sounds like the rain’s done, we can still go out,” you murmured, giving Tarik an out as you felt the air of the room quickly change.

“Dinner be damned,” he snarled, capturing your lips in another breathtaking kiss, both of you quickly forgetting your evening plans.

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 10: CHILDREN OF MAH

QUEST SUMMARY:

The Mahjarrat are dying, and they want answers as to why. To get them, they must journey back to Freneskae at the behest of Zaros, who promises them freedom from their Rituals once and for all. When Zamorak gets wind of his intentions, it leads to the two deities meeting for the first time since the great betrayal…

CHAPTER 1: LONG WAY HOME

Jahaan had been informed of Ozan’s fate. He took it as well as expected.

Over the next few days, Ariane, Mary Rancour and Idria visited Jahaan in his hospital bed, but neither party welcomed the visits. Conversation was tense and weighted, with hollow pleasantries and distracted glances. After all they had been through, conversing just didn’t seem possible, let alone appropriate. Ozan’s absence choked the air around them, invading their minds. How could they talk about anything else? How could they talk about him?

They couldn’t. That’s why, before long, Mary Rancour made excuses to go back to Burthorpe, and Idria said she had business to attend to in the Guardian of Armadyl military order. Ariane stayed for a while longer. Usually the two just sat in silent, solemn contemplation. Jahaan slept through a lot of the visits, even when he wasn’t tired. He couldn’t deal with anyone, let alone her.

Soon, she too made her excuses and left for the Wizards’ Tower, saying she ought to go back and look after Coal.

Then, Jahaan was alone. It was a familiar state for him. He liked solitude, unless in the company of those he trusted. That list was growing thinner and thinner with each passing day. The only true friend he ever had was Ozan, though. Now he was gone too.

Jahaan felt angry. He felt rage, bitter, burning rage… but he was tired. Gods, he was tired. Soon, the rage became hollow. He felt empty, breathing just enough to keep living, the shallow air rattling around his insides.

That’s why he slept so much. At least in his dreams, he didn’t feel so empty.

Gaw’kara’s treatment consisted predominantly of bedrest and pain remedies. Every time he caught Jahaan attempting to walk without aid, even if it was just to stretch his legs and take in the view from the nest, he barked at him to go back to bed. Such injuries required time and relaxation, he would always repeat. Gaw’kara didn’t even allow Armadyl to see Jahaan until a good week into his recuperation.

By the time Armadyl was finally allowed to visit the World Guardian, Jahaan was growing very restless. He could walk, but not without the use of a cane, and he only had one good arm to hold that with. The pain ranged from mild and underlying, all the way up to agony if he twisted in the wrong way. Thus, pain relievers were always on hand. Still, Jahaan was looking forward to leaving the nest. He was grateful for all Gaw’kara and the Armadyleans had done for him, but he needed to leave. He needed to collect his armour from Wahisietel and rest up somewhere else, somewhere private. Not that he had much in the way of company, but still. He’d rather be recuperating on his own terms.

Jahaan was propped up in his bed when Armadyl greeted him with a warm smile. “Salutations, World Guardian. How are you feeling today?”

“Fine, thanks,” Jahaan replied, his stock reply for the question he’d been asked dozens of times by now.

“I apologise for not visiting sooner - Gaw’kara forbade it, and I daren’t cross that bird,” Armadyl chuckled, a wry smile on his beaked face. “But he told me what happened, and of your condition. You’re going to live, and make a full recovery, but only if you don’t do anything reckless.”

“Reckless is all I have,” Jahaan attempted a smile; that, and the joke, were weak. “Thanks for letting me rest here, Armadyl. I really appreciate it.”

“But of course. We don’t turn our back on the injured, World Guardian. And in spite of the horrible circumstances, I’m glad we finally got a chance to properly meet. Sliske’s ascendency didn’t exactly allow for pleasantries.”

“And the memory of the ascendency is anything but pleasant,” Jahaan retorted, wincing as the inhalation he took made his ribs ache. But instead of more small talk, Jahaan wanted to cut to the heart of the matter. He feared Armadyl might be in the business of recruiting him - the World Guardian was a powerful ally to have, some might argue - but Jahaan was in no mood to be under any god’s wing, no pun intended. Frankly, he’d had enough of the divine, and wanted nothing more than to leave the confines of the nest and lick his wounds in solitude. “Listen, while I appreciate your hospitality and all, I was hoping that-”

“You could leave?” Armadyl finished with a raised eyebrow. “Jahaan, you are not a prisoner here. You’re free to leave whenever you like. However, Gaw’kara had recommended at least another week of bedrest and observation. Allow that, and I’ll take you anywhere on Gielinor. And as an added incentive to stay, I’m hosting a banquet tomorrow to mark Taw-itsh Makaaw - it’s a holiday we celebrate twice a year. Could you be persuaded to attend?”

At the word ‘banquet’ Jahaan’s stomach started to rumble. Medic-bay food was hardly a feast fit for… well, anyone, let alone kings. It was nutritious, NOT delicious. He ate it out of sheer necessity to stay alive, and even then he wasn’t sure if it was worth it, knowing he’d have to suffer another mouthful of it the next day.

So, Jahaan accepted Armadyl’s invitation, and indeed stayed another week in the nest to appease Gaw’kara. Like Armdayl, Jahaan did not want to cross that bird. He was given an entire lecture upon the correct ways to treat his injuries, what to do and what not to do. The term ‘post-concussion syndrome’ had been bandied about, and Jahaan didn’t actively want to experience it, so he did take the advice to heart.

Once the week was up, Jahaan requested a teleport to Nardah. He was gifted with a cane to assist his walking, something Jahaan deeply wished he didn’t have to use, but begrudgingly did. It took him near five times as long to cross the room without it.

When he landed in the swelteringly familiar heat of the Nardah climate, Jahaan wished he also asked for a waterskin. Nevermind, the journey wasn’t that long. Though with his walking stick, and with every step being an adventure into achiness, it certainly felt like a long time.

Finally, mercifully, he reached the home of Ali the Wise.

It was a sight for the glamoured Mahjarrat to see; the last time Wahisietel had seen Jahaan, he was a lot more sprightly. Now, he was huddled over a cane. His left arm was in a sling, with his wrist bandaged. His nose was crooked, and a gap in his smile showed a missing tooth. Purple and blue splotches covered his cheeks.

Ushering him inside, Wahisietel demanded, “What happened to you?”

From the stony look on his face, Wahisietel had already hazarded a guess.

“I picked a fight and lost,” Jahaan replied, a half-truth at best, but he really didn’t want to get into it. Instead, he limped over to the set of armour neatly tucked into one of the corners of the room. “Thanks for holding onto this for me. I’m sorry I didn’t collect it sooner.”

“I am not so easily placated, Jahaan,” Wahisietel’s tone was stern, yet measured. “Tell me what he did.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the back of Jahaan’s head was gradually starting to hurt. Headaches were commonplace, a side effect of the concussion. But just because they were expected, didn’t make them any less irritating.

Then, something troubling caught Jahaan’s eye. “Wahisietel, your hand…”

The Mahjarrat’s eyes followed Jahaan’s gaze down to his left hand; his glamoured human flesh seemed to be receding, a pale skeletal hand threatening to make its appearance known.

Pulling his sleeve down over the hand, Wahisietel was concerned, but not surprised. “This particular side effect started happening days ago, though I’ve been feeling the effects for weeks. My power… it has been draining at an alarming rate.” “But how?” Jahaan queried, his brow furrowing. “Lucien’s sacrifice should sustain the Mahjarrat for another five hundred years, right?”

“So you would think,” Wahisietel’s voice was grave and laced with concern. “If I am not the only one to suffer degrading, then that would mean another Ritual is upon us soon. That could mean…”

Shaking his head, the furrowed brow of Ali’s disguise relaxed somewhat; he gave a thin, sorrowful smile. “My apologies, I did not mean to burden you with this.”

Relaxing down into his armchair, Wahisietel motioned for Jahaan to take a seat opposite him. “Now that’s settled, it’s your turn to explain the state you are in.”

Slowly, Jahaan descended into the chair. It was a painful effort. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time. You can start by telling me why I was nearly crushed in my own home by a randomly materialising set of armour.”

Accepting that the Mahjarrat wasn’t going to budge on this, and rather enjoying taking the weight off his feet, Jahaan gave a heavily trimmed down version of events. No unnecessary information, and nothing about Ozan. He couldn’t bear to bring up the man’s name.

For the most part, Wahisietel sat there quietly, stewing. At least he spared Jahaan an ‘I told you so’, something the World Guardian was expecting more than his headaches. After Jahaan repeated the story, Wahisietel spent what felt like an eternity toying with his beard in silent contemplation. Jahaan was in no rush to break that silence.

Eventually, the Mahjarrat spoke. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Jahaan was caught slightly off-guard. Not the line of questioning he was anticipating. “I… I’m heading on to Menaphos. I’ll find somewhere there.”

Nodding gently, Wahisietel continued, “I’ll help you carry your armour to the bank. I doubt you can wear it in your condition, yes?”

Jahaan blinked. “R-Right… thank you.”

And that seemed to be his cue to leave. The two didn’t say a word to one another on the way to the bank, and Wahisietel left Jahaan with a very conservative, very blunt ‘farewell’ as he made his way back home. Jahaan was left utterly baffled at the Mahjarrat’s response, regaining just enough stability in his mind to take out a waterskin and some coins before heading over to the flying carpet operator, replaying the conversation in his head as he did so.

What he didn’t realise was that, upon returning home, Wahisietel smashed his desk in half with his bare hands.

Jahaan didn’t want to go back to Menaphos, but in his heart of hearts, he knew he had to.

He was going to go back to The Golden City, to walk through the imposing gates that towered into the clouds and beyond.

He was going to walk through the Merchant’s District, marvelling at the opulence of the wares for sale as he did so. He’d gaze upon the beautiful silk robes of the residents, walk across the perfectly paved streets, trying not to feel like the outsider he had become.

He was going to look up at the Golden Palace in the Imperial District, where the rich and affluent lounged in excessive luxury, either oblivious to the corruption and poverty surrounding them, or unphased by it.

He was going to walk across the city’s main plaza where the statues of the four lesser deities of the Pantheon stood proud.

If he could face it, he would return to the Port District. He might even see what became of his old house.

But for now, it seemed as if Jahaan would end up in the Worker’s District, since that's what his budget would allow. He was going to return to the dregs of the city he had spent a fair portion of his youth in, when the alcohol guided him that way. Waking up to the sound of pickaxes against rock was something he’d get used to. That is, until his ribs healed enough for him to join the workers, earn a pitiful living and pay off the debt he’d accrue renting a place to stay. It was the only part of the city with an altar, for the Pharaoh hated religion, seeing it as a threat to his authority. He went so far as imprisoning religious leaders. The ramshackle altar at the shoreline was a beacon of hope for those trapped in the monotony of a pauper’s life.

And just as the altar was a beacon of hope to the residents of the district, Menaphos was as close to salvation for Jahaan as he could get. This was because Jahaan’s life in Menaphos was a life before Ozan. For twenty-five years Jahaan had remained in Menaphos, not meeting his best friend until he left the Golden City. Therefore, he’d made no memories with the man in Menaphos. For Jahaan, Menaphos was the last place where he felt normal. Once he left the comfort of the city walls, everything changed. But normality, stability and peace… Jahaan’s injury and grief-addled mind concluded that Menaphos was the only place to find such things.

That’s why he had to go back to Menaphos.

So, bracing himself and paying the fare, Jahaan began the magic carpet ride across the desert. When he left the Golden City, the magic carpet transport system hadn’t been introduced. He had to walk from settlement to settlement, and some stretches of the overwhelming heat almost killed him. Directions to towns were hard to follow - maps didn’t account for the endless stretches of blank, sandy nothingness. You couldn’t catch your bearings in such a place. So, despite hating the nausea-inducing carpet ride, he thanked the gods for its existence.

The large golden gates slowly emerged into view over the horizon after what felt like half an eternity on the flying fabric. Once the carpet was parked, Jahaan rolled off and sunk into the sand below. He ended up having to sit down in the sand for a good fifteen minutes before the world stopped spinning enough for him to continue his journey. It also took him a solid five more minutes to stand up again, his pride making him refuse the assistance of the carpet operator at the Menaphos station. Jahaan could have sworn the man’s pet monkey was snickering at him. Why were there so many monkeys in the desert anyhow? Jahaan had passed a whole colony on his journey. He thought them a mirage at first, but this one here disproved that theory.

Brushing those thoughts to one side, as well as brushing off the sand that coated the lower part of his body, Jahaan limped over to the imposing gates of Menaphos. They were taller than he remembered, somehow. They felt taller, at least. Possibly because, with his bruised face, bandaged ribs and cane, Jahaan felt incredibly small.

After signalling to the guards, the gates were eased open, and the spectacle of Menaphos unravelled in front of him.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[foulsouls]

My blood is in your veins 18+

Lost boys AU ( sorta? Kinda? It’s vampires and hunters idk haha!! ) featuring all your fav Demon slayer characters! I do not intend to post the full fic on tumblr because it will be long as hell and I am lazy! 

I’m going to be posting the first chapter here just to test the waters hehe! If you like to read the full fic you can find it on AO3! ( Under the same name of course! Also I’m ushisushi over there! ) My laptop will not let me do links GUYGFUHGHGHGBH!!! Anyways, please enjoy!! 

                                       Chapter 1 HOME On the road again. 

It feels like every other month is started with yet another surprise road trip across the country, leaving behind any friends you may have had in whatever tiny backwater town you happened to land in. Any sane person would’ve given up on making friends with this lifestyle but you weren’t exactly known for being the giving up type. 

Your ever changing living arrangements were due to your older brother’s “Job”. The very same job that he refuses to tell you or your younger brother anything about. You’d tried a million times to get any info from him but unfortunately Kyojuro was just as stubborn, if not more, than you. Poor Senjuro found himself the piggy in the middle when you and Kyo would get into your bi-monthly “What is your job!?” arguments, which always led to you getting the horribly intimidating “We’re not talking about this again” look from your older brother, and that ended with you silently fuming for half the trip and ignoring poor Sen’s attempts at trying to make you laugh. 

You didn’t mean to be such a hard head, but no one could deny that being made to pack up your life several times in a year and move to some new town off the beaten track and have to build something new again would be enough to make anyone a  teensy bit grumpy! Especially since you were almost never given a solid answer as to why any of this was necessary, you felt you were allowed a little tantrum here and there. Although, you also had to admit that your little spats had increased a great deal over the last few months. Kyo barely gave you enough time to figure out where the damn toilet was in your new house before he decided you needed to pack up and head out once again. 

 Again you found yourself haughtily staring out the car window at the scenery rapidly speeding by, having just finished your latest argument with Kyo. Senjuro was relaying a funny story about waking up in the middle of the night and getting lost in the house you had been living in just a few hours ago, his laugh was cute but obviously forced as he came to the conclusion of his story and nobody else had joined in on the laughter. You snuck a glance in kyojuro’s direction but of course his posture and expression gave nothing away, despite having had a verbal tiff just a few minutes ago with you. Your brother was always so disciplined, his body language, his speech and even the way he ate his food was all heavily practised. He was a good man who loved you and Senjuro more than anything, even though you weren’t related by blood to the two of them you had never felt like you didn’t belong.  

Maybe you should apologize first this time? It was always you that started the arguments but Kyojuro was always the first to say sorry. You realize you’ve completely zoned out when you hear Kyo pointedly clear his throat and catch his eye as he gives you a quick glance. You’ve been staring at him this whole time, probably giving him a particularly sour expression judging by the furrow of his brows. You fumble over the words in your head,  your throat suddenly incredibly dry. You open and close your mouth several times, making stupid little sounds as you go, gesturing like a madman to boot! GOD! Why was being the bigger person so embarrassing?   

Calming your breathing you sit up straight in your seat, miming the way your breath entered and exited your lungs,mentally cheering yourself on, just say the words! I! am! sorry!  

You chant the words over and over again like a mantra in your mind. 

Kyojuro waits patiently for you to gather yourself, a small amused smirk on his face. He was more mature than you by far but seeing you flounder like that was still incredibly funny.  He watched you square your shoulders and he knew right when that same determined look that crossed your face before you did something you weren't supposed to graced your features that you were ready to say whatever it was you wanted to say.  

“Kyo I’m-” 

“Sorry?” he finished for you. 

The look of pure shock on your face was enough to send Kyojuro into a fit of laughter. You felt your cheeks burn with shame as he continued to laugh and occasionally snort, of course that ass knew exactly what you were going to say and in a big brotherly fashion, OF COURSE he’d cut you off and then promptly laugh at your stupid face. His laugh was always so hearty and full of amusement, you couldn’t help but crack a smile too. When Kyojuro turned to you again you could see small tears in his eyes, he gave you his signature big bro smile before reaching over and ruffling your hair, much to your dismay.  

 “Ugh don’t ruin my hair damn you!” you laugh, shoving away his hand. 

“Sorry kit, you’re too easy to read sometimes.” Kyojuro chuckles at the way you puff your cheeks and pout at him.  

“Y-yeah whatever…..look I really am sorry for being annoying……..again.” you mutter, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

Kyojuro sighs and wipes his eyes, you look to him and see something you thought to be damn near impossible, his shoulders are slightly slumped. The smile on his face when he looks to you is sad, even his eyes seem to have lost nearly all the amusement they held mere moments ago.

Now it seems it’s his turn to fumble for words as he glares at the road in front of you through the windshield. 

“Kit…..Senjuro…” 

Ah, the serious big brother voice. You cast a backwards look at Sen, who appears equally perturbed by Kyojuro’s sudden change in demeanour. 

“I know this is a pain in the ass for the both of you, I do,” he continues, staring intently at the highway that seemed to stretch on forever into the horizon, “but just know that one day I’ll be able to tell you guys everything and…”. 

Kyo sighs heavily once again, it’s pretty clear that he isn’t going to continue what he was saying but you can’t help but lean in a little. It’s always so strange to see someone you look up to appear so ...fragile. Right now, Kyojuro looks like a man beaten down by the world  instead of the spry 27 year old you know he is. Kyo spares one last tired smile in your direction,when he turns back to the road  it's like the tired old man is gone and your bright, ever enthusiastic big brother is back. 

“Welp! Enough of that! Look we’re almost there, I can see the ocean!”  

Senjuro practically dives out of his seatbelt to stick his head between the two front seats and peer through the windshield. 

“Oh!! I see it too! Kit look! Look!” Sen’s excitement and incessant patting of your shoulder shakes you from your thoughts. 

Through the dust and bug guts you can make out the tiniest hint of a shoreline and beyond that is the gorgeous blue of the ocean. Senjuro’s small hand on your shoulder gives you a gentle squeeze and when you turn your head to look at him he gives an adorable little smile. Poor boy, he really is the piggy in the middle here but he’s trying his best. 

You let your gaze wander back to the waves, slowly crashing in the distance, you can’t hear them yet but you feel something strangely familiar about this scene before you.

Home.  

I’m home.  

Something about those words send a chill up your spine but you dismiss it, at least for now. Right now it was time to say hello to your new little town and mentally prepare yourself for whatever this little corner of the world had in store for you. 

Oh boy does this little town have something in store for you.