#uh. slots have sold out

[b4kuch1n]

h

[hairmetal666]

EDIT: ao3 should be back so you can read this now 😭😭

Robin rips the cream-colored polo out of Steve's hands. "Hey!" his surprise makes him shriek.

"Absolutely not." She jams the hanger back on the rack. "We're in a boutique in Paris. You are not buying a polo shirt here."

Steve pouts. "But it's my size."

"No. I'm putting my foot down." She stomps to get her point across. "C'mon, they have sunglasses in the back."

He leaves the shirt behind, allowing Robin to lead him towards the table of over-sized, dark-framed sunglasses.

She gets lost in trying them on, vamping in the little mirror, leaving him to card through a rack of silk scarves, until a case of vintage wrist watches by the register catches his eyes. He studies the them—Omega, Rolex, Cartier, Patek Philippe—bands of finely tooled leather and steel, inlaid with gold, silver, diamonds; things Steve could never afford for himself in a million years.

He's so lost in contemplating the fine jewelry and the state of his life, everything that will change once he gets home, that it takes him a second to register the increasing noise coming from outside. At first, it's excited voices exclaiming in rapid French, but it quickly becomes near-hysterical screaming.

Steve’s first impulse is to locate the danger, block Robin from whatever might be coming. Before he can move, though, the most beautiful man on the planet skids through the door, long, dark curls flowing behind him like they’re caught in their own breeze.

"Kiss me," the man says. His voice is deep and breathy, and he has the biggest, brownest eyes Steve has ever seen. He loses himself in them—they’re so dark he can see his reflection in their depths—and it takes too long for the words to register.

"What?" Steve mumbles.

This gorgeous guy—long limbed and slender, a cropped cut-off t-shirt showing acres of pale skin punctuated by dark swirls of tattoos—can’t have actually asked to kiss him. This is a lust-based hallucination, it has to be, because this guy has a belly-button ring and wears pants so tight they have to be cutting off his circulation.

"Kiss me. Please?" the man asks again. The shouting from outside is louder now, people are crying, and Steve is sure that, this time, there's a definite note of desperation to his words.

This is a dream, for sure. There’s no way this breathtaking man is actually asking Steve for a kiss. Even so, Steve hears himself agreeing in a voice that doesn't sound anything like his own. The guy—the impossible, beautiful guy—smiles all gentle and soft, cupping the back of Steve's head in his large hand.

He's kissed a lot of people in his life. Like a lot. But nothing like this, not ever. Their mouths slot together, and he's expecting it to be chaste, and it is, but. Something electrical fizzes in his blood, goes straight to his brain, because his mouth is pressing harder and the man moans, grips Steve closer, pulls him until they crash against a clothes rack.

It's wanting and hot, but their tongues barley brush together before the embrace is broken. Steve wants; it infuses his blood stream, becomes a delicious ache in his lower abdomen.

"Thanks, sweetheart," the man whispers, pupils blown and eyes glassy. He brushes his thumb along Steve's cheek, then spins on his heel, disappearing out the door.

Steve can’t move, doesn’t think he remembers how to breathe, mouth still hanging open in bemused shock. What the fuck.

"STEVE," Robin screams.

He jumps, the noise stark in the quiet store and the now ringing silence outside, whatever commotion from earlier gone as though it had never been.

"Robin, what?" He snaps.

"Do you know who that was??"

His face flames crimson. "Uh. Just some guy?"

"Steeeve, dingus, you're hopeless."

"Who was it, then?"

"Oh, only Eddie Munson? The Eddie Munson, Billboard number one for sixteen weeks? First album sold out at stores around the world? Didn't you wonder what all that screaming was about?"

"Oh my god,” Steve says. Hand going up to touch his kiss reddened lips. “Oh my god."

Read the rest on ao3!

[abandonambition]

Who drew these Capricorns? It's me! I did it. S...Sorry.

HI TUMBLAR. I'm Dana. I draw animals and mythical creatures (mostly capricorns and dragons). I like to reflect on lesser-known or dark aspects of nature, feelings of distress and despair, or creating designs that just look cool for the sake of looking cool. I have a sort of positive nihilist outlook on life, in that I'm rather upset with the general state of things but I still feel compelled to find or create beauty and interest anyway, even if my darker feelings sometimes come out through my work.

"Abandon Ambition" is both grimly serious and darkly humorous. I was raised in both a household and country that emphasized setting lofty goals of acquiring high earnings and impressive assets, but the timing of my pursuit of these things has laughably aligned with global financial crises, global pandemics and lockdowns, and now global heatwaves and global conflicts. Abandon ambition, and instead embrace what you want to say and do and create and build now; Tomorrow is not yours, and your goals may not be waiting for you there.

Be responsible, and be kind. But hope and wait for nothing.

So uh, yeah, I draw a lot of stuff and explore a lot of things that I think I've been holding back on for years for one reason or another. I want to draw dark goats, glowing bats, tempest capricorns, skinny dragons, snarling wolves. So here they are.

Check out what I made!

A lot of my designs find themselves on fun and/or practical merch! I like to create things that are high quality and have a long shelf life: I don't want to make something thinking it'll go in a landfill in a year, I want you wearing and enjoying my work for a very long time.

Here's a hat that glows in the dark!

Wow! Here's another hat that doesn't glow in the dark, but still looks really nice.

Pretty! If keeping your skull cozy isn't your thing, I've printed my art on fabric, too. I like this idea because if you move house a lot and/or can't afford custom frames, art printed on fabric can be displayed anywhere, and folds up nicely when packing up for your next move, without any breaking glass or anything.

A big part of my thinking when I'm designing products is also what do I myself use in my day-to-day life, and lately I've been desperately trying to cut my phone addiction by going back to pen-and-paper planners and books and things instead of using screens. And to keep track of where I am in my planners and books, I've made bookmarks!

I had so much fun designing these. You have something enjoyable to look at on both sides of the page it's clipped on. How fun is that?

Okay lastly, I make a TON of stickers. A lot of my designs translate really well into small, self-contained things like stickers, and I only ever print vinyl stickers, so they live a long time on your laptop or phone case or wherever you wanna put them.

So that's a small collection of the things I've done and made. Do you like them? I hope you like them. I liked designing them.

A COOOUPON JUST FOR YOUUUU

If you'd like one o' these things for yourself, you're in luck!

You, lucky Tumblar user, can visit my shop and take 20% off with code TUMBLR20. This coupon expires 1st April 2024 (or does it...? That's April Fools' Day after all... Okay yeah it does actually expire then. Sorry).

Oh, commissions?

Hey! Sometimes people like my art style and want a custom commission. That's great, and I'm so glad you're interested!

If you'd like a custom ink mailed to you on a postcard that also features my art on the back (so it's like... you get two pieces of art on one postcard), these are exclusive to my Patreon right here. I have limited slots per every month, so check back often in case I'm sold out.

I also offer what I call "instant order" commissions via my Ko-Fi. You pick out one of the offerings I have, send me your ref sheet, pay, and I just...get it done. It's as close to instant as commissions can get.

Besides those, I also do more bespoke work, so you can send me a message to discuss your idea and we'll work something out. :corporatethumbsupemoji:

Honestly? Thanks!

The internet has become a pretty weird and honestly rather hostile place. I'm a solo act that's as indie as they get. So, it really does mean a lot to me when your eyeballs land on my stuff and you click that little heart or reblog icon, or even better when you add it to your cart and click check out. Your eyeballs land on thousands of stuff every day, so the fact that my stuff brought you joy or interest or something deep that you resonated with means a lot to me. I think in a sense it makes me feel like my brush strokes are going somewhere far beyond whatever canvas I've otherwise confined them to.

This is a pinned post to share who I am and help me get some coins to fund my life and art projects, but yeah you can reblog it and share it around planet earth, I don't mind. It's nice.

So yeah, that's me! Feel free to comment if you have questions or want to know whatever else, I'll uh... reply and like answer them and stuff.

[kaiserouo]

Warframe ramble because idk i didnt draw much today

So uh, just hit mr10 and 100 hour. This is stupid. Why am i like this. I guess i just cant resist farming games.

Most of the time it's farming for relics and affinity. You see, i have been afraid of trading with other people (you heard that right people like me exist) so i just sold frames / weapons that i maxxed out and kinda can't see the charm of in their skills. Actually it just comes down to loki and mag and excalibur. Good thing umbra comes with his own slot AND he can cosplay as original excalibur. Huh. Now i have rhino + acceltra + akarius + xoris as my main set. Yes it's before i found out that capture mission exists and it's 1 minute per relic instead of 5.

Anyway after like 10 videos about trading and how the procedure / ui works, i tried putting all the high value vaulted prime parts on warframe.market today because (1) it sells good and i need quick money for slots (2) if i'm farming any primes it will be those unvaulted ones first (3) selling prime junk is a lot of homework (4) at least most of their prices are stable in the past 90 days.

I thought with all those prime parts and stuff on the market i might need to wait like 3 days for anyone to message me, but instead i sold like 6 items in an hour. Like, how???? That's not the liquidity i was expecting to see but i guess i have some plat for slots now.

Anyways, now i have like 9 warframes in my foundry and inventory ready for me to draw and i havent even gotten every assassination node warframes. Gods i kinda regretted starting that warframe portrait kinda stuff now. I HAVE to ramble about this right now because each and every one of them are hard asf to draw for me. i think i almost never color my hunter (and anything else) in d2 and now i've got 4 rendered pieces of work in 8 days. Don't ask me how because i don't know either. Tbh they're not exactly time consuming to do, definitely way less than 6 hours (i guess 3 but im not timing. also not accounting of the time i was distracted). But the process uses up too much of my brain power and my confidence i just can't do that often.

idk how to end this. you would have thought i should use all the time i spent on this to draw more but nope, i know i won't do that.

[sapphicneige]

A Mark You Won't Forget - Chapter 2: Tell me what we choose

Summary: After agreeing to help run the merch stand for a local concert, Yang ends up meeting a woman at the bar there and things quickly become flirtatious between them. So, when the woman swings by the merch stand later that evening and asks Yang for a size shirt that's sold out, Yang's left with only a single option…

(Or what happens when you sell the shirt you're wearing to the hot woman you met earlier that day)

Words: 12,905 Main Relationships: Blake/Yang Rating: E

Notes:

So uh... hi, it's been forever. Sorry for that. One thing after another just kept getting in the way. This chapter was meant to be longer, but I decided to break it up into multiple as I think it has a good end where it does. Before I let you get to the actual fic, I'm directing your attention to THIS INCREDIBLE ARTWORK by @ver-draws. It's just an incredible piece and I am still kinda shaking that they drew that based off the scene in the previous chapter. Please go give the piece a look!

The chapter title for this chapter is from Fools by Lauren Aquilina from the Fic Playlist.

I think that's all I wanted to say, I hope you enjoy!!!

(Oh, and things get NSFW in this chapter, as a warning.)

Fic:

It’s only when Blake glances at her phone and sees that there are only five minutes left that the two of them slide from their chairs–downing the last of their shots as they do–and stagger towards the door of the bar. Yang’s hand immediately finds Blake���s, their fingers intertwining.

“Are you two seriously leaving already?” Weiss jumps up from her seat. “I swear to god if you’re considering going back to ours…”

“Ours?” Blake glances at the two of them, eyebrow raised slightly in a sarcastic manner.

“We haven’t decided whose house we’ll be going to yet.” Yang glances at Blake, noticing the way her face shifts slightly, the smugness shifting slightly, a layer of fear hiding underneath. “But… it’s likely we will be going to ours.”

“What about your sister?” Weiss throws her hands up in the air. “What about me? You’d do that to our ears?”

“Ruby’s at Penny’s tonight, remember.” Yang rolls her eyes, mimicking the gesture she’s received from Weiss many a time. “And I’m sure you can find other accommodations if you want to continue to deny how much you’d actually want to join us.”

“I do not!” Weiss looks like she’s about to say–a lot–more, but she’s cut short by a hand on her shoulder.

“I have a spare bed at mine,” Pyrrha says, standing up and joining Weiss by her side. “You can stay with me.”

“I uh…” Weiss glances between Yang and Pyrrha before letting out a sigh. “Fine.” She locks eyes with Yang. “But you owe me.”

“Sure.” The corner of Yang’s lips tugs up into a smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” Weiss rolls her eyes, acting dismissive. 

“I love you too, Weiss.” Yang turns to face Blake once more. “Shall we get going?”

“Sure.” Blake’s voice is filled with something that Yang can’t quite place. It’s warm and soft in a way that just makes her feel comfortable, but with an underlying curiosity. It’s all Yang can do to stop herself from wondering–hoping–that maybe, just maybe, that’s a curiosity at what Yang’s life is like, and where Blake might be able to slot herself into it.

Continued on Ao3...

[bamteam2024]

UPDATE!!!! - 21/08/2023

THE FIRST PART - UH.

Hi! So... uh.... how's it goin?!

Right now I'm like in the other side of the pond, the You Ess Ayyy or how it's called in spanish "los Eh Eh Oo Oo... duuuuude", for family stuff and all that jazz! So that means I got busier! And I have to adjust to jet lag! And as such, art's slowin down for a bit. BUT I'M STILL WORKIN ON ART AS WE SPEAK!!!

THE SECOND PART - why did I decide to split these in par-

As I'm writing this, I am currently workin on a comm that I'm SUPER excited about!! Of which you'll probably see... in a bit :3

And speakin of comms, wow and I mean WOW that's been piling up! I was honestly shocked by how quickly the initial 10 slots were already sold out! And I recently opened up 5 extra slots and we're already down to 2 SLOTS!!!!! So if ya haven't gotten your slot yet...

NOW'S THE CHANCE TO DO SO!!

In my spare time, if I'm not dealin with family or talkin to friends or the sort, I've been playing Bomb Rush Cyberfunk and MAN OH MAN OH MAN, THAT WAS WORTH THE 3 YEAR WAIT HUH. No spoilers (yet) please. I'm plannin on finishing Pikmin 4 after I'm done with BRC, and then FINALLY finish Zelda ToTK (i still didn't finish the main story lol) (then maybe i'll actually gain the courage to finish Pikmin 2) BUT WAIT, THERE'S SAMBA DE AMIGO ON THE HORIZON, IN LIKE, A WEEK OR SO, WOW... I... am not gonna be able to do that side project on time huh

So that kinda concludes the update! Just know that art is still cookin, just under a slightly slower pace! I'm sure you'll like what I'm cooking up! In the meantime, maybe I could write more blogs here more often! Maybe make a lil silly videogame discussion blog of some sorts IDK.

Bye!

[wandringaesthetic]

A LOT OF WORDS REGARDING VANA’DIEL

How to talk about Final Fantasy XI.

How to start. I could go over my history with the Final Fantasy series (long, boring).

I could say why I didn’t play this game and its expansions at the time of their release (I was in high school and college and a) there was no way I was going to be able to talk my parents into letting me play a game that had a subscription fee and b) I know myself well enough to know that there was a real risk of me getting addicted to an MMO and flunking out of college).

I could say why I’m playing it now (after getting through the Extremely Daunting Task of every Final Fantasy XIV expansion, it’s the only main series Final Fantasy I haven’t beaten).

A key to understanding and enjoying any Final Fantasy game is to not expect it to play like any other Final Fantasy game. To take it on its own terms. I think some gamers and fans have trouble doing this with the weirder games in the series, which definitely includes XI. Yet. I don’t think I CAN play Final Fantasy XI on its own terms, because to truly play it on its own terms would mean to play it as it existed in the early 2000s.

The theme I hear over and over from people who played this game in its heyday is that because the game itself was so hostile to players, because it was so easy to die in the field, because directions for quests were so vague, the community within it was very strong. It was more or less impossible to play without help and guidance. Even making it beyond the first levels, or to the edge of the very first areas surrounding the starting towns, meant joining up with other adventurers.

Playing in 2022 and 2023, several quality of life improvements have been made. Or, well, attempted improvements. I don’t know exactly when any of these things came into being or WHEN any of them were added, and I’m probably unaware of or discounting the impact of some changes. The leveling curve is much less steep. There are “trusts,” summonable NPCs that you can use to assist you through nearly all content, so that you can solo all (or almost all—I’ve not hit a brick wall yet) of the main scenario solo. You can fast travel. Since I didn’t play in its heyday, I’m not clear if originally there was NO teleportation, or if there were only the crystal “home point” warps in towns and before major boss battles. In any case, an additional network of teleportation was added in Adventurers’ Guides – floating books in towns, some dungeons and some field areas. If you play a little ways into Rhapsodies of Vana’diel, warping between home points is made SIGNIFICANTLY cheaper, reduced from an original 5000 gil to a mere 200, and RoV also gives you several multipliers to EXP gained.

In summary FFXI used to have a VERY STEEP LEVEL GRIND and traveling in the game used to be a REAL PAIN IN THE ASS. TO THIS DAY the leveling curve still starts feeling kinda steep about level 60 or so even WITH all the boosts. And Travel is STILL a pain in the ass.

And. Oh gosh. Your inventory is TINY. You start off with 30 slots. Your equipment could be taking up as much as 16 of those slots. You get a little room in a little house with a personal moogle servant who stores your stuff pretty early on, and you can expand your inventory through a quest line that involves item collection and goblins. But that early limitation is brutal. Especially since, as I’ve found out, several randomly dropped items I’ve sold or discarded in order to keep them from jamming up my inventory have turned out to be necessary or useful for later questlines.

(FINAL FANTASY I. Had a 32 slot inventory. On the NES. Which didn’t include your equippable weapons and armor, which were in a different menu)

This game, by the way, is not interested in explaining anything to you. Make a character. Great! You’re a catgirl! Get adventuring.

Uh??

This was bad enough when the game was released. Over 20 years after its release, with several new design features with competing philosophies stacked on top of it, it’s incredibly overwhelming. There are multiple systems of points and currencies. The method for targeting, for speaking to an NPC or attacking an enemy (tab through every possible target in front of you) is not intuitive. In order to give an NPC an item, you have to initiate a trade with them. That’s in your menu, which there are two pages of, with important things on both pages. It’s not immediately obvious how to OPEN that menu.

In short, the first couple of hours of playing this game are going to be the worst time you have with it. In fact, the first time I played this game, I made a character, walked around town a little bit, couldn’t figure out how to so much as talk to an NPC, shut down the game and did not come back.

And this is without even MENTIONING the PlayOnline launcher, which is another (unnecessary) layer of complexity on top of all this nonsense.

I’ve been playing on Asura, which is in the year of our lord 2023 is Final Fantasy XI’s most populated majority English language server.

POPULATED BY BOTS I MEAN.

Even in 2023 Vana’diel is by no means a ghost town. I don’t have a good idea of what most long-term players are doing here, but there are characters running around and standing around cities. There are people selling things at the auction house. Nearly everything I’ve looked for at the auction house I’ve managed to find, though not always for a price I wanted to pay for it. Further afield, it’s sparse, but one does encounter other players occasionally, especially in areas where one can spawn and fight NMs—"notorious monsters.”

But also, the /shout and /say channels in any city are so jammed by offers for real money transactions that I eventually just turned them off so they didn’t display. Catch me in Vana’diel and you’re going to have to whisper in my ear.

I’ve played almost 100% by myself. I joined up with another player just once while we were both doing the same quest (in which we had to dip an orb into various pools so that we could use it to pass through a magical barrier) and I’m not sure that we helped each other more than we hindered each other.

Which means I’m playing a very different game than the one those who played in its heyday did, to the extent that I wonder if I’m meaningfully playing it at all.

Occasionally someone says a Final Fantasy game “plays itself” or that it’s “press X to win.” That’s a common criticism of XII—where it’s somewhat true, but only after you’ve finely honed your characters’ programming with a complex string of if->then statements in the menus. It’s surface level true of XIII, where yes, the most efficient way to play is to let the game auto-select a set of actions, based on a set of roles, which, to play effectively, you’ll need to switch around multiple times in more challenging battles, finding useful combinations and adapting as the situation changes. There is certainly an element of strategy in both of these games.

If you’re playing FFXI with trusts we are veering very very close to “press X to win” for real, or at least “press tab and enter and wait a while to win.” As I understand it, much of the strategy of XI when playing with real people was in coordinating with each other and lining up skill chains. I won’t explain exactly how that works, but suffice it to say your trust NPCs do it automatically.

I’ve been playing XI as a tarutaru thief. I wanted something different—conceptually, mechanically, aesthetically--than my FFXIV elezen White Mage. While not a huge damage dealer, thief has been useful for the steal ability and abilities that enhance the rate of various item drops. Combat my trusts mostly handle for me. I’ve had a couple of hairy moments, like the segments of the original release’s final boss where it’s immune to either physical or magical damage. My trusts eventually took it out, but I’m certain real humans could have done it much faster. I’ve not yet met a challenge that wasn’t solved by leveling up a bit more.

Trusts are rather like XII’s characters except their programming is hardwired. In fact, XII is probably the non-online Final Fantasy installment that XI has the most kinship with. Like XII, it also has large, labyrinthine dungeons. Dungeons that sometimes connect to other large, labyrinthine dungeons that you will probably not be able to explore much of the first time the plot takes you there, because there will be monsters that will one shot KO you.

In most games, encountering aggressive monsters that can one-shot KO you would be a message to leave here and come back later. Not in FFXI, though! Avoiding monsters altogether is a big part of navigation in this game. If you’re around the same level as the monsters, you can fight them for EXP, but even in that felicitous case, you rarely want to fight your way through a whole (like I said, labyrinthine) dungeon. If you’re sufficiently well-leveled, monsters will ignore you. But in most cases you’re going to be casting spells or using items that make you invisible and silent.

But in order to go through a door or use a teleporter, you’re going to have to take those status effects off. So you better have a lot of those prism powders and silent oils on hand. In your tiny inventory.

At this point, every dungeon becomes a glorified maze. A maze with interesting wallpaper. A maze populated with monsters that don’t react to you. A series of rooms you have to track through in order to get to the next series of rooms.

Looking over my shoulder, my partner asked “Is this game just walking?”

Yeah! Pretty much!

As I’ve been playing FFXI, I’ve been meditating on what a game even IS. Especially on what an RPG is, in this case including things like tabletop RPGs and board games and collectable card games. Gacha games, even. What importance does the theming have? What importance do the numbers have? Is winning simply a matter of putting more time and/or money into the game? Wipe away Vana’diel. Wipe away the elvaan and the tarutaru and the beastmen. Wipe away Altana and Promathia. What is there left? Whence the game? What challenges am I facing? Who or what am I playing against?

I eventually reached the conclusion that I’m playing against the game itself. That I’m enduring past various infuriating time-wasting and awkward mechanics and the surfeit of currencies and key items and terms. I’m seeking help, like the players of the 2000s did, but instead of finding it in the other adventurers on the linkshell I’m finding it in the players that came before me and wrote the wiki articles. The game is seeking and finding the information I need in order to continue.

I occasionally wonder if I possess the context with which to judge this game. I’ve only played one other MMORPG and that’s FFXIV, its direct descendent. I don’t know how FFXI felt in the context of its time. I know GAMES of that era. I know Final Fantasy games of that era. I don’t know other MMORPGs. I don’t know if I’m being unfair. I know I’m playing something very different than what people played at this game’s peak, but from everything I’ve heard and understood, Final Fantasy XI at its peak is a game I would have liked even less than I like Final Fantasy XI in 2022 and 2023. It’s probably not a game I would have stuck with after the free trial.

So, listen. I don’t like this game. I think that’s clear. But I don’t want you to come away with the idea that I HATE this game. I feel a weird responsibility toward it. I am treading in places few fans of the series actually tread. I am treading in places I can’t in good conscience RECOMMEND anyone tread. I am treading in places it is cost prohibitive, in terms of both money and time, to tread.

Will you believe me if I tell you that Vana’diel is beautiful? The plot is just okay, but it’s enough to establish a plausible Fantasy Political Situation for the four nations and Beyond. Good backdrop to write  your own adventure on.

But what is really here is Art Direction.

Ironically, with my disposition that overall Final Fantasy XI is A Giant Waste Of My Time, the times when it feels the best to me have been when I’m level grinding. Wandering just that little bit further afield. Seeing what’s on the next screen. Seeing whether I can take the monsters in the next area. Pushing the boundaries. Exploring.

The world was lovingly built and the structures within it show that. There’s a dungeon full of bird-type beastmen that looks like it’s made of terracotta. I feel like I know what the walls feel like. I feel like I know what it SMELLS like. Greatest of all is the Crystal Line, a giant set of conduits that span the world. An ancient civilization used it to harness the power of the world’s elemental crystals. The crystal line is not explained to the player until pretty deep in the plot (or if it was, I wasn’t paying attention), but the player sees it, out in the field. It stretches everywhere. The game says it’s made of cermet—a ceramic-metal composite, but I initially thought it was made of bone. The “crags” that form its endpoints look like alien teeth. It looks like the remains of the spine of some impossibly large creature. A dragon, perhaps. Ghost and “weapon” type enemies stalk near it in all of the maps where it appears, adding to the idea that it is somehow cursed. When you find that some of the beastmen have blasted their way through it to supercharge “magicite” within these conduits, even without actually knowing what the Crystal Line is, breaking into it by force feels like inviting the worst sort of bad juju. It all adds up to incredibly effective environmental storytelling.

In Rise of Zilart, Chains of Promathia, and beyond, the game becomes truly gorgeous. With the reminder that this game ran on the PS2, the expansions of FFXI are some of the best looking stuff on that console. The environments become more lush. The cutscenes become more cinematic. The outfits get more detailed. The monsters get more animated. The characters start looking like Luzaf, my beloved.

Something like a third of the way into Wings of the Goddess I am liking but not loving the plot, and ironically, the more the game Tries in terms of gameplay (go here! Go here! Find these items! Plant this tree in the past to harvest it in the future! Do this minigame!) the more irritating it becomes.

When will I consider myself Done with Final Fantasy XI? I once counted myself Done with Final Fantasy XIV when the credits rolled on A Realm Reborn (the first time). I was wrong.

I had the goal of finishing this game before this summer so that I will have Beaten Every Final Fantasy Game for at least a few minutes before FFXVI comes out this June. More importantly, I would like to stop paying the subscription fee.

Do I do Seekers of Adoulin? Abyssea? The mini scenarios? The main plot is arguably just ONE of the things there is to do in Final Fantasy XI. Not more or less important than several other pursuits.

I think I have to get to the credits of Rhapsodies of Vana’diel. The main guide I’m using is titled “Quickstart 1-119 Guide.” Perhaps when I get there I will have only just begun.

[csmeaner]

my own cs list

in no particular order nor reason

wyngrow: lmao . owner is a narcissist who thinks everything bad happening isn’t her fault. clear favoritism. p2p mechanics. tracing without permission, still using ex-mod’s artwork, the list goes on there’s a comprehensive blog for it

milqilins: lmao lmaox2 big tiddy cow species you’d think would be simple but somehow riddled with problems. constant accounts of racism, favoritism, loli/sho pedophilia, and people cheating to get another myo ticket. they all look the same but turning one into a subspecies cost 500$ 

griffia: enough drama to end up on reddit boring. keep changing and redesigning mechanics that didn’t need to be fixed while offering less and less rewards. idk what’s happening but i know novinaut things haven’t gotten any lore in 4 years

grems: the same as above but i still hope densy gets hit by a truck. too expensive, somehow thinks their magic blood is special. no lore or arpg despite promising it. just shit out on-base adopts for 300 dollars each. has the most prolific hoarders like digimitsu and soyu-k. i remember a whole fiasco with users asking for changes a few months and idk how that’s going 

scarfox: original owner kakiwa let an offbrander turn their illegal scarfox into a legal one for free. lots of people butthurt since before it’s been really hard to get one. kakiwa gives species to darci. darci proceeds to beat her cash cow to death and pretend she created the species. shits out the ugliest adopts with her asskissers enarista and benaberry and tanks scarfox value. often sucks money from community to pay for expensive adopts. somehow thinks she’s a business owner. makes controversial changes without running them by users or even staff and gets defensive when there’s backlash. the current face of how not to run a species.

kebanzu: idk about them but they’re dogs and you need to pay to give them scars or missing limbs

worcimex: idk again but i think the owner left everyone high and dry for a while with no explanation

browbirds: expensive af with people thinking it’s worth and arm and a leg for an ugly furry. probably most unfair arpg grind i’ve seen so far with high exclusivity. owner basically uses it as a circlejerk with friends only

tomoyokis: boring. literally humans with container parts. the poorman’s dainties

dainties: humanoids with deer legs and socks. somehow the most successful business model. most of the mods can’t design though and they only thing to do is trade fodder for better things because people will give their firstborn for a CB slot

grabuki: they’re ugly as fuck and nothing happens from what i’ve read

impims: they’re also ugly and kunmao’s a lazy piece of shit so expect anything to take weeks. no trait restrictions at least but then it comes down to whoever can get the pop designs

chimereons: the one i hate the most. full of kids and greedy assholes. rampant “full resale+swaps/multiples” for a cham with no traits. incredibly hard to break into and only defining ‘feature’ is their nose horns and curled tails. which means shit like this is considered perfectly valid. also insanely expensive with an owner whose too busy drawing furry porn. mods also don’t do their jobs at all 

annies: slavery lore. owner yamio doesn’t do anything. insane costs and fanbase for what boils down to anime girls. i have no idea what an annie even if and I want them to burn

esks: mods can be hostile i’ve heard. forced positivity. easy to make but people cream themselves trying to get an owner-made one. they’re uh undead nature dogs i guess if that’s your cup of tea

baobears: these cost hundreds of dollars

midveilers: i stopped playing but people only care about collecting owner-made designs. there’s also bunch of other artists who aren’t as good but still try to sell for the same price so a bunch of designs don’t get sold because no one’s stupid enough to pay 250 dollars for something a highschooler drew. also apparent huge problem with candygore and community full of minors

cccats/skire: no arpg and cost too much for eye-straining on-base adopts. traits of having an extra set of antennae can be 200 dollars alone. bought a small species that immediately turned them from 30$ adopts to 300$ adopts overnight. thinks spending 2 hrs making 10 on-base flat colored adopts is considered a job and too much work

stygian: overly designed deer that i legit have no idea what they do but have a website. way too many traits and nitpickiness on how they look. way too expensive if you wanna buy an official one. like legit they are overly designed to the point it’s always hard to tell what’s what

popunmytimiiwhatever: ripoff of every other humanoid species with hard-to-type weeb name.

packimps: same as above with ugly designs. people only get them to try and uptrade for dainties

im out for now but feel free to drop other ones i’ve probably heard about them if they’ve been around

[idy-ll-ique]

Any Doctors Here?

pairing: mob boss!steve rogers x doctor!f!reader

genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst

warnings: mentions of burns and hospitals

requested: nope

summary: while visiting his favorite bar, steve stumbles upon a new bartender, but there is something off about her. after a small conversation, he finds out that she is indeed overqualified for the job; she was a jobless doctor in need of money. well, it just so happens that the last doctor that worked for steve quit, there was a slot open...

author's note: hiya peeps enjoy!

masterlist

---

Steve walked into the bar, looking around. All faces turned to him immediately. He smirked slightly when he saw everyone look away, squirming. Steve Rogers was a nationally recognized mobster boss. Sure, he was on the negative side but police had given up on him years ago. He roamed the streets freely now, much to the fear of people.

He wouldn't think of harming an innocent soul, but people didn't know that. He found their fear amusing so he never said anything. He walked up to the bartender, sitting in front of her. She gave him a smile. "What would it be, Mr Rogers?" she asked, turning back to the bottles kept on the shelf behind her.

Steve checked her out while she turned away. He decided that she was pretty, very much so. "Whiskey, please, darling," he told her, leaning against the counter. He also noticed that she was the only one not afraid of him. "What's your name?" he asked her as she prepared his drink.

"My name is no," she sang and he raised an eyebrow at her. Her confidence and sass surprised him. "I'm just kidding! I'm Y/N," she laughed, passing his glass to him. A second later, he laughed, too. "Y/N, pretty name. You aren't afraid of me?" he questioned curiously, downing the whiskey in one go.

"Not really. Why would I be?" she shrugged. "Don't you know who I am?" he asked her, shocked. "I literally addressed you by your name when you came in."

He had forgotten about that.

"Ah, right. Um, okay." For the first time in his life, he was stumped. He never had trouble talking to women, but something about Y/N was odd. He had to keep the conversation going. "So, uh, do you work here?" he blurted out. What if this was her cover and she really was someone else?

Would explain her nonchalance. "I love how you say something so obvious with such a sense of discovery," she smiled sassily, leaning on the counter in front of him. Her sarcasm was getting under his skin now but somehow, he liked it.

She was fierce. "No, I mean, do you work here permanently or is this a sort of part time job?" he rephrased, rolling his eyes. "Part time, you guessed right. I have an MBBS, no job," she chuckled. Ah, a doctor. The fact that she was well-educated sat right with Steve. She behaved like an intellectual. "Oh, that's nice." He ordered a few more drinks.

They continued talking but suddenly heard a scream.

Y/N and Steve turned around to see a man clutching his arm which had a burn visible on it. "Any doctors here?" his girlfriend screamed as the man groaned in pain. Y/N instantly ran towards him, grabbing a bottle of cold water along the way. She opened it and gently poured the water on his arm, which made the man sigh in relief.

"Call an ambulance right now," Y/N expertly told the girl, who nodded. She talked to someone on the phone as Y/N rolled up the sleeves of that man's hoodie. Steve watched all this with a slight smile on his face.

He was well used to having personal doctors and the last guy had just left the job. He felt like Y/N would be the perfect person for the job. She had an education anyway, how bad could it be? Also, he would pay her better than this small bar or any government job could ever. She deserved better pay.

Soon, the girl and her boyfriend were gone. Y/N walked back to the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. "So, uh, sorry about that," she muttered, smiling sheepishly at Steve.

"Don't be, please. You saved that man," he swiftly reassured her, shaking his head. Y/N nodded and silence fell between the two of them. "I have to ask you something," Steve blurted out. Y/N looked at him and nodded curiously. He proposed his idea to her and needless to say, Y/N was shocked.

Agreeing to work with a famous mobster was not something she expected would happen that day. She considered for a moment. Working with Steve could be nice…

He told her he would pay her well, she was already sold. She made her decision and nodded. "I agree," she smiled and Steve's eyes lit up with happiness. "Okay, here's my address, will you be able to stop by tomorrow?" he asked, jotting down his address on a tissue. "No problem. Bye!" she waved as he walked out of the bar. Y/N squealed, looking down the tissue paper.

Steve smiled as he walked back home. As he walked home, he couldn't stop thinking about the woman. Y/N. Beautiful, sassy, helpful, caring, fierce, intelligent… She was a package deal. A good one, of course. Was he getting a crush on the pretty bartender? He sighed and smiled again as he realized… he was.

Y/N's shift ended 2 hours later. She shrugged on her coat and walked outside, breathing in the outside air. As she walked home, she, too, couldn't stop thinking about the one and only, Steve Rogers.

That man oozed power and dominance wherever he went. He was a wealthy man, considering he dealt with black markets all the time. Not to mention his handsomeness. Y/N knew women who were head over heels for Steve. She used to think they shouldn't be, until she met him tonight.

Steve had been nothing but polite with her. He cracked good jokes and was really not the man Y/N expected him to be. Now that she knew that side of his, she finally acknowledged her crush on him.

Sure, she had a crush on him like the other women. But she kept it hidden given his position and job. A mobster boss? She could do so much better and safer. Y/N sighed as she reached home.

Oh, what will her feelings evolve into?

---

Y/N stood outside Steve's extravagant mansion, reconsidering her decision. She was dressed in a simple, flowy white sundress. She took in a deep breath and walked through the gates. The walk from the gates to the door of the mansion was long, but Y/N appreciated it since it gave her time to look at his pretty garden.

As soon as she walked up the stairs to the door, it opened. Steve stood there, dressed handsomely in a black suit. Steve, when he saw her, nearly choked on his own spit.

The dress she wore was damn close to being mistaken as a wedding dress. Honestly, Y/N looked like a bride to him. His bride, he thought to himself. Stop it, you met her yesterday! Similar thoughts were running through Y/N's head.

"Y/N! So glad you came." Steve smiled broadly to hide his inappropriate thoughts. "Hi Mr Rogers," she waved, letting him wrap his arms around her as he hugged her. "Steve, please." He kept his arm around her as they walked inside, towards her infirmary. Y/N noticed that there were guards outside every room they passed.

Steve, meanwhile, noticed how all the guards were smirking cheekily at him. He went a bit red and glared at them. The two lovebirds finally reached the infirmary of the mansion. Y/N gasped in awe as Steve opened the door to the beautiful room. "This will be your office," he told her proudly and she gave him a broad smile.

"I will love working here!" she squealed, jumping into his arms. Caught off guard, Steve stumbled backwards but hugged her back. After looking around the room, they walked outside. Steve led her up the stairs, where the bedrooms were.

She would be staying there, that would ensure her availability 24/7. It wasn't really a big deal for Steve, the mansion was super big and cozy. Y/N was confused, though. What could be upstairs? To her surprise, Steve showed her to a bedroom. "Um, this bedroom is nice, I guess. But why are you showing me this?"

"You'll be living here," Steve said, shrugging. Y/N's eyes widened. "And who decided that?" she scoffed. "I thought you knew," Steve narrowed his eyes, confused. "I knew that I'd be staying at your place? How?" she yelled. Didn't she wanna stay there? "Because you're working for me!" he yelled back.

His temper snapped. "You don't own me, Rogers, I'm only working for you. You can't tell me where I'm supposed to live and where not," she spat bitterly. Steve glared at her use of his last name. "How else do you think I'm going to ensure you are available everyday?" he shouted, crossing his arms. Both of them held glares on their faces.

Suddenly, Y/N sighed. "I'm sorry," she mumbled and Steve's glare softened. "Don't apologize. I should've told you before," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek. "Do you still want me around?" she asked tiredly, looking at him.

He nodded readily, of course he did. For his sake as well. "Good. When do I move in?" she chuckled. "Any time you want," he told her, smiling. He gave her a tour of the mansion and she left.

---

6 months passed since Y/N agreed to work with Steve. And what fun those months were... Y/N loved living with the mobster boss. He brought patients nearly everyday, though. In her free time, Y/N roamed around the mansion, cooked or went to the garden to enjoy the view.

She loved the garden especially, it was filled with beautiful flowers and there was a swing, too. She and Steve did not hang out much, he was always busy some way or another. Today, that wasn't the case. Y/N had fallen for the man, indefinitely. They found out more about each other when they started living together.

She found out that he was actually a sweetheart under that hardcore facade and Steve found out that he missed being in a steady relationship. He had had girlfriends before but only for nights, or weeks, at length. Never more than that. Now that Y/N was in his life, he wanted nothing more than to be hers. They had lived together for 6 months now and Steve was sure he loved her.

He couldn't find the courage to confess. What if she didn't like him back, thought he was weird and quit working for him? What if she stopped living with him? She loved the mansion, all her needs were met here. Would she give that up just because he confessed? He couldn't risk it. Y/N was worried about the same things but from different perspectives.

What if he fired her, made her pack her bags and leave? She didn't want to go.

Y/N sighed as she lay down on the soft grass of the garden, reading a book. Steve was right next to her, picking the petals off a flower. She noticed him and laughed. "What are you doing?" Y/N asked him, smirking. "She loves me, she loves me not," he smirked back, now used to her sass. "About whom?" Y/N snorted, sitting up.

She was a bit disheartened. "This really great woman I know. She's really beautiful, you know? She's also super intelligent, by the way. And she's caring, kind, helpful… I love her." Y/N's heart shattered at his words. He loved this woman. Meaning, her feelings were useless.

"She sounds lovely," Y/N choked out, looking at her book. "She is. But I don't know if she likes me back. We've only known each other for 6 months, I met her at a bar. There are a lot of disastrous things that could happen if I confessed," Steve sighed, smiling at her. Something struck inside Y/N's head.

He was talking about her!

"Like what?" she asked, now smiling at him. "Oh, I don't know… she wouldn't like me back, move out, stop working for me, agree to never see me again… I don't want that to happen," he chuckled, looking at Y/N. She shifted closer to him, wrapping her arms around him.

"I'm pretty sure none of it would happen. She would definitely say she loves you back," Y/N whispered. Steve hugged her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. "Do you really?" he asked softly. "I do, Steve, what's there not to like about you?" she chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

"The fact that I'm a mobster?" he chuckled into her shoulder, pulling her on his lap. "I don't care about that. You're so much more than that. You're a good man, you treat innocent people nicely… you're a sweetheart when you want to be," she giggled, kissing the top of his head.

Steve pulled away and brought her face closer to his, pressing their lips together. He had waited so long for this to happen. Y/N kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I love you," Steve breathed out, smiling up at his woman. "I love you, too," Y/N grinned. They spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden together.

---

a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed!

[literaticat]

What is the reality of ever getting out of the slush pile these days? Thousands of writers. Tons of editors hawking their services. Professional organizations offering courses and workshops. Everyone chasing the dream and being sold a bill of goods to think it can happen for them… but what are the odds of getting a picture book agent REALLy?

Yep, writing IS a highly competitive field. Just like it's highly competitive to be a professional actor, or olympic-level figure skater, or a fashion designer, or violinist, or baseball player, or whatever. LOTS of people dream about those things, or are amateurs at those things - very few people, by comparison, make it to the point where they are actually doing this thing as their full-time job.

However, no rational adult would seriously think, "hey, I know the rules of baseball and I am decent at tossing a ball to my dog, so even though I’m 40, outta shape, and I’ve never even tried out to be on a team, I'm gonna be a pitcher for the Yankees." It's a KNOWN FACT that being a professional baseball player is a demanding and competitive job, and there are hundreds of thousands of people who are extremely fit, well-trained, exceptionally talented and driven vying for those opportunities.

By contrast, writing seems a lot more attainable. There’s a very low barrier for entry, for one – you don’t have to take a class, or pay a dime, to write something, or to query agents, or to send your work to publishers. You don’t have to know what you are doing or be good at it.

(And trust me, most people think they could be a published author, whether they have actually written a word or not – that’s why I don’t tell people what I do for a living, because I don’t need my dentist trying to pitch a kids book to me AGAIN.)

In a way, you might think, well uh-oh – that means it is even MORE competitive. You know that agents say they take on very few new clients a year – so if they are going to take on, say, TWO new picture book clients, and they get potentially TWO THOUSAND queries… Well, you can crunch the numbers. Not great odds, almost zero in fact. :(

However. HOWEVER! If you are sitting around writing to the the Q&A of a literary agent for fun on a Friday night – I am gonna go ahead and hazard a guess that you’ve also done other kinds of research, and might be more well-informed about publishing than Rando McDentist. You have read and appreciate children’s books. You have probably tried to send your query to agents who rep the general category in which you write, you’ve written a decent query letter, you’ve made sure your work is pretty solid, no major typos, etc.

Well, if all that is true, then you aren’t competing with all those thousands of random queries AT ALL. You are only competing with the other folks that are at the same level as you – which means you are competing with, maybe, 200 people for those 2 potential slots with that agent. Still long odds, obviously, but a heck of a lot less daunting, I’d say.

Now let’s go a step further. You have a critique group, you have studied children’s books and writing, you have learned and edited and actively tried to make your writing not just good but GREAT, you have learned about the current market for the category you write in, you’ve written a stand out query and really targeted the agents you are sending to brilliantly – well guess what, now you are only competing with, like, 40 people. Still a competitition, but one that is MUCH more likely to pan out in your favor if you combine all that with persistence. (Because, after all, there are a fair number of agents, and though all of them will have also gotten 40 or so really GREAT queries – all of them have different taste, so what ends up on top might be different for each!)

(And yes, as you mentioned, there is an entire ecosystem of people and organizations built to help writers “level up” on this journey, providing anything from education to editorial services to networking opportunities, and more. Some of them cost a lot of money, some are inexpensive or free; Some are well worth it, and some are scammy. While there definitely ARE con artists who take advantage of dreamy-eyed newbs, I’d say the majority of folks in this ecosystem actually DO want to be helpful, not hurtful, to authors. And either way, I don’t think their presence matters much to the crux of your ACTUAL question, which was, “what are the odds of getting out of the slush pile”!)

[malebodysuittf]

After The Halloween Party

I’ve always wanted to go to a Halloween party. The ones where everyone’s in some low quality costume, skin showing, loud music. Watching everyone get wasted and shit. But I’ve never been invited to one. It was hard to connect with these other people in uni. I didn’t feel the same as them. Maybe I had a bit of an old soul, or maybe I just hadn’t hit my peak yet. But I didn’t really feel like I fit in. 

You know who did, though?  My roommate, Maverick. 

He had always been the popular guy. The amount of times he’s hosted a loud ass party while I’m trying to have a chill weekend...He hasn’t been mean to me or anything, but even then, it’s bothersome. The stench of weed and drunk girls is always awful. 

This is my last year at uni, and I was determined to go to a Halloween party. A friend of mine sold some...suspicious objects. When I told him about my struggles, I remember him offering me what he called a “magic zipper”. He told me you could slap it onto someone’s back, and zip them down, and it’d empty them out into a suit. Like a wearable costume. “It’s in the spirit of Halloween, isn’t it?” 

Despite the Halloween spirit, the idea of turning my roommate into a bodysuit sounded evil. “Don’t worry, when you’re done with him, just take the suit off and peel the zipper off. Just don’t peel the zipper off while you’re wearing it...no way out then.” I thought it was a load of shit until he showed me his creepy collection of suits...including one of my professors, who had been “away on family business” for the past week. I knew he had to be telling the truth. 

And so, I waited for my roommate to come out of his room. I knew he was going to a party tonight. The door opened and my shirtless roommate walked out, giving me a glance and a smile. 

“Hey fam, gonna head to the party soon. Just gotta change.” I gave him an assertive nod and looked away, hearing him enter his bathroom while holding some clothes. I pulled the zipper out of my pocket, and gave a exasperated sigh. I was going to do it. 

Knock knock

“Hey fam, wh-!” I quickly tackled him into the wall and knocked the air out of him. Taking advantage of him being stunned, I forcefully spun him around and slapped the zipper onto his back. “What the fuck are you doing?” I started to pull at the zipper, opening him up from starting from the bottom. As I unzipped him, he visibly deflated and I could see him struggling to stay on his feet. “What? I-I can’t feel my legs? WHY CAN’T I FEEL MY LEGS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MAN?” I gave him a devilish grin. “Relax, it’s just for a night.” Maverick started to slouch as he tried to grip the wall for support as he legs crumpled, as if a pair of pants. He started to panic as he realized there was nothing left but his skin, watching as arms flopped and his fingers flailed emptily. I finally unzipped him up to his neck, and he collapsed over himself. There was nothing left of him but a skinsuit to wear. 

I lifted the suit up as his shorts and boxers slipped off effortlessly, revealing a lengthy package. No wonder he got so many girls. Maverick’s poor face sagged as the skinsuit hung around in the air, nothing inside. I carefully laid his skin on the floor, back facing upwards, and started to stick my legs into his, making sure to fit perfectly into the suit. Maverick worked out and had muscles, but he stayed lean, making the bodysuit a tight fit. My legs in, I pushed my ass into place, and used my own hands to slot my dick into his cock sheath. I watched it balloon back to a girthy figure, likely how Maverick’s dick would be if he was hard. His skin flopping over me halfway, I pulled it up and slipped my arms in, grabbing the back to tighten Maverick’s skin like a corset as his abs regained their structure. Finally, I grabbed the head of the bodysuit, hanging over my impressive chest, I slipped my own head face-first into it. Stretching and pulling at the skin, I looked  in the mirror and saw Maverick. No one but Maverick. I grabbed his phone, or rather, MY phone and made a funny face before snapping a selfie.

“Fuck, the party’s in 30. Better get dressed.” I took the boxers and the shorts Maverick was wearing and tossed them back into his room, then looked at the costume he had brought into the bathroom. Some cheesy, stereotypically revealing Halloween costume. Y’know what? Fuck it. When you look this good, you don’t need to follow the rules. I was just gonna go as “myself”, Maverick O’Hare. Looking like this, girls will still wanna fuck me. 

I put on a dapper looking button-up shirt and slacks, and looked at myself in the mirror. 

“Definitely gonna get fucked looking like this. Thanks for the costume, Maverick.” 

30 minutes later, walking to my frat bro’s house, and I hear blaringly loud music and people screaming. I knew I was at the right place. I rung the doorbell, and he greeted me in a low-effort Batman costume with his abs all out. “Maverick, what’s up, bro! What, uh...what’re you dressed as?” I gave him a mischievous smile, and simply said, “Maverick, that’s it. Listen fam, I’m just here to get laid. Don’t tell the girls.” He gave a cocky chuckle as he let me in. God, even though I was wearing Maverick, I was still...me. This kind of shit wasn’t my thing, but...at least I got to experience it. And I’d definitely be able to get laid tonight. So I stood by the drinks, downing cup, after cup, after cup. A girl in a skimpy cat costume, clearly drunk, stumbles up to me. “Hey Maverick...I’ve seen how you look at me. Why don’t we take this upstairs?” She giggles flirtatiously and grabs my collar, pulling me upstairs. We lock the door behind us and she pushes me onto the bed. It’s all blurry...I’ve had so much to drink. But I can still feel all the sensations. I can feel a tongue in my mouth as hands on my chest pull apart my shirt. I can hear a faint, “What the hell is this, Maverick?” A ripping sensation on my back along with a playful laugh...For the moment, the only thing I want is this woman’s body...

~

The sun shined directly into my eyes as I woke up. “Oh fuck...I didn’t mean to stay the night. I looked at the naked girl next to me, covering her up with the blanket as I stood up and pulled some pants on. 

“Wild night...I got the experience I wanted.” I walked into the bathroom and locked the door, speaking quietly so the girl wouldn’t be able to hear me. “You know Maverick, this body was nice and the night was fun, but...I miss my old life. This just isn’t for me. I can’t wait to take you off...” I reached behind me to feel for the zipper, but there was nothing. Wait...no. NO...THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING. I had too much to drink...I didn’t notice...it can’t be...? 

I walked back to the bed, where I saw the girl start  to wake up. I looked around, and spotted the zipper on the ground. “W-What the fuck? NO! I didn’t want to do this to Maverick! I don’t want this! Wh-what...no, it’s still just a suit!” I started tear out my hair, pull at my lips, trying to stretch Maverick’s finger’s off, looking for some sign that...that I was still wearing a suit, that I wasn’t Maverick, that I didn’t just permanently take my roommate’s skin...

The girl had woken up to my frantic scrambling. 

“Maverick? What are you doing? Your scaring me!” 

“What the hell did you do? Tell me you didn’t take that zipper off of me, please!” 

“W-what? That thing? I-I don’t know! It was like a sticker on you. It was part of your costume, right?” She attempted to make a light-hearted joke. “Don’t worry babe, it was past midnight. Halloween was over.” I was in complete shock, when she enticingly walked up to me and teased me with her tongue out, tracing my abs. “You shouldn’t wear costume to cover up this sexy body of yours.” 

“I...I don’t think I have a choice.” 

[3wisellamas]

Deltarune Halloween Prompts Day 18: Pumpkin Spice CD Bagels

---

It took all Sweet had to ignore the bagels in the box at their feet. Not easy, though, when even the smell wafting up from it would've been enough to make them drool if they were capable of it.

Taking another long swig of their pumpkin spice latte, Sweet sighed, tapping their fingers anxiously on the cardboard. It was autumn. It was pumpkin spice season. And Sweet wasn't allowed to have even a single one of the bagels K_K and Cap'n had spent all morning baking, not yet anyway. They'd promised Sweet a whole batch for themself if they sold the rest, without taking a single bite.

One bite always led to one whole bagel. Then two. Then six. Then a dozen, then a baker's dozen, then a K_K dozen, then...Sweet had a problem, he knew it. Once the stale Cyber City air started cooling down and the sweaters got dug out of the back of the closet, Sweet's eye would instantly turn to the menu board at his favorite coffee shop, waiting for the pumpkin spice flavors to be added. Then the bakeries would start stocking pumpkin spice rolls and cookies, and the tea shop switched from own flavor to pumpkin spice, and even the laundromat down the street would put a limited supply of pumpkin spice-scented detergent into the vending machine at the door, which of course got emptied right away by the first customer of the season. The scent was still strong, and Sweet sniffed his sweater again, hoping it'd distract him from the bagels as he finished off his sixth latte of the morning.

He wasn't sure what it was about the combination of pumpkin, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves that he was so addicted to, but he had a problem, the best problem in the world, and Cap'n and K_K knew it. They'd designed a special box to contain their special pumpkin spice CD bagels that Sweet couldn't break into prematurely, with the latch only opening when he had Dark Dollars to slip into the slot at the top. Of course, once it was open there was no way to limit how many bagels could be removed, aside from Sweet's own self-restraint, which was where the bribe of extra bagels at the end of the day came in. K_K and Cap'n were baking them right at that moment, and Sweet just had to be patient...

Of course, with his problem, being patient was the most difficult thing in the world.

A customer finally stopped, waving to get Sweet's attention away from that box. "Hey, can I try one of those pumpkin spice things? They sound really good!"

"Oh, they are, believe me..." Sweet took the Swatchling's money and unlocked the box, breathing in the scent heavily as he passed them their treat. One sale, out of...he counted. Nineteen more bagels, and he had to sell all of them before he could have some for himself.

Looking down at them, though, an idea formed. All nineteen of those bagels were supposed to go to customers...but their bandmates hadn't said Sweet COULDN'T be a customer, did they? They reached into their pocket, pulling out a few Dark Dollars, enough for one bagel, and went ahead and helped themself, savoring the flavor of their favorite season, made even better by their bandmates' handiwork.

"Guys, you outdid yourselves on these," he muttered through a speakerful of pumpkin spice and CD shards. Without thinking, Sweet reached back down into the still-open box, but stopped himself just in time. He could do this! He'd had one bagel, he could make it to the end of the day for more, couldn't he...?

Hours later, Sweet finally made it through the rest of his CD bagel stock and landed his turntable back at the shop, racing inside with the empty box in his hands. "All gone! Sold 'em all!"

"Alright!" Sweet tossed the box into Cap'n's waiting arms, as the boombox stepped out of the kitchen to greet them. "K_K's almost done with the next batch! But, uh, 'fore ya start droolin' all over the place, Sweet..."

"Yeah, yeah. Just check the box, okay Cap?" He did so, counting the money inside the slot -- everything was accounted for.

"Hey, ya actually did sell 'em all!"

"Really?!" K_K appeared next, holding a tray of freshly-baked bagels, smiling as he noticed Sweet's eye start to water at the pumpkin spice scent. "I'm really proud of you, Sweet. You really didn't eat any of 'em!"

"Y-Yeah..." A subtle blush covered Sweet's speaker, which came with a lump in their throat they struggled to push down. They'd technically sold all of them, alright...just, not all to customers. Sweet would just have to work extra scrap projects to make up for the dent in their own wallet.

Leaning down, K_K held the tray out to him. "Since you waited so patiently, here. I'll let you take the first bite!" It was all Sweet could do to resist gobbling the entire tray down immediately, but...he paused, looking down at them, and absentmindedly rubbing the front of his sweater over his full stomach nervously. Sweet had had nineteen of the things already, did he really want more?

Yes. Yes he did. Preparing himself for a killer stomachache later, Sweet greedily snatched a whole handful and scarfed them right down, making K_K giggle, none the wiser.

[otterbagel]

The Reunion (Part 1) Simon x Reader

Reader makes a rash decision, one that has long lasting consequences.

(Notes: There are two parts to this! Next part should be out next week. I'll probably start spacing out my posts after this so I don't get burnt out like last time. Also, didn't get to edit this one as much as I should've; the whole thing ended up pretty long and would take a long time everytime I tried to edit it. Can't believe it took me this long to finish one about Simon!!!)

"Hey, this is quite the unusual find, you gotta admit."

   Your eyebrow raised without hesitation, your eyes looking down to check your shoes. "Not really," you remarked softly, eyes going back up to meet the object of the discussion: a PL600 android.

   The salesman, who had uncomfortably started hounding you for the sale after you had curiously drifted towards the humanoid, was gesturing towards it flippantly with a toothy grin. "At this price?! Tell me, no, tell me where you found one this cheap— in this good a condition?"

   Your mouth automatically frowned. The arms were covered by a dark undershirt that made most of the skin unseeable— any damage not on the face and hands wouldn't be factored into the buying purchase. You had a feeling this clothing choice was intentional.

   "Just three hundred bucks!" The seller's round face turned into your line of sight. You quickly looked away out of discomfort.

   Your eyes landed onto the android's clear blue ones. You hadn't looked very closely at any androids before, despite walking amongst them nearly every day. Did they all look this lifelike? 

   Maybe you were looking way too into it. 

   You swallowed, aggressively fumbling for your wallet with a grunt of annoyance. "Okay, fine. Three hundred."

   With a pleased noise, the seller took off with your card, waving it in the air between two of his fingers. 

   You crossed your arms beside the android, who didn't seem to take any notice of what had just transpired. 

…

   Reality had begun to hit you like a truck on the way home.

   By the time you opened the door to your tiny house, you realized just how big of a rash decision you had just made.

   The android stood behind you quietly and without complaint as you released the door handle, letting the door softly bang against the wall. You stared dumbly into your own house, coat hanging limply from one of your dangling arms as you searched your brain for a solution. 

   You frowned, shaking your head rapidly. "I have no room for this."

   "Excuse me—"

   You jumped at the android's sudden intrusion into your own self reprimand, a small noise of fright escaping you before you could even begin to think of holding it back.

   "—would you like me to get started?"

   "Uh, yeah yeah yeah, uh… do whatever you want," you waved it off awkwardly, holding a hand to your chest as you attempted to catch your breath. You hurried inside, embarrassed of the whole situation. 

   You sat down on the couch as the android closed the door and walked past you and into the kitchen.

   Without turning it on, you stared at the TV as your fingertips rubbed against your face in nervousness.

   That had been such an impulse buy. You couldn't believe you had done that.

   The faucet turned on for a moment. You think you had put a cup in there, but there wasn't much else to clean.

   It seemed to be working properly. The guy who sold it was certainly odd and abrasive, but all in all it was a pretty good deal. Usually they were more than twice as much; newer models so expensive that the thought of you owning one was impossible. Even if it had some cosmetic damages, that was a small issue compared to its functionality.

   Trying to ignore the strange new entity in the house, you flipped on the TV. It was the news.

   There was some story about a recent fire that had decimated a small apartment building on the outskirts of Detroit. The police said it likely had something to do with Red Ice, although most evidence would probably be destroyed.

   The android had finished whatever it was doing in the kitchen and had quietly begun watching the TV from the archway. 

   You looked at it as it parted its lips in preparation to speak. "Are you a fan of the news?"

   "Sort of," you chuckled, looking back to the screen. "I work at a newstation— not this one, but I like checking it out from time to time."

   The android nodded, continuing to watch the screen as it held its hands politely behind its back.

   You looked it over, getting that feeling of nervousness again. "W-what's your name?" You blurted out quietly and without any grace.

   It blinked at you, the LED spinning blue for a second. "My previous owners named me Simon. Would you like to change my name?"

   You shook your head to yourself. "Do you like your name?"

   It squinted at you in confusion before returning to its natural, composed look. "It's good," it responded.

   Although you tried to maintain a jovial body language, you weren't doing a good job. "Great! Si… Simon is a great name," you chirped out awkwardly.

   "Thank you," Simon replied, giving a small head bow.

   You turned your head away from it as you felt your face grow warm with embarrassment. 

   What on Earth was happening to you?

   

…

   You had been having a strange dream about work when you heard someone calling your name.

   "...huh…?" you called out groggily.

   Your name again. "...I think you're going to be late for work at this rate…"

   Your eyes fluttered open. Simon was fiddling with his hands as he held them in front of his chest, eyes moving between you and the clock beside the bed.

   It said 8:32.

   The comforter was flung nearly off the bed as you jumped up in a panic. "Oh geez, yeah I'm gonna be late…" Random clothes filled your arms that you grabbed from your drawers as you prepared to go to work. "Thanks for waking me."

   Simon quietly made his way over to you as you tried finding a pair of socks. "I didn't hear you walking around this morning," he said with a chuckle. "And where you stayed up later than usual last night… I figured…"

   A laugh escaped you as you headed off towards the bathroom to get ready.

   He had been living here… maybe three months? It had seemed like a much longer time than that. In that amount of time, things had definitely changed between you two.

   Despite it being his intended purpose, it felt strange to have someone doing all your housework for you. It became an odd ritual pretty quickly: once you got home, you would work on chores together. Not that there were many— that was one of the perks of having a small house— but it just made you feel better about the whole thing.

   The whole process was a bit cathartic for you; away from the hustle and bustle of the busy, stressful life at the newstation and into a warm, domestic one.

   You hurried to the front door to slip on your shoes, Simon leaving his spot on the couch to see you off. 

   "I think I'll make it on time," you joked as you looked up at him. "Thanks again."

   "No problem…" he responded quietly, struggling to retain eye contact with you.

   As you rose to your feet, he gave you a brief hug. Your face immediately began to burn bright red.

   "Have… have a good day at work…" he stuttered out before walking in quick strides to the kitchen.

   You were still frozen in place by the time he exited your vision. "Y-you too…" you blurted out before fumbling out the door, realizing your linguistic blunder before you had even closed the door.

   As you headed down the street, you let your hands touch your heated face. 

…

   You had nearly run home out of excitement.

   It had been such a small thing, but the prospects of your future career had your mind going nuts.

   After fumbling to get the key in the door and tossing it open, you slung your coat off your arms in a fluid motion. "Simon! Simon! You won't believe it!"

   He was sitting on the couch— like he usually had been over the past year— engaged in some overly dramatic show you weren't particularly fond of. His eyes were wide at your sudden entrance. "Yes?"

   You let the door make its way closed before you kicked it shut behind you, holding your arms out. "They said they liked my article!"

   Simon stared for a moment before his LED flashed in excitement. "THE article?" He sat up on the edge of his seat, smiling at you as he was filled with a wave of positive energy.

   "Yeah!" You nodded. "Not to get you too excited, but they're showing it to some of the higher ups, but it looks like I might get my own schedule slot soon!"

   "Oh wow!" He exclaimed, rising to his feet and taking you into his arms to lift you up for a split second. "I knew it would happen! I'm so proud!"

   You erupted into a fit of giggles as he held you, almost enjoying his praise as much as your own success. "Thanks Simon, I couldn't have done it without you."

   He released you, letting his hands rest against your sides. "That's not true," he responded quietly, his face red as he looked to the side.

   With a warm smile, you nodded to him. "Yes," you drawed out for effect. "You even came up with the idea. And, not to mention, the moral support."

   He stepped back a little, crossing his arms as he attempted to hide his expression of happiness. "You're too kind."

   The TV played in the silence, Simon fiddling with the edge of one of his sleeves as he pulled it down.

   Your mind raced as you looked at his hand, debating on bringing it up right now when the mood was so light.

   "They mentioned… uh... increasing my pay," you began, watching his expression for any hint of distress. "I thought that maybe… we could finally… you know… get that fixed…"

   His hands trailed along his sleeve as he nodded to himself, seemingly lost in thought. "Yeah," he responded. "That would be nice… but it would be so expensive… are you sure?"

   It had taken a few weeks to first see it, and even longer for you to see the full extent of the damage, but your initial thoughts had been correct. The long sleeves had been put on him for a reason, and it had seemed as though it had gradually become a personal choice as well.

   His forearms and biceps had a lot of physical damage, certainly from his previous owners. 

   Luckily, it had been almost purely cosmetic. Aside from a few light dents and scratches to his actual body, it was just a matter of getting the covering fixed. As of now, the white sheen of his android body was always visible underneath his sleeves.

   You wrung your hands together out of nervousness. "I just know how you said that you wanted it fixed," you took in a sharp inhale. "It won't be a problem to actually do, I've already been saving for a while…"

   He smiled, rushing in to hug you again. You, a bit caught off guard this time, was frozen in place.

   "I'd like to put the past behind me," he said as you finally came to and hugged him back, albeit still in a bit of a shock. "I think this is the first step."

   As you embraced, you couldn't help but feel a pang of excitement and anxiety.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Akio’s Idea

CW: Some vague past noncon references, discussion of traumatic events, referenced minor whump, referenced Oliver being gross as shit - all vague, Akio Gets An Idea, modern slavery

(Lisa Huang appears in Teenage Dream)

“Thanks for driving down here, Lisa.” 

“No problem.” Lisa Huang pushes her glasses back up on her nose, sitting back in the hard plastic chair in the side room with its large conference table. The faint sounds of the gym are still audible here. Lisa’s got one ankle laid over the other knee, hands behind her head as she looks around. The heavy knit cap on her head is a deep saturated orange, the rest of her clothes a mix of faded gray and blacks. It makes her look, just a little, like she’s wearing a pumpkin on her head. “I needed to meet my sister for lunch some time this month, so I figured, two birds one stone. The drive down was really pretty, anyway. Wow, the gym has hardly changed at all, has it?”

“Not really.” Akio gives her a half-smile. He’s in his own casual clothes, just a hoodie over a t-shirt and jeans. He feels like she’ll see his heart beating, the way he shifts from foot to foot. Lisa was always good at reading people, better than Akio’s ever been, anyway. “New equipment, new kids, but… you know. You probably didn’t exactly get lost.”

“Ha! No. I could have walked to this room with my eyes closed.” She gestures at a large framed photo across the room, settled along a wall between two windows. “They haven’t even changed the team photo. We were, like, kids when we went there.”

Akio looks over his shoulder.

He’s right in the center of the photo, next to the old governor, smiling brightly for the camera. On either end of the line, their coaches. Spread throughout the center, all of them, a range of ages, wearing matching windbreakers and gym pants, smiling. All of them, smiling.

One of them, missing, presumed dead.

“Yeah, Mark’s still really proud of that, I guess.”

“I remember. That crusty old guy’s what got us the WRU sponsorship. Mark just about had a stroke when they wanted to do that whole marketing campaign with us.” Lisa laughs. Akio doesn’t. His nerves are shot, and he doesn’t want to make small talk about WRU. Not knowing what he knows. Not with who’s waiting in the hallway.

Lisa seems to pick up on his reticence. Her laughter fades, and she tilts her head, some of her black hair brushing along her shoulder. “Aki? What’s up, man? I haven’t talked to you in, like, six months and then you ask me to come down to the old gym and say it’s super important but you can’t say why on the phone. Talk to me, man. I don’t mind being here, but if you’re going to propose, I have some real bad news about how thoroughly I am not going to do that. Nothing personal, I don’t want that mess with anyone else, either.”

That does pull a laugh from him, and Lisa relaxes slightly. “Don’t worry, Lees, I’m not asking you to-... anything me,” Akio says, heading for the doorway to the conference room. His palms feel sweaty. His palms never feel sweaty. He can swing through the air and only feel the perfect rush of what his body can do, he can land on his feet, he broke an ankle once without a sound, but now… now he’s scared.

Scared of what he’s going to show her.

Scared of how she could react.

“I’m actually sort of dating someone,” Akio confesses, after a pause. “I mean. I think we’re dating.”

“Honestly, you not knowing if you’re dating someone or not is the most Nakamura thing I can imagine,” Lisa says cheerfully. “You haven’t changed much, either.”

Has he not? He feels like a whole different person since he found Tristan again. Like he’s aged ten years in a few weeks. A new anger burns under his skin, fury at grieving the loss of a boy who was never actually gone.

“What’s his name?”

Akio stops, hand on the doorknob, and turns to look over his shoulder at Lisa’s impish little grin. 

“Oh, fuck off, Aki, you think I didn’t know? We practically lived together at the gym. What’s his name? Is that why you wanted me here, to meet him maybe?”

“His name’s-... uh, his name’s Ben. He’s not here, but. Okay, so. There’s something I needed to show you today. I want to show everybody from the old group, but… but I wanted to start with you.” He can feel heat in his eyes, unfamiliar fear making his pulse thrum. Something in his expression makes her own smile fade.

Lisa Huang leans forward, dropping both feet to the floor. She watches him, dark eyes traveling over his face. “Aki? What’s wrong?”

Akio laughs, a little helplessly. “Just… so much is wrong, Lisa.”

“Talk to me, Nakamura. What’s going on?” Lisa’s concern is open, and genuine, and he can’t think of any way to answer except just to open the door, glancing to where Chris is waiting sitting on a bench in the hallway, and gesture him inside.

Chris comes in slowly - he’s nervous, too, and one hand grips tightly to the oversized plastic feather necklace he’s always wearing, rubbing his thumb over the carved vanes. He’d be less recognizable, Akio thinks, if he still had the long blue hair and not the short copper. As it is, he’s all giant green eyes and narrow chin, black compression shirt under a loose oversized blue one, black jeans, wearing his friend’s old black-and-white checked shoes. 

Lisa glances at him, and he’d be less recognizable, maybe, with blue hair, but Akio sees the color drain from her face as she takes in a man who is, as far as she knows, a very dead boy. She moves to stand, gets halfway up, drops back down into the seat again. “Aki-” Her voice catches, cuts off. “Akio, what-... who is-”

“Lisa.” Akio’s own voice is rough, staying close as Chris steps inside further, then stops. His thumb rubs at the plastic feather, his other hand curves over his stomach, gripping into the fabric of his t-shirt. “This is-”

“Tristan fucking Higgs.” Lisa cuts him off, getting to her feet again. “He’s-... Aki, Tristan’s-”

“A little less dead than we were supposed to think he was. This is, um. Christopher Stanton.” When Lisa looks at him, eyebrows furrowing, Akio shakes his own head in response. “He was Tristan Higgs. Our, our Tris-... but he ended up-”

“Lisa,” Chris says, suddenly, the name slotting into place in a mind where memories still slip and slide out of his awareness seemingly at will. They stick or they don’t, and Akio doesn’t know what makes the difference. His eyes light up, and he takes another two steps forward, then stops when Lisa flinches slightly back. “Lisa, um, Lisa… Lisa-... you, you, you you did, um, you did, you were good at the uneven bars, were, you you you-you… you wore the, the same ponytail holder every time you did a meet.”

Lisa’s eyes fill with tears, the glitter of them visible even across the room, and her hands come up to cover her mouth. “Oh my God,” She whispers. She sits back down, but it’s more like her legs simply stop working, dropping so heavily the chair creaks beneath her. She keeps whispering, oh my god, oh my god, over and over, her face ash-gray, her eyes locked on Chris’s face. 

“Wha-... what…” Lisa takes in a breath, and then another, and Chris moves closer to her, bit by bit. Neither of them is able to close the last foot or so of distance, and Akio watches them, his own lips pressed together into a thin line. He’d expected her to deny it, to call this a joke, to call Chris an impostor, but-

Lisa was the one closest to Tris, other than him.

Lisa remembers him well enough to see him in the older, more angular face in front of her, knows him well enough to hear in his speech and the way his fingers tap carefully on his own skin - finger-twist tap tap tap - that it’s Tristan, through and through.

“What happened to you?” Lisa manages. She sounds like she’s choking on the words.

Chris rocks a little, uncertainly, his eyes drifting to look to the windows, the walls, drifting over the framed team photos over the years. “My, my, my parents-... after-”

“I remember that. But you-... you had to go live with someone-”

“My, my aunt.” Chris’s eyes find the old photo of the team with the governor and lock on. His pale eyebrows come together a little, frowning. Something in his face goes distant. “She, she, she… she gave me up.”

Lisa looks at Akio, who nods. “It’s true, as far as I can tell. He went to stay with his mom’s sister, and then… WRU.”

“After he ran away?”

Akio swallows, and shakes his head. “He, uh. He says he never ran away.” He doesn’t mean to talk for Chris, but Chris is moving away from them, staring at the photo on the wall, wandering towards it and away from he and Lisa entirely. “She, uh. She sold him.”

Lisa jerks forward, as though she’ll be sick on the floor, and closes her eyes. “That’s not possible,” She says, in a low voice. “That can’t be what happened. They would-... nobody would do that to someone, nobody would-”

“They did it to him. He didn’t even know who he was, Lees. They gave him a new name and did that thing where they take all his memories and they sold him to someone.”

Akio knows the look on Lisa’s face. Her mind is spinning, overwhelmed. He knows the feeling, he’s cycled through it a hundred times now, his body and brain working to understand that while he was crying in his bed missing his best friend, visiting his parents’ fucking graves to leave flowers for him, Tristan was locked up somewhere, not even knowing who he was.

“But WRU only takes people who sign up on purpose.” Lisa’s hands drop. Her mouth barely moves. There’s almost no sound to the words. 

Akio takes in a breath, glancing over at Chris, standing in front of the photo of the team at the governor’s mansion. “So, I asked, he says-... that’s a lie. They… steal people. Or people get given to them, like Tris was.”

“Who-... who did they sell him to?”

“Him. I was, was, was sold to him.”

The two of them look over to where Chris is pointing at the center of the photo. Akio moves over to him, Lisa pushing herself up to follow on his heels. 

Akio’s eyes follow the line of Chris's arm, to his index finger pressed just lightly against the glass covering the photo in the frame. Lisa jerks in a breath.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” She says, voice flat, almost empty, the emotions struggling to catch up to the pile of information building up. “That’s-... that’s the governor that got fucking murdered-”

“Right before he was supposed to testify against WRU,” Akio says, blinking. “I remember. Our coach was super pissed because of the publicity. He had some kind of bombshell something that was going to-... oh. Oh shit.”

If Chris hears either of them, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at the man in the photo, tracing the line of his face with his fingertip. 

"Right there," Chris says. “I was there.” His voice is nearly drowned out by the sound of creaking, of shouting, of bodies in the air or on mats coming in through the open door. Behind them, out in the practice area, nothing changes. Everything is the same, with Tristan and without him. Life went on.

Life goes on.

Here, though, the silence draws out, as Akio and Lisa stare at Chris's fingernail, with a star sticker stuck to it, and at the photo of the old governor, the one who died, with his arm around Akio's shoulders. Here, time stands horribly still. 

"What do you mean-... you’d been… I mean, we had been told you’d, um, that you’d… you know-"

"Under the, the, the desk." Chris taps lightly on the glass. The desk was right behind them, in the photo. His finger is tapping just behind Akio's legs. "I was... right, right, right there. He, he, he, he liked that no one ever saw me. I was there.”

Akio looks at the smile on Governor Branch's face and remembers how his skin crawled at the man's too-friendly touch. How he’d kept asking questions about Tristan, pushing until Akio had gotten upset. How he’d joked with them and Akio had gone home and taken a shower that nearly burned him from the heat just to feel clean for reasons he couldn’t explain to himself. 

How the governor kept asking about Tristan.

"I'm going to be sick," He whispers. Akio Nakamura, smiling gymnast, is standing right in front of the fucking desk. Oliver's hand curved around the ball of his shoulder and he's leaning in and, oh god, they're all smiling, all of them.

Their coaches had been so happy for the photo op.

“Tristan-” Neither of them correct Lisa on the name. “Are you-... are you saying you were under the desk when this photo was taken?” 

Lisa’s in the photo, too. She’s off to the side, not really looking at the camera, smiling tightly. Lisa never liked photos, and she didn’t even want to go to the governor’s mansion that day. Her hair was longer then. 

“Probably. Some… sometimes he would, um, he, he, he would, he would… make me wait in his, his, his room.”

“Gross,” Lisa says, weakly. “How-... how old were you?”

Chris blinks. He’s lost, Akio thinks. Inside his head, inside the memories he can’t hold on to very well. Grasping on with slippery fingers to images and thoughts that someone will have to remind him of later. “They, they, they, they told me to say I-I was eighteen.” He presses his finger directly over Oliver Branch’s face, digging the flat of it in until a smudged fingerprint nearly obscures the man’s face entirely. “They beat me un, until I said it.”

“WRU did?”

Chris nods. 

“But you weren’t…”

“No.”

"Why would Governor Branch buy-... But why..."

"Too pretty," Chris whispers. "Too, too, too pretty for... for, um, for for anything else. He, he, he… wanted young." There's a healing wound on his forehead sure to scar and his green eyes are dark and Akio should move, before he throws up on the photo.

He can't. He keeps staring at the desk, like if he tries hard enough, he can step in and tell a younger version of himself Tristan isn't dead, he's right there, just look. Just look. Just look.

Tris was right there the whole time.

While Oliver Branch looked at Akio Nakamura like dinner laid out for him on a plate, he had Tristan under his desk, and when they left he probably pulled him out from under the desk and-

Akio has to turn away, then, jamming his hands into his hoodie pockets and walking away, to the window, breathing in and out as he stares at the cars in the parking lot outside. His blood rushes in his ears, pounds through his temples. His fingers pulse.

Behind him, Lisa asks Chris about his life now, and he answers, in his familiar stammer that Akio had missed so much when he had to live without it. He talks about his brother, going to college.

All of it is-... good, that Tristan rebuilt, that he has people now, a family. But he had a family then, one he should never have had to lose. 

Akio has to let them talk, because he’s afraid if he opens his mouth he’ll start screaming.

How many people has this happened to? Akio knows the company line. People disappear into WRU sometimes, running from debt or criminal charges or homelessness, and they get a whole new life. 

But he knows the other side of it now, too. He knows Chris - he knows his dead best friend was never dead at all. He knows what happened to him. He’s met a houseful of others - Chris’s older brother with a pretty smile who told him none of us ever want it, not really. The other quiet brother who has a scar on his neck he won’t talk about. The others who stared at him when he came over, terrified to get close to him, scared he’d turn them in.

Akio has started looking at the street kids he sees sometimes and wondering who ran away from WRU and who’s going to end up there. 

He’s started to wonder if it has to be that way at all. 

When he trusts his voice again, he says, “Did-... did WRU know you were-... weren’t willing-” It’s stupid, he knows better, but he wants - he wants so badly - for it to have been some kind of terrible misunderstanding. If it is, he tells himself, he can pull back from this.

If it is, he can focus on Tristan, he can walk away from the rest. 

“They, they, they call us ‘underagers’,” Chris says, and he still doesn’t look away from Oliver Branch’s face. “We, we, we have special rooms. They… know. We’re... we, we, we... we sell for more. After I, I waas rescued they, um, they they they sent people once. To take me back. My, my, my brother kept me safe.”

Akio feels a rush of heat that threatens to burn him alive in his own fury. WRU has been giving the team money and marketing opportunities and bullshit since-... since they met the governor, who had been the one to hook them up with WRU in the first place, and… and the whole time he’d known what happened to Tristan, he was what happened to Tristan, Governor Branch and his oily fucking voice and his stupid jokes and he had Tristan the whole time.

WRU knew.

They know.

They’re still doing it, probably, hurting people like Chris, sending fucking SWAT teams after them if they get out. How many people are out there hurting like this?

There’s an idea that’s been building in the back of his mind. Foggy, barely-formed. But as his anger lights him up, Akio feels the pieces coming together. Speaking up, speaking out, telling people what happened to his best friend will probably ruin his career. It could ruin his life.

But there are a lot of people like Tristan Higgs whose lives are already ruined. A whole lot more whose lives will be if nobody ever stops it. 

If he’s going to speak out, he might as well make sure everyone is listening.

“Lisa, do you still speak to the girls from the Canadian team?”

She nods, frowning. “Yeah, I speak to a bunch of different people still. Why?”

Akio looks over at Chris, at Tristan Higgs’s face. The last day he saw Tristan was at his parents’ funeral, wearing an ill-fitting suit and rocking against the weight of grief, his aunt saying it’d be awhile before he could come back to practice.

He’d never returned.

Then the texts stopped, then his aunt said he’d run off, then she said they’d found his body. Then then then. One lie after another, so she could fucking sell him. So WRU could make money off someone who needed help, who Akio couldn’t hear crying for him, for someone, for anyone, to get him out of this. 

Akio turns back, and to Lisa and Chris he’s nearly a silhouette of darkness backlit by the light from outside. 

“What if we-... what if we make it so WRU can’t do this anymore?”

“How?”

“I have an idea. Just... what if we make it so nobody can ignore what’s really happening anymore?”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary @downriver914 @vickytokio

[soniabigcheese]

Fluffember 2021 Day ... argh, I forgot

Anyways, I know the prompts are Tune and The Claw

Once again a big thank you to @gumnut-logic for the TAG prompts

*****

The theme tune to Jeopardy is infectious indeed. As John, Gordon and Alan discovered when they hit the mainland.

Gordon wanted to scour the antique shops ... for ... 'retro stuff' or as Scott would say ... trash.

Alan's sweet tooth got the better of him and the best ice cream was sold right in the middle of the arcades.

John was there, mainly to keep those two out of mischief. And maybe ... just maybe ... he could try his luck at the toy grabbing machines.

He hoped that that defective claw machine hadn't been fixed yet ... and that surly old arcade owner had lifted his ban. Because he firmly believed that somehow John had cheated.

It was only a handful of toys. Sheesh. It's not as if he'd emptied the whole booth.

Anyways, after enduring Gordon's enthusiasm at the towns only antique shop (the rest had all decided to sell online or retire) they all headed for the back of the arcade.

He treated them all to an ice cream each, knowing full well the consequences of what a sugar high will do to these already hyped up brothers.

A couple of the attendants scowled as the trio threaded their way through the slot machines, heading towards the back. His heart thudding with a mixture of excitement ... and dread.

The ding ding dings, excited chatter from kids running around, loud music and flashing bright lights were an assault on the senses. But he didn't care, his focus was that claw machine.

Coins jingled in his pocket as he approached. His heart thudding in his chest.

And the theme tune to Jeopardy suddenly popped into his head.

Ah damn

He screeched to a halt.

It wasn't there. Just some sort of dust cover with the words Out of Order stencilled on the muddy, dusty grey canvas.

Well that sucked. He'd been looking forward to playing .. and winning a few toys.

Both Gordon and Alan had vanished, their attention on the latest video game dance challenge, so he stood alone.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, he let out a gasp and turned to face ... the old arcade owner. His hair a little more salt and pepper and his moustache a bit thicker, but there was no mistaking who he was. His flint eyes peered at John, sizing him up and down.

You got to admit, this guy had an amazing memory, even for his age. Beside him, stood a lanky, curly haired lad, an insolent expression on his face.

"Is this the one?"

"Yep, that's him. And the others are scattered about."

There was a very very long and uncomfortable silence and John's mouth suddenly felt dry.

Suddenly the old man snatched John's hand and pumped it furiously, tears welling in his eyes.

"Thank you ... thank you .."

Uh ... what's going on?

At this point, John was joined by Alan and Gordon. All three looked very confused. Until the younger man explained that his kid sister was one of those people rescued when a pleasure boat ran aground and started taking in water during one of their vacations.

They'd been waiting to thank International Rescue personally ever since.

And to offer them a gift.

The cover was pulled off to reveal said claw machine in its glory.

"You can pop over any time and play. Win as many toys as you wish."

The younger man scratched the back of his neck and flushed brightly.

"Dad wanted to have 'reserved for International Rescue' painted on the canvas but I talked hin out of it. Said it wasn't a good idea."

[hitozy]

her love language ≪ masterlist ≫  see you soon! 

The night before he leaves for Brazil, Hinata finds himself in YN’s new apartment in Tokyo. His flight was early in the morning and since YN was the one that bought his ticket there…

Her place was pretty nice actually, it felt like YN. Rich, pretty and warm.

“Baby, I’m home!” Huh? He hears a little pitter patter and as the sound grows louder so does the carrier.

“YOU GOT A DOG?!” 

YN laughs as she picks up the  puppy, “Yep, daddy thought I’d feel less lonely with him around. Meet King Charles,” she hold him out so that I can pet him, King licks my fingers and wiggles in YN’s arms, “he's an 5 month old dalmatian!” Hinata takes KC from YN’s hands and cuddles him as the puppy licks his face and neck, “He is so cute, princess, but uh, I'm calling him King or KC for short.”

“You have my permission. But everyone else has to call him King Charles, I expect nothing less.” Hinata smiles at her comment, he’d guess that for her, this puppy was her baby and she demanded the same respect she receives directed towards him.

YN gave him a tour around her place, eventually showing him ‘his room’.

”Um... whos stuff is this?” He points at the watches and products in the room. ”Ah, Daddy must’ve forgotten to take these with him last week. Don’t worry, you can use whatever you want.” He felt a sting in his heart, hearing that her father came to stay at her apartment, he must be feeling very lonely without his only child there. “Ynnie... why aren't you living with your dad anymore?” “Daddy sold the house.”

“What? Are you guys ok? CAN YOU AFFORD THIS PLACE?”

YN laughs at his outburst, “Relax! Let me explain! A few years ago my dad had a relationship with a, and I mean it in the nicest way possible, a gold digger. It was pretty nasty towards the end and - stop doing that face, their relationship isn't like ours!”

“Miss. Princess, it kinda sounds like-” “Let me finish, please.”

Hinata stays quiet while playing with KC, “She was always in it for the money, pumpkin. She lied to me and my dad, she stole things from our house, she stole things that belonged to my mom…” Hinata knew that YN’s mom had passed away during childbirth (he did some research after a year of being around her), he still found it touching to hear her mention her, because she never did, “Anyway! She stole a ton of stuff without consent and since she was only his girlfriend she didn't have permission to look into our accounts, which she did. The house brought bitter memories for us so he refurbished the house and donated it to a youth center. Since he’s been traveling a lot this year we figured he could stay with me when he’s here until things calm down.” “How does that make me different from her?” “I-...” she stays quiet for a while, probably trying to find the right words, she silently slides beside him and bops KC’s nose, “You don’t want me to spoil you, but you accept it because you know that's my way of saying ‘i love you’ without really saying it.” “Yeah” “Yeah”

Ding dong. "Pizza’s here!”

After eating until they felt like balls of fat, YN told him to take a shower and meet in her room for movies. He was met with the cutest image ever, he had to take a picture of it. YN in bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets with KC jumping around the bed. As he entered, KC barked happily at him, excited to see his new friend. She smiled at him and patted her side, encouraging him to get in.

As soon as he was under the blanket, YN snuggled up to him and gave him the remote, “You choose.”

Ever since that kiss, YN had been a lot more touchy feely with him. She would cuddle up to him any chance she would get and hold his hand when they were out or whenever she wanted. At first she would hesitate but as time went by she noticed how ‘inexpressive’ he was about it, she just went ahead and did it. He was actually having a war in his head because ‘I shouldn’t lead her on’ but ‘I don’t want her to go’ kept on playing on his mind.

He propped his arm around her shoulders and let himself become her pillow, “I’m thinking 101 dalmatians, what do you think KC?” KC barked in agreement, “aight, lets do it.”

As the night moved forward, KC fell asleep in the weirdest position behind YN. It had been a couple of hours since the movie finished, but neither one of them had wanted to go to sleep yet. They watched a few other movies until they just left it as background and talked instead. As her laughter continued he watched her, the abandoned movie illuminating her face, giving her a slight glow.

Hinata felt his heart clench and before he processed it, “Can I kiss you?” YN stared at him, laughter gone, “I-im sorry, I did-” “Kiss me, Shoyo.” He felt her hand caress his cheek. “Go ahead and kiss me.” He leaned in and practically smashed their faces in, YN giggled, “You’re eager.” “‘M sorry” he was so embarrassed as he started to push himself away.

YN held his face in her hands. “Lets try it again, yeah?” “Yeah”

She brought their faces close and she pressed her lips softly against his. She angled her face and slotted their lips together in a slow rhythm. As she continued their slow kiss, he pushed her back against the bed and let his upper half lay on top of her, resting all of his body weight on his forearms encasing her head. He moved one of his hands down, to caress the sliver of exposed skin on her hip, as a result she gasped and it was enough for him to slip his tongue inside her mouth. He groaned at the feeling, it had been more than two years since the last time he had kissed her and he didn’t know how he lasted that long. He felt almost feverish as she combed his hair, her fingers reached the base of his neck, pulling him closer.

He detached his lips from hers, “I’m gonna miss you, you know that right?”

She smiled at him, “I know, and you know that I’m gonna visit you as soon as I can, right?” “You better or else I’m going to cry.”

She snorted and mushed his cheeks together, “Aw my poor cry-baby pumpkin.” “Hmph… when you do visit me, bring KC with you, I bet he’ll love the beach.” “I will.” “I’m going to become better YN, for me. I’m going to get better and get results.” About life, volleyball and us.

She held out her pinky, “Promise?”

He linked his pinky to hers, kissing the back of her hand, “Promise.”

her love language ≪ masterlist ≫ see you soon!

facts:

➜ Dalmatian’s spots are unique! Its similar to a snowflake or a humans finger print. ➜ No one knows where exactly they come from, their origin is a mystery. ➜ They became popular after the movie ‘101 Dalmatians’ but people couldn’t handle how energetic they are and more than 80% were sent back to the pound. (I wanna punch these assholes :))  ➜ King Charles is YN’s first pet and companion. On their first meeting she met his eyes and fell in love. They’ve been together for a month. ➜ YN calls Hinata ‘Your dad’ at King Charles, Hinata doesn’t know it yet... OOPS. A/N: Look, adding King Charles was fully self indulgence and I am not even gonna apologize. Enjoy this fluffy baby just like his mom and dad do. Also, dalmatians are cute af and no one talks about it. 

taglist ➜ open! send an ask to be added ღ

@mint-mai​ . @prettyinblack231​ . @starryleafy​ .  @ilauvcoldpizza​ . @its-the-aerieljeane​ . @daddy-kawa​ . @aizumii​  @pansexualproblemchild​