#ye its unoriginal spare me

[crappy-writings]

The Run and Go

Natasha RomanoffxEx-Widow!Reader // Enemies to Lovers(Ish), Angst, Series (?)

*Images are not mine, credit to its sources and creators

Prompt: You, an ex-Red Room graduate turned mercenary, take up an assignment to retrieve some sensitive information from the Triskelion. You run into Natasha as you escape, much to your anger. You can’t seem to escape her after this first encounter as different circumstances force you to work together.

Summary: The Triskelion’s infiltration was going so well. That was until a certain redhead makes an appearance, leading to a long-awaited confrontation.

Trigger Warning: Poorly researched hacking concepts and lingo, bad spy/escape sequence, guns, google-translated Russian, swearing, canon-typical violence, implied/mentioned physical and emotional child abuse, the Red Room, bad fight scene, minor injury, let me know if I need to add more.

Word Count: 3,858

A/N: Did I watch Iron Man 2, Captain America and the Winter Soldier and Black Widow, analyzing Nat’s and other Widows’ fight styles? Yes, yes I did. Was I successful in writing an interesting fight scene in line with what I saw? Probably not, no, but here we are. 

Let me know if anything needs to be fixed!

Part 2 ->

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics

Breaking into the Triskelion had been almost effortless. It was easy to slip into its walls without raising suspicion, to become invisible once inside. No one expects a mouse to simply walk into the cat’s den. Then again, you were not a mouse, and the cat thought itself untouchable. 

There was no air of importance to your stride, no urgency in your steps. Your clothes showed little rank, most agents barely sparing you a first glance as you walked through the hallways alongside them, not realizing you were most definitely not one of them. Pride was always the downfall of man, you thought. 

The hallways and floors all seemed the same to you. The absence of windows was glaring in the lower levels, being only lit up by white, fluorescent lights, basking the stone walls in a similar hue. The floors were a familiar, polished, gray color, reflecting the light upwards. Despite the unoriginality of the corridors, you’re able to find the control room rather quickly, having already memorized the interior layout of the building before even dreaming of stepping inside. It was somewhat dark inside the control room, mainly lit up by the several rows of screen monitors and a few of the same fluorescent lights that decorated the hallways.

There was a singular agent in there when you stepped inside. He barely looks up from his screen, unbothered by your sudden intrusion. You pick a desk and sit down, beginning your search for the files your employer had asked for. 

There was a vulnerability in one of the system's firewalls, one you quickly exploited. It took you longer than you wanted to admit, but you were able to completely break through it, making it easier to find the necessary files. A cough interrupted your concentration, causing you to turn to look at the agent sharing the space with you. His eyes never strayed from his own monitor, raising a cup to his lips as he continued to type away on his keyboard. After confirming you were still in the clear, you returned to your work.

It took you a few extra minutes to find the ones you were looking for but were able to download all of them onto the pendrive given to you by your employer. Once you had everything, you deleted all the information you took from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s servers. You even deployed a nasty virus that will keep them occupied for a few days for good measure. 

There is a small part of you that feels satisfaction at having been able to take something from the organization as easily as you had. You stand nonchalantly from the seat you had claimed as yours, approaching the communal pot of coffee hidden away in one of the room’s corners. The singular agent hidden behind his monitor just barely acknowledges you, his eyes leaving his monitor for a few seconds before returning to his work. You serve yourself some coffee in a paper cup, taking a few sips before slipping out of the room.

The problem had never been getting in. No, it was about getting out.

The walk to the elevator was relatively short, the hallway empty as you made your way towards it. It was almost eerie, the way things were going, given that it was typically around this part where you would walk into some form of trouble. You knew that downloading that information was going to tip off some server moderators, adding an extra layer of difficulty to your escape. Even so, the invisibility you have managed to maintain is still your greatest weapon.

Two agents stepped out of the elevator once it had reached your floor. One of them acknowledged you with a singular nod while the other barely spared you a glance. 

You step into the now empty space, the computer screen showcasing your face, along with a fake alias and a serial ID number. The creation and uploading of the fake S.H.I.E.L.D. agent profile had taken you weeks to accomplish, but its completion was the key to slipping in and out of the building mostly undetected. Having some of the organization’s face-changing technology would have made the infiltration a lot easier, but that technology is too safely guarded for you to have been able to get your hands on it. 

The doors had not shut closed yet, waiting for you to state your destination. “Lobby,” a voice that is not your own rings out from your vocal cords. The voice moderator that you had nicked from one of your past jobs had come quite in handy, especially for this mission. The piece of technology was hidden away under the collar of your stolen uniform, its detection nearly impossible. 

“Confirmed,” the automated voice of the computer rang out into the enclosed space, and finally began its descent. Breathing was becoming an easier task as you were one step closer out the Triskelion’s door. 

The elevator stopped a few times as it continued to go down, letting agents in and out on different floors. Most of their trips were short, some engaging in small talk before exiting the confined space. 

“Controls,” an older man dressed in a blue suit commanded, followed by the computer’s robotic voice, “Confirmed.” He had a kind face, dark brown eyes aged with crow’s feet and his hair white and thinning.

“Working hard or hardly working?” the man asked, his tone light and jovial, as the elevator continued its descent. You sent him a friendly smile, adding a small chuckle for good measure. 

“Not sure yet,” you replied, not dropping the smile, “Every day is unpredictable in S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The man replied with a chuckle of his own, “That, it is.” The elevator opened into another level, allowing the man to step out. He sends you a friendly smile as he departs, leaving you alone in the confined space once more.

You reach the lobby shortly after. The space was wide, a glass canopy overhead, allowing the warm glow of sunlight to stream in. The walls were decorated with a mixture of off-white stone, dark tile and stained wood, the floor a dark gray that complemented the space nicely. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s emblem was showcased proudly in the very center of the room, reminding everyone who walked inside of where they stood.

The lobby was full of people, some dressed in nice, neutral-colored suits, while others were dressed in tactical gear. Security hung around the entrances and exits, eyes sharp as they overlooked the crowd. 

There was purpose in your stride now. The longer you took to get out, the larger the possibility of getting caught. It was only a matter of minutes before someone noticed the missing information that burned in your uniform pocket, if they did not know already. 

You made your way across the lobby unperceived. The sense of satisfaction from a successful mission had begun to bloom in your chest as you easily blended into the large group of agents that zipped in and out of the building. That was until you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, the sensation of a pair of eyes staring you down from somewhere behind you making you come to a stop.

Your eyes scanned the room methodically, until you spotted a set of familiar green eyes and fiery red hair, ones you thought you would never see again. There was a flicker of recognition in her features, but it lasted for less than a second, slipping on her perfectly crafted mask of indifference, her expression unreadable as neither of you break eye contact. A wave of burning hot emotion overcomes you, before you stamp it out. Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed. 

Neither one of you had looked away from each other, as if a silent conversation was being held between the both of you. You subtly raise your head, your eyes narrowed and daring. It was a silent challenge, and invitation to your long-awaited encounter. It was a dangerous game to play while in the confines of hundreds, if not thousands, of highly trained agents, especially when one of those agents was Natasha Romanoff, but it was one you would play, nonetheless. 

You’re the first one to break eye contact with her, quickly becoming invisible within the crowd of agents. A cat has spotted you and was about to give chase. 

It would almost be thrilling to be running from the Black Widow turned Avenger, were it not for the blazing resentment snaking its way through your chest. It had been years since you last saw her, her defection to the very organization you just stole from had left you filled with a sense of bitterness and betrayal. 

The rest of your journey towards the garage went uninterrupted, but you know she was somewhere nearby, following your moves closely as you weaved through the lower levels. Spotting the redhead had suddenly made you itch for a fight, adrenaline fueling your body. 

Your bike comes into view as you reach the final garage level. The vehicle was hidden away in a secluded part of the parking space, far away from the other cars. The keys jingled in your hand as you pulled them out of your uniform pocket. You would have closed the distance between you and your escape, except that you felt her ghost-like presence lurking from behind you, finally making herself known. 

With a singular deep breath, you stick your hand out to the side, showcasing your keys to her before tossing them forwards, the sound of metal clattering against the smooth asphalt a few feet from your motorcycle.

“I didn’t expect to ever see you again, Romanoff,” your modified voice echoed in the vastness of the garage. Your hand instinctively reaches for your concealed gun, pulling it out in one swift movement as you turn to face her.

“I would say the same to you,” she stood a few feet away from you, her stance paralleling yours, guns raised and aimed at each other’s heads. Her eyes had a hard edge to them as she stared you down, “Why are you here?”

“Just seeing the sights of Washington, D.C. There’re so many museums here, you know?” there is vexation in your tone despite your sarcastic words, “Plus, how could I skip out on admiring the Triskelion’s architecture? Bet the engineers had fun building it.”

The both of you had stepped closer to each other without realizing it, her firearm about a foot away from your own. She ignores your quip, instead choosing to make a go for your gun. You mirror her movements, both of you trading guns before aiming them at one another once more. 

Neither of you said anything as you continued to stare each other down, the tension thick enough to be cut by the edge of a knife. Her eyes were studying yours, searching for something and you’re not quite sure what it is. There was a subtle change in her stance shortly after as she dared you to make the first move. So, you did. You went for her gun again, this time flinging it across the empty garage, the piece of metal skidding across the asphalt. She does the same, the Red Room’s training being activated on pure instinct. 

The beginning of your fight was not a fight at all, though. You were both following a basic combat sequence of simple parries and blows taught to you in the confines of the Red Room. The drill was the one that was taught to the youngest of girls, set to provide them with the basics. It was more of a dance for the both of you, perfectly choreographed and in sync with the others' familiar response. It was child’s play.

For a brief moment, you felt like you were back in the Red Room, the both of you locked in the familiar dance as your handlers watched you engage in a sparring match. The parries and blows you sent each other’s way were predictable, neither of you having the heart to truly fight and hurt the other. Your punishments for your defiance would vary, the ones you remember most being obligated to practice the same ballet move until your feet bled. The other usual punishment was to be made to fight an older Widow, one that would not hesitate to hurt you, to teach you a lesson for holding back. Eventually, your sparring sessions no longer started with the predictable routine of parries and blows, replaced by hard tackles to the ground, bruising kicks and skin-breaking hits.

Old habits die hard, it seems.

Your mind snaps out of it as she grabs hold of your arm mid-swing before securing a hold over your shoulder, allowing her to throw you onto the ground. The wind is knocked out of your lungs, and it takes you a few seconds too long for you to recover. 

“What did you do?” She asks as she manages to hold you in place, her legs straddling your waist while her arms have you pinned down against the ground.

“That’s not your concern, dorogoy,” you smirk up at her as you smash your forehead against her mouth. The distraction allows you enough time to securely grab her by her forearms, your freed legs find her stomach, flipping her over you. She lands roughly a few inches over your own head, the force of the flip enough to leave her stunned for a few moments, allowing you to quickly get to your feet.

“I have to go,” the voice moderator that had been hidden under your collar was knocked loose, your voice sounding strange as you taunt her, “It was nice seeing you.”  You were scooping your bike’s keys from the ground before she pushed you into the vehicle, knocking you both onto the ground.

In hindsight, it was dumb of you to believe she would stay down. 

The back of your head hits against the floor, stars filling your vision for a few moments, your bike tangled under your feet. You feel her grab the fabric of your stolen trainee uniform, dragging you away from your bike and towards one of the garage's walls. 

You struggle against her, managing to break free from her hold. Once back on your feet, you send a few firm punches her way, and she is unable to dodge a few of them. 

You were sloppy in your attack though, as she gets a firm grasp on your arm once more. Her other hand gets a hold of your shoulder and pushes you back up against the building, slamming you against the wall once, twice, three times. A string of coughs escapes you, air not reaching your lungs. You feel the fight begin to leave your body and hate that she was able to incapacitate you. In a last-ditch effort, you press your hands against her face, forcefully pushing against her with all your might. This somewhat works, placing a bit more space between you, enough for you to raise your leg, and knee her in the stomach. This sends her back a few inches and you send another swift kick to the affected area. Your legs react before your mind does, trying to close the distance between you and your knocked over bike, the keys within your view on the ground.

You were still a few feet away when you felt a sharp and burning sting emanate from your lower back, your body locking up against your will and effectively sending you tumbling to the ground. She threw a fucking Widow Bite at you.

“Cheater!” you yell at her, your body completely unable to move. She catches up to you, one arm cradling her stomach, before grabbing you by the scruff of the stolen uniform and dragging you up against the nearest wall. Your body felt numb, every single one of your nerve endings having been lit on fire mere seconds ago.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, what the fuck are you doing here?” her tone is hard and almost dangerous, her eyes scanning over every single one of your features in search of any telltale signs of a lie. It was only now that you realized that she was bleeding from her slightly swollen lip, a trail of crimson running down her chin. There’s a small, sick sense of pride that settles within you as you watch the blood flow from the split lip you gave her. 

“Fuck you, Romanoff, I don’t owe you shit,” the familiar sparks of anger were building up inside your chest. 

“Answer the question,” her tone is even and low. It was not until now that you realized she had picked up one of the discarded firearms, the barrel of the gun being pointed directly at your head. Something within you was emboldened by this, leaning forwards as the tip of the gun presses lightly against your forehead.

“You’re not gonna shoot me,” your eyes staring directly into hers in defiance.

“How are you so sure about that?” she asked through narrowed eyes, digging the barrel further into your skin, her finger hugging the trigger but not squeezing it. 

“Because you would have shot me the second you saw me if you truly wanted me dead,” you reply, and the words taste bitter in your mouth. There is a visceral hatred in the gaze you level at her, the teasing air that had coated your initial confrontation having completely dissolved. 

“Why are you so angry at me?”

The question had been so simple. It made you want to explode. 

“Did-did you seriously just ask me that? I have to tell you?” you almost choke on the acidity that coursed through your tongue as you spoke those words. A bitter laugh makes its way past your lips, your head shaking slightly as a sense of indignation floods your chest. 

“Tell me Natalia, did you think that everything would be magically solved the day you defected?” The burning sensation of unfiltered anger and overwhelming resentment are spilling out of you, and you do your best to push them away forcefully. Your mask cannot break. Your mask will not break.

Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed.

The words repeated over and over again in your head, a never-ending chant driven into you by your handlers. Emotion had always been the one thing that you struggled with in the program as a child, constantly making you hesitate and clouding your judgment. Your handlers recognized this weakness in you, and they worked you tirelessly, trying to stomp it out of you. Your struggle against emotion is what got you recycled four times before you finally graduated.

Natasha’s face gave away no indication of what she was thinking. Her features were schooled perfectly into a mask of indifference, and that made you all the more angry.

“I had to get out,” she defends herself; the gun being slightly lowered. 

“I don’t care,” you want to yell, you want to scream, but you don’t, “You leaving made The Red Room all the more difficult to survive.”

Something about what you just said made a crack in Natasha’s mask. It was nearly imperceivable, but you saw the twitch her brows made at your statement. 

“The Red Room doesn’t exist anymore. Dreykov is dead,” she states factually. Her tone was so confident, so sure, you almost believed her. But she was wrong. He may have gone into hiding, never showing his face, but his whispers still rang inside the halls of the Red Room, his fingers choking the life out of every Widow still stuck there. His presence was a stain that would never leave.

You can’t suppress the bitter laugh that escapes you, “Is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. told you?”

The numbing feeling that had spread throughout your body was beginning to wear off. There’s a small twitch in your leg, one that Natasha notices and she knows she is running out of time. 

“I was there, we rigged bombs up a five-story building,” Natasha recounts, her eyes taking a similar hard edge from earlier. 

“The Red Room still exists, Natasha,” you talk low and slowly, your tone was no longer defensive or angry. She needs to know she is wrong. “Dreykov isn’t dead.”

“It’s impossible, I killed him,” she restated adamantly. Her mask was slowly cracking, but you do not feel victorious about it. 

“He’s alive, Romanoff. I’m not fucking with you,” your tone was exasperated, “Why would I lie?”

“Why are you here?”

“Chert poberi,” the curse slips past your lips, your annoyance at the redhead radiating off of you, “I took a job, I’m a mercenary now, that’s all you need to know.” You finally push yourself off the ground, your legs stumbling slightly as the pins and needles continue to prickle under your skin. She allows you to stand, backing away from you with her gun still trained on your head. 

“Listen, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Dreykov is not dead, and the Red Room is still alive and well. You don’t need me to tell you what happens in there,” you shook your head gently as the familiar, bitter taste of your words coat your tongue. 

You made no effort to move away from her yet, despite desperately wanting to leave. Her gun was still trained on you, and you were beginning to doubt whether or not she would actually shoot you. A single wrong move could mean the difference between life and death, or worse, getting turned in. 

But she was no longer focused on you. Her mask had slipped off, and for the first time since you were children, you could read every emotion in her eyes. There was conflict there, torn between the lie she had convinced herself of and the reality of your words. There was wariness in her gaze, but there was something else too, something bigger.

It was guilt. 

She believes you.

You begin to move away from the wall she had you pinned against, your bike about ten feet away from you. It’s clear she has no intentions of stopping you, instead lowering her gun slowly, her eyes never leaving yours.

She… she was letting you go.

The gaze you send her is cautious and untrusting, but you continue to move away from her, nonetheless. She eventually breaks the eye contact you had maintained, her eyes dropping down to the ground, her breaths slow, heavy and unsteady. There is enough space between the both of you for you to run. You caution one last look at her, but she has not moved a muscle. 

“See you around, Romanoff,” Your tone is not victorious nor teasing, it’s dejected and almost sad.

With that, you run towards your bike, scooping your keys from the ground swiftly before driving away, leaving Natasha behind with her thoughts.

Part 2 ->

[aiguan]

Fyodor Analysis (Flowers)

Analysing THIS scene.

This scene from the season 4 intro featuring Fyodor is, blankly, flowers. But after obsessing over flower symbolism lately ( as an amateur, spare me), I figured that it would be fun to look into the meaning of flowers. This very unoriginal idea was probably done before but whatever.

Blue roses:

Blue roses symbolise secrecy and mystery, which, undoubtedly, suits Fyodor. So, moving on (help I suck at analyses it's a miracle I got an attainment badge for English).

Lily of the Valley:

Lily of the Valley symbolises purity, joy, love, sincerity, happiness and luck (Yes, I copied it from Google) But one interesting thing is that it even has connections with the Bible.

Song of Solomon 2  I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys.

Jesus was also described as 'Lily of the Valley' for that He alone is sinless, holy, and separate from sinners. This, well... this seems to expand on Fyodor's motive of wanting the Book to eliminate and purify humanity's "sins".

Red roses:

On the surface, red roses symbolise love and romance which, Fyodor does not seem to express. But after some more research, I found that the deeper the colour of the red rose, the more ready you are for commitment. But this is just on the side of romance (Fic writers, take the notes). There are other meanings to red roses such as desire, longing, respect, admiration, courage, sacrifice, beauty and perfection.

Tithonia Rotundifolia:

Before I go into the meaning, I just want to say this one was very hard to do. There was a bit of a mind debate on whether these are Tithonia Rotundifolia or orange daisies. But in terms of the shape, I figured it would be the Tithonia Rotundifolia.

Tithonia rotundifolia is a hardy and drought-tolerant plant, often thriving in challenging conditions. As such, it can symbolize endurance, resilience, and the ability to thrive despite adversity. Also, giving or receiving Tithonia rotundifolia can be a gesture of admiration and appreciation, acknowledging the recipient's positive qualities or expressing gratitude. While I personally do not think Fyodor is a person who shows admiration and appreciation, he certainly was admired and appreciated by lots, such as Sigma, Nikolai, Ivan et cetra.

Magenta Roses:

Magenta roses symbolize deep, passionate love, echoing the fervent emotions often associated with red roses. They convey a profound sense of affection and desire. But considering Fyodor's personality, we'll move on. Magenta roses also represent gratitude, appreciation, and admiration. That links perfectly to my previous analysis of the Tithonia rotundifolia.

With a bit more research I found that the rich and vibrant colour of magenta roses evokes feelings of enchantment and mystery. They can also signify the magic and allure of love, adding a touch of mystique to romantic gestures. But again, considering Fyodor, let's not stick to the romance side of things.

Olive branches:

This one is more of an optional analysis since I'm not sure if they really are olive branches in the first place. Anyway, we are pretty familiar with the international peace symbol (the well-known one, anyway) being a dove carrying an olive branch with its beak. This symbolises peace and harmony, which at least, in my opinion, is what Fyodor is aiming for to create a "sinless" world without abilities.

Narcissus:

The Greek myth of Narcissus falling in love with his reflection and turning into a flower symbolises self-love and egotism. While this may not entirely suit Fyodor, I do believe he has self-confidence in himself, perhaps even too much that he didn't consider trusting his allies. In fact, that was how he reached his downfall. The Narcissuses in the scene, at the end, bloomed over the other flowers and caused them to grey and wilt. In my opinion, this may symbolise two things:

This shows some of the good qualities that were symbolised in the flowers that didn't suit Fyodor were ruined by his self-confidence and lack of trust. For example, Fyodor didn't have the love symbolised in the roses because his goal buried those emotions down.

This shows how all of his good qualities were soon consumed by his lack of trust and confidence in himself. In fact, the Narcissuses taking over were like how his confidence and arrogance in not needing another plan just in case (we're talking about breaking out from Meursault here) taking over him and resulting in his ultimate (hopefully temporary) downfall and death.

Anyway, these are just my silly rambles. Use this as a reference or whatever, don't take it too seriously I really don't know much about flowers lol. I'm trying to make more analyses cos they're so fun to read (/>^<\) Have fun with the new pieces of information, I spent 1 hour on this and opened 23 computer tabs (Yes, I am not very efficient)! Uhh... bub-bye?

[plasmacrystal]

Light blue and gold is the best combination of colors and you cant change my mind.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I request a fnaf security breach x reader/headcannons please? Where the glamrocks (including bonnie and foxy, if you don't mind) recieve a tiny animatronic that resemble the baby of their species (bear cub,wolf pup,chick, ect...) and its intended to keep them company and help them backstage. And the baby animatronic believes they are their actual parent

It's okay If you can't/don't want to do all of them Freddy, monty and bonnie would be fine (if you actually want to do this request)

Oh! I saw you request this to another blog and I found it adorable so I'm happy to do this one! This'll help me flesh out ideas for my Glam Bonnie and Foxy.

We'll just say Reader is the creator of these little babies

.........

Glamrock Freddy

Freddy Jr. is the designated name for his orange-brown bear cub animatronic. No ifs, ands, or buts.

You explain that he's just a little companion to help him calm down backstage before a show or keep him company when the Pizzaplex is closed.

Freddy instantly engages “Papa Bear” protocol 24/7, letting Freddy Jr hang out in his stomach hatch and the green room.

In no time Freddy Jr is attached to him, calling him "papa”.

He absolutely treasures this cub and would defend him with his life if need be.

Roxanne

A companion is something she needed more than anyone, so she was the first to receive her own.

A little wolf pup with tiger stripes like hers and glowing gold eyes. She has a tiny green streak on top of her head. She’s given the name “Lil Rox”.

Being called “mom” really melted Roxanne’s heart and she nearly sobbed when she first called her that.

This pup has really helped her with her mental health and self-esteem. Like a lot. 

Even when Lil Rox’s just rolling around in the dirt in Roxy Raceway with not a single thought behind her eyes, Roxanne can’t help but feel proud.

With her eye upgrade she can see where she is at all times, so they’re never far from each other.

Glamrock Chica

A cupcake would’ve been too predictable and unoriginal. So you got a bit more creative. 

Considering white chickens are adults, you created a mini animatronic Chica chick that was a pastel yellow, similar to her predecessors.

Glam Chica immediately adored her, scooping her up and being oh-so-gentle as she carried her around.

She ended up nicknaming her “Cupcake” but you didn’t mind. She was so happy.

Cupcake helps her ease her nerves whenever a show starts, or if she’s had a bad day after getting yelled at for digging through the trash.

After the Monty Mystery Mix incident, she vows to keep her chick away from that stuff at all costs.

But she’ll occasionally bring back some pepperoni or other toppings.

The mother hen in her is truly thriving.

Montgomery

At first he’s like “what’s this? I ain’t his mama” as he dangles Lil Monty Jr by his tail and looks at him over his glasses.

You scold him for holding the tiny little gator in such a way, and in the back of your mind you worry he’s not fit to be a dad.

Yet five minutes later you come back to Monty Golf and see the two together, with LM Jr watching Monty practice his golfing skills, sitting on the shoulder plate.

You’d ask what he thinks but suddenly he snarls and gets overly protective.

You take it as “yes I love and cherish him”.

Surprisingly he hasn’t had as many fits of anger lately, as LM Jr is always there to calm him down and be a good influence.

Like Roxy, a companion to call his own is exactly what he needed.

Glamrock Bonnie

Papa Rabbit is here!

He adores the soft baby bunny you designed for him, giving the little bugger a hug and showing him around Bonnie Bowl.

And yes, “Bugger” is the nickname he gives to him.

Unfortunately the bowling balls are a bit too heavy for him to carry, so Bonnie lets him watch a few games and write down whenever he gets a strike, miss, or spare.

Not that he needs to write anything as the overhead TVs keep score.

But it’s a great father-son bonding moment.

Glamrock Foxy

Rather than a parrot (again, too predictable and unoriginal), you present a little fox with a bandana on his head and an eyepatch on the opposite eye.

Foxy immediately adopts him as his First Mate, overjoyed and ready to teach him all there is about the seven seas.

The little kit loves interacting with the kids at the Kid’s Cove, playing in the sand and jumping on different structures.

Foxy’s pleased to have a son who shares his love for adventures!

Oh, and First Mate definitely chases his tail sometimes.

Such a sweet moment for the fox who’s usually so rough around the edges.

[wreckofawriter]

The Not-So-Perfect Sister

Pairing: Sirius Black x potter!reader

Word Count: 4,442

Warnings: Under aged drinking, mentions of neglect, overall angsty

Summary: James Potters sister who had felt put of place her whole life finally breaks when Lily Evans arrives at her house.

A/n: I really like this one. Kinda angst but sweet. My inbox is open feel free to send in requests! Hope you guys like it too!

Being a Potter seemed like an easy gig to most people. The big house, nice family, a large amount of money, it definitely seemed like a piece of cake. And if your name is James then yes, yes it was. But if your name was y/n- or as most people called you James' sister -than no, no it wasn't. 

When you were eleven you had walked up to the chair and sat down with your eyes locked on your smiling brother. He was seated between his three best friends and practically glowing with excitement from the gold and red table.

The old hat was placed on your head and you could already the word that would flow from its leathery mouth. But to your surprise along with everyone else's in the large dining hall, not even a second after the hat landed on your y/h/c head it bellowed, "Slytherin!" 

The hall fell silent and your eyes, still on your brother went wide. James' on the other hand narrowed, his lips piercing to a thin line. 

You felt your heart break as your best friend turned away from you in disgust. And at eleven years old you had already been smashed to pieces by the person you loved most. 

Your parents had sent you a letter telling you it was alright to be in a different house but they didn't act like it was. When James joined the quidditch team they had cheered for him and came to as many games as they could. 

When you joined the Slytherin team as a keeper they had dismissed it with a wave of a hand and only came to your games when you happen to be playing Gryffindor. They were always adorned in yellow and red. 

They almost never sent you letters when James received one once a week. They would support James no matter what, but if you slipped up even once they would come down on you in a hail storm of fury.

By third year you stopped coming home over breaks, you would spend Christmas at Hogwarts alone. But summers were unavoidable. You would simply go home and hide in your room, only coming down stairs for meals which you eat in silence as you listened to your parents gush about James' achievements. 

When Sirius joined you in your fourth year, their fifth, your life went from bad to worse.

Sirius was an asshole. He always was and always will be. He was arrogant and stubborn, he was sure he was the best thing in the world and that he had everyone trapped under his finger. And watching him receive more love from your parents than you did made living under the same roof as the boy nearly impossible. 

What made it worse was the fact that he was irritatingly handsome. He was dashing and charming, somehow managing to make you hate him just to avoid feeling something else.  It made you sick that you even had thoughts of him in a positive way whatsoever. But even though you would never admit it, you did.

And now you had to welcome another one of your least favorite people into your life.

You hated Lily Evans. From the minute layed eyes on the girl you could feel a sickening loathing build up in you like a fire. With each overly sweet smile she threw and disgustingly soft laugh she uttered the larger that fire burned. 

It wasn't like she had ever done anything wrong to you. She was always nice when you passed in the hallways, she never picked on you or called you 'James' little sister' a term you had grown to hate. She was always kind to you, even when your brother was being a brat like usual. And that was one of the many reasons you hated her. 

She was perfect. It made you want to hurl. Her fiery red hair and emerald eyes. Her perfect grades and great scores. She was kind, brave, smart and cunning. She had it all. Plus your brother, who wouldn't even spare you a glance, trailed after her like a lost puppy. She was the physical embodiment of everything you hated. 

Of course now she was dating James which meant you had to put up with her bullshit even more than usual. 

You were downstairs making yourself a sandwich, when the doorbell rang. You rolled your eyes and walked to go open it. 

You swung the door open ready to shoo away some girl scouts when you came face with your worst nightmare.

"Hey y/n!" She smiled waving a bit. 

Your mouth dropped and eyes went wide before narrowing to slits and your mouth slamming shut into a scowl. 

You merely growled the word "Nope." Before slamming the door shut straight into her face. 

"Y/n! What the hell?" You turned your mood souring from bad to worse. 

"You deal with you preppy girlfriend James, I dont have the energy for her." You hissed. 

He simply rushed past you his shoulder hitting yours harshly as he passed and opened the door.

"Lily, I am so sorry for my sister is being an asshole again.." 

The rest of the conversation died out as you snatched your sandwich and darted upstairs. You quickly slammed into James room to meet Sirius, who was adorned in only a towel his black hair dripping wet. You ignored the sight and focused on the problem at hand.

"What the hell y/n?!" Sirius snapped, his face flushing. 

"Yeah what the hell!" You responded to worked up to care about his lack of clothing. 

Sirius shot you a confused look, his cheeks now a blazing red.

"Why is Evans here?!" You screeched. 

"Maybe because she's meeting her boyfriend's parents?" Sirius bellowed back, "Now get out!" 

You ran from the room slamming the door behind you and retreating from your safe haven. You stopped in your tracks when you saw your mother frantically attempting to clean your room. 

"Y/n!" She scolded, "Your room is a complete disaster!" 

"What are you doing in here?" You asked voice angry. 

"Lily is going to be sleeping in here so clean this place up!" She yelled motioning to your disaster of a room. 

Your fury strengthened, "I wont clean shit for that bitch." You growled. 

"Y/n!" Your mother gasped in disgust.

You left before she had a chance to say anything more. Your head pounded as you thundered down the steps not bothering to move in the slightest as your brother and his girlfriend ascended upward. You shouldered them roughly out of the way James protests fading in the back of your mind.

You ran for the door, grabbing your purse and shoes from the mudroom before sprinting onto the street. 

It had rained that night so everything was damp, causing your mitch-matched socks thin fabric to grow cold and wet. The scent of wet asphalt and dewy grass filled you helping to calm your nerves as you ran from your inevitable future. 

You knew that eventually you were going to have to go back to that house and deal with your mother and father and brother and his girlfriend and probably his best friend too. But you ignored that fact sitting on a bench to pull on your converse. You didn't bother to tie them. 

You then stood up and began to walk with no destination in mind. You walked for about an hour before you realized how hungry you are. You never got to eat that sandwich and breakfast was a distant memory. 

You quickly found a small coffee shop and walked inside enjoying the strong scent of the beverage it emitted. You ordered before plopping down at your table and staring helplessly out the window. You watched people move back and forth outside of the window feeling slightly like a tiger locked in a zoo behind the thick glass. You stared at the thick purple clouds that bruised the grey sky, ignoring who's eyes they reminded. You were so entranced with the scene in front of you, you didn't even notice that your food was placed in front of you until you turned to see it there, the sandwich slightly cold. 

You sighed, too hungry to discard the food put in front of you. You ate slowly, as if you were unsure if the meal was safe. You then turned your head back to the street to see a dark haired boy smirking back at you. You instantly stood, sprinting for the door. 

The idea of being brought back to that house made you want to hurl the sandwich you had just eaten. So you began to run not bothering to look back, your feet thundered on the wet cement of the sidewalk before you turned down an alley only to yelp when you were greeted by a bored looking Sirius Black. 

"Did you seriously think that you could outrun me." He questioned eyebrows raised.

"I could if you didn't use magic." You scoffed, attempting to shoulder past him and continue to the next street over. You were stopped when he grabbed you shoulder harshly. 

"Why the hell did you run?" He asked almost seeming worried. You quickly brushed off the thought. Sirius Black doesn't worry, much less about Slytherins. 

You hummed pretending to think, "Maybe because I don't want to deal with greasy haired asshole who is going to take me back to my living hell?" 

"Hey!" Sirius protested, clearly offended, "My hair is not greasy!" 

"You can not be serious." You sneered rolling your eyes. 

"I'm always sirius." He smiled back satisfied with his overused and unoriginal pun.

You resisted the urge to smack him. "Why did you come anyways?" 

"Your brother sent me." He shrugged, "plus we both know you don't want to walk all the way back to your house."

"Who said I was going back?" You challenged, eyes narrowing.

Sirius sighed, "You are going back weather you get on my bike yourself or I force you onto it." You glowered at him. 

"If I could you use magic I would wipe your ass all over the street." You threatened. 

"I know." He smiled, "that's why I'm happy you can't." 

"I'm not going." You decided planting your feet and crossing your arms, head held high.

Sirius let out a strenuous sigh clearly annoyed, "Come on." He whined, "Your brother said I had to bring you back." 

You pursered your lips, looking away from the boy. 

He groaned, "Are you fucking with me?" 

"Nope." You responded lips popping on the p. 

"You're really going to make me hex you?" He grumbled. 

You nodded making the boy let out another moan in protest before raising his wand and muttering "Rictusempra."

You immediately burst into giggles "You asshole." You spit out between laughs as a tickling sensation made you lose all other abilities. 

Sirius grabbed you throwing you over his shoulder like you were a doll. 

"I'm gonna kill you." You giggled unable to stop the laughter spurring from your mouth. 

"I'm so threatened." Sirius smirked back before plopping you down on his motorcycle and buckling his helmet on your y/h/c head. 

"Hold onto my waist, I don't want you to die." 

"Really?" You chucked, voice uncharacteristically high. 

"I'm on my way to changing my mind." He sighed sitting down trying to to flush as your arms hugged close to his waist your body shaking with giggles. 

He reversed the spell at the first stoplight you reached and then continued his way back to your house, your chest pressed to his back. When you pulled back up to your house it was growing dark out and you were beginning to question your entire existence. 

You groaned into Sirius leather jacket and banged your head onto his back. 

"Can we not going inside?" You asked hopefully, glancing at the house its windows glowing warmly, the door reminding you of an entrance to hell. 

"You got yourself into this one y/n/n, get yourself out." He shrugged before hopping off the motorcycle and snatching the helmet off your head. 

"Don't call me y/n/n and I didn't get myself into anything you guys are just all assholes." You spoke harshly.

"How was I possibly an asshole?" Sirius exclaimed. 

"Umm how about you hexed me and then forced me back to my house?" 

"I was helping you!" He yelled exasperated. 

"You were not!" You shot back, "You practically kidnapped me!" 

"You're impossible." Sirius scoffed at you before turning on his heel and heading inside. 

You scowled angry all over again before turning to face the house you knew you would have to walk into sooner or later. 

You paced back and forth for a second before biting your lip and walking slowly up your porch steps. You then slowly opened the door and slipped inside. You were greeted by the sound of laughter and the clatter of silverware. 

You poked your head cautiously around the corner to see your family seated for dinner. 

Sirius was serving himself some pasta while your mother talked to Lily and James messed with your dad. 

You felt your heart clench at how right it looked. The perfect son, the head boy and the quidditch star. The friend who needed help and received it, needing a family and getting one. And of course the perfect daughter. With red hair to match her robes and perfect grades. The head girl who would no doubt have an amazing life after school. 

You tried to imagine yourself at the table sitting in the empty seat, your head bent, staring at the food refusing to meet your parents eyes, your green shirt looking odd against the wave of red. The fact was that you didn't belong and never would. So you went upstairs snatched a blanket and a pillow and retreated to your basement. 

You plopped onto the couch and released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You felt your eyes prick with tears as the image of the perfect family upstairs burned in your eyelids and you wanted to scream. 

You slammed your hands on to your closed eyelids, enjoying the pressure they provided, keeping tears behind them. Because the truth was as much as you hated your family you wanted nothing more than to be apart of it. You had spent your whole life attempting to get noticed, to simply be acknowledged as half the person they saw James as. But year after year you were left more and more broken. And now your parents fell in love with a girl they had known for only one night. It made you sick. Your hatred for Lily growing into a nightmarish beast. 

Your eyes popped open when you heard someone descending the stairs. You turned to see your brother leaning against the railing arms crossed eyebrows furrowed. 

"What do you want James?" You scoffed sitting up on your elbows. 

"What do I want?" James hissed, "I want to know why my sister is such a selfish prat." 

You sat all the way up glaring at your brother, "I'm the selfish one?" You glowered in disbelief. 

"Yeah, yeah you are." James spat. 

You stood walking to meet your brother, "How in bloody hell was I being selfish?!" You growled. 

"How about slamming the door in Lily's face, or I don't know swearing at mom or maybe calling my girlfriend a bitch before running off to fairyland?!"James was yelling now his voice echoing off the small room."Your damned lucky Sirius offered to find you because I'm done with it!"

You shook your head, "Sirius said you sent him to get me. He was lying?" You asked softly, You silently wished him to say that he wanted you back, that he had sent him, that he had wanted you here.

"Of course I didn't!" James shouted "Not everything is about you!"

You felt your heart crumpled. He hadn't wanted you back. Hell, he would have been happier if you had stayed gone. You willed yourself not to cry, so instead you laughed, a crazy demonic sound ripping from your throat and escaping your lips, "Your right James!" You screeched, "Not everything is about me!" Your fire full smile broke into a sneer, "It's all about you." 

James looked taken aback for a second guilt flashing momentarily into his dark eyes before being replaced with anger. 

"It's all about you. You and your perfect grades and your perfect friends." You could feel tears pricking at your eyes. "You and your quidditch bullshit, and your god damn bright fucking future!" You spat the words like venom from your mouth, "You and your bitchy girlfriend who's going to make the perfect little daughter in law!" You were now yelling your voice feeling raw as tears dripped off your chin. 

"Stop calling her a bitch!" James screamed back. 

Just then the door opened and Lily, Sirius and your parents came hurling down the stairs. 

"What in bloody hell is going on!" Sirus shouted but you ignored him. 

"I'm so sorry for calling shit as it is, your girlfriend is a bitch. B-I-T-C-H. BITCH!"  You wailed taking a step forward, you were now looking directly into your brothers eyes, just barley below him, less than a foot away. 

You saw his eyes burn, anger filling them, turning their dark brown pigment to black. 

And then he did something you would never imagine him to do in his life. 

James raised his hand and with one swift movement slapped you clean across the cheek

You heard a series or gasps and yells fall around you, your ears ringing slightly. You could feel where his hand had struck your skin, it was hot and thumping, a dull sting finding its home there. 

You slowly turned your head back to meet your brothers eyes which were now wide with surprise and guilt. 

You slowly removed the hand that had instinctively risen to your cheek and stared hurt and broken in front of your brother who's mouth had dropped open. 

"Y/n, oh my God I didn't-" 

"Rot in hell Potter." You spat your voice deep and dark. And with that you sprinted up the stairs. 

As you began to move the world resumed and everyone else began to take action as well.

You saw James stumble backwards Lily beginning to go to him but Sirius beating her to it and reaching the boy himself. You then heard him yell something you were too delirious to understand before a thud was heard followed closely by another shriek. You shouldered past your parents as you accented the stairs, the fact that they didn't even spare you a glance stung more than a slap ever could. 

For the second time that day you sprinted out onto the street, the crisp air hitting your hot face in a refreshing blow. You stumbled into the night ignoring your bare feet and chilled arms. You had no destination in mind as you sprinted down the sidewalk, you only had a location to get as far as possible from. You wished you had been thinking enough to grab your purse, you could have gone to a bus stop and left to Merlin knows where. 

You made it four blocks before one of your feet caught behind your heel and you were flung to the ground by the ever cruel gravity. 

Your hands hit the damp cement first followed directly by your chin causing you to bite roughly down on your lip. 

You didn't even bother to move debating weather living was even worth it. You could taste the blood in your mouth and feel it seeping from your hands as you lay unmoving under the buzzing streetlamp. 

You were pretty sure you would have lay on that sidewalk, your body shaking with sobs, blood slowly filling your mouth until you died if a strong pair of arms hadn't swept you up. 

You instinctively buried your head into the familiar musky scent as Sirius pulled you close to him. 

"Hey, hey you're okay." He mumbled quietly into your hair, smoothing it clumsily down as he pulled your head into his chest. "You're okay, I've got you." 

You sobbed uncontrollably into Sirius as he mumbled sweet nothings into your ear and held you close to him. 

"I-im sorry." You choked out eventually,  pulling away from the boy slightly. 

"What on earth are you sorry for love?" Sirius chuckled softly pushing the damp hair from your face. 

"I think I got your jacket wet." You muttered a soft smile darting onto your lips. 

Sirius let out a soft laugh, "You are ridiculous." His smile disappeared when he saw your lip.

"I'm okay." You muttered wiping the blood from you lips with a wince. 

"No your not." Sirius sighed quietly. 

He watched your face deflate and he realized that was probably the first time that someone hadn't let you lie to them. Hadn't let you hide behind the thick walls you had built. He called your bluff and it was unfamiliar and strange to you. 

"Why did you lie?" You asked quietly.

"About what?" The boy questioned, confused.

"James didn't send you. He told me."

Sirius flushed before shaking his head he definitely needed to change the subject, "James is an idiot." 

"He's your friend." You shrugged. 

"Yeah well I don't know if that's true anymore." 

You knotted your eyebrows, "Why's that?" 

Sirius sighed "I knocked him out." 

Your mouth dropped.

"If it was anyone else that hit you I would have killed them on the spot." He murmured.

You smiled slightly torn at the idea of your brother getting knocked out by his best friend. 

Sirius decided that you needed something desperately, the same thing he had needed when he left home. 

"Let's get you a drink." 

Your eyes rose to meet his a bit uncertain, before you nodded, "Please."

Sirius smiled as he pulled you to his motorcycle, lazily tucking the helmet onto your head and buckling it for you, his face dancing red at the proximity of your soft pink lips.

You walked into the bar Sirius at your arm. The two of you sat on the stools and Sirius used a bit of magic to order your drinks. 

He handed you a shot of vodka setting one in front of himself. 

You glanced down at the small glass then back up at Sirius before shrugging and raising swiftly to your lips. 

Sirius did the same laughing brightly when he saw your face scrunched in discomfort. 

"That was disgusting!" You coughed, laughing a bit, "Get me another one!" 

Sirius burst into laughter once again ordering you both another round, "This is the last one though, I don't want to have to take you home drunk." He said eyebrows raised. 

You smiled back, downing the second shot a bit more easily than the last, enjoying the warmth that twirled down your throat to your stomach. 

Sirius and you left, you a bit tipsy, him seemingly sober. 

"Let's get you home." He muttered smiling about at your beaten and battered form. 

Suddenly you broke free of him and stumbled backwards, catching yourself on the side of the building. 

"I don't want to go home." You pouted. 

"Sorry Y/n we have got to go back." Sirius sighed. 

"I'M NOT GOING BACK!" You yelled harshly, anger flowing through you. 

"Y/n/n come on it's not that bad, let's head back." Sirius sighed sympathetically. 

"I know your parents were shit Sirius, but at least they were terrible people!" You yelled. 

Sirius rose both eyebrows, "What?"

"Your parents were terrible people right?" You slurred a bit.

Sirius nodded.

"And they hated you because you weren't like them, you weren't s-somebody who would kill a-and hurt, so they hated you for being different. For being a good person." You rambled tears slowly falling from your cheeks.

"Y/n/n we seriously need to get you home." Sirius grumbled worriedly. 

"You're not listening to me!" You screeched taking a step back. 

Sirius stood unsure of what to do.

"My parents hate me for the same reason, because I'm different and I'm not like them." Your voice breaking mid sentence stabbing Sirius in the chest. 

"And because they are 'good people' and they are nice and kind and heros being different than them means I'm a terrible person." Tears now rolled coolly down your check leaving silver streaks in their wake. 

Sirius' face crumbled, "No, no, no. Y/n your not a terrible person, your a great person." He gushed rushing forward to capture you in his embrace. 

"Then why do they hate me?" You asked voice small and weak. 

"They don't hate you y/n. They love you." He mumbled softly one hand wrapping around your waist while the other gripped your head softly pulling you into him. 

You shook your head slowly afraid if you spoke anymore that your eyes would flood with tears once again. 

"Hey." Sirius murmured, causing your big y/e/c eyes to look up at him. "They love you, James loves you" 

You looked away from his stormy grey eyes tired of hearing lies. 

"Hey." He repeated bring your attention back to the storms resting behind his head. "I love you." 

His whisper resonated through the chilled air, like the final note of an orchestra, the strings still not unmoving. You stared at him in wonder. Then your stood on your toes and grabbed the back of his neck slowly pulling him toward you. 

Your lips connected in a sweet, salty kiss. The taste of blood and alcohol lingering between you. You felt his slightly chapped lips moved smoothly against yours making your heart flutter as your hand played with his dark locks, his own finding your waist and pulling you towards him. 

You pulled away softly gasping lightly for air as your noses brushed lightly. Sirius' own heavy breaths tickling your face as your foreheads leaned together. 

"I-I t-think I love you too Sirius." You fumbled lightly with your words. 

He simply responded by reconnecting your lips in a desperate kiss, savoring the metallic taste of blood mixed with the sharpness of alcohol. You tasted like a sin, his tongue dancing across your lips before they opened allowing it to slip inside. 

When you finally pulled away for the second time. You looked into his glassy storm filled eyes brushing his cheek gently with your thumb. 

"I need you." You whispered quietly into the night. And for the first time in a long time you felt loved.

Part 2

Masterlist

[yamagucji]

a series of thank you’s i’ve been meaning to give for a while now. please note i couldn’t get everyone bc im smol brained and im forgetful :(( also its vedy long so i added a readmore link but if it’s okay then i can remove it!

i would’ve preferred to go to your inboxes/dm’s but im scared t🤢umblrs going to glitch on me if i do it again a ha ha

@doublemoons

i remember you sent in my first ever request and i was SO happy like🥺 my account had no visibility on week 1 but then you somehow found my blog and since then you’ve been supporting me. i love the aesthetic of your blog and i always look forward to your rb’s because they so cute and insightful !! ik we haven’t talked much but i definitely perceive u as a gentle person here’s 1k hearts for you and you only <3

@insanityqueen

please i was *intense squealing* and *happy noises* when you said you wanted to be mutuals :’) im definitely uhhh way too immature for u but you still stick with all the caps and !!! i send you😭 you’re such an interesting, talented person. day 1 you got me HOOKED with your art and im gonna say this again,, i have never seen skin look soo s o f t painted. im really grateful for your company and all your cats and the hinata art you made me🥺 i am not still thirsting over it i swear and then you sent me pieces of your writing and i def expected hc’s but then BOOM🧍‍♀️ im so amazed by your writing. also you are vv pretty i hope you know that

@zephyrria

matching heart memes matching heart memes😾 i don’t talk to you as much but our main form of communication is literally exchanging heart memes w/o a word,,, if that isn’t true love idk what is :// anyway i love our little convos so much it always brightens my day! and omg lets not forget when you made me a drabble back😳 like wha- HUH !! i was so touched i rlly went boom boom woosh bc no ones ever written me one back and i!! that yamaguchi gives me so much comfort. you give me sm comfort, thank you bub <3

@beanst0ck

hehe my first tumblr crush😼 as soon as i deactivated my reading account to my a writing blog i was like “ok bean is on my top to-follow list” like i thought you were so cool and i was vv shy to interact with you🥺 and YOU STILL ARE COOL!! your works are really amazing and i am vv much still in love w my matchup w suga :’)

@killuababie

HHHH GRR BORK BORK I LUB U B NEVER GONNA STOP LOVING YOU BHH💓✨ bro,,,, when we switched over to insta it was WILD like— our sense of humor? matched. immaculate. please i love seeing all the memes u send me it makes my day so much like u don’t understand😭 and our convos really go chaos sometimes gkfjdj i love it. u need to pull up and play among us w me sometime 😡

@bewwybun

m-my first spouse🥺 even tho it was a joke the first time and i said sike fkdjdjdj but you still accepted my dino chimken nuggie ring hehe <3 bub your are literally the CUTEST HHHHH LIKE,,, cuteness overload !!! i love talking to you sm and our little exchange of heart memes make the butterflies in my tummy go ✨

@mei-writes

may🥺 imy bub i hope you’re doing well and taking good care of yourself. still very grateful for that time you pulled through to check which of my links weren’t working. and there’s a LOT. like the fact that you took time out of your day for me still baffles me. anyway im lomve you ik we don’t talk as much but you’re still a valued moot to me. im offering u free headpats hehe

@kozsma

hi maria👉👈 you’re so wonderful and rlly amazing w your smaus. absolutely smitten over our chaotic conversations fkfjd we haven’t talked in a while but if you see this just know that i’m here for you <3 take some self care okay? hope you’re doing good bub

@tsukkeisimp

dalia, you wondering being💞 please what did i do to deserve your love >;( we don’t talk much but we have exchanged heart memes before and you’re always out here supporting me whenever you can and like!! tysm bub. i hope you’re feeling better from the last time we interacted, and please do take good care of yourself!

@satorispup

can’t believe you made a reputation of having a piss kink. what power. what energy >>> anyway it’s fun seeing your chaotic energy on my feed/tl. sometimes i won’t even look at the user and say yeah💔 that’s hero alright gkfjdj also you’re so cute what the heck😡😡

@tobiokvgs

[ insert 100 hearts ] this for u bub. im still going crazy over your tsukki lipbalm piece like i was so FLUSTERED you really did that huh😭 you’re so nice and sweet, ty for giving me headbonks as well im really glad to get them😌 hope you have an amazing day bub, and take care!!

@bunnyuuji

cutecutecutest bean ever🥺 you have such wonderful works and im truly in love with your writing😌 also you’re so SWEET WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE U GKFJDJ literally you weren’t obligated to stop by my ask and check in but u did >:(

@yanderepunkin

hehe ik we haven’t interacted in such a long time but im including you!! bc i appreciate you!! i know you’ve supported me a lot especially when i just started this blog and im really thankful for it. also uhhh im still not over accidentally turning off anon when i was- yeah😿 i wish you all the love in the world, and please do take gentle care of yourself 💓

@ahkaahshi

frannn👁👁🤲 yes im gonna start with how big brained you are. your passion for textiles and improving the environment is vv cool to me. and then there’s the fact you write these hq characters so well. yes i am absolutely still living for your character analysis. i am thriving off of them!! here’s me manifesting kita and/or sakusa to show up in your dreams hehe

@sachirou-senpai

i hope you dont mind me sending u stuff every now and then! anyway im in awe of your writing and art skills. you brought a realistic yamaguchi and i ascended😳 i genuinely think you’re such a cool person but also please take breaks!! ik it’s such an overused phrase but i genuinely mean it. i care u <3

@kenmakodzu

you’re so sweet and you do really be sending me back some heart memes😳 i go BOOM BOOM yaya that’s more to my collection;) also you and your hq anon interactions go WILD omg it really does make my day more interesting whenever i see them😂 also i do be seeing some of ur chaotic energy on my dash and i am HERE for it

@tsukkisbean

hemlo clara🥺 d-do you remember me gkdjshsjs i think its been a while since we interacted. you’re so sweet and AHH lmao did u know we were in a poly with wiss😔💔 yeah❤️ n e way i hope you’ve been alright these past few weeks, and if not, please get some break!

@atsunflower

miya twin supremacy😡 can’t believe you made me swerve over to osamu’s lane because of your amazing writing. how could you. the mf audacity. i rlly do fell in love with that piece do so THAMK U and that also goes for the support you’ve given me💗

@lespaghetti

ozzy👁👁🤝 ngl our conversations have been top tier im glad i got to uhmm,,, get some of these *thoughts* out of my head. you’re such a sweet little bean!!! that art/sketch you did with the purple (?) themed uniforms was really cute. im glad to have u as my moot and *cough* my vip reader *cough*

@sleepykarabou

our heart meme streak was strong until school happened😔 but i really enjoy them tho!! it’s very calming talking to you (fun, but also vv calming idk that’s how i feel) loving the brainrots we give each other of our favs from time to time :’) also omg OSRRY im barely active in the server please spare me😿 im lomve u

@nerdybreadcollaborative

gee!! AHHHH KGFJJD GRRR u sweet bean oh my goodness. where do i start- ??? i’ve already gushed so much abt your writing but here we go again; i love your writing so much and your attention to the little details is so great. they flow so well and i hope u get more visibility bc it’s what u deserve!! also please take care of yourself and don’t work too much u nerdy bean

@nishinoya-is-baby

ely my plant kinnie, my spouse (?) and also the blog that i dump my h word thots on😭❤️ ahhh im lomve you, you’re amazing. from your writing, to your makeup skills, and your room, the talent really ✨jumped out✨thank you for supporting me so much, i genuinely appreciate it. i hope we can stay moots despite me being busy gkfjdj anyway take care bbie don’t work too much okay?

@art0saurus

TATE😤 the amount of hq brainrot you’ve fed me is astronomical. idk how you keep coming up with such good ideas but im all for them!! i love your writing so much and the plots are so *chefs kiss* (yes im still gushing over mermaid!bokuto). thank you so much for sending some bits of positivity into my life, im really grateful for it :’)

@dorkyhaikyu

EL!😼 you sweet bean. wish i could bombard ur asks but school is saying no </3 you’re such a sweet mutual and your writing is absolutely amazing. still kinda hurt over that angst u made💔 but anyway i loved it sm. also please wear safer shoes next time on big events so u dont get any more BLISTERS kgjdjdh jkjk

@chickenwingspiker

nashnashnash🥺👉👈 wth you’re so cute and even cuter with the little emoticons u put in my asks. i really appreciate you taking time out of your day to check in on me. i think your works are really heckin cool, im still very into that sock agenda one and the akaashi fic AHH i love them sm. i hope that u have better experiences with online learning and i really wish you all the best on ur art journey <3

@miyastrology

did u forget abt our walk to the strawberry field😿 jkjk heyyy atlas!! im lomve your theme and your writing. i have the urge to say you’re as sweet as strawberry bc im unoriginal like that💔 let’s just pretend i put something kute :’( n e way u are vv cute, make sure to take care of yourself ok!!

@derpeedoo

your rb’s and comments on ppl works... i just... my heart is full. im complete. i go absolute doki doki for you. you’re such a genuine person and you give people so much love❤️ here’s an unlimited supply of my love to you bc you deserve it. ty for all the cute questions btw🥺

🕊 anon - still wondering if ur one of my already-moots or not😳 but anyway dove anon i have a lot to say,,, like how ?? do u go “ok let’s check in on aaron today hehe” like am i interesting??😭 i feel kinda bad ngl you really don’t have to talk to me. but nevertheless im really appreciate of all the support you’ve given me. i genuinely think you’re a cool person and you do all these fun stuff like photography which is amazing. here’s the biggest THANK YOU i could ever give <3 ps. your art is CUTE and AMAZING @bee-kins

@simping-for-tendou

do i??? spam your feed??😭 you’re always liking my posts and i feel so sorry for spamming but also vv appreciate of all the interaction i’ve had with you!! im very glad i got to ask you qotd and stuff because i got to know that you like plants as well!! thank you for sharing plant facts with me, it really made my day. i genuinely think you’re such an awesome and big brained person for knowing all those facts🥺👉👈

@wissaaltje

ngl i was very intimated by you bc of all your angst and really good works which is probably why i never reached out to you sooner😿 ur my uhhh third spouse <3 but anyway your CHAOTIC ENERGY is thru the roof i love that sm and your writing is so mf beautiful i wish more people got to see it😡 i will gib you flower soup and muddy pie to make you feel better ;) jkjk but you’re very amazing and i hope you know that!

@smolbludandelions

hehe you’re in here😼 thank you ???? for supporting me even tho you’re not obligated??? like wh- i- bub🥺🤲 you have all my heart and i rlly rlyy want to stop by your inbox and give you heart memes but me why >;( i hope you have the most amazing day(s) of your life because you deserve it SO much.

@tadashi-simp

FINALLY someone i can simp over yamaguchi with😭 ik we haven’t talked much but AH i love the conversations we’ve had so far and all that insight you gave me about the new wanda film (truly a blessing bc i was so genuinely confused gkfjdj).

@oikaw-ugh

just. JOLLIBEE. can’t believe one of our first interactions was u sending me chain mail smfh i cannot believe you😭 anyway po i appreciate you so much na kaka tawa ako sa mga msgs mo and all the good vibes u radiate. mag bisaya unta ko nimi pero baka mag nosebleed ako😿 im losing my native languages it’s not even funny anymore but when i got to talk to u in my mother tongue, i felt a bit more at home. thank you bub <3

@makemealive

hihi👉👈 idrk what we first talked about, i think it was spending vacation in the galapagos islands??😭 riding turtles??? what a great way to start our friendship :’) i rlly think you’re cool and i just,,,, admire u from afar- yeah. sorry this message is too chaotic but anyway u might not have a green thumb but look at you growing potatoes accidentally😌 anyway i think you’re cool i just haven’t said it before because im s Hy

@lostsealscreams

seal, bub, i genuinely care about you. you’re such a sweet person. i know we haven’t interacted much but im looking forward to more conversations with you!! please find little fun things to do... maybe do some self appropriation if you can, bc you deserve it. maybe even treat yourself... or any self care tasks that make you feel better. i care about you a lot, im just an ask/dm away if you wanna talk about anything at all��💞✨

@hqgardenia - jkjk this is my spam account idk why i put this here but here probably bc im dumb as fuck

[stars-in-my-damn-eyes]

For a Jaskier prompt.... Getting revenge on a certain Valdo Marx maybe?

Excellent idea :D

Also Jaskier is immortal in this because I thought it would be Cool

•••

Perhaps the utter disdain and hatred that had festered away in the back of Jaskier’s mind for so long was the tiniest bit disproportionate when brought into comparison to his target’s actual offences, but if Jaskier started going around acting the forgiving sort, puffing up his chest and being the better man, the world might as well fall off its damn axis.

He liked to think himself a patient man, forthcoming with second chances and magnanimous with what kinds of slights he was willing to take in his stride, but when a line was crossed, a line was crossed, and that, too, was something he could hardly ignore.

Jaskier was a patient man, generally, and he was more than willing to wait for opportunities, too, to present themselves - in matters of revenge, after all, he forwent his general over-the-top flamboyance in favour of calculated expediency. He’d long since found it to be more efficient than letting his feelings get the better of him. Too, there was a lesser chance of conviction.

But, enough with the introspection. There was a point here, a reason for such a dissection of Jaskier’s own psyche.

Really, it had all come to a head when they reached Oxenfurt.

They’d arrived at the bustling city as dusk was creeping over the horizon, Ciri on Roach, Geralt and Jaskier walking alongside. It was a welcome sight, after so long spent trudging through muddy undergrowth, especially in the autumn rains - Jaskier was fairly certain he couldn’t quite pinpoint the last time he’d been completely dry.

The quiet, alluring promise of a warm, dry bed and a proper bath that Oxenfurt offered had been immediately tempered when Jaskier caught sight of him.

Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cedaris - why wasn’t he in fucking Cedaris, then? - was hurrying through the quiet drizzle, bejewelled in the garments and jewellery of a wealthy man, muttering under his breath something about lazy apprentices and unstrung instruments.

Such a disappointing sight.

Still, Jaskier took a small amount of satisfaction in realising just how much better he wore his years compared to his old rival. He was greying and balding, once-luscious black locks giving way to thinning grey, and wrinkles creased what little of his face Jaskier had been able to see under his thick spectacles. Hah. Jaskier himself could still pass for a sprightly twenty-five.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s low voice rumbled, breaking through his thoughts.

“Oh! Oh, Geralt, yes. Uhh…” Jaskier blinked at the man, distracted. “Look, why don’t you and Ciri go to the inn - the Queen’s Herald Inn, the one with the red sign, that’s a good one - I have something I need to do.”

If Geralt was curious, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded and turned, no doubt to stable Roach before getting their lodgings.

Jaskier, then, had something to do, and he did rather have to do it soon enough - even given that Marx had not yet been struck down by apoplexy, he doubted the man had long left to live, given that he had begun to resemble, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, a large, sun-dried snail in a frock moreso than a human being.

Originally, he had planned to do the man some manner of physical harm, but Jaskier wasn’t heartless - he wasn’t about to wail on an old man, he had standards. No, Jaskier decided to go for something more… subtle. And perhaps even more wounding to his rival and most despised colleague.

So, he set about following Marx, to find his window of opportunity.

Perhaps his current little act was something of a crime, yes, but he had to get his information somehow, didn’t he? He’d worry about the ethics when he suddenly acquired the cumbersome affliction of giving a damn.

Valdo Marx had become, to the surprise of absolutely no one, a professor. Jaskier had been a professor for a year after he’d graduated - he’d found it so unbearably dry and dull that he’d all but ran from his position as soon as he could. Of course Marx would feel drawn to the job - it provided him with ample opportunity to preen in front of a crowd who couldn’t actually avoid him, given that they were paying for an education. Besides, the job was so boring, that Marx probably felt drawn to it on instinct, the utterly unoriginal peacock that he was.

Or had been, at any rate. To Jaskier’s eyes, he was less peacock, now, more plucked chicken.

It took surprisingly little time to set up his little ploy. He simply followed Marx, sticking silently to the shadows with stealth even he didn’t know he possessed, and learnt a little about him as he tailed him. What classes he taught, when he taught them… after that, it had been a matter of running up to the admissions office and pulling his best, desperate act of a boy passionate for the arts who had but one day passing through the town to use as an opportunity to learn, and please, please, please could they let him sit in on a certain lecture tomorrow? He had coin…

It wasn’t an act Jaskier had been expecting to be able to pull off at an age closer to fifty than anything else, but precious little in his life had actually gone as Jaskier had expected, for better or for worse.

He slipped back to the inn, back to Geralt and Ciri, not even bothering to hide his self-satisfied smirk.

“Something went well,” Geralt rumbled, regarding the smug bard as he ordered his own ale.

“Very much so, my dear friend! My preparations have been perfectly made for tomorrow.”

Ciri regarded him, curious. “Preparations for what?”

“Just… paying an old friend their due,” Jaskier grinned, raising his tankard.

Geralt’s brow furrowed, but neither he nor Ciri enquired further.

The night was passed pleasantly enough, indulging in warm baths with scented soaps and revelling at the soft, dry beds which were a far cry from damp bedrolls on the forest floor, and Jaskier rose early, eager to intrude on Valdo Marx’s lecture and send it, with a magnificent flourish, to shit.

Really, it made sense, Jaskier thought, that Marx would end up lecturing on the history of oral tradition. It was a topic as interesting as the man himself, what with his complete lack of originality and his copiously over-embellished ballads.

He arrived a good hour or so before the lecture, and slid into the theatre before Marx himself did, taking a seat right at the back, in the corner - the least conspicuous place he could manage, and, consequently, the most dramatic from which he could emerge.

Students began filing in one by one a while after Jaskier had taken his seat, filling the theatre with quiet chatter. The atmosphere was overwhelmingly familiar, and no one spared Jaskier a second glance, dressed as he was in a less eye-catching shade of blue so as not to prematurely draw unwanted attention.

Marx arrived after his students, of course he did - and whilst Jaskier knew a thing or two about being fashionably late, being ten minutes late to one’s own lecture smacked of a complete lack of respect for both the students and the job. In other words, it was typical Valdo behaviour.

“Alright, alright, quiet now,” Marx ground out, voice vaguely more quavery than Jaskier remembered it. “Let us begin to discuss, once more, the impact of folk songs on our recording and perception of our history.”

And then it was begun. As Marx droned on and on, all Jaskier had to do was look for a suitable opening.

“…And, whilst the ballad itself is, somewhat dry and unskilfully written, it does provide us with useful-”

“You’d know all about dry, unskilfully written ballads, though, Marx, wouldn’t you?”

A flicker of recognition flashed across Marx’s wrinkled face, though it was quickly replaced by seething frustration. “You would interrupt my lecture?”

“I would,” Jaskier grinned, knowing that Marx would hear it even if he did not see him. “But it was boring anyways, so it hardly matters.”

A tittering had broken out amongst the students, to which Marx responded by smacking his desk with a fist. “Silence! We shall continue the lecture, and you will hold your tongue, boy!”

Oh, if Marx would realise who he’d just called a boy! Jaskier was not that much his junior.

“Nonsense,” Jaskier said. “A little discussion is healthy, conductive to learning, even. At the very least it’ll capture the attention of one more of your students than the usual zero, given that it is quite impossible to have a discussion with oneself.”

“I said silence!”

The frustration on Marx’s face only served to warm Jaskier’s heart. Who’d have thought that all it took to get under his skin was ceaseless disrespect, that he could not, himself, shut down? Standing up and taking a step forward from his hidden seat, Jaskier schooled his grin to look more predatory than outright smug.

“No, no, dear Valdo, please. Indulge me. Let’s have a class discussion. Look, I’ll even make it about the lesson! Tell me, since you seem to value meaning and skill in art, how does it make you feel to know that your pieces possess neither?”

At this, some of the students outright chuckled, and Marx seethed. “I will not-”

But Jaskier did not give two licks of a shit what Marx would not do. “No, no, come on. I’m sure at least one of your students could name a bard of our times that has actually managed to create something worthwhile. Any takers?”

“The bard Jaskier!” called a voice, and Jaskier almost choked. To think that one of Marx’s own students would- it was beautiful. “I doubt there’s a soul on the continent who couldn’t sing Toss a Coin if asked.”

“The bard Jaskier,” Marx spat, “is a fool and a wastrel who wastes his life away skipping up and down the continent. Trust me, I had the displeasure of knowing him. One song does not a legend make!”

It was somewhat amusing, that the topic had turned to him before anyone had caught on to his identity.

“Still, better one good song than no good songs, eh, Valdo?” Then, as an afterthought: “Not like you’d know, though.”

“I will not tolerate such disrespect in my classroom! Sit down, boy, or remove yourself!”

“You won’t tolerate disrespect? Odd, what with the quality of your work, I thought you’d at least be used to it.”

Really, Marx had become so cantankerous and crotchety in his old age.

“Cease your prattle! You are but a student with ideas above your station, and I will not suffer this idiocy any longer!”

Jaskier hummed. “Perhaps you’re right-” and really, he wasn’t right at all- “but at least I have the capacity to create a song that’s more simply than a string of unrelated metaphors sung to the chords that you deemed the hardest to switch to at the time.”

The laughter was becoming more confident, and Jaskier took another few strides forwards. His aim here was not to hurt Valdo Marx’s pride - it was to utterly destroy it.

“Someone back me up,” he continued. “We can’t have the arrogant man believing that I hold the minority opinion.”

A thunderous cheer tore through the auditorium, and, whilst Jaskier had no idea if his willing audience was so receptive because they, too, hated Marx and his pretentious drivel as Jaskier did, or if they were just bored and hungover and eager for a laugh, but he didn’t particularly care, as long as Valdo Marx of Cedaris came out of it thoroughly humiliated.

“Really, it’s a wonder they let you teach at all, given that your work has so consistently been almost impressively substandard.”

Jaskier was moving forwards, almost at the front of the theatre, where Marx stood. He kept talking, too, continuously, determined to to give Marx the opportunity to engage with him in verbal battle and thus win back a little respect. This was to be an evisceration, not a fight.

“Still, perhaps I understand the logic. Why waste a good professor on such a boring subject when you can palm it off on a hack such as yourself? It’s a pity, I thought that, throughout the years, you’d be able to at least make something of yourself. Alas, it seems that some men are just pretentious pretenders, fated to languish in obscurity.”

He was paraphrasing what Valdo had said to him, back when they were still students, but he got the gist of it across. As he approached the podium, Valdo finally, finally recognised him.

“Julian?” he croaked. “Impossible. You’re-”

“Have fun with the gossip after this, my dear little friend,” Jaskier smiled, and exited the lecture theatre, leaving behind a pack of raucous students and a most thoroughly humiliated Valdo Marx.

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice

Author’s note:

This story is one of my own OC for the game Mr. Love: A Queen’s Choice. Except for Ike and her family, all the characters belong to the creators of Mr. Love: A Queen’s Choice. This fan fiction will contain spoilers for the game so, if you haven’t played it yet or are not caught up to Chapter 18 in the game, this is your warning. (Though it will take me quite a while to get to any sort of spoiler and I will mark it as such when it comes to it so you have time :P) This is merely a fan fiction of the game containing my own character and her story. None of this is cannon. All that said, Mr. Love is such an amazing game. It’s so much more than just some Otome mobile game. Its story is intriguing, and the gameplay is addicting in the best possible way. The development team are so respondent and understanding and honestly just want you to enjoy their game. I have! And I will! And I plan to show how much I do through this Fan fiction! I’m honestly just here for a good time so let’s have fun! Right? I plan on posting on Wednesday/Thursdays so stay tuned!! I want to show you guys the world I have been making for so long and my love for this game. So, let's get started, shall we? :D

  Warnings: Talk of death (it’s just talk. There’s no real death. More like existential dread), Talk of abuse (this is just character development. It’s not an angst I swear), Grammar mistakes (I tried cleaning this the best I can but I may have missed somethings. I’m sorry ^^;), fluff, and cliffhangers. A lot of them. Prepare for one heck of a story

Chapter one:

Part one:

There is no such thing as a good way to die. Death is death. There is absolutely no way death could be justified. But that is the last thing you are thinking when it is your life that is at risk. The first thing of course being, “I hope he doesn’t miss me.”

 >>>

It was hard to believe that I had been working as a producer for Ike ’n Bar Production Company for nearly two years now. I founded this company alongside my foster father, Bartholomew Schmidt. Bart had an opportunity to create something. Something that would bring love and entertainment to children and adults alike. Something that would bless the world with its presence.... He couldn’t make it past week one, so he called me in.

I am not one that wavers from the facts. There is a place for everything in this world and I do my best to put everything in that place. I didn’t spend four years of my life studying the answers of the world to be creative. So, when Bart turned to me for help with his new show idea, I was more than reluctant to help.

“Come on.” He begged wrapping his hands around each other, “They won’t let me pitch the idea until the plot holes are fixed. You’re the only person I know who will tell me exactly what is wrong without sparing my feelings!”

“Your TV show idea is a waste of my time.” I deadpanned.

“See?!” Bart stared at me with pleading eyes, “Just read the pitch... please?” After a couple minutes of awkward silence to finally cave. I read it over once. Then twice. Then a third time. I still had no idea what the show was about.

“So, let me get this straight.” I sighed, “It is a sitcom about a teenage girl, who happens to be an alien, living her life as a normal teenager.” Bart nodded excitedly. “But her family and friends have no idea what she is. And she has to keep the powers secret because… reasons.”

“See?!” Bart laughed, “You get it! For some reason the network thought it was confusing.”

“...I’m going to say this, and I want you to keep an open mind.” I handed the pitch back to Bart, “The show stinks. We are scrapping this idea and coming up with a new one.”

“Oh come-...we?”

“There is no way you are going to make it through this business alive without me. So, let’s talk about an idea that isn’t overused and unoriginal and actually has some taste.”

“.... Did you just hire yourself on my team?”

“Yes. Do you have a pen and paper on you? Someone should be taking notes.”

 The new show we had pitched to the network was a hit. A sitcom about a family of robbers evading the police. They are trying to have a normal life as they live on the lamb. We called it, Show Me the Honey. Sending our average amount of views over fifty thousand. We worked on that show as we pitched others and made a name for ourselves and the company. Since I wasn’t one for limelight, Bart took care of the field work as I worked as the co-head of Ike ’n Bar Productions from behind a screen and in my office.

Things were just the way they should be. With me out of the way. Maybe if things stayed that way, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I could be at that desk right now. Working on the next show. Calling on my assistant for a coffee. Telling off the latest intern for screwing up the order of the files. I could even hear my father’s voice again as he calls me with updates from the field. But sadly, all good things must come to an end. This end started with one name. Victor.

 “Victor?”

 I repeated to Bart over the phone, stalling my note taking on the pad next to me. I was at my office that Monday afternoon. The sun was shining through the window behind me and onto my large, glass, desk. The sunlight reflected off my screen and into my eyes, causing my already rotten mood to worsen.

“Yes!” He excitedly sang, “You have an interview with him today at three!”

“That’s in two hours.”

“Right!”

“...Bart. This man is the CEO of LFG.”

“Correct!”

“Loveland Financial Group.”

“Wow, Ike! You’ve sure got this down!”

“...OK hold on, you want me to go to the head of the largest leading investor in all of Loveland and ask him for funding on a TV show that hasn’t even been green lighted yet?! And you want me to prepare for it in under two hours.”

“Oh, come on. Saying it that way makes it sound bad.” Bart pouted. “Miracle Writer is going to be a hit! And we are a well-known company! It's not like we are asking too much from them! Just a little something to start us off. Besides I already told him that my amazing co-head, Ike, was going to be meeting him so there is no backing out now.”

“Bart, why aren’t you going? Aren’t interviews your thing?”

“They are but… I’ve heard some ghost stories about Victor.”

“Ghost stories?” I skeptically muttered as I held my throbbing head in my hands.

“I hear he tends to be… stubborn when it comes to funding companies.” Bart said this in a low voice as if Victor would appear behind him to overhear his words.

“Oh, and you’re informing me about this now instead of a few days prior so I could prepare for such an important interview with him. Makes sense.”

“Ike, I know it’s a little out of nowhere-”

“A little?!” I scoffed lifting my head back up and pulling my bushy brown hair out of my eyes as I arched my eyebrows uselessly to the receiver.

“But just hear me out, ok?” Bart pleaded helplessly. I stayed silent. Bart continued, “Victor is known to be brash. He rarely, if ever, smiles. In fact, his poker face is known to strike fear into even the strongest of soldiers. He yells more often then he praises. His stance towers over most people and it sends a level of power that is like none you have ever seen. But most importantly, he is extremely close minded when it comes to lending his money. So, it would need to take a strong headed and strong-minded person to get through to him. To make him see that they are worth every dollar of his-”

“And you want me to do the interview because he reminds you of me.”

“Man, I can’t get anything past you.”

Bart had a point. I have a tough time with my emotions. Let alone other people’s. I am known to be inscrutable in the office and outside of it. In my defense, my tactless rule over the office is why everything runs smoothly. No one second guesses my commands and, if they do, it would result in an outcome that could only ignite more fear towards me. Besides, showing no emotions trains the mind to adapt and overcome the words of others. Which helps suggesting the amount of words the office has to say about me narrows down to about four letters.

The main reason I don’t mind it all though is because Bart is loved in the office. His bright and fun-loving attitude is a refreshment for everyone there. They all welcome him in with open arms and follow his every word with preciseness. He is so soft with them and normally brings free lunches for the office when he visits. Of course, all that sweet talk makes him a doormat when it comes to asking for things from him, but no one would take advantage of that. And get away with it that is.

Bart can barely talk to me without cowering under my intensity when we are face to face. I can’t imagine what Victor would do to him. He’d probably chew him up and eat him alive.

“Fine.” I caved, “If I’m doing this, I need to start working now. So, I have to go.”

“Ikamara Bikira, you are a lifesaver!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

I groaned slightly as I hung up the phone. Interviews made me uncomfortable. How do you start it off? Do you need to make small talk? Would it be rude to just jump into the subject at hand? Should you address people by their first name or something a little more formal? Do I need to smile the whole time? Or should I be serious from beginning to end? I rubbed my temples to soothe my growing headache.

“That man is going to be the death of me.” I muttered under my breath. Though this isn’t the first time he has thrown me under the bus, I owed him my life. He and his wife, Maria, were the first foster family to take me in and want to keep me. I had been through five foster homes before theirs and I had the scars to prove it. I rubbed my arm as I recalled the memories. The first home sent me to a sort of bootcamp. The second home neglected me. Third home gave me too much of the wrong kind of attention. Fourth home made me lose parts of myself. Including feeling in my left arm and my voice. And the fifth home... Snapping back to reality, I smoothed out the sleeves to my shirt and saved the sad excuse of a report on my computer. I can’t let Bart down. It’s just an interview. I can do this. I reached into the cabinet next to my desk for papers on out new show “Miracle Writer” and a couple pods of Advil.

 Stuck in traffic, I impatiently tapped at the handles of my motorbike. Normally traffic at that time wasn’t too bad but for some reason, we were at a standstill. Unable to rub away my ever-increasing headache, I looked impatiently down the line of cars ahead of me. They were stalled at one stoplight. Even though the light was green on our side, the road was blocked by another line of cars ahead of them. Keeping the car in front of me in my peripherals, I unzipped my leather jacket and pulled my phone from inside my blazer. I opened my moments and checked trending. “Super Star, Kiro, Signs New Albums at The New Light Mall.” So that’s why traffic is so horrible. The line of cars blocking the road must be the line of fans heading to the New Light Mall. I looked enviously at the line. Though immensely irritating, I would kill to be a part of that line if it meant I got to meet Kiro.

Kiro was an inordinately talented superstar. The spunky blond-haired, teal eyed man was very popular among teens and adults alike. He was an idol among millions for his talents. Which varied from acting to singing to dancing to even fashion. It seems like this young boy was too good to be real. Many believed he had the superpower to woo people with one glance. I, of course, found this difficult to believe…. Though even I found it hard not to enjoy his presence.

In fact. I was a very big fan of his. He just so happened to be my idol. His music was the main thing that got me through so many things. Moving from foster parent to foster parent, when I had become selectively mute, moving to a new school, the events of the fifth foster house. Kiro meant more to me than most things in my life. But you’d never catch me screaming his name or crying at the sheer thought of him. I had self-control. I had to have it. If any mention of me being a fan of Kiro in the office and my tough manager cred would be flushed down the drain. I had to keep my obsession closeted at all costs.

The cars ahead of me started slowly moving again so I put away my phone and slowly followed. The cars stopped soon after. I moaned and checked the time on my watch. 2:30. Maybe walking to LFG would be faster than this.

Finally, my bike slowly rolled up to the stoplight. Past this light, the traffic was much more free-flowing. I was the second vehicle in line. I could almost smell the freedom. My eyes lazily drifted to the sidewalk next to the stoplight pole. There stood a young man staring intently at his phone. He wore a black baseball hat, a red and white hooded t-shirt, and black jeans. He also wore accessories containing a pair of bulky headphones around his neck and a pair of sunglasses. I looked up at the sky. Dark clouds covered most of it. Why was he so heavily protected from the sun?

The APS from the other side of the street started beeping, signaling to a group of pedestrians that it was time for them to cross. The man started impulsively making his way to the street, not paying any attention to the fact that it was not his turn to walk. I watched as a yellow sports car started making its way down to the light and straight towards the man. I looked up at mine helplessly. Still red. I checked my watch. 2:45. I didn’t have time for this.

I cursed to myself and pulled my bike to the side of the road. I quickly pulled out my keys and dashed down the crosswalk and to the man. The car drove closer to the light. The car’s horn finally started blasting which finally pulled the man’s attention off his phone and to the road. He froze in place as the car came speeding towards him. I jumped off the ground and dove into the man, shoving him off the crosswalk and back onto the sidewalk. Safe from the sports car that now had zoomed past the light and down the highway. I lay on him protectively as I caught my breath. I pushed myself onto my hands and caught the last glimpse of the car before it sped out of sight.

 I cursed at it uselessly. I sighed and finally looked down at the man. “You O-” I held my breath. The fall had knocked the hat off the man, revealing wild, bright, blond hair. The sun shone onto his sunglasses just enough to show his teal eyes sparkling as he made eye contact with me. My eyes went wide. It couldn’t have been him. There was no way it was him.

“You- you saved my life!”

It was him. There was no way you could mistake that mesmerizing voice of his. Especially if you listened to him as often as I did. It was a higher-pitched voice but there was a sense of joy with every word he spoke. As if merely speaking was a gift to him. As hearing it was a gift to me.

“Thank you!” Kiro smiled at me.

(Next)

[synthient]

The Key to Understanding Deltarune: The Halloween Hack

So we’re currently in the middle of a 4000 year content hiatus

Which is unfortunate, because ever since the big iconic Halloween-day surprise demo drop, my brain has been rattling a baseball bat against the inside of my skull and chanting “CONTENT, CONTENT, CONTENT”

Undertale was like candy for the thematic analysis side of my brain. I still wake up in a cold sweat some nights going “fun value......he put a quantitative value on fun.....numbers going up.....”

I am desperate to know what kind of themes Deltarune is going to tackle. Can you effectively predict that from one (1) 3 hour demo? No. Does my brain care? No.

Which is what lead me to the wonderful world of intertextuality, or examining how a media text is shaped by other media texts

It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this with me doing a playthrough of EarthBound, the video game that Toby has cited as his biggest inspiration for Undertale

That was fun & interesting (the “throwing away an emotionally engaging experience to grimly make Numbers Go Up” thing feels a lot closer to home after trying and failing to get the sword of kings), but it didn’t provide much insight into Deltarune, specifically. It wasn’t enough. I needed more. I was willing to dig into literally any intertext (except Homestuck, which no force on this earth can compel me to read :) )

anyway thats how I ended up playing Toby Fox’s high school fangame

And somehow (sorry Toby) I walked out of there with an unironic theory (a game theory....if you will....): Deltarune is Toby’s adult reexamination of the Halloween Hack.

What is the Halloween Hack?

You know that thing where, like, people take the engine of a Pokemon game and edit it so there’s a new region and a bunch of new fakemon, and also There’s Swears Now

In 2008, Toby Fox entered a contest on an EarthBound fansite for the best Halloween-themed EarthBound hack

In one sense, reducing the Halloween Hack to a “bad romhack with swears” is a little bit of a disservice. There are some glimmers in there of a really affecting, thought-provoking game, and you can see some of the early blueprints of what would later become Undertale (“do video game ‘monsters’ really deserve to die” is a major theme, and the character of Dr. Andonuts was effectively split up into Alpyhs, Asgore, and Sans)

But it’s also. very much a fangame made by a 16-year-old.

You can read a basic summary of the Hack here. High school-age Toby wrote two pretty extensive analyses of his thought process behind the game. I’ll be referring back to them a lot, and I’d highly suggest giving them a read--Toby’s been so famously resistant to making any Word of God statements about Undertale that it’s kind of fascinating to see him being so candid

an extremely long and rambling examination of How This All Relates To Deltarune

The Halloween Hack opens in the town of Halloween Twoson. Twoson is one of the cites in EarthBound, and here it’s been painted orange. and there’s pumpkins now

See, high school Toby had...a bit of a chip on his shoulder. In the Making Of notes, he explains that he was frustrated that “most people generally thought I was just ‘another funny guy’”. So he designed the opening of the game to seem unoriginally close to the original EarthBound--like “a regular, funny, lazy hack”--to lull players into a false sense of security before the horror elements set in.

Two interesting things there:

“Lazily, unoriginally close to the source game” sounds an awful lot like the Dark World segment of Deltarune

Halloween Twoson looks very visually similar to Hometown

Toby’s description of Twoson also sounds pretty Hometown-esque:

The main impressions of Twoson that I wanted to give the player were: It's funny. It's a nice fall day outside. The person hacking this game is ridiculously lazy. It's a nice place to live. If you look at it a little closely, it's kind of claustrophobic.  

And when does the horror kick in? When the player descends into the underground tunnels beneath the city.

The “horror” in the Halloween Hack is, however, Pretty Not Good.

There’s a whole lot of the flavor text narrator (put a pin in that one) insisting “this is so scary. you’re so scared. your hands shake and your head throbs because you’re so scared.” There’s also a thing where the battle text keeps going “the shambling zombie BITES your HEAD OFF!!! (you lose 15 hp).”

I think the True Lab sequence in Undertale is a decent demonstration that Toby’s come a long way since then (and that Honey We’ve Got A Storm Coming :’) ). But you know what the Hack’s style of horror reminds me of?

My first thought when I beat the demo and saw this stinger was “this looks like an intentionally shitty creepypasta.” Now I wonder if it’s lowkey adult Toby poking a little fun at teenage Toby

The Halloween Hack is a game about railroading. It’s Spec Ops The Line before there was Spec Ops The Line.

According to Toby:

The main theme of this game is the lack of choice. There is really no choice in this game. From the moment you start to the moment you finish, you're destined to kill Dr. Andonuts. There are two endings, but they both eventually end up the same way. It's all a big joke on the player.

You know why there isn't a choice there? Because you already chose to make Varik go into the door. You already chose to go forward. The only real choice, as Varik realizes at the end of the game, is to stop or keep going. By "stop" he means "turn off the game," and that's all you can do. Anything you play is your own fault for playing, and that's the only real choice you can make.

Interesting? Yeah. A little obnoxious? Also yeah.

That’s one of the criticisms people had of Spec Ops. "The atrocities we commit when we feel like we don’t have a choice” is an intriguing theme, but “~the only way to win is not to play~ [the game I worked hard on for the express purpose of people playing it]” isn’t a very satisfying conclusion.

Undertale, in direct contrast to the Hack, is all about choice. It earns the right to guilt you for the No Mercy Run by giving you every opportunity not to go through with it.

But even Undertale plays a little with the concept of railroading--you can’t stay with Toriel; you can’t spare Asgore in any of the neutral runs; you can’t save Asriel.

Now Deltarune seems to be returning full-on to the Hack’s “your choices don’t matter” premise. But it’s going to need to find something more insightful and satisfying to say about it.

Which makes me really curious about this:

If the Hack has a secondary theme besides railroading/lack of choice, it’s The Soul-Crushing Impact Of Internalized Homophobia.

The tragic antagonist, Dr. Andonuts, destroys his own life trying to repress his gay desire. He retreats into a dream world made of his neuroses and trauma, and he’s inevitably Otherized and murdered by the player. He’s something of a dark version of Alphys, who “disappears” into her lab without ever meeting and getting support from Frisk, Papyrus, and Undyne.

Undertale takes an opposite approach to its lgbt themes--the Underground is a utopia where homophobia and transphobia don’t exist. Everyone respects Frisk’s and Chara’s pronouns. Alphys finds solace and healing in her relationship with Undyne.

It’s a heartwarming growth from the despair in the Halloween Hack. And it’s a vision that’s been deeply meaningful to a lot of people. But that doesn’t mean that there’s no value in exploring issues of homophobia. 16-year-old Toby tried to do that, but...wasn’t exactly at a point where he was equipped to handle it with a ton of sensitivity and nuance.

(There’s. There’s a boss battle where you fight the physical manifestation of Andonuts’ gay repression. It’s a crotch. You fight a crotch.)

Some of the hints in the Deltarune demo, however--the Toriel Has Become Catholic thing; the fact that Alphys and Undyne haven’t met and Mettaton hasn’t been able to transition; the potential trans implications of choosing a name only to have it discarded for an assigned one (“you can’t choose who you are in this world”)--make me suspect that’s one of the themes that Toby will try to revisit from an adult perspective.

The Hack is interested in the idea of the flavor text narrator as a distinct, intelligent entity, whose thoughts and goals don’t always align with those of the player character or the player. 

The Hack’s narrator makes a habit of dictating “your” emotions to you (you’re scared; you can sense ‘the monster’ and you want to kill it; etc). The narration starts to seem more and more unreliable, until, as Toby put it, “The narrator starts talking to you personally...rambling about incoherent things.”

At the game’s turning point, you’re given a yes/no choice to kill Dr. Andonuts. Choose yes, and the narrator (mockingly?) calls you a good person, describes the murder you commit, and then narrates what appears to be your (or their? or Varik’s?) psychological breakdown. Choose no, and the narrator tells you that’s not a real choice and redirects you back to the yes/no box. If you press the b-button to try and opt out of the choice (the game’s unofficial subtitle is “Press the B-Button Stupid,” and doing so allows you to follow Andonuts into his dream world), the narrator starts to panic, although the game ultimately ends the same way.

Not to NarraChara Real, but NarraChara Real 

The Hack is also interested in the idea of the player character as a possibly-unwilling puppet controlled by the player (who in turn is controlled by the railroading/their need to beat the game).

According to Toby:  

 As you approach someone you've never met that you're labeling as a monster, your body pushes you forward to kill him. What's funny is that it's not even uncontrolled, it's really just the force of the player's controller pushing that little bounty hunter into murdering Andonuts. You might not realize it, but Varik is almost dead, and yet he can't stop moving because you keep pushing those buttons. 

The Halloween Hack is, fundamentally, a nostalgic meditation on an existing game.

It’s a little obvious to say, but the Hack isn’t a standalone game. It’s a hack of EarthBound.

Toby writes:

EarthBound dominated my childhood, shaped my preteen years, and played a large role in molding me into the offbeat pseudohippie I am today. It gave me a sense of humor. It helped me learn how to read. Its lessons served as a basis for my sense of justice and courage.

But at age 16, Toby’s feeling about the game that had shaped him were a little mixed. He describes “the staleness of a fifteen-year-old video game” as one of his motivations for making the Hack.

In Deltarune, he (kind of hilariously) has Alphys parrot his teen-self’s “staleness” line:

(I could write a whole meta just on the Mew Mew Kissy Cutie vs Mew Mew Kissy Cutie 2 thing)

Still, Toby’s nostalgia for EarthBound is essential to how the Hack operates. Earlier, I said there were glimmers of an thoughtful, affecting game buried in the “bad romhack with swears.” The most genuinely moving moment in the Hack, in my opinion, is the Onett sequence. 

You wander though a faded, dream world version of Onett--the hometown from EarthBound--while a slowed down arrangement of the Onett music plays. Snatches of forgotten conversations appear on road signs. Various monsters from EarthBound follow slowly behind you, but don’t attack. The only battles are against creatures called “Remember Me?”

The EarthBound characters appear to recognize “Varik” as Ness, EarthBound’s protagonist--or are they recognizing you, the player, as the same person who played EarthBound once upon a time?

The one problem, of course, is that not everyone has played EarthBound. It’s a relatively niche game. The sense of remembrance and regret and loss in the Onett sequence is universal, but being shaped as a person by the specific video game EarthBound isn’t a universal experience.

But in the years since the Hack, Toby has created something with a wider reach than EarthBound. Something that can evoke that sense of memory and nostalgia in players. A familiar game that he can take apart, rearrange, and examine in an entirely different light.

He made Undertale.

And now he’s rearranging the pieces into Deltarune.

[mistymark]

the one with the halloween party // z.c.l

zhong chenle x reader // 2.3k words // high school!au

“We’re enemies that coincidentally go to the same costume party wearing masks and I get to know you and I think I’m in love” // first bulleted au (?) // masterlist // part one of one // warnings: swearing, theres a party but its Completely Pure and Innocent, just fluff tbh

okay, so you and your friends are pretty close, sorta popular but mostly just really nice

so you get along great with almost everyone at ur school

and by almost,,,

I mean everyone except zhong chenle

dont get me wrong, the guy has great friends and seems pretty easygoing,,, but for some reason he hates your guts

which  is okay, cause you hate his guts too

he’s a bit of an ass to you and has been for a while now

would knock your book off your desk “accidentally” or kick your chair     constantly during classes just to annoy you

but you weren’t any more mature:

you’d stick your foot out to trip him up in the halls and remove the ink part from his pens just to have him experience an inconvenience for once in his perfect goddamn life

you were in competition constantly,,, and not the cute kind of competition,,

if you beat him on a test he’d be so annoyed, and would study for hours to make sure he beat you on the next one 

and  there were times when your friends and his would have to drag you away so  an actual fist fight wouldn't break out during one of your petty arguments during literature, when discussing the meaning of a particular symbol in a book

you were both so stubborn when it came to that, and neither of you would back down

it got to the point where every little thing he did pissed you off

laughed like he always does loudly?? pissed you off

sat down with his friends during lunch, making a face when he made eye contact with you?? pissed you off

seeing him flirt with random students in the year levels below you ?? pissed you off

“he’s such a fucking flirt, why does he have to lead them on? the poor things they just look up to him” “sounds like you’re jealous” “I am NOT     jealous”

“he’s just doing it to make them vote for him for president!!” “I thought     we discussed this yesterday, y/n” “we did but im still annoyed about     it... dont roll your eyes at me, I do NOT like him!!” “sure, y/n, sure”

anyway

a girl in your year decides to throw a fun halloween party, to get everyones minds off of school and exams and such, and you're hella excited like

opportunity to dress up in ridiculous costumes ??? hell ye

you’ve been planning your outfit with two of your friends for over a month, you've decided to go as the three musketeers (a reference to a book one of them has been studying in a class) complete with leather outfits, boots, swords, and for fun, masks

when the party is only a week away, you walk into ur lit class (ayyy get lit     fam) and chenle is sitting on his desk, talking to his friends about how     he’s got the best costume for Saturday night

you roll your eyes

he doesnt fail to notice

“hey, y/n, you going on Saturday?” “idk, are you?” “yeah” “then no”

you poke your tongue out at him when he flips you off, and turn your back to him, making yourself busy by grabbing out your books

his dumb (but a lot nicer) friends are going OooOoOoOooh and u feel a smug smile on your face as you pretend not to care

you hear chenle mumble a “whatever” as he jumps off the desk when your teacher walks in and makes his way to his own seat

luckily, you dont see much of chenle around school for the rest of the week, and when u do, its just giving each other death stares or glaring at each other from across the room

he did “accidentally” trip you while you were walking into one of your     classes

and you “just so happened to” pull his chair away as he went to sit down,     because your chair was coincidentally missing and you “didnt see him     sitting down”

he glared at you as he stood up, hand holding the back of his head as he     forcefully grabbed a spare chair and sat down

when Saturday rolled around, you grabbed all the last minute items you needed and drove to your friends house to get ready

“how do I look” “why? planning on impressing someone tonight ? maybe,,, chhheeeeeeeenleeeeeeeee”

you finished your eye makeup and tied the mask around you head, grabbing one of the swords from the bed and tucking it into your belt loop

“damn y/n, you're going to have guys fawning all over you all night” “maybe chenle will finally have the courage to ask you out” “SHUT UP”

you arrived at the party not soon after, and marvelled at everyones costumes

there were definitely some really good ones this year

after two hours, you found yourself standing by the drinks table, tired from dancing with your friends and having impromptu sword fights

“I like your costume!” someone shouted over the music

you turned around and it was,,

batman

nah seriously you couldnt tell who it was, but you knew it was someone from your year

“batman? wow thank you,, that means a lot, coming from you” you jokingly raised a toast

“shouldn't there be three of you?”

“the other two are off dancing, I lost them a while ago. shouldn't you be off fighting superman?”

he smiled and you felt like you recognised him, but u couldnt place it “already defeated him, look...” he pointed to the dance floor, where another boy dressed like superman was dancing “the only thing that could make someone dance that badly is if they had an injury” he     pointed at himself proudly “I did that”

you laughed and the conversation continued from there

you felt bad for not knowing who the person was, as he clearly knew who you were, and were too shy to ask, so you just went with it

“do you wanna go outside? I can't hear you in here” he shouted over the music, pointing to the door

you ended up spending an hour with him on the porch, picking out the best costumes, having playful arguments about their origins and which ones were more original, and you found yourself to be happier when you were talking with him than with anyone else there

you agreed on four of the top five most unoriginal costumes,, with the     exception being his own

“Im sorry, but batman is not original at all! there are at least three walking     around here” “so? theres at least three musketeers too” “THERE ARE THREE MUSKETEERS!! AND ONLY ONE BATMAN?!” you both began laughing at your own dumb arguments, and settled into a comfortable silence

it was getting pretty late, and the sun had well set, and you shivered as a     breeze passed you

without thinking, batman offered you his cape, wrapping it around your shoulders

you couldnt help but think he was flirting, and had been since you began     talking, and now had the strongest feeling that you’d developed a crush on someone

it was too late now to ask his name, considering you’d been talking like     you’d known each other for years the entire night 

when your ride arrived a while later, he was waiting with you and stepped back onto the porch as you turned away to walk to the car

suddenly, you felt sad that you’d have to leave this perfect night, so you quickly ran back, pecked him on the cheek and ran to your car without looking back at his reaction

when Monday rolled around, your friends instantly found you in the hallway, wanting to hear everything about ‘Batman’ and your bold flirtations

you’d stressed for the past two nights that he might not have actually been flirting with you, and you’d taken his jokes and friendliness the wrong way

but your friends had assured you he probably felt the same way, based on what you'd already told them

“ugh, and I just had calculus with y/n’s favourite person, and he would not stop boasting about this chick he’d met at the party. whats the bet he’s still talking about it when you both have lit with him” your friend laughed and continued eating her lunch

you had lit right after your lunch block, and when u walked in, he was smugly talking to his friends

he looked up as you walked past “y/n didnt catch you at the party, guess     you really decided not to come, huh?”

“?? I was there, chenle, or were you too busy talking chatting up that girl     you met to notice” you continued to your desk, but froze at the words of     one of his friends

“yeah, I thought batman wasn't supposed to fall in love”

you looked back at the group, and they hadn't noticed your behaviour, so you quickly made your way to your desk and flung your stuff down, grabbing your phone in panic

“im not in love”

you tried to calm yourself, there were more than three batman’s at the party, what’s the likelihood it was chenle you had kissed??

nothing to worry about

“idk man, the way you talked about her made it sound like you are” jeno laughed

“aNd tHeN sHe kiSSeD mE” jaemin mocked, making his voice higher

you buried your head in your hands

no  no no no no

no no no no no

nO NO NO NO NO

it could NOT HAVE BEEN CHENLE

you DID NOT kiss chenle

you did not KISS chenle

you did not kiss CHENLE

and then to make things better, one of your friends walked in

“Y/n! sword fight!” he grabbed a pencil from his pocket and pointed it at you

immediately you playfully sparred with him, before jabbing him in the stomach

“guess once a musketeer, always a musketeer” he mumbled, sitting in his seat, defeated

in your peripheral vision, you saw chenle’s head whip to you

“thats what you get for coming as a CLOWN”

you tried to keep your voice level and your head down as your teacher started the class,, but you couldnt help it

you snuck a glance towards chenle’s desk

he was already looking at you

fuck

you felt your eyes widen, and watched his do the same

there was something unrecognisable in his gaze, and you decided to focus on your work, dragging your eyes from him

when the bell signalling the end of the class rang, you haphazardly stuffed your textbook and notes into you binder and attempted to dart from the room,, but something held you back

or rather,, someone

you looked at chenle’s hand wrapped tightly around your wrist and shot him a pleading gesture

“not here”

he simply nodded and began packing his things away neatly

you waited, tapping your foot anxiously

you found yourselves sitting behind the school in awkward silence     (wheremystaysat) as both of you thought about what to say

“im really hoping your costume was unoriginal enough that it maybe wasn’t you” you said, shooting him a glance

he sighed at your words

“there were three musketeers, too” he mumbled, not looking up as he fiddled with his watch

that’s when you knew it was definitely him at the party

more silence fell between you

suddenly you took a deep breath

“I actually had a really great time on Saturday night” you said, glancing up to gage his reaction

you saw him smile a little “me too”

you felt a bit more comfortable seeing him smile, and it felt like you both     became submerged in memories, comfortably thinking in silence

“my favourite part was when you said goodbye” he moved his hands to either side of his body and leant back, basking in the sunlight

he had made a point of not looking at you, but he turned his head towards you and squinted after he had spoken

you tried to recall actually saying goodbye to him, but all you had said was “oh your cape!” as you handed it back to him and took off running to your car

when you pointed this out to him, he laughed and shook his head at you

“not  that part, dumbass”

suddenly his voice became quieter

“I meant the part where you kissed me”

you felt your smile widen into a grin “zhong chenle do you have a crush on me?”

his eyes widened as he turned to you “what? Of course n- maybe?” he looked at you sheepishly

you moved your hand over his, and he threaded his fingers through yours “I maybe have a crush on you too”

he looked at his watch again “look, the last thing I want to do is go to     class rn but I think Im already ten minutes late”

“shit,that means I am too” you picked up your belongings and walked inside with him, heading to your separate classes

“what do you have now?” he asked

“chem. You?”

“oh yea, you always have chem when I have calc”

“you know my schedule?” you blushed

now it was his turn to flush “maybe”

his classroom was down a separate corridor to yours, so when it was time for to split off, you said a quick goodbye and started down the hallway “ill catch you later yeah?” he bid you goodbye

thinking better of it, you turned around “wait!”

he stopped walking, looking confused as you ran back towards him

“I forgot” you said, biting the inside of your cheek as you approached

yes girl go get your man

you stepped onto your tip toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek, his mouth forming into a dumb grin as you stepped back

you turned around, ready to go to class for real now, when he grabbed your arm, spinning you around

he pulled you closer to him, his arm wrapping around you waist as he kissed your lips softly, quickly

when he moved away from you, creating a distance you only wanted to close again, he had the biggest smile on his face, his eyes forming little     crescent moons

“fuck, ive wanted to do that for so long”

this is my first bulleted fic, what do you guys think?? also,,, two posts in one day?? how blessed ?? I felt inspired a lot today, and the fact im working from home made me more productive (for fic writing not for actual work tho lol)

[missolitude]

Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey Review

I don’t usually do game reviews but I’ve recently finished playing Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey and I was urged to publish my thoughts and opinions about it. First off, this is the first and only game of the Franchise that I picked up, the main reason for that being that I’m primarily interested in well written RPGs and Odyssey promised what I look for in games: Choices and consequences, multiple endings, a well written story, romances and deep connections with other characters.

In my opinion the game fell flat on all of these criteria, and I will attempt to be as objective as I possibly can but my review of it will ultimately be less than favorable. If you are a fan of the game and have enjoyed it, I am happy for you, but if you are looking for an opinion that will bolster yours, you will not find it here. Also, there will be spoilers for the main story as well as side quests so if you haven’t finished the game, stop reading. You have been warned.

Graphics are great and the world is huge, but ultimately without substance

First of all, let’s start with the few positives. As someone who is mostly focused on a game’s substance, graphics are not what matters most to me, but they are admittedly the game’s strength. The game looks good and the graphics are great, the world is massive, there are endless locations to explore by either foot, horse or boat, and if you are a completionist like me, you will easily get 200+ hours of playtime out of the game. However, and this is where the negatives start already, the game seems to favor quantity over quality.

Once the novelty of the game wears off you will be quick to notice that the landscape is repetitive, and few of it is actually noteworthy or unique. Once you know one island, one temple, one military fort, you know them all. There are entire islands with just one single location on it that can be explored, the rest is lifeless and without substance. None of the citizens in cities or on the streets can be interacted with, nor will they react to you, unless you count some disgruntled huffs and cursing if you run them over with your horse. All of them can be killed without consequences to the story, the bounty you get can be paid off with just one button click and a couple of hours in you have so much money that this minor sum barely seems a noteworthy sacrifice.

Of course, don’t count the many times when you will be attacked by a lion or a boar or a wolf in close proximity to a random side quest NPC and accidentally kill the quest giver or the random person you need to make a delivery to and need to reload an earlier save, since all weapon attacks (it doesn’t matter if you use an Axe or a Spear or Daggers) are automatically AoE (even more so when using fire damage) and you will hit whoever stands close to you and unless you always use your bow in these kinds of situations, there is no safe way for you to make sure not to hit friendlies.

The majority of side quests are fillers and devoid of meaning or content, designed to get you out into the world. Kill a couple of Athenian soldiers, come back, get your reward, kill a couple of Spartan soldiers, come back, get your reward, destroy a couple of War Supplies, come back, get your reward, kill a couple of bandits and destroy some ships, get the stolen money/ring/whatever personal item from xyz, come back, get your reward, repeat ad infinitum. The quest dialogue becomes so repetitive that after a while you will be tempted to kill the quest giver and whoever you chose as your protagonist, not your target. ”I took care of them, everrry last one.” ....Please spare me.

Many world areas are level locked and you will need to grind if you want to explore them all, which means at some point you will experience these tedious, meaningless side quests and wish there was an easy way out or a short cut, and it exists in the form of an experience booster that can be acquired via microtransactions and you will wonder if the game was intentionally designed that way.

As a mercenary that will do jobs just for money you will work for both Athenians and Spartans in their war efforts, and the way in which quests are designed makes it even more obvious that it ultimately doesn’t matter which side you take. Areas will either be governed by Athenians or Spartans and you can weaken their defenses by destroying war supplies, killing soldiers and assassinating their leader. This unlocks a conquest battle in which you can choose to fight for either side. This is completely pointless from a story and character point of view, even more so when you consider that you can sabotage one side just to defend them in battle. Where’s the sense in that?

Your protagonist will mindlessly go along with it and seems to be completely unaware of the irony and idiocy, so either they are oblivious, spineless or generally without own motvations or agenda. Yes you get some experience and loot for conquest battles but other than that this game mechanic is utterly pointless. You could conquer the entire game world for one faction and it wouldn’t change the outcome of the story, the political climate, or how people react to you, you won’t be locked out of quests, nothing changes. It’s just a way for you the pass the time whilst nothing of substance was accomplished and to distract you from the fact that it is altogether meaningless and without consequences, as is the majority of the game.

There are only a couple of instances when you can influence minor parts of the story. Don’t let that fool you, there is only one ending, you can only change minor variables within that outcome. You have a say in how many family members will survive your journey. Sometimes you can decide where someone of importance dies, and that will influence whether you will be able to unveil and kill all of the Cultists that are responsible for destroying your family. One decision makes it possible for you to spare a Cultist who was blackmailed and actually wants to leave the cult, at which point he will give you the necessary information you need to unmask another Cultist. (Which is nonsensical - he has the proof you need on him, you should get it when you search his body regardless, period. His free will in that matter should be completely irrelevant.) At one point you can decide to let a couple of plague victims live and if you do the rest of the island will, unsurprisingly, become infected and the population dies. But these are the only actual choices with consequences the game will give you.

The rest are pseudo choices and the game will only make you want to believe that your decisions matter. Starting with what horse you choose - which is a non-choice. No matter which horse you pick, all of them will be called Phobos, and once you get Horse skins/designs as quest rewards or in form of microtransactions, its exterior will change anyway. Shake Markos’ hand or hug him? A non-choice. You will meet him later on and he won’t even reference it. Whatever you tell Phoibe at whichever point of the story? No consequences whatsoever, what happens to her is unavoidable. Let a couple of thugs go or kill them? A non-choice. Maybe they will make a brief appearance later on at which point you will kill them and that will be the last you ever heard of it. Kill a Cultist or save the baby? A non-choice. If you decide to save the baby the mother won’t even thank you and you get another side quest to then kill the Cultist. If you decide to pursue the Cultist (an old unarmed woman), she runs into a cave, past a pack of hungry wolves - there’s no way she could have survived the encounter, with or without you there.

What happens in the main story will remain unchanged. You will bring down the cult and destroy its Pyramid artifact, you will restore your Spear and with it your legacy, you will retrieve artifacts to seal Atlantis and you will find out who your real father is. All in all the story was disappointing and unoriginal and predictable. The few twists that there are are hardly surprising, most characters seem shallow and lifeless, the way certain scenes are written is just atrocious. Just to give one example: When you first meet your sibling after believing that they are dead your entire life they will not even blink an eye and tell you to leave and you just... go? You don’t ask questions, you are not surprised, you don’t argue, you just leave. Pretty realistic, right? After which your sibling will mindlessly beat another Cultist to death... yeah.

The dialogue is often flat, awkward and inconsistent, to the point where it constantly breaks your immersion. Quest givers will not acknowledge when you have already fulfilled their quest, or already know certain things they reveal to you, your protagonist will contradict themselves and often even within a couple of minutes. During Barnaba’s conversations at the Olympic games I played Kassandra as someone who doesn’t believe that the Gods have any sway over her destiny, and she made fun of God worship and said with a certain aggression that the Gods shouldn’t dare try to meddle with her life. In the next sentence she suggests to make an offering to Zeus. Split personality much?

There is also a huge disconnect between what you know as a player and what your character knows. You will unveil a Cultist via the menu mechanics and Kassandra will act surprised when they reveal who they are. The game will constantly spoiler itself and the pacing is all over the place. Your sibling is not the true leader of the Cult - if this should have been a surprise they shouldn’t have given me a Cult network that makes this clear from the start. At some point your mother will urge you to find out who your real father is - which I did, since I was curious if she had any unique dialogue about him and I just assumed that this was the game’s hint that I would get the most out of the game if I did his storyline now.

Turns out the storyline of who your real father is and what his true purpose is (and yours) will act as a sequel to the main story, and I had still about 40% of the main story left at this point. It felt like a huge spoiler (the irony, I know) and it made the actual ending of the main quest seem like an afterthought. I also was disappointed that you couldn’t decide what to do with the Cult’s Pyramid artifact - this could have been meaningful for a change but I suppose the game didn’t want to risk having possibilities in case they wanted to reference the ending in a sequel. Disheartening, to say the least.

The dalliances (I refuse to call them romances) with other characters mostly feel awkward, flat, superficial and cheesy. For the most part the game fails at conveying any deep connections or emotions and the majority of characters feel like a momentary fuck buddy - jump into bed with them and forget about them a minute later. Daphnae gets an honorable mention: you get the chance at deepening your relationship with her over the course of the game and you will have an actual decision that decides her fate in the end and the outcome might pull at your heartstrings. There aren’t any deeper consequences to that decision and no matter what you do, you will never see Daphnae again, but it is more than I expected and more than you get with other flings.

And of course there is Alkibiades. He was a pleasant surprise on every level, he is well written, complex, multi-faceted, dorky, flirtatious and intriguing. When you first meet him you think he’s a drunken hedonist at best and a perverse sex addict at worst. When you meet him again later, you begin to think he might be shady. But when you do more quests for him your perception on him will be challenged and you realize  there might be more to him than than meets the eye. You will meet him several times during the course of the game and each time adds something to his character and your connection with him feels genuine and meaningful.

I also loved the chemistry with Brasidas and I had high hopes for a meaningful relationship with his character but the game failed to do anything with it. I also romanced Kyra and her character was well-developed but the culmination felt forced and too dramatic. I would have understood that Thaletas, Kyra’s lover, wanted me dead had I not cultivated our relationship and even retrieved his father’s helmet from the bottom of the sea, but I have. I did the questlines for both Kyra and Thaletas and it didn’t matter. Thaletas forced my hand after finding out that Kyra chose me over him. I merely wanted to defeat him in combat but the game didn’t give me that choice, I had to kill him and Kyra hated my guts after that. I wasn’t angry at her for hating me, I was angry at the game for denying me choices. This could have been handled in any number of ways. You could have urged Kyra to communicate her desires to Thaletas. You could have chosen to talk to Thaletas yourself and be upfront with him about your intentions. You could have made this poly, we are in Ancient Greece after all. I’m all for drama and passion but this could have been handled with some semblance of intelligence and foresight and well, communication. That is an option in relationships, you know? It should have been an option here, and up to the player whether they take it or not.

As a last point I will mention the atrocious Greek accents. Many people have already said how forced they sound and they do, but nobody has ever questioned why they are even there in the first place. These people are in Ancient Greece, they speak in their mother tongue and English is merely the fantasy equivalent of that. People do not speak English with an accent in their home land. And don’t give me any weak excuses à la “that’s just how the animus translates” or “all Assassin’s Creed games had accents this is just the way it is” or “this is just to make the game sound more exotic” - no, no, no. It was a design choice and in my opinion it was a terrible one. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad with a more mellow and natural accent but it felt so forced and stilted it made listening to the NPCs unbearable most of the time, and it constantly broke my immersion. Look, if you want to make a game more exotic record it in Greek with Greek voice actors and add English subtitles. Or just leave certain names and designations and terms in Ancient Greek if you must, but having English spoken in a strong Greek accent makes no sense whatsoever.

All in all the game was pretty to look at and it certainly has potential and worthwhile ideas but they are poorly executed. Most of all, the substance was lacking. I felt like all of my actions ultimately didn’t matter, I found myself questioning my protagonist’s motivations and with that, my own. Why was I so intent on finding my family when not even my protagonist seemed to be overly concerned with their fate? That is especially true for the first half of the game. At no point did I ever feel like I could influence the story, or flesh out my character’s personality, or roleplay. Most of the time you only have two dialogue options, none of which ultimately matter. This feels especially unnatural when trying to have philosophic discussions with Sokrates. You often were caged between two extreme answers and there was no sensible middle option that would have seemed much more appropriate.

None of this would have been so terrible if this game would sell itself as it is, a combat focused open world game with a basically linear story. However the game was advertised as a game with choices, romances, consequences, and there were barely any to speak of. What infuriated me most was this deception. Yes of course you have certain choices - do they influence the world around you or the story? Mostly they don’t. Do you have multiple endings? No you don’t. You merely change certain variables within it. Is it an RPG? No, it certainly is not. I can only judge this game as it presented itself and it failed to deliver on its promises.

[ethospathoslogan]

common ground; a sanders sides/logince fanfic

A/N: this fic was inspired by an anon i got a couple days ago so!!! shout out to that person. and i think i like this a lot. i think. ironically enough, i find myself currently struggling with my creativity.

summary: Logan was smart and cautious. Logan played it safe, played it boring, as Roman would typically say, and yet Logan knew better than he did. Roman sometimes wished that he could see eye-to-eye with Logan so that he could finally understand what Logan had that Roman didn’t. Logan didn’t seem to let the others down. Even when he was the source of Thomas’ procrastination, Logan was able to fix it and came up with an idea to battle it. Because that was just how Logan was: he saw a problem and he fixed it, because he was smart and knew what to do. Roman sometimes felt that he was just pouring gasoline onto an already raging fire, and then wondering why it was burning everything in his path. Roman and Logan find common ground in their insecurities. (takes place after "am I original?")

ships: logince/pre-logince

WC: 2,893

warnings: cursing and insecurities

read on ao3!!!

Roman would have preferred to not be in his room, alone and surrounded by piles of ideas that were-

He frowned and stopped his train of thought as he flopped down face first on his bed in a very un-princely manner. He gave the floor a hard stare over the side as his feet kicked his shoes off. Ideas that were… what? He had just returned from the other sides (mostly Anxiety) destroying his ideas, surely he at least had the talent to describe the rejected ideas.

Stupid? His mind offered him. Bad? Unoriginal? Worthless? A waste of time?

“Unproductive,” Roman finally forced himself to say despite how little he believed it. “Ideas that were unproductive and shot down and stupid and bad and-”

Roman cut himself off with a groan and rolled onto his back. His fairy lights, the only light in the otherwise dark room, twinkled above him.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lay here and wallow in his own pity because his ideas for the day were unoriginal. He was a prince with some scrap of dignity to keep, and a knight who has faced much worse for much less. To wallow was to be fragile and vulnerable.

But, fuck it, Roman wanted to wallow, and how much dignity did he really have left? So, in result of his decision to be very pathetic and very weak and very every synonym possible for the previous two words, he pressed his hands to his eyes and let out a sigh.

The other sides had seen him fail. They had seen him make ideas that weren’t original, weren’t something that he could proudly put his name on and call it his, and Roman just let it happen. He forced them all into Daydream Mode with him, and yet he couldn’t even keep up with his own plans. He had started with the mindset that he would make a completely original idea, and finished with the disappointment that he couldn’t but it was fine because they all had fun, or whatever.

Roman didn’t know what fun they were talking about. Patton, sure, maybe, but Patton had fun doing anything. Roman was convinced the only “fun” that Anxiety could understand was destroying every shred of his ego. Logan might as well have been on Anxiety’s side and, besides, he and Logan were so far off from each other that they were never on the same side in the first place.

Logan was all logic (Roman let a small smile quirk up his lips at the pun) and rational thinking. Logan was being level-headed and unemotional because he could think objectively or whatever it was that he said he was better at. Logan was understanding that he had limits and that to push those limits would only bring disappointment and failure.

Roman, on the other hand, was irrationality. He was impulsively throwing himself and the others into Daydream Mode because Roman couldn’t get a grip on himself. Being Roman was being Creativity and yet being unable to handle any type of criticism. Roman was running miles past his limits because he thought he was talented enough to be able to, and then realizing, when he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, that he was nothing special.

(The smile fell off of Roman’s face.)

Logan was smart and cautious. Logan played it safe, played it boring, as Roman would typically say, and yet Logan knew better than he did. Roman sometimes wished that he could see eye-to-eye with Logan so that he could finally understand what Logan had that Roman didn’t.

Logan didn’t seem to let the others down. Even when he was the source of Thomas’ procrastination, Logan was able to fix it and came up with an idea to battle it. Because that was just how Logan was: he saw a problem and he fixed it, because he was smart and knew what to do.

Roman sometimes felt that he was just pouring gasoline onto an already raging fire, and then wondering why it was burning everything in his path.

Roman sighed again and pushed himself up. He leaned back on one hand, using the other to run a hand through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, he really shouldn’t be wallowing, at least not in his room. His room had the habit of… growing a mind of its own. It had opened up storm clouds at moments of intense emotion before, and Roman really didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of a dark grey cloud opening up above him and releasing all the feelings he wanted to keep at bay.

He could manage to sit in the commons and be completely unbothered if he played his cards right. He just had to look as if-you-come-near-me-I’m-yelling-at-you as possible. Anxiety looked that way all the time, surely Roman could pull off a similar look.

He stood and spun quickly, his normal jacket, sash, and pants being replaced by a burgundy sweatshirt that was two sizes too big and sweatpants. Even a prince had to be comfortable at times, especially when he was uncomfortable with everything else about him.

After thirty seconds of ruffling through his drawers and about two minutes of frustratingly untangling wires, he finally had his headphones around his neck and his hand on the handle of his door-

Only to pull it open and find Logan standing with his hand raised, as if he was about to knock. Logan’s eyes widened behind his glasses and Roman was sure that he wore a similar expression. After a moment, though, Roman looked away with an eye roll.

“Back to brag that you won?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Let me spare you and tell you that I’m coming down to the Commons right now, so you all can get your share of telling me how you are were right and I was wrong.”

Logan frowned and looked away. Roman furrowed his eyebrows at the sight before him. Logan, now donning his own pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve, pulled at the collar of his shirt in lieu of adjusting his tie. He scuffed one of his socked feet on the carpet and finally looked back up at Roman. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and Roman realized that Logan looked rather shy.

“I was actually wondering if we could talk,” Logan said. He then pointedly added. “Alone.”

Roman eyed him cautiously before slowly taking a step back in his room. “Come in, I guess,” he murmured and took his headphones off, tossing them back onto his desk. Logan followed him in, closing the door quietly behind him. Roman returned to his bed, sitting and bringing his knees to his chest. He quirked an eyebrow at Logan. “Well?”

Logan seemed to be looking anywhere but at Roman. Roman, who was currently not in the mood to be conversing with others when he felt so awful, would have impatiently pushed Logan to speak if Logan didn’t look so apprehensive. So instead, Roman rested his chin on his knees and waited. Logan’s eyes were on the fairy lights, and Roman could see them reflected in his glasses. The small lights cast a dull orange glow on the two of them.

Finally, Logan turned his gaze to Roman. “It’s come to my attention that I should apologize,” he finally said. “I’ve realized that it was not just Anxiety treating you unfairly before, and I should have been more open to your ideas.”

Roman huffed. “Thanks for the pity,” he bit, his annoyance only heightening. “But if Patton was the one who forced you to come here, then I don’t want-”

“I came here by my own intuition,” Logan interjected, and Roman immediately felt like an asshole. An asshole who had capped out his aggravation for the day and was left very, very tired.

“Sorry,” Roman mumbled, turning his head away to stare at the wall.

“It’s quite alright, I can tell that you’re… frustrated,” Logan said. Roman’s gut clenched at now knowing how visually vulnerable he was. “May I sit?”

“Sure,” Roman said and felt the bed dip next to him as Logan sat down.

The two were silent for a couple moments. Roman kept his eyes trained on the wall. He was so tired and so aggravated and he felt like everything about him was wrong, and now Logan --smart Logan, level-headed Logan, Logan who knew how to handle himself-- was here, and Roman didn’t know if he would be able to handle being so imperfect next to someone so put together.

“I was thinking about what you had said earlier,” Logan finally said. Roman turned to look at him only to find Logan already looking back at him. “About your… your fear of letting Thomas down.”

Roman sighed and scratched at the back of his neck. “Oh, that,” he said. “I’m sorry that you all had to see that. I was having a bit of a moment, then.”

Logan shook his head. “Roman, there is no need to apologize,” he insisted. “Frankly, I -out of all of us- should have been the most sympathetic to you because, even though I don’t quite do feelings, I do understand your fear.”

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. “You do?”

Logan nodded. “Yes, I do,” he said. “I know that we… butt heads a lot, but I do understand what you are feeling. That feeling of not being good enough, of falling short of what is expected of you.”

“But you’re Logic,” Roman said without really thinking. “Aren’t you just naturally right?”

A small smile formed on Logan’s lips. “Precisely that,” he said. “I constantly wonder whether I am truly leading Thomas on the right path, or if the information I am giving him is valid. In his everyday life, he naturally comes across falsehoods and faults in logic. I sometimes fear that I am one of them, that I am just another fallacy distorting his reality.”

Roman frowned. “I just… always thought you were so level headed? I mean, besides last time with your weird snake metaphor paradox… thing.”

Logan chuckled. “Yes, that was definitely an outburst,” he said. “But normally, it’s just a process of keeping what I feel at bay. I am supposed to be the one that guides us to rationality. If the actual voice of reason was to leave, I do not think we would do anything remotely productive.” Logan then paused, as if he was pondering something. “But… that is not something I recommend to the rest of you. It is not always good to keep your fears locked up until it causes high amounts of stress. Which is another part of the reason why I am here.”

Roman raised an eyebrow in question.

“Of course, I came here to apologize to you,” Logan continued. “But also to lend a listening ear. As someone who understands your fear of inadequacy, I thought it might bode well for you to have an outlet. Only if you want to, however.”

Roman stared down at his hands. Very rarely did he ever voice his troubles. He was the Prince, he was supposed to be perfect. He wasn’t supposed to have overwhelming troubles and insecurities. But he did, and Logan understood that. Logan saw the similarities in them and wanted to help him, wanted to listen to them.

Suddenly, Roman’s apprehension to open up was washed away.

“I’m-” Roman started before stopping to worry his bottom lip. He carefully thought out his next words as Logan patiently looked on and waited. “I’m very tired,” he finally said. “I spend hours looking for these ideas and trying to make them into something that we can use. For them all to be rejected, I don’t know, I just feel… worn out. Like everything I’m doing has no true meaning because, if I can’t be good at the thing I’m destined to do, then what am I? I’m Creativity, I’m supposed to be the one coming up with all of these original ideas.” He sighed and pulled at his hair. “I just feel like I’m in a rut where I can’t see what I’m supposed to be doing, or where I’m supposed to be headed for.”

Logan nodded. “I see,” he said. “But, Roman, you know that we do not expect perfect originality from you. It’s very difficult to be completely original, and Thomas said it himself: to do so would just wear you out even more.”

“But that’s the thing!” Roman exclaimed, feeling a twist in his gut. “I’m Prince Roman, I’m Creativity! Everything I do is supposed to be original by default! My own room is the center for creative thinking with a branch into the Dreamscape, where ideas run freely! I’m not supposed to be here, struggling to create something that’s already been done before. I’m supposed to be making original ideas with ease.”

“Falsehood,” Logan said. “You are already doing your best by being our Creativity. Just by finding these ideas, you are helping us. It is extremely difficult to be completely original, and to set such high expectations for yourself will only upset you further. Yes, some of us might be slightly… opposed to adopting ideas that have already been done before, but you make it something personalized to us. All of your ideas, while they may not all be one-hundred-percent original, are not copies, plagiarized from other sources, but are editions custom-made for us. And I, personally, think you do a very good job of that.”

Roman looked away, rubbing at his eyes. He was glad Logan didn’t say anything about that. “I sometimes get so disappointed with myself,” he said quietly. “I… I understand what you’re saying, and I want to believe it, but…” He trailed off, not able to find the right words.

“But it’s hard to distance yourself from what you once thought, and the expectations you once placed on yourself,” Logan finished for him and Roman nodded, biting his bottom lip. “I know what you’re saying, Roman. It’s why I’m here- I’m here to help you. Even just talking about what you’re feeling can help you in the future. You’re accepting that it’s okay to make mistakes, and that it’s okay to be inspired by ideas instead of trying to think of completely original ones. I don’t expect your insecurities to go away in a night, I’m just… glad that you are beginning to see reasoning. Even if it’s a small step, it’s still one step forward.”

Roman nodded, wiping at his eyes one last time. “I’m really trying to make good ideas, Logan,” he said. “Even if they’re inspired by something… I’m really trying.”

Logan nodded. “I know that, Roman,” he said. “We all do, and we appreciate that- even Anxiety, probably. That’s all we can ask of you: to give your best without overworking yourself to the point of distress. And, no matter what you think, we are all impressed by your ideas. Even the ones you suggested today, I didn’t think there was anything particularly wrong with them. Except for the Ninja Turtles but, you know, small steps.”

Roman let out a laugh and nodded. “Yeah, I was at the end of my rope with that one,” he admitted. “But… thank you, Logan. This-... knowing that you understand how I feel helps a lot. Talking helped a lot.”

Logan nodded and smiled at him. “We may bicker on occasion, Roman,” he said. “But I do consider us close, and I admire the work that you do. Of course I will be here to lead you to a sound mindset when you need it, especially when it pertains to an issue that I can relate to. Always remember, Roman, despite our occasionally harsh critiques, you are a valued member, and we would not be the same without you.”

Roman grinned. “Thank you, Logan,” he repeated softly. “I… I appreciate this a lot.”

Logan nodded and gently clasped Roman’s shoulder. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said. “I’m just doing what I should be doing- helping a friend.”

Roman felt his cheeks flush at the touch, and he was suddenly very glad for the dim lighting. “And you know that you can always talk to me, too, right?” he asked.

Logan nodded with a smile. “I’ll take note of that,” he said and then stood up. “I think I’m going to go back to the Commons, for who knows what Patton or Anxiety are doing down there. Will you be joining me?”

Roman laughed. “I might come down after you let me know that nothing is in shambles.”

Logan laughed, too. “I’ll be sure to let you know,” he said and started towards the door.

“Oh, and Logan?” Roman said when Logan had the door open, ready to walk out.

Logan turned back to him with a raised eyebrow.

“I really do consider you a friend,” Roman said. “Despite our bickering and all.”

“Me as well,” Logan said. “And I hope that our relationship only improves from here.” Roman then watched Logan leave and took a distinct note of the flutters that ran through his heart and stomach.

Oh.

Maybe Logan wasn’t so far off from Roman after all, and maybe Roman didn’t want him to be.

[the-desolated-quill]

Empress Of Mars - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Well... at least it’s not as bad as Sleep No More.

Yes it seems Mark Gatiss decided to spare us the agony of a sequel to his derivative, found footage schlock in favour of a return visit to the Ice Warriors. And this time, we’re going to the Red Planet itself.

I can’t say I was optimistic going into this. Gatiss’ last attempt at an Ice Warrior story was a bit of a letdown and I’ve never exactly been a big fan of the Ice Warriors anyway. They’re not bad, just not very interesting. Despite 1972′s The Curse Of Peladon setting the stage for a more complex and engaging path for the Ice Warriors to take, Doctor Who has frustratingly never taken it. Instead forcing them to tread the same alien invasion route again and again.

In some ways Empress Of Mars serves as a prequel to The Curse Of Peladon (there’s even a surprise cameo appearance from Alpha Centauri at the end with Ysanne Churchman reprising the role). In theory this could have been a great opportunity to give the Ice Warriors the depth they desperately need and that Who has stubbornly refused to capitalise on until now. Depict how the Ice Warriors went from being a race of nomadic conquerers to the noble peacekeepers of the Galactic Federation.

Sadly it isn’t.

So it’s 1881, and already I’m confused. If the Ice Warriors join the Galactic Federation in 1881, why did they try to invade Earth in The Seeds Of Death? Were they another rogue chapter like the ones in The Monster Of Peladon? That doesn’t seem likely. But anyway, it’s 1881 and it’s the Martians vs the British Empire. Like H.G Wells, only not as good. These Victorian soldier guys have fixed an Ice Warrior’s spaceship (how they did that I have no idea) and have come to claim Mars in the name of Queen Victoria. God save the Queen, tally ho and all that bollocks. But thanks to a cockney tea leaf who can’t keep his hands off a shiny thing for five fucking minutes, the Ice Queen has been resurrected and now it’s a war... unless the Doctor does something... which he doesn’t. In fact that’s one of the many problems with this story. The Doctor seems to be almost superfluous to the plot. He doesn’t actually do anything, merely being a spectator. Same with Bill, although she does get some good moments, like when she confronts the Ice Queen. The other main problem is that Empress Of Mars is titanically dull.

It looks as though Mark Gatiss’ ideas bucket is getting very empty. Not only is this set in the Victorian era again, a lot of the plot feels like its been borrowed wholesale from the previous Ice Warrior story Cold War. You’ve got the Doctor pleading ineffectually at the Ice Warriors to show mercy, a one dimensional traitor who wants to fight the Ice Warriors despite all the evidence demonstrating why this is a spectacularly stupid idea, and the Ice Warriors themselves being little more than angry, ranting, shouty brutes with almost non-existent motivations.

Also, like in Cold War, Gatiss seems to be borrowing liberally from the Silurians, but it doesn’t work for two reasons. The first is the context. Both humans and Silurians share the same planet and have an equal claim to it. Here, the humans are invading Mars. The Ice Warriors are clearly in the right here. Quite why Friday and the Doctor want the two to form an alliance I don’t know. I fail to see what humanity could possibly offer the Ice Warriors. Yes Mars is a dead world now, but the Ice Warriors still have far superior tech. They don’t really have anything to worry about. The second is the complexity, or rather the lack of it. It’s not possible to sympathise with either side of the conflict because both sides are portrayed in a ludicrously over the top fashion. The Ice Queen does the usual shouting, warmongering nonsense, whereas Friday is portrayed as being so nice to the point of being delusional. He believes that humanity could help rebuild Mars (why does he believe this?! Someone explain this to me!), and even when the soldiers start attacking, he still insists on defending them. He’s just such a flat character with no depth or personality whatsoever.

The humans on the other hand are somehow even worse. Man, don’t you just hate the British Empire? With their imperialist colonialism and racist arrogance? Yes! Of course we do! But do you know what would be more interesting? Exploring why someone would willingly buy into that kind of elitist entitlement. No one is racist just because. Why do they feel superior? Why do they look down on others? Then while you’re answering those questions, use the opportunity to take them down a peg or two. But no. It’s all tea and scones and over the top RP accents. They’re little more than caricatures. 

Only two characters stand out. Traitor guy and Captain Coward (I can’t remember their names and I bet you can’t either). Traitor guy is so one dimensionally evil, it borders on comical. He declares war on the Ice Warriors for no reason other than he’s British and they’re ‘savages’ (snort), and when that doesn’t work, he scarpers off and takes the Ice Queen hostage after the Doctor threatens everyone with a giant gun (yes. A giant gun. That’s bound to help calm things down, you fucking moron). Again, no idea why he decides to threaten the Ice Queen. He reckons she can fly the spaceship, but why does he think that? That would be like kidnapping Queen Victoria because she knows how to ride a horse. And then there’s Captain Coward. A deserter who was hanged, but survived and so his executioners just shrugged it off and allowed him to rejoin the army.

Rrrrright.

Then once he’s shot Traitor guy and the Ice Queen has praised him for sacrificing the bastard without gaining a tactical advantage (I would have thought stopping a traitor from half-inching your spaceship and only means of escape was a tactical advantage, but hey ho. You say tomato, I say this is a shit script), Captain Coward promptly forgets about the Queen and country he pledged to serve and instead joins the Ice Warriors instead. Presumably he’s going to help rebuild Mars by making the tea.

And then we end with the Master showing up and being all concerned about the Doctor’s wellbeing, which would have been more impactful if we had seen her growth and development over the course of the series instead of it happening entirely offscreen. Also am I the only one starting to detect a whiff of Moffat style sexism here? Can you imagine a male Master doing this? Please don’t tell me the only reason the sex change occurred was just to make the Master yet another one dimensional female character to prop up the Doctor? Don’t we already have enough of those?

So that was Empress Of Mars. Cliched, dull, unoriginal and painfully unsubtle. If you want a Victorian era sci-fi story that criticises imperial colonialism and features Martians, read War Of The Worlds instead.

[unreadable0]

Ooooh!! 'No thanks im allergic' with kurokura! Chrollo could have brought him a box of chocolates, has been trying to impress him. Kurapika is not to say the least

Thanks for the prompt ask! Sorry it took so long, though… this one is a little on the long side, so please read until the end! Anyways, I hope that you enjoy! 

Pairings: KuroKura and Leopika 

4. “No, thanks. I’m allergic.”

Kuroro’s curiosity was piqued.

There was someone new sitting at the bar; a blond, slender and oh, so attractive. A form-fitting crimson shirt showed off a lean build, and dark jeans hugged his legs in a way that was unignorable, if all the unabashed staring from multiple parties was any indication. Yet, the man seemed completely oblivious of the attention that he was getting, sipping his bourbon and eyeing the clock with a calculating look on his delicate features.

Is he looking for something?

He sure hoped not. Kuroro did not want the only interesting person left on campus to be taken already. At least, not until he’d had his chance with him, at least.

“Somebody caught your eye?”

The dark-haired man let a smirk crawl up his face. The woman next to him scoffed.

“Then I do pray for the poor man that has the misfortune to be the victim of your affections,” Pakunoda drawled, swirling her wine.

“Hey,” Kuroro protested, “what’s that supposed to mean?” He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he still asked.

“Honey, please,” Pakunoda replied, taking a delicate sip from her drink. “Basically everyone knows about all your exploits. Hell, Machi and I have started keeping a tally of all of the people you bring home—“

“I’m not that bad,” Kuroro cut in, but he was silenced by an admonishing glare.

“—you’ll almost have Paladinkight beat by the end of the semester, at this rate,” his friend finished, driving the last nail into his figurative coffin.

“Oh, now that is one of the most insulting things I’ve ever heard!” Kuroro exclaimed. “Don’t compare me to that—that buffoon!”

“It’s true.”

Kuroro waved her off dismissively. “It’s not. Plus, he started going steady a couple weeks ago, remember? Big shock to everyone.”

“I don’t buy it,” Pakunoda replied, barely sparing him a glance. “I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“As long as it means that I get the blond before he—or anyone else, for that matter—I don’t really care if it’s true or not,” Kuroro said honestly, downing the rest of his drink. “Wish me luck.”

“Heaven knows that you need it,” Pakunoda called after him, exasperation heavy in the older woman’s voice.

Ignoring her, Kuroro put on his most charming smile and slid in right beside the blond. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” he greeted, pulling out his signature lines. They always worked, and matched with his natural charisma, he had won over even the most difficult of people.

The pretty man didn’t even look up form his phone. “And you’re quite unoriginal, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Kuroro blinked in confusion, not quite trusting his ears.

The other finally looked up, and Kuroro was struck at how much more appealing he looked up close. “I’ve heard that line at least five times since I entered this place. You really aren’t as smooth as you might think you are.”

Quickly, Kuroro recovered himself, flashing his usual dazzling smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m allergic.” The blond turned his attention back to his phone, as if he had lost interest.

Kuroro glanced at the drink in front of the shorter man skeptically. “To what? Alcohol?”

The blond’s eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, looking him straight in the eye before picking up the shot of what he assumed was vodka and downing its contents without so much as a flinch.

If he was being completely honest, Kuroro had never been so attracted to anyone at the moment.

The other man lifted one perfect eyebrow, a wicked smile dancing at his lips. “I’m allergic to people like you, Kuroro Lucilfer.”

“So my reputation precedes me,” Kuroro commented, leaning inwards. “So tell me, what kind of person am I?”

Another smile. “The kind that utterly lacks class. The kind that fishes for conquests and tires of them as quickly they gain them. The kind that I have absolutely zero respect for.” The blond’s eyes flashed dangerously. “So yes, your reputation precedes you.”

Kuroro started to open his mouth to reply, but the other shook his head.

“Don’t even try, Lucilfer. Besides, my boyfriend will be here shortly.”

As soon as the blond finished his sentence, an all-too familiar man sidled up beside him, slinging an arm around his slender waist.

“Hey, beautiful,” Leorio said, making the other man blush.

Kuroro just gaped. This was the person that had made Paladiknight drop his playboy antics?

“This guy bothering you, Kurapika?” the medical student prompted, sizing Kuroro up.

The blond, apparently named Kurapika, smiled. “Oh, he was just leaving.”

“Good,” Leorio responded, face dropping quickly as he faced the dark-haired man. “Don’t get any ideas, Lucilfer, got it?”

Putting his hands up in mock-surrender, Kuroro felt a familiar smirk tug at lips. “Duly noted, Paladiknight.”

Leorio nodded stiffly, hand still possessively looped around the lithe blond. And with that, the couple exited the bar.

“Wow, I guess I do have to believe those rumors, then,” Pakunoda remarked, coming up from behind him. “Never thought that that crazy senior would settle for someone of that caliber.”

“Mm.”

Pakunoda’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” Immediately, he schooled his features.

“You’re not planning on letting that blond go, are you?”

Kuroro smiled, all teeth. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

And it’s done. I hope you liked it!

[black-wolf066]

Well, You Do Have My Chin

Update: OMG!!! MY TIRED 36 HOUR LACK OF SLEEP BRAIN ACCIDENTLY DELETED THE STORY I POSTED THIS MORNING!!! I meant to hit edit, and apparently I hit delete and when it gave me the prompt to hit yes or no, my tired brain that it said “would you like to edit: yes or no”.... so here goes round two... so sorry guys. I wanted to add that i have this on Fanfiction.net now too (under my account Wolf-shadow666) but I just curfunkled everything... ANYWAY underneath is pretty much the post that got deleted... thankfully i save everything on document...

First off, let me just say. I’M ALIVE!!! It is now 8am in the morning, I’ve been working on the better part of this little shit that wouldn’t leave me alone i mean piece since 9pm last night…. i have TO GO TO WORK IN AN HOUR!!! HELP ME!!!!! *flails all over the place* I swear i can adult right sometimes… just not today apparently…. keep this in mind as you’re reading cause even though I’ve proof read this thrice, I’m sure some (or many) things have escaped my brain’s notice.

anyway….

Here is the comment that inspired me to write this one-shot:

@timetravelingpotatoast said:

All I really want from this season is for Killian and Henry to become good friends and talk about Lucy’s “conspiracy” only for Killian to ask who she thinks he is. However, somewhere in the translation it’s lost that Killian is his step-dad, so Henry just says his dad, leading to a “well you do have my chin,” commentary from Killian.

When the curse breaks they just squint at each other for a really long time.

Now, for the sake of the prompt, this is gonna be very heavily AU from season 7. This is by no means a “fix-it fic” because I really am enjoying season 7; I’m only writing this because I really wanted to see something like this be a thing after reading the comment. I absolutely love father/son bonding fics between Killian and Henry and I need more of it in my life… (Seriously there aren’t enough Captain Cobra centered fics to satisfy my craving for it). And I know that I said “I wish I was creative enough to contribute to the fandom of Once Upon a Time”, but after posting my last little snippet; I figured “what the hell I’m gonna do it anyway” because that’s what fandom is (I still feel like I suck terribly but *shrug* if you’re having fun doing it than screw being good at it, right?). (((Also something that should have been maybe 2000 words or less, ended up running away from me toward 4000 (my brain projecting my need for more Captain Cobra moments I guess)… I realize a lot of it is probably considered filler and I could have done away with it, but I kinda wanted to build that relationship between cursed Killian and Henry much like the relationship between Snow White and Emma in season 1)))).

Anyway, here’s a bit of backstory that I came up with for the AU universe of this fic…. If you don’t care and simply just want to read the story, than you can simply scroll down to the Continue reading link:

So in this AU, I’ve pretty much figured that Rumple, Killian, Regina and Emma came to save the day for Henry (Henry may have asked for Killian, Regina and Emma, but the three probably went to Rumple for help or something and Belle urged him to go). I’m thinking the timeline in the realm Henry is in moves faster than the timeline that is Storybrooke, so Henry might be 25 and not 18, but to the rest of his family only 1 year has passed since Henry left in search of his own story((((wondering if this is actually canon considering how shocked they were at seeing him so grown and I don’t believe for a single second that it took Emma and Killian that long to have a baby)))). Emma wasn’t pregnant at the time but eventually as they all stay and help the resistance against Tremaine and Drizella (after finding a way to send word back home that everything and everyone is alright and that they’re staying to help… maybe Rumple being pushed by Belle to stay and help them too), she and Killian end up having twins, and barely a year later Henry has his own kid with Ella. When the curse comes and separates them all, the curse spans the whole state of Washington (Tremaine or Drizella wanting to separate as many of them as they could and not keep them all in the same place… especially the true love couples. But they didn’t bank on Lucy remembering or Rumple finding a loop hole so he didn’t get cursed along with everyone else), so HH is the main hive so to speak but the fairy-tale characters are scattered across other cities and towns. Emma is off in one city (maybe Walla Walla), their twin daughters are in a group home in another city, Henry lived somewhere in Olympia (which is close enough to Seattle and HH), Robin (because I need Regina to be happy damn it! And I figure maybe they found that his soul wasn’t destroyed but simply stuck in the crystal, even across all alternate versions of said crystal in any realm, so he ends up getting freed) is also scattered somewhere, and Rumple, Killian, Regina, Ella and Lucy remained in HH where Tremaine and/or Drizella could keep an eye on them and make their lives a living hell. When Lucy finds Henry, and Jacinda steals his car (much like in the show and what not), he decides to stay at a motel for a week, finding the place interesting (and spurring a bit of creativity that he hadn’t felt since his failed first book) and eventually that week turns into him finding an actual place to stay once he gets to know the people in the neighborhood (made hard by the outrageous prices being asked). When Detective Rogers hears about his search, he offers to turn his den/office into a spare room (the only reason Regina/Roni didn’t offer is because she lives in a small studio apartment above the bar with the only closed room being a bathroom)…. Eventually Rumple as Weaver manages to get everyone back into the neighborhood (((he was the one to give Lucy the book. He was the one to find and bring back the cursed versions of Robin—Kevin Adams, who is a struggling lawyer that ends up helping Jacinda, by Rumple/Weaver’s prompting, get custody of Lucy back—and Emma—Danielle “Dani” Stevens, who was a sketch artist for Walla Walla police department. He was also the one to find which group home the twins were staying in and try to adopt them, since he wasn’t sure how long it would take to break the curse, and he didn’t want them staying there… Rumple and Killian might be civil borderline grey area friends, but he likes the twins and it’ll get them back to their family that much quicker once the curse is broken if he does it like this…)))) and the curse gets broken the same as in season 1 with Henry and Lucy (cause I’m unoriginal and my brain can’t think of anything else right now) ((((That should be enough of a background right? I don’t know… I’m terrible at this… don’t question the plot holes too much okay? You might get sucked into its black hole…))))

(((I looked at apartment averages in Seattle as a guideline (got rid of link since it wasn’t working)… and even though almost 3000 is very high for a one-bedroom apartment that Henry was looking for; I figured that Tremaine and Drizella were trying to weed out the people in the neighborhood slowly so they could bulldoze and improve and bring forth a ‘richer’ environment and a “richer” culture of people to surround themselves with, therefore causing more suffering and separation for those cursed and gaining something else for themselves….))))

((also when it comes to ages, I’m probably way off from canon, but these are my head canon ages for them here so… Emma was 28 at the start of season 1; Killian was 29, Regina 32. Adding 9 years considering Henry left at 18 and only a year passed in Storybrooke whereas 7 years passed where Henry was, that would make them 37, 38, and 41. With another 11ish to 12ish years they are now 48, 49, and 52 with Henry being 37ish.

tagging @superchocovian since she kindly asked me to (hope you enjoy it!!!)

Anyway, without farther ado, i give you this Captain Cobra one-shot in all it’s (step)father/son bonding glory!

Well, You do have my chin

Word count: 4203

Rating: pg-13 for my potty mouth

The din of Roni’s bar was oddly relaxing to Henry as he searched on his laptop for available apartments to move into, but after another site herald the same results, he sighed, closed the screen, and dropped his head into the crook of his arm. Was it too much to ask for a place within his price range? Hell, he was sure he could find something cheaper in the heart of Seattle than he could here.

But no, he stubbornly wanted to stay in this part of the neighborhood. There was something about Hyperion Heights, something that spoke to him, and not just Lucy’s crazy theory that his book was real and they were all fairytale characters scattered across the state (never mind the even crazier theory that he was her father—there was no way he could ever forget meeting a beautiful girl like Jacinda or be stupid enough not to fight for more than a one night stand with said woman).

The scraping of a chair across from him brought Henry’s attention up to that of the arrival of Detective Logan Rogers. The cop’s eyebrow was raised at him in silent question and concern as he sat down and nabbed the untouched bear claw from his plate.

“Bad day?” he asked finally with a tilt of his head as Roni approached with his usual beer.

When Henry still didn’t move to answer, simply groaning and hiding his face back in the crook of his arm, Roni supplied. “He’s looking for places to stay… and failing by the looks of it.”

“The asking prices are outrageous! How do you guys survive here?” he griped into his arm.

Roni snorted and Henry peeked up at her with a perturbed eyebrow raised. “You’ve seen the state of the neighborhood and the state of my bar before I decided to fight back. Isn’t that answer enough for you?”

“What’s your budget?” Logan cut in with his query before Henry could snark back and start an argument with the ornery bartender.

“Well,” Henry’s eyes shifted to him just as the older man took a bite out of the pilfered pastry. “With Seattle, I kind of figured I’d be lucky to find something for twenty-two hundred, but there is no way I’m paying almost three thousand for a place that’s barely in the city’s limits.”

“Welcome to the land of Belfrey greed.” chimed Roni as she walked back to tend the bar and the new arrival of customers.

Henry scowled un-amusedly at her back as she went.

“I have space,”

Startled, Henry gazed, wide eyed, back at the Detective. “What?”

“Well, it’s not really a ‘room’, but the den can easily be turned into one.” Logan continued, his good hand going up to scratch nervously behind his ear.

“Wha—Why?” Tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, Henry pressed on. “I know the three of us are ‘kinda’ working together, but we barely know each other. Hell, for all you know I could be a serial killer.” at Logan’s snort and raised brow, Henry rolled his eyes and said defensively. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“I trust you.” Logan relented simply with a shrug of his shoulders. “Besides, I have a gun I’m not afraid to use, and you look to be out of options, mate.”

Still eyeing the older man with suspicion, not used to blatantly kind gestures from others, he asked. “Can I swing by to look at your place before I decide?”

“Of course.” taking a swig of his beer, Logan gestured with his head to the closed laptop. “Now, what was it you wanted to show me?”

(***)

Walking into the apartment after Logan, Henry took in the sparsely decorated living space with a familiar pang beating against his chest. It was neat and orderly, everything he considered the detective to be, even after a week of working covertly with him and Roni. But seeing it so bare, devoid of… well, devoid of life and personality; it all just resonated with him. There wasn’t even a single picture or photo on the walls or table tops (Henry knows there are photos of Logan out there. He’s seen the pictures Roni hangs proudly on the walls of her establishment, knows that the picture of Logan and Roni—two best friends, he’s come to learn, that grew up together in the neighborhood—has a special place right behind the bar where she works). There was nothing, other than the books neatly tucked into a shelf, to give Henry a glimpse into what made this man Logan Rogers.

Walking through the 900 square foot space, he knew it wasn’t just the home of a bachelor; it was the home of someone who was just as lost as Henry himself felt. A space made entirely out of necessity rather than be made to feel like an actual home. It reminded him of his years after the foster system, before he had met his late wife, where he had had nothing of that old life worth keeping. Anything he had gained afterwards had been destroyed by the fire that took his wife and daughter three years ago, and after that he had just never bothered to start over (it wouldn’t bring them back and honestly they were all Henry wanted, not materialistic things).

As Logan led him through the kitchen toward the open den, Henry wondered what kind of past the man must have had, wondered if he too was an orphan looking for a place to belong.

“Here it is.” Logan stated with a flourish of his hand and ultimately cutting Henry out of his thoughts.

His eyes roved over the small space, at the neat and tidy desk underneath the window and the wall lined with more bookshelves and books and a single three-drawer filing cabinet.

“Sorry, I know it’s not much… doesn’t even have a door.”

Henry’s eyes cut to the older man just as he saw his good hand go to scratch behind his ear (a nervous tick he’d come to realize early on in the week). “No, it’s perfect,” He reassured as he walked around the opened room; envisioning where his stuff would fit. “I don’t really need that much space anyway.” he moved back to the opened archway and gave the man a small smile. “And privacy can be fixed with a curtain,”

“Does that mean you accept my offer?”

“If you don’t mind me for a roommate, than yeah, I’ll take it.”

(***)

A little over one month since his move into the neighborhood, and not once did Henry regret his decision (well, maybe a little; after all, Victoria Belfrey and her daughter are a force to be reckoned with… and good god did those two give him a headache sometimes). He genuinely liked it here; he liked most of the quirky people and he could clearly see why the neighborhood was worth trying to save. He also found rooming with Logan to be better than he originally expected. Sure they had their moments (like the kitchen incident that nearly gave the detective an aneurysm, or how scarily grumpy Logan could get when he’s had a bad day at the station), but their camaraderie was easy going between them, and for once after three years, Henry felt like he had a true friend again.

It was because of this easy camaraderie that Henry and Logan, one Saturday morning, found themselves planning a Star Wars marathon and arguing over the order in which to watch it (“They’re my movies, Rogers!” “And it’s my TV, Mills.”).

Somehow Henry won the argument, which found Logan sitting on the couch with the large popcorn bowl settled on the middle cushion and a beer in his hand, while Henry squatted down in front of their combined movie collection to find the first disk.

As he skimmed the neatly ordered DVDs for the one he wanted, his finger froze on a particular title and could barely contain the Cheshire cat grin as he pulled it out and pivoted to face the detective.

“The Princess Bride: Special Edition.”

Logan scowled and pointed his finger at him as he defended. “Shove off, mate, it’s a good book and a good movie; leave it alone.”

The grin on Henry’s face turned impish as he pivoted back and added as he went, “As you wish.”

The couch pillow thrown at his back did nothing to curb his mirth.

(***)

It was almost three months after his move to Hyperion Heights, that Henry managed to work the nerve enough (more like getting the quadrant that was Roni, Logan, Sabine and Lucy to shut up, and to stop hounding him to try and move on and be happy) to ask Jacinda on a date.

Glancing at himself in the hallway mirror, and trying to ignore the grinning idiot leaning against the wall a few paces behind him; he felt the bubbling of nerves roiling in his stomach as he finally turned to face his roommate.

“You’ll be fine,” Logan soothed with the utmost confidence. “You didn’t have any problems when you were flirting with her, one date isn’t going to kill you, mate. Just be yourself.”

“Yeah, be myself.” Henry snorted and rubbed his sweating palms against his jean clad thighs. “Cause any girl would swoon at a failed writer, a widowed husband, and a nerd for all things 80’s, Star Wars, Harry Potter, or Tolkien related.”

“Henry,” Logan stepped forward than, placing his hand and prosthetic firmly on his shoulders as he earnestly stated. “You’ve told Jacinda all of this already and yet she still accepted to go to this concert with you. So cut yourself a little slack, give her a little more credit than that, and go out tonight and have fun.”

(***)

It was almost six months after his move, and during one of their covert meet ups at the bar, when Henry felt a little friendly revenge against Roni and Logan was in order (because dear god, if they didn’t stop and take their own damn advice, he was going to go crazy… or take Roni’s bat and beat himself or them with it… really, he wasn’t picky).

It hadn’t been long after his and Jacinda’s first—or even their second— date that Jacinda decided enough was enough and it was time to try and win custody of her daughter back from her step mother. Detective Weaver had recommended a Lawyer from Spokane, and ever since Kevin Adams stepped foot into Roni’s bar, the two had done nothing but snark at each other.

Within the same month, a missing person’s case had popped up that apparently Weaver thought required the work of a sketch artist from Walla Walla… or so Logan kept griping to him to no freaking end. Honestly, Henry thought Danielle (or Dani as she asked to be called) a rather nice woman, maybe a little too bubbly and Chatty Cathy at times, but if Logan was to be believed than she was the worst woman he had ever had the displeasure to work with.

Yeah… right…

Denial, she is a river, and both of them are currently drowning at the bottom of it.

“So,” He began innocently around a mouthful of pizza. “When are you both going to stop pussy-footing around and ask Dani and Kevin out?”

The soda Logan was drinking and the pizza Roni was currently chewing, both ended up spat out on the table and floor, and the word vomit that followed as they tried to deny it had Henry rolling his eyes so hard he was surprised that they didn’t just roll right out of his head.

“Uh-huh,” putting his slice back down on his plate, he folded his arms across his chest and stared them both down, feeling for all the world like the no nonsense father he should have been to the daughter that would have been thirteen now. “Guys, I’m not stupid… and the last I checked my vision was perfect, so not blind either.” He cut them off before they could rush to deny it any farther. “If I have to sit here and watch you two continue with this charade a moment longer, I will either be checking myself in somewhere or Detective Weaver will have not one but three missing person’s cases to contend with.”

They didn’t try to feed him any more bullshit after that, which he was grateful for, because seriously there was only so much a person can take.

And if he caught his roommate dressed (rather nicely) in a blue button up shirt, black iron pressed slacks, and trying to rush past him and out the door before Henry could say a word with a bouquet of pink and yellow roses in hand.

Well… he could only thank whatever deity listening for small miracles.

(***)

It’s at elven months since his move, that Henry felt for all the world a content man. Jacinda had won her battle against her step-mother, and Lucy had become a constant presence in the apartment, especially since he had offered to watch her after school while Jacinda worked. He loved Lucy and her precocious nature, found her imagination beyond incredible for an elven year old and even began to look forward to hearing her crazy theories about them being cursed.

Sometimes they would be alone, with him helping her with her homework and other times Logan would be there, smiling and humoring her and her theories like they all had agreed to do.

It was during one of these nights, after Jacinda and Lucy had eaten dinner with them and left, that Logan’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. They were in the kitchen, Henry washing the dishes while his roommate dried them, that Logan broke the comfortable silence.

“Who does she think I am?”

“Huh?” Henry glanced over with a brow raised.

“Lucy,” he elaborated. “With her theories, who does she think I am? She never tells me when I ask.”

Henry snorted out a chuckle as he handed over the plate and proceeded washing the next one while answering. “Captain Hook.”

“You’re kidding.” The dry look Henry gave him caused him to roll his eyes. “It’s the hand isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Henry shrugged. “Or it could be the fact that she thinks you’re my dad.”

“What?” Logan froze mid swipe with the towel and Henry could practically feel the man’s eyes burning his profile.

“Yeah, crazy, I know.”

“Mate, if she is to be believed and you are my son; I would have had you when I was 11…”

They both chuckled at that.

“Again, crazy, I know.”

They went back to the comfortable silence as they worked, but the occasional contemplative side eye he would catch Logan giving him in his peripheral as they cleaned up the rest of the kitchen, eventually had Henry turning to stare blatantly at the man’s profile with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Do I have barbeque sauce on my face or something?”

Startled, Logan shifted his attention away from the stove top he was wiping down, and met his eyes with that contemplative expression still in place.

“No, you’re fine.” He distractedly answered.

“Than what’s on your mind? And don’t tell me nothing; you’ve been staring at me off and on for the past five minutes?”

“I was just thinking.”

The other brow rose to meet its twin as he deadpanned. “Clearly,”

Logan rolled his eyes and elaborated. “I was thinking about what you said, about who Lucy thinks I am.”

“Logan, none of that is real.”

“No, I know that… but—now that it’s been said, I can’t help but see it. Hell, Henry you can’t tell me that you can’t see it, not even a little bit.”

Henry tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at him; his eyebrows practically at his hairline now.

“We do look a little alike, mate; long lost cousins or brothers or something. I mean you do kinda have my chin, our noses are almost similar and the brow structure too…” he trailed off.

With a snort, Henry joked. “You’ve been hanging out with Dani too much, you’re even starting to sound like a sketch artist.”

“Shut up,”

He dodged and caught the wet rag thrown at him, before tossing it back; both chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all as they finished up and moved to the couch to see what was on TV.

Expect, as the days and weeks progressed (and Weaver shockingly adopted two pre-teen girls from Aberdeen that looked eerily like Dani and Logan), Henry found that he couldn’t stop thinking about it too (no matter how hard he tried to shake the insane notion from his head each and every time it sprung back into the forefront of his thoughts).

He’d often catch himself staring at Logan when the older man was distracted and—illogically enough as it was—could practically see what the other man was talking about.

It was crazy.

It wasn’t conceivable.

But damn it all if Logan wasn’t right.

They did share the same freaking chin, and though his nose was a bit larger than Logan’s, it was the same freaking shape.

Maybe he needed to check himself in somewhere after all…

(***)

Sixteen months after moving to Hyperion Heights, the curse was broken.

It had been an emotionally exhausting week beforehand, with Lucy suddenly falling into a coma that the doctors couldn’t medically explain. Jacinda had rightfully been beside herself with worry, and all Henry could feel was the crushing feeling of losing another loved one… another child. It had been the very reason why he didn’t like opening up, didn’t like taking these leaps of faith when it came to his heart and feelings. Yet he had stupidly allowed himself to get close to all these people, and stupidly thought he could have a second chance at a family, but those dreams had gone up in flames the first time and now plummeted back down from the stars a second time with the flat lining of the heart monitor as Jacinda brokenly wailed her heartache.

He didn’t feel the hand of his roommate trying to console him as he numbly watched Jacinda break down in the waiting room they had been forcibly moved too when the doctors came swarming into the room. Didn’t hear the words being spoken as Jacinda fought and then bonelessly collapsed in Sabine and Roni’s arms; her wails gut wrenching and shredding his already scarred heart to pieces. The flood of his emotions and his own tears didn’t come until after the doctor told them that their precious, precocious little Lucy was truly and utterly gone, that the defibrillator failed to restart her heart.  

It was Logan who caught him when his legs refused to hold his weight any longer, when the world suddenly came crushing down around him and nothing felt right anymore. And it was Logan who helped him into the chair; the warm presence of his roommates hand at the back of his neck guiding his head to lean on his broad shoulder. And he took the comfort and sobbed for all he was worth. Sobbed for the loss of the wife and daughter he had had to bare losing and moving on from all on his own, sobbed for Jacinda and how much she didn’t deserve to know the gut wrenching pain that losing a child brought, sobbed for Lucy who had been robbed of her own dreams, who had been robbed the chance to live and grow.

His heart hurt as he followed Jacinda into the room to say goodbye, the tears blurring his vision at seeing the white sheet lying over Lucy’s little body; so final in its position that it made him want to collapse all over again. But he couldn’t, he had to be strong for Jacinda as he was the one to hold her upright as they moved toward the bed.

Her sobs as she pulled back the sheet to view her daughters pale face tore at him even more, her words a broken, jumbled mess as she climbed onto the bed and wept onto her daughters unmoving chest.

Running on autopilot, Henry’s feet moved of their own accord; one hand going to Jacinda’s shaking back and the other to card the bangs off of Lucy’s forehead.

“I’m sorry Lucy, I’m so, so sorry.” He whispered as he leaned down and pressed his lips to her crown.

The whoosh of wind startled him and before he could right himself to wonder where it came from, the overwhelming flood of memories came next; slamming everything back into place and causing the air to deflate right out of his lungs. The watery, startled gasp from Ella (his wife, his true love) told him she remembered too, but it was the choked rush of life from his daughter, his daughter (his beautiful and very much alive little girl, his other true love), that was bloody music to his ears and heart.

“Papa? Mama?” she wheezed out as her eyes foggily and confusedly took them and her surroundings in.

“Baby!”

Everything was alright.

Everything in the world was right again.

(***)

The moment Lucy was cleared to leave; the overdue reunion of their family came afterwards. The battle was far from over; not with Tremaine and Drizella currently in hiding and no one knowing where they had run off too, but they were together again, and at the moment that was enough for them all as they celebrated at the bar that had been his adoptive mother’s home for the last eighteen months.

Henry had his wife and daughter back, his half-sisters, both his mothers, both his step-fathers and his grandfather. To say he was over the moon would have been an understatement as the din of fairytale characters and his family filled the industrial styled establishment.

It was all so overwhelming still that he had to take a seat at one of the tables; simply content to watch as he sipped at his beer. Killian soon joined him with his own glass, rum he was sure now that the man remembered who he was, and the thought of step-fathers in general had his mind venturing to their conversation once again.

It must have been on Killian’s mind as well because before either knew what they were truly doing, they were starting at one another, eyes narrowed and the rim of their drinks to their lips as they tried to see what apparently their cursed selves had been able to see.

“Man, I hope this is the last curse we ever have to face. I’ve lost count at how many cursed memories we’ve had forced into our heads at this point.” Emma groaned, yet her arrival didn’t completely break their staring contest as she dropped into the chair next to Killian; her eyes not yet looking at either of them but at her daughters who were laughing along with Lucy near the corner of the bar. She blindly but efficiently snatched her husband’s glass out of his hand and downed the last shot of the dark amber that was left as she continued. “Seriously though, can you imagine the identity crisis we’ll have in our old age if we get Alzheimer’s?” Finally glancing over at them, and realizing she had neither her son nor her husband’s attention, she raised an eyebrow and asked with trepidation. “What’s up with you two? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah love,” Killian briefly met Emma’s eyes, before he was squinting back at Henry as he continued. “Apparently while cursed, and thanks to our lovely granddaughter, the two of us got it into our heads that we were blood related; something about seeing similarities in our features and what have you.”

Blinking once than twice, Emma’s eyes bounced from one to the other, before she was tilting her head and squinting at them as well. Satisfied with what she saw, she nodded to herself, shrugged, and stated. “I can see it, especially when you wear your hair like this and stop shaving.” She grinned and chuckled and leaned forward to ruffle her son’s gel slicked hair, which Henry swatted away with a scowl as he tried to fix it back into place.

However her statement only proceeded to have them squint even harder at each other, and Emma could do nothing more than laugh at her first two goofy true loves.

As the celebrations began to die down and people started heading home, Henry and Killian simply shrugged and let it go as they hugged each other goodbye for the night (each having every intention of spending this night with their loved ones).

“Well,” Killian began softly. “Blood related or not, you’re still my son Henry; always have been, my boy.”

The smile that stretched Henry’s face, nearly threatened to split his skin from ear to ear as he replied just as softly but no less sincerely. “Thanks, dad.”

And if they hugged each other just a little tighter and their eyes shone just a little brighter with emotion, no one that witnessed the moment commented on it.

[deepseawritings]

Prank War

This wasn't what he imagined it would happen when he agreed to work with the USS' military, sharing his knowledge of the Zone. He never expected to be sent back, to help the scientists at their new mobile lab in Zaton, but he could deal with that. The Skadovsk was nice enough, he supposed. It wasn't as lively as the famous 100 Rads, but it had the advantage of having actual bunk beds to sleep in. Strelok wasn't a fan of the Rostok's most popular sleeping method, sleeping on the floor around a campfire sucked even if you were inside a building. However, the Skadovsk had a huge downside: he was here.

Strelok had been adjusting to his new routine in Zaton when one day the Major appeared with the amnesiac bastard in tow. In an amazing display of unoriginality, Degtyarev had nicknamed him Scar, due to his scarred face. Nimble had recognised him, claiming Scar had been a mercenary and that they'd worked together once. It all was very innocuous; however, for some unexplainable reason, Strelock disliked the man intensely. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind whenever he saw Scar, like he should fight or run far away. Moreover, the first time he saw him he'd felt vaguely familiar. Had they met before? It was a most frustrating feeling, and it only added to his dislike of him. In the end he decided to ignore Scar's existence. It's not like he would see him very often, right? Strelok was either at the new government lab answering the scientist's questions or out there, doing small missions on his own whenever he could. On the other hand, Scar usually worked running errands for Nimble and Owl.

He was wrong. Degtyarev insisted they could help each other cope with their amnesia, like some sort of support group. It backfired spectacularly. Scar had picked up the clues of Strelok's animosity towards him, and now the feeling was mutual. The tension between them when they were in the same room was so thick it was almost a solid entity. Moreover, civil, detached coexistence was not their forte. Any conversation they started didn't take long to turn into an argument peppered with threats. Degtyarev had never regretted something so much as he regretted introducing them.

##

One day Strelok found his personal locker secured with a padlock. What the fuck? That sure as hell wasn't there when he left this morning. At first he tried to pick it open with his knife, but the results were abysmal. Then he went to borrow some tools from Cardan to force it open.

Hearing some strange noises, Scar poked his head in to see what was happening. Strelok threw him a venomous glance. He'd always been prone to jumping to conclusions, and he was very suspicious of Scar's timing.

"Is there a problem?" Scar asked him. That just cemented Strelok's suspicions.

"Did you think it was funny?" Strelok spat.

"What?" Scar made a very convincing picture of confusion, but he wasn't buying it.

"We'll see who laughs last." Scar looked at him like he'd grown an extra head.

It really was a shame that, in his fury, Strelok completely missed the tiny, dirty scrap of paper on top of his locker. During his attempts at opening the locker, the paper slid back and fell between the locker and the wall. It was a hastily scribbled note:

"Snag came back. He's a damn thief, trust me, I know from experience. I locked your locker just to be safe, ask Beard for the key. Hope you're not mad. Degtyarev."

##

It was a stroke of luck that he'd overheard Owl asking Scar to go retrieve something from the bandits camping on the dock cranes. Strelok had nothing to do right now, it was the perfect opportunity. He loitered around the bar until Scar was gone, then he sprang into action.

So many choices, he thought gleefully as he spotted his victim's locker. He felt a momentary pang of guilt. He had never gone through another stalker's personal stuff, and certainly he wouldn't condone such behaviour in others. Then he remembered that Scar had messed with his locker first. Alright, payback was fair. After a quick, superficial search he grabbed the battered Vintar and some spare ammo clips. Now he just needed to...

Scar came back not much later. Strelok coincidentally chose that moment to go to the infirmary to stock up on meds. He heard the noise of a locker opening and then a grunt of surprise. He had duct taped the Vintar and the ammo to the ceiling. Serves him right. Strelok watched him from the doorway as he retrieved his things.

"Is there a problem?" Strelok asked him, unable to keep the smirk off his face. Judging by Scar's narrowed eyes, he had noticed it.

"This means war." Scar said though clenched teeth.

"Bring it on." Strelok challenged him with grim satisfaction.

##

One day passed and no further incidents occurred. Strelok began to ponder which should be his next move, or if he should wait and see if the ex-mercenary had just been bluffing. Turns out Scar hadn't been idle. That night a tired Strelok lay down on the same bunk he always picked and immediately regretted it. The mattress gave in and it fell through the bed frame to the floor with a resounding clank. The noise made Degtyarev come upstairs to see what was happening, fearing Scar and Strelok finally decided to kill each other. He stopped on the entrance, surprised to see the tilted, upside down mattress and Strelok lying half on the floor, half tangled in the bed.

"Oh man, what the fuck happened?" Degtyarev helped him up, laughing at his predicament. Scar was there as well, looking faintly amused. How Strelok wanted to wipe that smug smile out of his face. One of these days, he was going to climb him like a tree and – and strangle him, yes.

The latches holding up the mattress base were undone and the screws missing. Strelok decided that fixing this was not his problem. After some more jokes from the Major, he settled down for the night without further incidents.

##

His chance at retaliation came up unexpectedly. For once the scientists at the lab did not have time to bombard him with their never-ending questions. They had received a new shipment of supplies and some idiot had messed up big time. They received an unholy amount of lab staining solutions and, to top it off, that lab did not even conduct biological research. Surely no one would miss a single bottle. Amidst the chaos, he nicked some powders labelled Congo Red before being dismissed for the day.

Coating the inside of Scar's coat hood was trickier, since he usually went everywhere with his trench coat. He only took it off when he slept. He had to wait until it was the middle of the night, when everyone was either asleep or passed out drunk (since he didn't want interruptions or witnesses) and then sprinkled the inside of the coat and its hood with the staining powders.

The powder was of a bright red colour, so he was genuinely surprised at Scar's blue hair. It made the whole bar erupt in laughter when they saw him with his blotchy dye job. Revenge with a dash of public ridicule was sweet, indeed.

##

It was early at night, the stalkers were starting to come in droves back to the safety of the Skadovsk. Strelok had been sleeping almost all afternoon. He dragged himself up and mentally prepared himself to go hunt that Chimera like he promised to do. He went to put on his shoes and grab some supplies for the hunt. He slipped into his boots and then he fell face-first to the floor when he tried to move. Ugh, some motherfucker had glued them to the floor!

Speaking of the devil, Scar appeared in that moment and smirked at him. He'd already washed almost all the dye from his hair, but even after a day it still had a lingering soft, bluish hue.

"One single word and I'll punch you in the face." Strelok threatened from his spot on the floor.

"Can you even reach that high?" Scar was taking great delight in aggravating him.

Strelok made good on his promise. In a show of remarkable speed, he got up and tackled him, successfully throwing Scar to the ground. He straddled him, preventing him from getting up, and was about to punch him when Scar surged forward, clashing their mouths together. It was a bruising kiss. Actually, it was more like a bite, all teeth and anger. They broke apart panting and Scar's swiped the blood swelling on Strelok's lower lip with his thumb.

"I fucking hate you." Strelok said between uneven breaths.

"Likewise." Scar growled before he was met with another rage fuelled kiss.

##

Upstairs in his makeshift office, Nimble was brokering a deal with Degtyarev when they heard the commotion. Degtyarev ran downstairs like a worried mother hen. Nimble followed him since the Major still had to pay him. They were greeted with the image of Strelok and Scar furiously making out on the floor like a pair of horny, emotionally unstable teenagers. Nimble dragged Degtyarev away before they were discovered and the situation became even more awkward.

"That was... unexpected." Degtyarev chuckled weakly, back in Nimble's quarters. He looked completely stunned.

"Tell me about it, now I owe Cardan two hundred roubles!" Nimble sighed. He was never again going to make a bet with the technician. However, knowing them both, it still could end with one of them throwing the other into an anomaly field as he had predicted.

Author's Note: In case anyone is interested curious about it, Congo Red changes its colour from red to blue in acidic pH (like sweat). It also is toxic, especially if ingested.