#keeping track of everything when its still in progress is hard

[ghosts-devilman-wip]

Im making a neocities to replace and improve upon this blog. Very exciting development

[master-of-47-dudes]

Oh! For those of you who like Lancer, I've made major progress in the campaign I'm writing: Kindness of strangers!

LRBT-III, otherwise known as Blanche to the locals. This sun-baked dustbowl of a planet has the high honor of being one of the few habitable terrestrial bodies that anyone has discovered in the Long Rim, and probably the only one that's actually any use to anyone. Luckily- or not so luckily, if you ask some people- it was Union that found it first. Well, about 70 years ago when they stumbled across this star system they got it in their heads that the Long Rim's days were numbered. There’s untold millions living out there scattered along the emptiest shipping lane in the known galaxy who'd need a way out once no one needed to pass them by, and by Christ the Buddha Union was gonna be there for them waiting with open arms.

All of that is background, though. You? You’re a bunch of mercenaries who got their hands on a couple of GMSes, decided to make your manna selling violence for pay. Worlds like Blanche don't take to colonies very well, so even two generations in there's still plenty of frontier out there being settled and railroad tracks being laid. The people out there struggle day by day to survive, and people like you are there to protect them from those who got sick of the hard life. Not everyone out there has the guts to stand up for the little guy- that's why you're called Lancers.

A setting and a campaign all in one, Kindness Of Strangers and its (eventual) follow-up Dancing With the Devil are a series of Wild West-themed 2-mission adventures intended to take players from 0-12 as they find themselves embroiled in the midst of a corporate conspiracy to overthrow the Union-backed government of the isolated colony of Blanche and a ploy to seize control over a nearly completed Blinkstation. All the while, a strange religious movement worshipping an eons-dead alien civilization grows ever more influential in the background...

This campaign tackles themes of colonialism, nationalism, corruption, and conflict between indigenous peoples, settlers, and immigrants, all in a world where well-meaning intentions have gone sour and the ghosts of the past have come back to haunt it.

Kindness of Strangers, Missions 1-3

Field Guide to LRBT-PN

Exotic Gear Documentation

Variant Frame Documentation

Kindness of Strangers Worldbuilding Short Stories

Kindness of Strangers LCP, Maps, and Assets

This latest update includes the first(ish) draft of Mission 3: The Field of Blue Children, allowing play of the first half of Act 2 and extending the LL range from 0-3. Mission 3 is heavily intrigue and RP focused, featuring a wide suite of characters, relationships, and locations in the Tourist town of Baugh- a thriving immigrant community situated on a soda lake.

The PCs have been hired to investigate a bomb threat at the newly completed Baugh Pumpworks, and water filtration and chemical processing facility that stands to end the water shortage and threatens corporate control over the colony's water supply- but is everything really as it seems? In the process, the PCs will go toe to toe with teenage gearheads, Pinkerton-expies, and a group of Sparri Espadas who got roped into this whole mess, and uncover the mystery behind the threat!

Also, there's a subaltern that talks like a pirate and catholicism.

Anyway this mission also includes a custom NPC Template (kind of, I don't know how to design the LCP for that but i did include instructions on how it works), several new reserves, and several custom sitreps!

So, check it out- I'm always looking for feedback.

[moutheyes]

Us, Perfect 10 Liners, and other scattered QL thoughts

Although I've been pretty good about tracking and keeping my MDL notes organized this year, I haven't done one of these posts in a while, but the finale episodes of Us and Perfect 10 Liners have converged in a single weekend so now's a good opportunity to sort out some thoughts about recently watched QL and do a first quarter-ish summary:

The year so far:

Total series completed: 18 (11 current year, 7 backlist)

Country breakdown: Thailand (14), Japan (4) oops lol dw I'm starting a Korean show this week

Highest rated of 2025: Gelboys, and it won't be surpassed

Lowest rated of 2025: Petrichor

Highest rated backlist: Be My Favorite

Lowest rated backlist: My Personal Weatherman

Original script counter: 5

OK onto the meat. Spoilers for recently ended shows under the cut!

Us

This series was not just a love story, but a love letter to the pain of grief, the torment of abandonment, the grace of healing, the transcendence of mutual love, the warmth of a true community, and the fulfillment of finding or forging one's own family. While some of the saccharine parts in the middle episodes did feel a little overwrought to me, I loved the buildup to the final act, the resolution made sense, and any growth in these characters was hard-earned. In a story with less conviction behind it, dokrak's independence might have been muted due to external conflicts, or the romantic overtones might have clashed with the family drama, but here it was well-balanced; everything naturally dovetailed with each other in service of the larger themes of the show.

I could spend paragraphs alone on how solid the surrounding cast was. Grandma Bua's even-keeled outlook on life and death was one of the most poignant parts of the show, and Kawi was just absolutely marinated in eldest-sibling melancholy (Sing did the role so much justice). Under the sure-handed direction of p'Fon, this show tackled difficult themes in a wonderfully measured way, not shying away from trauma and dysfunction and suffering but never plunging the audience into true despair either. Loneliness was always countered by companionship, doubt soothed by affirmations, and the central romance between Pam and Dokrak underpinned all of that. I really think EmiBonnie is my favorite GL pairing to date—they delivered magnetic natural chemistry and some of the best sapphic intimacy we've seen in Thai QL, even when they weren't touching. (Also some really nice OST tracks!) I'm so excited to see what they do next.

Initial rating: 9.25

Perfect 10 Liners

This is one of those shows that I find myself having to evaluate based purely on the story and characters alone, because p'New's many, ah, idiosyncrasies as a director are a feature rather than a bug at this point, and I find it tiresome to rehash. But unlike the frictionlessness of We Are (his last project for GMMTV—I've only experienced Fourever You through fmvs and gifsets which I gather is for the best), the omnibus structure of Perfect 10 Liners had built-in vibe shifts, which worked to its favor. I must admit that the ArmArc story left absolutely no impression on me, but YothaGun and FaifaWine got progressively stronger and more compelling, thanks to the ability to develop these sets of characters across longer periods of time as well as more entangled familial relationships.

What the last two sections of the show did so well was balance its farcical + comedic elements with heavier storytelling, in the form of Yotha and Faifa's family hangups. This gave their characters more depth, reinforced by tremendous acting from Perth and Junior in those roles, which in turn enhanced the romantic dynamics and complementary healing for these two pairs in particular. The last half of FaifaWine's arc was especially satisfying, as the larger group dynamics came into play, and the final episode was honestly a riot. Completely corny and unserious, but still managed to tie a tidy bow around everyone's stories. (Except you, Pipo. GMMTV I am begging—nay, demanding—that the twins get their own comedy series in 2026. I don't care if it's QL or the most heterosexual thing ever, I think it could fix me.)

Initial rating: 7.25

And to close out, a few thoughts about some recent backlist watches (ratings in parentheses):

I finished Reverse 4 You yesterday; it was one of my list of series to catch up on (two down!), and luckily the sequel just finished airing so I can move immediately to that one. So I think I'll do a bigger write-up after finishing Reverse with Me aha sorry for the fakeout.

Fine, a real review: Be My Favorite blew me away. It is so rare to get a genre mashup BL that doesn't skimp on any of its components. BMF is a speculative coming-of-age romcom, and it delivers on all fronts thanks to a truly excellent script. I was surprised by how much I genuinely enjoyed the character work; Kawi and Pisaeng's storylines were already incredibly rendered, but the show made me care deeply about Pear, Max, Kwan, all the way down to the parental figures. It took a compassionate approach to the thesis that everyone makes mistakes in life, and everyone is bound to experience disappointment, but kindness and honesty can be a powerful salve. The optimism wasn't cloying, either, because they were lessons learned organically from each character's journey. Finally, the subverted time skip trope made me happy, the title track is one of my favorites across all GMMTV shows, and the acting was top-to-bottom stellar. (9.5)

So, I had friends telling me how good BMF was even while it was airing (thanks @merryfuture ilu), and I think part of me knew that I was keeping it on the shelf for a time when I'd truly be ready to appreciate it. And that time was after finally watching the entirety of SOTUS from start to finish and thus gaining appreciation for Krist's specific niche of BL blorbo—a project that was spurred on by some thoughtful, thorough posts from @maybe-boys-do-love and @thebroccolination (among others? sorry if I've forgotten). I have a ton of notes for these series, but to try and keep this post from spiraling totally out of control, I'll just say that SOTUS should be required viewing for anyone who wants to understand how the uni campus functions as not only a backdrop but a site of possibility in Thai BL; it also had an underrated and excellent slow burn—if a show is going to maintain a low simmer for that long, heat is still required, and between Singto's searing gaze and Krist's clenched jaw, the tension was electric. However, it's SOTUS S—and specifically Arthit's growth in this new phase of his life, that I hold dearest to me. Removing him from the campus setting, where he had seniority and power and—most importantly—a considerable level of comfort, meant he had to start from square one when it came to social interactions and finding his footing, and his relationship with Kongpob intertwined with those conflicts nicely. Character of all time, maybe. (8.0, 8.25)

Thank you for reading!

[generalluxun]

To clarify the previous ask, I confess I have two main but extremely divergent versions on it which makes it hard to specifcy things in an ask XD

One would be: how would you handle a post S3 fic where Chloe basically had this realization:

Chloe: This has been the worst day ever and those stupid Kwami didn't even listen! Chloe (Thinks back to the Kwami and what they looked like & then remembers the "Keychain") Chloe: . . . MARINETTE!!!

IE the starting premise is "Post Miracle Queen Chloe realizes Marinette is Ladybug, how does she respond?"

Idea two starts with the premise that Chloe had the above realization but canon otherwise followed its tracks until at least post Queen Mayor.

So basically, "Post Queen Mayor Chloe has known Marinette is Ladybug for a long time and is about to be sent away with her mother or already has been. What does she do with this information to maybe change her circumstances?"

Sorry if that's still too broad ><

No this is much easier to work with.

For your first scenario, with all canon off the table post S3-

Chloé corners Marinette and demands a Miraculous. Not the Ladybug(having it after you? ew!) and not the Bee(That ship has sailed!) but she demands in her words 'A good one!' Without any support(Fu is gone) Marinette hems and haws and actually does cave. (she doesn't know what to do!) She picks the Rooster(sorry Marc, it's thematic)

Marinette wants to know if Chloe is going to help fight Hawkmoth.

Chloe: Help? Help! Marinette I'm not going to play with your little band of losers. I'm going to be the best hero there ever was!

Enter: Crevecoeur (actual French Breed, and the name is perfect)

We're throwing the whole 'Cat Noir neglect' arc RIGHT in the trash to make room for a new arc. We can instead have Cat Noir & Ladybug grow closer dealing with the new situation. That makes a better transition into a S5 love-square collapse into the final ship.

Instead the 'vigilante' arc is the main throughline of S4 (Alongside the Shadowmoth&new heroes)

Crevecour presents the heroes with unique challenges. She is a hero, but also competition. She doesn't fall in line, but she is still a *hero*. She's both very driven, but also gets into trouble. It's a great way to introduce kids to 'third party' dynamics, which is something ML lacks completely.

The Rooster is a very difficult miraculous for Chloe to utilize, but also a good one for her to have *if* she can. Chloe isn't stupid, but she is impulsive. She *can* be clever, but defaults to short cuts. The rooster gives her the power to have *anything she wants* ... ... ONCE.

So she has to fight against her instinct to 'Gimmie!' the first thing that enters her mind. She has to consider, and weigh what she WANTS vs what she NEEDS.

On the upside for Marinette the *in class* bullying drops. Chloe has a new focus. Who cares about a dinky little classroom when you're a real superhero 24/7?

Initially it's very much frustrations and comedies for all involved, but as it progresses a loose affiliation and some teamwork grows out of it. Chloe realizes that *not* being a dick in class gets more attention and interaction. She still may not like/mingle with the commoners but the antagonism diminishes sharply.

As a part of the finale can have her actually return the rooster to Ladybug 'for safe keeping' (perhaps she almost blabbed her ID while under Risk's influence)

Of course then they all get stolen, and THAT might send things in any number of ways :)

for #2

I think the key here is that despite *everything* else, Chloe never blabbed about Marinette's secret identity.

This doesn't mean she is 'secretly good'. It DOES however mean(especially once Marinette finds out she knew- preferably NOT through Chloe telling her) that Marinette now has to grapple(and the audience!) with the notion that Chloe does have *some* sort of principles in there.

She might have despised Ladybug, she might have wanted to take her down, but she never did it in a way that would even hint she knew the two were one person. She would *not* give away the secret identity. Who else other than Chloe would know just how 'sacred' secret identities have to be? Who else could think 'I'll show them I can keep a secret better than anyone!'

The actual chain of events post Marinette finding out in S6 that Chloe knew are very up in the air. You can take it in many directions. The core idea is that people are more than the faces we see them wear in public. For a show about Masks and identities ML doesn't touch on this very much. Most of the cast are simply 'themselves in PJs' when heroing.

Cat Noir was the starkest example of this, but they kind of flattened him out in that regard. Not that merging the two sides was bad, but we didn't really have a solid self-actualization style story beat to go with it. (I mean, we can't give our boy trapped in a tower with no autonomy having a self actualization moment)

I think an interesting dynamic might be that Marinette knows Chloé knows... but Chloe doesn't know Marinette knows she knows. This allows us to have Marinette be the person reshaping the dynamics on her own terms, giving our protagonist something active to do for once in her own plot 🤣

[manicpixiefelix]

Whatever you do, don't envision Reader and Felix driving a vintage convertible through the Tuscan countryside. Top down, wind in their hair, the scent of lemon groves, music playing from the radio.

Perhaps they're on their way to a private party or they're ditching one 🤭

Felix and Reader are holding hands or he's got a hand on their thigh, loving the way they look so carefree.

(stumbling out of my inbox covered in fluff: i don't know where this came from)

There's no prying eyes in moments like these, no-one to perform for, no performers masquerading as his friends or friends of the family trying to steal his attention. Its all on you, and you've never performed for Felix the way the rest of the world has.

He loves you for it.

He loves you for many reasons, of course, but this is one of his favourites.

The sun has just set, the sky painted a burning orange before it fades to sweet lilac and then night, stars beginning to brighten in the sky, and you haven't stopped smiling since he'd pulled out of the parking lot of that god awful party. His darling parents were being progressive with none too subtle purpose, and while both you and he loved their ongoing support, sometimes it was a bit much. More than a bit much. It was suffocating.

But he has no phone service out here, only you beside him with the map he keeps under the seat, pointing out a quaint town an hour away with some kind of hotel situation, and his hand on your thigh. The radio is loud and bright, though you still complain about the CD player in his car -

"I spent good money on a tape deck that works, bought actual, brand new tapes -"

"Where the hell did you get those?" He laughed, but was endeared by your efforts, even as you talked over him, pointedly ignoring him.

"- made you a whole mixtape, and you went and replaced the take deck in your card with a bloody CD player!" You threw your hands in the air in mock dismay.

"I had the CD player put in when dad gave me the car," Felix half smiles, glancing at you for just a moment out of the corner of his eye, "years ago," he reminds you. Seeing the way you're trying so hard to keep up your show off being miffed, despite the sheepish smile curling at the edge of your lips, he gives your thigh a squeeze and looks back at the road.

Slowly, you uncross your arms, sitting back in your seat with a faint, playful pout. When you rest your hand on his, it's warm.

"Made a whole proper cover for it and everything, to put in that plastic cover-thingy they all come in."

"I know," Felix agrees, "I like how you styled the track list on the back," he can't help but smile, picturing it in his mind, "and it's a good set of songs."

He loves the goofy smile he knows you're wearing without even having to turn and look at you. Something about how genuinely you've always reacted to his praise has always warmed his heart; you'd always had a knack for telling his performative, placating praise from his sincerity. He's known you too long and too well by now to offer anything but sincerity when you both know it's rightfully deserved.

"I'll buy you a car with a tape deck just so we can listen to my road trip mix," you say it so casually that he's not quite sure if you're joking. But then you pet his hand, laughter ringing out from you, into the perfect Summer night, "kidding, Fi; I made it for you, listen to it wherever or whenever you want," he catches your easygoing shrug out of the corner of his eye, "or never. No skin off my nose." For a few moments, you distract yourself, tapping out inconsistent beats along his fingers, the back of his hand -

"Unless you want a car with a tape deck," this time he's sure it's not a joke. Its as casual as if you'd offered to simply buy him a beer, no real larger thoughts behind the offer. No part of you is performing the way anyone else would; not trying to bribe, or buy, or placate, or charm, or flaunt your wealth;

"You've just now reminded me why my parents are so adamantly pro-Gay Marriage," Felix couldn't help his laughter, and you sat back, watching the road ahead with a wry smile.

"Your parents are so adamantly pro-Gay Marriage because they desperately want me to pick if I'm to be legally recognised as one or the other, so they can marry me off right now to either you or your sister, but are too deep in their support of me to feel comfortable asking that," you turn to look at him with something forlorn in your eyes despite the smile on your lips, and Felix, despite how much he loved his parents, also knew you were absolutely right.

"No matter where in the world I am," Felix grins, as the lights of the town ahead begin to glow in the distance, "the minute -the absolute moment- mum finds out the two of us can legally get married, I bet you I get a call telling me to come home so she and dad can give me the family ring," and beside him, you're cackling with laughter just picturing it, "at three in the morning, I'll be in Australia or some place, high as fuck in the bush or something, and I'll have to deal with mum acting like she hasn't been plotting this arranged marriage shit for years!"

And the two of you laugh, because you're barely twenty, and the idea of a future beyond your youthful hedonism is overwhelming if you don't laugh about it. Politics, and real world issues, and the future neither of you want to think about, are all absurd, and laughable, and easy to push to the back of your minds. Like the cassette mixtape Felix keeps in his glove box even without a tape deck, because he knows he'll never lose it there.

You take Felix's hand from your thigh as you lace your fingers with his.

And you laugh.

And neither of you knows if it's because the idea of getting married feels preposterous, or maybe a little inevitable.

[king-finnigan]

Keep the Door Ajar ch. 1

Fandom: Arcane Ship: Jayvik Summary:

After the explosion in his apartment, Jayce is banished to Zaun, where he becomes a mechanic. When he meets Viktor, the apothecary across the street from his shop, he's enchanted by him, though as a newcomer in the Undercity, he tries to keep his distance. That is, until he unexpectedly finds himself caring for Powder, a child who has who recently lost her only family in a conflict caused by Jayce's very own hexcrystals. But he can't do it alone. Luckily, there's a healer across the street from him who can help him navigate his newfound home and family. And if Jayce is head over heels for this mysterious healer? Well, that's nobody's business but his own.

Also on AO3!

The facade of the shop is the same as every other he's passed since he's entered the Undercity: colourless, dilapidated and covered in a greasy layer of chemicals and soot. The only thing identifying it as belonging to Jayce's family - and to Jayce himself, now - is the characteristic golden hammer on the sign that hangs above the sturdy door.

Jayce sighs. His new home.

He still finds it hard to believe that in the past twenty-four hours, he's lost everything that he's ever known: his home, his family, his research, his very right to be in Piltover.

Banished to the Undercity. If he'd known the price of progress would be this high, he wouldn't have started his research at all. But hindsight is everything, and unfortunately, he's here now. No use in wallowing in this bitterness, he tells himself, though he still finds it hard to swallow away the bitter lump in his throat.

Banished. For a simple fucking science experiment. He never meant to do any harm to anyone - and he hadn’t. Everything he did, every rule he broke, had all been in an attempt to help people.

He sighs and drops his bag on the ground next to him. No use in dwelling on it now. What’s done is done.

The tools inside the bag clang against each other as he searches for the key in his pocket, a rusty, old thing that his mother had stowed away in the back of a long forgotten drawer somewhere. The shop had been a venture of one of his grandfathers, an attempt to expand his business into other parts of the city, bridge the divide and try to capitalize off of it at the same time. 

But the Undercity has never been kind to strangers from Topside, no matter how well meaning they are and how good their tools are, and the shop had been given up long ago. Still, it hadn't been sold, a combination of a lack of time and a lack of buyers, and it has stood abandoned here since, waiting for the moment someone desperately needed a place to stay outside of the Piltover because they were banished for a science experiment gone wrong. Lucky Jayce.

The door creaks on its metal hinges as it swings open inwards, leaving a track of cleared dust in its wake on the tile floors. It's dark - the windows guarded on the outside with metal grates to protect them from vandals - and Jayce has to slap the wall a few times to find the light switch. A lone bulb flickers to life in the middle of the ceiling, casting hesitant light on a room that has lived in darkness for years. 

The floors are made of drab, brown tiles, covered in a layer of dust while the brick walls don their own drapery of spider webs. In the far right corner, a forge opens its gaping, black maw, an abandoned anvil dozing in front of it and a wooden workbench pushed against the wall next to it. More workbenches line the left back wall, some scattered with ancient, corroded tools and disintegrated, yellow paper, others only holding nothing but possibilities. 

Looking around him a bit more, he can see that one of the barred windows isn't a window, but a large rolling door, probably to bring in machinery that is too large to fit through the front door. Convenient. That is, if the thing isn't rusted into place. He decides he'll have to find that out another time.

He picks his bag up from outside the shop, mentally cursing himself for having turned his back on it. If there's one thing he’s been told about the Undercity since he was a small child, it's that its people like to take things that aren't technically theirs. Especially if it belongs to a Piltie, as they call people from Topside – something which he’s found out over the past hour or so as he made his way to the shop. He's lucky this street isn't a well-travelled one, or his bag would’ve been long gone.

He sighs again, remembering the long walk here. It had been hard enough to leave the city he was born in, the city he loves for the very last time after saying a tearful goodbye to his mother. But crossing the bridge into unknown, enemy territory, had been another beast entirely.

And enemy territory it was, as he soon found out.

Eyes had followed him, a few at first, then more and more the deeper he went. People missing limbs, teeth, and various other body parts, leering at him, his freshly cut hair - something his mother had insisted on doing for him one last time - his clean clothes, his ten fingers and unblemished face and he’d felt their disdain.

But can he blame them? He’s a stranger, an outsider, a rich guy in their eyes, intruding upon their peace. He doesn’t belong here.

No one had attacked him, not yet, at least. But he’d heard a few hisses as he had passed. Piltie, said with such hate that he’d almost considered turning around and going back, catching a boat in the harbour and taking his chances in a different city altogether.

But there he would have nothing. Here, he at least has the shop.

He has to try.

As he turns to close the door behind him, a sound draws his eye. A soft tinkling; musical notes that clash so weirdly and wonderfully with the mechanic whirring that forms the background thrum he's been hearing ever since he's entered the Undercity. He looks across the street and spots another shop. 

Unlike most of the abandoned buildings in the street, it’s clean. Dark metal has been wrought into large arches, like waves crashing on the shore, framing massive windows made of glass slightly tinged by the constant vapours that drift through the streets of the Undercity – yet somehow whole in a place that seems to consist solely of broken glass. They’re curtained on the inside by course, dark-purple fabric, though a warm, inviting light filters through them. The door, rounded at the top and painted the same purple as the curtains, is shut firmly. The sign above is as clear as it can be: a mortar and a pestle with the word 'Apothecary' in elegant lettering beneath it. Next to it, twinkling lightly in the foul air are windchimes.

Jayce stands there for a second, enthralled by the sight of something so clean and elegant, so welcoming in a city that's been anything but so far. Then he tears himself loose from the spell and shuts his own door. Better not to stare, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself and stay outside any longer than needs be.

He leaves tracks in the thick dust as he walks to the back of the shop towards the wooden door labelled 'Private' in rusted gilded letters. Behind it is more darkness, more dustiness and more of that odd smell that's enveloped him like a wet blanket ever since he walked further into the building. It's musty and stings in his nostrils and throat - dust and age and maybe some of the chemicals that seem to pervade the Undercity in travelling clouds. 

Another lonely lightbulb, another room that's seen better days. 

The floor is made of wood this time, though the walls are the same brick as the workshop. Mercifully, the person who was here last decided to drape sheets over the furniture to keep most of the dust at bay. He pulls them off one by one: a simple wooden table and two chairs in one corner in front of a kitchenette, a cot complete with mattress and pillows on the other side with a set of drawers at the foot. Yet another corner houses a desk. No chair, but he decides he can easily use one from the dining table. He's all alone anyways. A door in the right wall houses a small, tiled bathroom, right behind the forge. Clever, he muses to himself, an easy, cheap way to heat water.

He turns in a circle, looking at his living quarters. They're dirty, basic and cramped - his family has never been the richest of the Piltover houses, but still this is so different to what he has at home. Or what he had at home. 

Still, he tries to think optimistically, it could be worse and a little bit of cleaning will liven the place right up.

He sighs. Well, no better time to start than now, he supposes.

--

He’s found a broom leaning against one of the benches in the workshop and after a few hours and a lot of swearing and sweating, he thinks he’s managed to sweep most of the dust and the cobwebs out of all the rooms.

Some expired cleaning products have the floor, the forge and the leftover tools shining like gems, his nostrils burning and eyes watering from the harsh vapours. He stands with his hands on his hips, satisfied as he looks around. It’s still not the best, but a lot better than it was a few hours ago.

His stomach rumbles and he wonders what time it is. It was morning when he left Piltover and he wandered the streets of the Undercity for a few hours, looking for the right house, getting accosted by the locals and quickly walking away from them and getting even more lost in the process. Add to that the few hours of cleaning he’s just done and it must be right around dinnertime.

He sits down at the table in the living room, carefully unwrapping the food his mom had packed him before he left. During cleaning, his mind has been as occupied as his body and he hadn’t been able to think about his circumstances, but now that he sees the lovingly wrapped sandwiches cut in triangles as he’s liked since a child, it hits him.

He’s alone now. Truly and utterly alone in a foreign place with no one to fall back on, no one to return to. His old life is gone – the Academy, his childhood home, his mother – ripped away in an instant because of a mistake he was too stupid to realize he was making. And all that remains, a carefully wrapped meal, right in front of him.

He lets his head fall into his hands as a gaping hole opens in his chest, fear and anger and grief and longing for his old life ravaging him from the inside. And for the first time since his lab exploded, he sobs.

Once the tears fall, there’s no stopping them and he curls into himself to shield him from the outside world, his memories, his feelings, from anything, and he sobs and sobs and sobs like he hasn’t since he was a small child and his mother was dying in the snow in front of him. It feels good yet at the same time it’s like he’s drowning – in fond memories, in regret, in his own tears – and leaves him heaving for every breath of putrid, stinging air until it feels like his lungs are on fire with the chemicals.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there crying. He doesn’t care to know, really, but by the time the tears abate and the sobs grow more infrequent and less painful, everything hurts. The muscles in his chest are sore from the crying, as is his throat, his back and arms ache from the cleaning and his joint from the cold that has started to seep into the room and the rickety chair. Worst of all, his head hurts. Throbbing, nauseating pain emanating from behind his eyes and blurring the edges of his vision with every heartbeat.

He stumbles off the chair, rewraps the food his mother made him – God, the food – and manages to stagger his way to the bed before collapsing on it. The sheets and pillows are far from clean, still in need of a thorough washing, but right now he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the soft, blue blanket he pulls from his bag, a remnant of his childhood, a painful yet soothing reminder of his old bedroom.

It still smells like home.

He pushes it against his nose, the headache slowly subsiding as the familiar scent envelops him, thoughts blurring into a mass of colours and movement and slowly, quietly, gently, he drifts off to sleep.

--

He finds a market not too far from his new home with a few decent-looking shops around it. He spends the little money he and his mother managed to scrape together before he was forced to leave there on new clothes, sheets, food and scrap machine parts. 

He’s pretty sure the shop owners took one look at him, recognized him as an outsider and charged him double what the stuff is worth and his wallet is ruefully light afterwards, but it’s better than nothing. At least with the new clothes – a shirt and slacks made of rough woven fabric, both patched in several places – he could be mistaken for a Zaunite, if one doesn’t look too closely.

The rolling door in his shop and the metal shutter in front of the window are rusted at the hinges, as expected, but it’s nothing some oil, a lot of muscle work and a few muttered curses can’t solve.

And then he’s open for business.

He sits behind one of the work benches, tinkering with a few cogs and screws he got at the market. His mind strays as his hands work of their own accord, twisting metal with his tongs, soldering and cutting and screwing parts together. A familiar shape emerges - a small robot with movable limbs, its head a half-round circle that sticks up from a square chest, arms and legs gangly but able to keep it up.

He smiles softly at it. 

He’d made something like this ages ago, when he’d just started at the Academy. It’d been one of his first assignments and the thing that had finally distinguished him from the other students, drawing attention and approval from the professors.

He’d named his little creation Blitzcrank, he vaguely remembers. 

In the silence of the workshop, he can hear the sounds coming from outside: the eternal thrum of the mining equipment in the fissures and the ventilators underneath the streets and soft, melodic tinkling.

That damn tinkling. It’s… captivating, in a way. There’s no melody to it, the notes go up and down, up and down, coming quickly and then slowing down only to pick back up when another gust of foul air brings the small metal rods into motion again.

He wonders who the music belongs to, who decided to bring life to an otherwise deserted, broken street. Who took one look at this place and opened a shop with large, inviting windows and soft purple curtains and wind chimes outside the front door.

The apothecary. It’s a title Jayce has rarely ever heard in his time in Piltover. They had pharmacists, yes, and hospitals and physicians and doctors. But no apothecaries. The word invokes something within him, a vision of herbs hanging from the ceiling and incense burning on the windowsill, of esotericism and spells and amulets.

He shakes the thought away. He’s being ridiculous and he should focus on fixing this damn lamp so maybe he can sell it to the next customer.

And yet. That damn tinkling, pushing its way into his mind. 

He looks up and through his slightly dirtied window, giving him a tinged vision of the street outside – and the apothecary’s shop. The same inviting, warm light shines through the curtains and as he looks, the door opens and a customer steps outside. An old man, bent and weathered from the harsh years spent in the Undercity, clutching a clay jar against his chest, the edge of a label barely visible from the angle Jayce is looking at. But, strangest of all, is the man’s facial expression.

It's calm. Relaxed. Almost content.

Now, Jayce hasn’t spent a long time in Zaun, but every single person he’s encountered has had the same facial expression of stress, fatigue and a tinge of angry defiance. Life in the Undercity is hard and unforgiving and doesn’t lend itself to relaxing. There’s always something to worry about, always some new calamity waiting to happen – whether it’s the return of the Grey, of the enforcers, a job that gets taken away or the gangs that roam the streets – there’s always a new threat around the corner, ready to strike when you’re least expecting it.

So to see someone calm and serene, a half-smile ghosting across their lips… It’s a new experience for Jayce.

But it happens again. And again, and again.

As he sits at the same work bench every day, waiting for customers that never arrive, starting and finishing little projects, making trinkets that no one will ever buy and fixing household devices that he finds on random street corners, person after person visits the apothecary’s across the street. A constant drip-drip-drip of sick and desperate people disappearing through the purple door, their faces pinched with pain or worry or sorrow when they enter, only for the expression to disappear when they step back outside shortly after. Some leave with a brown jar in their hands, some with a small bundle of herbs, some with nothing but a bounce in their step that wasn’t there before. But without fault, without exception, each and every person leaves without their worries.

It's nothing short of miraculous.

And it leaves Jayce very, very suspicious.

He doesn’t know what goes on behind those large, curtained windows, but whatever it is, it can’t be right. Not even the best doctor in Piltover could cure every patient, make every illness or ailment go away. Before the week is over, he’s concluded that whoever runs the shop must be a quack or a con man or a healthy mix of the two.

And still, by the end of the week, he hasn’t gotten any customers. Just his luck.

---

The next Freeday, he goes to the market to pick up some new broken devices and scraps. He’s still visibly an outsider, but with his second hand clothes and his hair slowly growing out of its perfect cut, he’s sure that within no time, he might stop drawing so much attention and so many scowls. The stall owners still scam him out of more money than he can afford to spend, but some of them recognize him and greet him with neutrality or mild annoyance, which is infinitely better than the sneers and jeers he’d gotten the first time.

As he walks back to his shop with his arms filled with cardboard boxes of old broken devices he might be able to blow some life back into, he feels light on his feet. Despite the circumstances, he feels his old optimism returning to him, the dark clouds above his head parting to let some sunshine into his mind.

That is, until he finds his front door wide open.

He freezes for a second, until his instincts take over.

“Hey!” he shouts, barging inside, dumping the boxes right inside the door against the wall. “Hey! Who’s in here?”

He walks a few steps inside to see if someone is hiding behind one of the heavy work benches. Which is his first mistake.

A shadow blurs past him and out of the front door.

“Dammit!” He turns, running after it, not looking where he’s going. His second mistake.

Whoever was inside has turned over an oil canister behind them, and his foot slips in it, his shoulder slamming painfully onto the tiles of the workshop as his ankle doubles over. He shouts in surprise and pain, nearly falling again as he tries and finally manages to get up, rushing out of the door, his right side slick with oil.

He’s just in time to see a small child disappear into a side alley, a mischievous grin on his face as he makes off with a rucksack full of Jayce’s belongings.

He runs after the kid in a desperate effort to catch up, but when he gets to the mouth of the alley, it’s empty.

“Fuck!” He slams his fist against the wall, frustration and anger making him see red, heat pulsing through his veins and warming his cheeks in embarrassment. Robbed in broad daylight, by a damn child. 

He feels like an idiot .

“Am I interrupting?” A voice bounces through the narrow street, a foreign accent curling around words tinged with a hint of amusement.

Jayce feels his cheeks warm even more. Just his luck; not only has his shop been burgled by a kid less than half his age, but someone else has witnessed his idiocy. And seems amused by it.

“What the hell is your problem?” he spits, turning to the sound of the voice. 

He’s slightly taken aback at the sight that meets him: a man, about his height, though slightly hunched over and leaning some of his weight on the cane in his left hand to unburden his right leg, which is wrapped in a metal brace. Unruly, dark brown hair frames a face made entirely out of angles and dotted with a few artfully placed moles. But his eyes are what capture Jayce’s attention the most. They’re a striking amber and seem to be staring right into his soul, piercing in a way he’s never experienced before, as if the man knows his every inner thought just by looking at him.

And they are, in fact, slightly crinkled by amusement.

“Here to laugh at me?” Jayce asks, venom lacing his voice.

“No, of course not,” the man says. He hesitates. “Maybe a bit.” The corners of his mouth lift up slightly. Jayce deflates, anger leaving him in a rush as embarrassment floods him.

“Alright,” he relents, looking down at his oil-stained clothes. “I do admit I may look a bit ridiculous.”

The man’s features soften slightly, those piercing eyes looking Jayce up and down. “What happened?”

Jayce sighs, wiping his clean hand over his face. “Got robbed, I guess. By a child.”

“Robbed?”

“Yeah.” Jayce gestures to his storefront, the door still open. “Just got back from the market and found him rummaging inside. I don’t know what he took, but I don’t have a lot at the moment, so it’s a big loss either way.” He sighs.

“So you’re the mechanic that’s just moved in there?”

“Yup. That’s me.” He can’t help the tinge of despair that creeps into his voice. “Though I’m afraid I’ll have to move back out again soon. Don’t have much left.” And God, does he hate the thought of packing up his stuff and leaving the country completely. Though maybe it is better to move to a new city, somewhere he doesn’t get robbed blind by a literal kid.

The stranger cocks his head slightly. “What did he look like? The child?”

Jayce furrows his eyebrows. “Uh, I’m not sure, actually. Short?” The man snorts. “He had white hair. I saw that much.”

The man nods thoughtfully, though Jayce can see the corners of his mouth curl up. “I see,” he simply says. Then, he turns around and walks away, his slightly uneven gait punctuated by a soft clack of his cane as he goes.

“Wait!” Jayce says, but the stranger has already turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

He sighs. “Alright, nice talking to you, then,” he mutters to himself as he makes his way back to his shop. He has to change into clean clothes and take stock of what’s been taken. A great way to end his first week in Zaun.

---

Though it’s been a few hours after he’s changed into clean clothes and scrubbed at his arms and legs until the stains were gone, he can still smell a whiff of engine oil every time he shifts his weight on the uncomfortable wooden stool at his workbench.

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time, staring at the cogs and screws on the scarred tabletop with unseeing eyes. Most of his finished projects have been stolen and a few of his tools as well. It’s not much, nothing special really but it is- was most of what he had. What bothers him the most was that the culprit took Blitzcrank and the sandwich his mother made.

He shakes his head, frustrated at himself. It doesn’t matter. The robot was just a few pieces of scrap metal soldered together to form a homunculus and the sandwich- well, if he’s honest with himself, he likely wasn’t going to eat it anyways. Too many memories. Too much pain.

He startles out of his thoughts when a knock comes at the door. He frowns; he isn’t expecting anyone at the moment and a potential customer would just come in instead of knocking. Though, belatedly, he realizes he left the shutter down in front of the window this morning, since he went to the market and wasn’t planning on opening the shop anyways.

Which also means he can’t see who’s knocking.

He sighs. This day just can’t get better, he thinks to himself as he walks to the door to open it.

For a split second, as he does, he expects to be met with piercing amber eyes. He has to push away a slight pang of disappointment when he’s not.

He blinks up at the burly man outside, not used to seeing someone that matches his height. “Oh. Hello.”

“Afternoon!” the man says, eyes smiling behind his small, round glasses. “I’ve uh… Well…” He chuckles as he claps his hand on the shoulder of the boy in front of him, drawing Jayce’s attention to him. “ Someone here has something to confess.”

Jayce stares for a second before recognition dawns on him. “You,” he breathes, right as anger takes over. “You stole from me!”

The boy has the wherewithal to look ashamed, head turned away, though Jayce can still see a hint of defiance in the way his cheeks redden and his brow furrows.

“Listen.” The man sighs. “I’m sorry about what happened. I’ve tried to teach him not to steal, but the kid has a mind of his own.”

He hands a leather bag to Jayce and a quick peek inside lifts the weight from his shoulders. His stuff, all there and unharmed.

The spark he saw in the kid erupts. “But he’s a Piltie, Benzo! ”

“Ekko!” The man, Benzo, spits at him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and shaking him a little. “I’ve told you before, it doesn’t matter. He lives here now. He’s just as much at risk of facing the Grey or the enforcers or the chem barons as any of us.” The man’s grey sideburns move as he clenches his jaw before sighing, pushing the child slightly forward. “Now apologize.”

Ekko groans in frustration but faces Jayce nonetheless. “I am sorry for stealing your stuff, I promise not to break into your badly locked shop again,” he drones, refusing to meet his eyes.

“ Ekko,” Benzo hisses, but Jayce cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“It’s alright. I accept your apology, Ekko.” He hesitates, furrowing his brow. “How is my shop badly locked?”

The corners of the boy’s lips curl up. “You’ve only got one lock, for starters,” he says, finally raising his eyes to Jayce’s face. “And it’s an old one, too. Completely rusted. I barely had to jam my pick in there and it was open.” He grins. “Honestly, if I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve sooner or later.”

Benzo sighs. “Incorrigible,” he mutters.

---

A few drinks and a lecture on proper locks from a child thief later, they’re sitting at Jayce’s usual workbench as he inspects his items laid out in front of him, checking them for damage.

“You know, Jayce,” Benzo muses, picking up Blitzcrank, luckily unharmed. “This really caught my eye earlier, as did the other toys.” He moves one of the arms, joints smoothly rolling in their sockets. “Did you make them yourself?”

Jayce shrugs, tearing his gaze away from the robot, heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah. Just to pass the time, really. I know they’re silly, I didn’t mean for anyone to actually see them.”

“I like them,” Ekko chimes in, grabbing a spinning top from the table and setting it in motion with a flick of his wrist. It spins in place, the little notches in the edge creating a mesmerizing pattern.

Benzo nods. “They’re good. A little rough around the edges,” he concedes, making Jayce chuckle. “But I think you can do something with them. Sell them, if you want.”

Jayce furrows his brows. “Seriously? I thought people here wouldn’t really care for them. I mean, they don’t really do anything…”

Benzo looks at him over the rim of his glasses, his eyes softening. “I know you’re from Topside, so let me tell you something, Jayce. Here in the Undercity…” He sighs. “There aren’t a lot of pretty things, nice things. Things that only exist to bring joy. But people still crave it- they’re only human. We’re only human. I think, with these things,” he gently turns Blitzcrank around in his hands, “you can remind them of that joy. You can bring it back to them.”

He can only gape at Benzo. “Really? That’s…” The kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me. He swallows his words, ducking his head instead. “That’s very nice of you.”

“It’s the truth.” Benzo leans back, smiling kindly at him as he folds his tree trunks of arms in front of him. “I think you can sell quite a few of these.”

“Unfortunately I don’t get any customers, though,” Jayce admits.

Benzo waves it away. “You’re new, those things take time. Tell you what, Ekko and I have our own stall at the market every Freeday. You can display a few of these there and we’ll see if they sell.”

“Really?” His chest fills with a warmth he hasn’t felt since the trial, eyes prickling as he’s faced with unexpected kindness and brittle hope. “But I’m not able to pay you.”

“Eh, I don’t want your money. Or lack thereof,” Benzo chuckles. “It’s not easy out here, and as I told young Ekko earlier,” he ruffles his hand through the boy’s white hair, “you live here. That makes you one of us now. And we take care of our own.”

Jayce can’t help the broad grin that splits his face. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you.”

Benzo laughs. “Let’s just wait and see whether these sell or not, alright?”

[undertalerainbow]

Comic Update

Current page count is 14 and everything's going smoothly, and part one of chapter 1 should be released before the end of the month at the most and in a week at least. We do have a few updates on how it's going to be posted, though. Part one was supposed to be one post with 30 pages, which is what we had planned for part 1; however, thanks to something weird with pc version of tumblr I can't add more of the pages via pc, see my issue here (yes, it's still doing that). I've been using my phone to upload the images on the draft post, but as some know here, the mobile version only allows 10 images :(((( So that means instead of one post for part one, its going to be around 3-maybe 4-posts for part one chapter one. So instead of three posts for the total of chapter 1, it may be upwards to 9 or above posts for chapter 1 alone. I seriously don't know the issue with my pc version, but I hope these many posts will be ok with y'all. This also means there will probably be posts released in bursts, as while I'm in the boss fight right now and thus going much faster than before (doing almost a page a day), when I'm doing full color it may take longer as I've been nonstop drawing this since around march (minus that break in late april to finish finals). The goal is to finish chapter 1 before Underevent applications in December, maybe even get to chapter 2. All of volume one is outlined, planned to be 3-5 chapters in length, and each following volume being longer afterwards. Nick's volume (volume 2) is overall conceptialized, and some familiar characters will take either center stage or comeos. Stella's volume is being conceptized with a clear goal in mind, and overall plot beats are thought up. The overall story was the first thought of, having a beginning, middle major plot points, and an ending which is fully thought out. Overall, ideas for Percy's, Rosemary's, Clover's, and Asriel's volumes have been thought of, but have not been as detailed as the other three as we do want to write as we go along. Point A and Point B of the story is thought of and will not change, but the landmarks we have to go through to get there has to be detailed as we go along so the story flows well. There's so far a total of 12 planned new areas (this includes areas within areas like snowdin village is to snowdin forest), and we are thinking up more when needed in the story. We have a lot of new main characters tied to the past of these fallen children, both alive and dusted. There is planned new background NPCS that we hope our current concept and possible new concept artists will help out with. We also have the idea that when chapter 1 is done, we'll also post them on places like Webtoon, Bluesky, and maybe Reddit, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Music is still being made, now having over 10 tracks total! Those songs may be posted as a way to keep our account alive, we also have pride month drawings being done as relaxers on the side (though they may be late as we want to work hard to release the comic). And here's the biggest thing....ahem....

We have a Discord now

Yep! We have an official discord where you can come in, ask questions with more immediate responses (as the answers to any questions provided on Tumblr, I'd like to draw it, which I never have time for). You can also audition for different positions if you'd like, which would also add you to the development team, able to see the comic as it progresses. If you don't know if you can provide anything product wise, then you can apply to be a beta reader; however, those who apply to that must be at least 16 or above. I just want more constructive feedback when it comes to beta readers unless I know you personally which than I may make exceptions; otherwise, no younger than that. If you don't want to be on the dev team at all, that's also ok! There are other channels to share your own products, promote your own projects, and just generally make friends. Please read the rules before proceeding, but otherwise have fun! The link is riiiiight here! https://discord.gg/XZAVctaE (this link will be updated if it expires)

The need we have right now is voice actors, as we do plan that when the first chapter is completed, we want to make an official dub for the people following the YouTube channel. We already have a Flowey, we just need the following characters: Frisk (gender neutral, feminine leaning) Chara (gender neutral, tomboy leaning) Toriel (Female, warm but slightly gruff) Napsablook (gender neutral, whispy and quiet) Miscellaneous Ruin Monsters (Froggit, whimson, vegatoid, etc) Southern Rock (southern voice gender neutral for the scolding rock)

But we do have other roles such as: Concept artists (for background characters or major side characters who do not have designs yet), Comic artists (to help with coloring, backgrounds, etc so things can be streamlined better), video editors (for things like trailers or animations), animators (promo stuff), artists (promo stuff and answering the ask souls questions), and story editors (to help TheEverManiac with the paneling script).

Hope to see y'all join and meet us there! (only if you want to though haha)

Cya later!

[seaofreverie]

Sparkstember Day 18: Balls (Bullet Train)

Sometimes (oftentimes) it's true that all you need are Balls. I personally absolutely love Balls. I'm a big fan! Ekhem. Today I'm using the help of (I mean, copying most of the passages from it) my earlier Balls rant that I have written down after my first listen of it back in January. I really love this album and I don't want to completely skip over saying a couple words on it at least but I really don't think I have the headspace to write anything very good for it today. I'll still try though!

So yeah, Balls. It's a great album, fun and chill (in my sense of what I call and consider chill anyway), consistent, as Sparks albums tend to be, and as I suspected / hoped it does fit this specific vibe of driving around at night somewhere city-like and illuminated. Or being on a train deep at night and looking at the world zooming by (if you'd even see much of it on a train at night anyway.....). And I do think that it's not so dissimilar to Gratsax (I'd say now that it's definitely darker and moodier than its predecessor...). So it's interesting to think about how it's considered to be one of the "weak" ones (by music reviewers at least) while Gratsax is so beloved in comparision.

I will admit, I don't really know what the big problem with this album could be. As I said, it's fun, it has the melodies, it has the energy, it has the theatricality (I like seeing how more and more orchestral instruments such as strings are being incorporated into the music, in a way the jump into Lil' Beethoven two years later doesn't come of as THAT much of a shock because of this. The evolution of sound here is fascinating!) I really like the intense beats, just as much as the more laid-back and moodier pieces. And there's lots of gold to be found in the lyrics department as always.

One more thing I wanna say is that at some point I wondered if this music sounds older than it is. Maybe it does? But then I remembered that this was 2000 and honestly when I think about it, there just IS something about this album that fits so well with the Y2K image and vibe and all. Sparks 2000 and all that.

Favourite songs (and other highlights):

Balls: I mean. It's Balls.

Scheherazade: absolutely LOVE this one and I had the strangest impression of it sounding very familiar when I first heard it. Months later I found out that it was just briefly featured in TSB so I think that explains it (I will talk more about my TSB viewings on TSB day. EVERYTHING has to be explained in excruciating detail, lmao)

The Calm Before The Storm: bugsonas 4ever. Song itself is amazing too

How To Get Your Ass Kicked: how can a song about getting your ass kicked be so pleasant and relaxing, it always keeps cracking me up, how perfect that is actually

Bullet Train: I love it how introducing the topic of the song with a "It's the [topic of the song]" is a reoccurring theme on this album. Thank you Sparks for this ode to technology and art (these lyrics always have me giggling). And also it just goes hard as heck

It's Educational: a perfect fusion of / sequel to I Thought I Told You To Wait In The Car and Progress (it's mostly the vocal delivery that reminds me of the latter)

The Angels: such an odd one here but I still like it a lot, I apparently said that it sounds "surprisingly mainstream for Sparks but somehow in a positive way". It's very sweet and I absolutely love how Russell sings here, it's so different from what we're used to but that only makes it hit you even more in the feels, lol. And I actually prefer the alternative version of this song that's featured as a bonus track, and I do think that's in big part because you can hear Russell better on it (or that was my first impression of it at least and it kind of stuck)

[gourjenous]

Harmonizing Hearts || l.mark

You never expected your big break to come through an impromptu collaboration with a member of one of the biggest boy bands in the world. As an independent musician, you were known for your raw, soulful voice and deep, introspective lyrics, but finding a unique sound for your debut album was proving to be harder than you thought. You had been grinding for months, hopping from one studio session to another, trying to piece together the perfect track list, but something was missing.

That’s when your manager dropped the news—Mark Lee from NCT had heard about your work and wanted to collaborate on a track.

At first, you were stunned. Mark Lee? One of the most versatile rappers and songwriters in the K-pop world? The idea seemed too good to be true. You admired his work from a distance, his ability to switch between different musical genres effortlessly. But despite your respect for his talent, a seed of doubt planted itself in your mind. What could someone like Mark see in your music?

The first time you walked into the studio, the atmosphere was electric. Instruments were scattered around, with keyboards, guitars, and synths plugged in, and sheet music lay across the counters. The room smelled faintly of coffee and that distinct scent of fresh recording equipment. As you took in your surroundings, you felt a nervous flutter in your chest.

Mark greeted you with a warm smile, his laid-back, approachable demeanor putting you somewhat at ease. "Y/N, right? I’ve been listening to some of your tracks—super excited to work with you."

"Yeah, thanks," you replied, trying to match his enthusiasm, though your nerves were making your voice come out shakier than intended. "I’ve been listening to your stuff too. Your lyrics... they always hit hard."

He grinned, clearly appreciating the compliment. "I try," he said with a chuckle. "So, what do you want to start with? I’ve got some ideas, but I’m totally open to seeing where the music takes us."

The first few sessions felt more like feeling each other out than making actual progress. Mark was as talented and easy-going as you’d heard, but your creative approaches couldn’t have been more different. You were used to spending hours fine-tuning melodies, getting lost in the details of composition and harmony. Mark, on the other hand, thrived on spontaneity—he’d throw out ideas, test verses on the fly, and embrace the chaos of creativity. It was impressive, but it was also overwhelming for you, who tended to be more methodical in your process.

During one late-night session, after a few hours of back-and-forth over a song’s structure, the frustration started to bubble up.

"Mark, this chorus doesn’t work," you said, your voice more clipped than you intended. "It’s too fast, and it doesn’t match the mood of the verses."

Mark, sitting across from you with his guitar, raised his eyebrows. "I think it adds energy to the track. If we slow it down too much, it’ll lose its edge."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "It just doesn’t feel right. I don’t want to rush through this. We need to get it perfect."

"I get that," he replied, but there was a flicker of impatience in his tone. "But sometimes, you just have to go with the flow. Not everything needs to be overthought, you know?"

"Overthought?" you snapped, your frustration spilling over. "It’s called paying attention to details. We can’t just slap things together and hope it works."

Mark’s expression shifted, his normally relaxed demeanor hardening. "I’m not saying we’re slapping things together. But if you keep overanalyzing every note, we’re never going to get anywhere."

The room grew tense, the atmosphere crackling with the unsaid. You felt the sting of his words, but more than that, you were frustrated with yourself. You hadn’t meant to get so defensive, but the pressure to prove yourself was weighing heavily on your shoulders. Mark was already successful, already established. Meanwhile, you were still clawing your way to the surface.

"Look," Mark sighed after a moment of silence, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn’t mean to come off like that. I just... I feel like we’re not on the same wavelength right now. Maybe we need to take a step back."

You nodded, swallowing your pride. "Yeah, maybe you’re right."

The session ended early that night, both of you leaving the studio in tense silence. You couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment that clung to you as you walked home, your mind replaying the argument. You had wanted this collaboration to be perfect, but instead, it felt like everything was falling apart.

The next day, you debated canceling the session altogether, wondering if maybe this partnership wasn’t meant to be. But as the hours passed, you realized that walking away wasn’t the answer. You respected Mark too much to give up so easily, and deep down, you knew that the problem wasn’t him—it was your own insecurities.

When you arrived at the studio later that afternoon, Mark was already there, tuning his guitar. He glanced up as you entered, offering a tentative smile.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer than usual. "About last night... I think we both just got a little too in our heads."

You nodded, taking a seat beside him. "Yeah, I was feeling the pressure. I guess I let that get to me."

Mark set down his guitar and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I get it. I’ve been there too. It’s hard, especially when you’re trying to put something out there that’s personal. But we don’t have to rush this. Let’s take our time, figure it out together."

His words eased some of the tension in your chest, and for the first time since you started working together, you felt like you were on the same page. Mark wasn’t just some idol who had everything figured out. He was someone who understood the struggle, someone who had been through the same challenges you were facing.

"Thanks, Mark," you said, meeting his gaze. "I appreciate that."

From that moment on, the dynamic between you two shifted. The pressure eased, and instead of butting heads, you started to find common ground. Mark’s spontaneity no longer felt overwhelming, and your attention to detail wasn’t a hindrance. Instead, you began to see how your strengths could complement each other. When you got stuck on a melody, Mark would jump in with a fresh perspective. When he wanted to push through a verse quickly, you’d remind him to slow down and focus on the emotions behind the words.

Late one evening, after hours of tinkering with a melody on the piano, you stumbled upon something special. You played a soft, delicate progression, and Mark’s eyes lit up.

"That’s it," he said, sitting up straighter. "That’s the mood we’ve been trying to capture."

You nodded, feeling the same spark of excitement. "Yeah, it feels... right."

Mark picked up his notebook, scribbling down some lyrics before passing them to you. The words were raw, vulnerable, and hit close to home. As you read through them, you realized they were about unspoken feelings, about finding love where you least expect it. The song was about emotions that had been bubbling beneath the surface for weeks, emotions you hadn’t even fully acknowledged until now.

The atmosphere in the studio shifted as the two of you worked on the song, your usual playful banter giving way to a deeper, more intimate connection. Mark’s voice was quieter than usual as he suggested changes, his fingers grazing yours as he passed you the notebook. Every touch, every glance, felt charged with something unspoken.

When the song was nearly finished, you both took a step back, listening to the playback. The soft melody you had created blended seamlessly with Mark’s lyrics, the music capturing the essence of everything you had been feeling—uncertainty, longing, and the thrill of something new.

"You know," Mark said after a long silence, "this song... it feels personal. Like, really personal."

You glanced at him, noticing the way his eyes lingered on yours. "Yeah. It does."

There was a beat of silence, the air between you thick with tension. Mark shifted in his seat, his hand resting on the edge of the piano. "I’ve been writing about something real," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "About us. About... how I’ve been feeling."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. It was something you had felt too, but hadn’t dared to acknowledge. The long hours spent together, the laughter, the quiet moments where your eyes would meet across the room—it had all been building toward this.

"I’ve been feeling it too," you confessed, your voice soft. "I just didn’t know how to say it."

In that moment, the distance between you disappeared. Mark leaned closer, his gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again. There was a hesitation, a silent question, and when you nodded, he closed the gap, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, tentative kiss.

Mark’s lips curved into a small smile, his eyes softening. "I guess the music said it for us."

The kiss was soft and slow, filled with all the emotions that had been simmering between you for weeks. When you finally pulled away, you couldn’t help but smile, the weight that had been pressing on your chest lifting.

"I guess we make a pretty good team," you said, your voice light

[glitchy-npc]

24 & 56 for the writers ask? (because i love looking back at bad advice and thinking 'wtf'. and i love it when writers talk about what they like the most about their work ✨️)

Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

I don't remember specifics because it was a billion years ago but I remember getting a lot of it during my brief stint of college. My counselor strait up told me not to pursue a career in writing (any kind of writing, its not like I was wanting to be a novelist or anything) because it just wouldn't be a viable career, in her opinion. and I, a wide eyed 18 yr old with horrendous self esteem, believed her. So that was the end of any formal writing training I ever got.

I did still try to write, just for fun and took a creative writing course for the hell of it. But the peer reviews were brutal and full of some of the most entitled and stuck up people I've ever had the misfortune to encounter. I remember one gal telling me no one wants to read a short story with a happy ending, that it's waste of time. I take it she didn't write/read fanfiction.

And I don't think it was necessarily bad advice but "show, don't tell" stopped me dead in my tracks creatively. I could not figure out what it meant. And then everything I tried to write I was getting so hung up on whether I was "showing" or "telling" and it got so bad that I just quit entirely.

I didn't start writing again until 2023. It's a constant source of regret that I quit for so long. I'm so rusty and it's hard not to think of how much better I would be now if I had had those years to practice.

But I have noticed improvement in even just that time. Its not linear progress which is frustrating, I'd like to say every fic I write is better than the last but that's just not true. Still I'm keeping more than I scrap and I'm actually having fun this time.

What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

That I'm actually completing stuff now. That I don't let myself get bogged down with the little things. I'm writing fanfiction not academic papers, I can play fast and lose with the rules because who cares?

I'm proud that I'm writing anything at all.

Thanks for the ask! 💚 Questions from here.

[damsels-n-dice]

playtesting adventures: the story begins

after creating characters two weeks ago, we've begun playing our playtesting campaign of 'til it kills us! as always, i'll start by sharing my general thoughts on the game's progress, the campaign, and storytelling for the game as a whole. and then there'll be some specific information about my player group under the cut :)

general playtesting thoughts (& feelings):

it's hard as someone mostly used to D&D to remember that it's allowed/expected for players to know the rules & help out

that being said, i continue to love this system!

we had an awesome domino effect of a scene where a player had to get rid of the bogeyman hiding in her shadow, and ended up slapstick falling onto her ex-boyfriend (despite succeeding)

it's great fun to play with these people and see what they do with my game that i worked on for so long

... some of them admittedly still don't understand that it isn't a crunchy system though and they are Confused about it

not everything went exactly as i'd planned, either, as it's hard to keep to the beats you wanted in such an improv-y game, but i'm gonna work around it to keep us on track for the right themes

game updates:

some more major ones are being made or considered this time around, though most are quality of life things!

editing powers to make it more clear that (a) they are once per scene per free and (b) you can recreate them with a roll but it is more likely there will be failures or consequences

editing wounds to be "reduce wound severity by 1 stage" instead of "remove minor wounds", to make major wounds easier to get rid of and avoid accidentally killing ambitious players

possibly rename a few abilities? and i may need to clarify again which abilities are inherently magic and which ones are not

then someone also suggested allowing being able to combo abilities, which i think could be quite a fun and interesting way to do things? i think that would probably work by averaging the dice values you have for the two abilities, but would have some other benefit?

speaking of benefits -- some complication deals need to be rephrased for clarity, as they don't do anything right now

finally: looking to change the balance on powers for a few roles. the gravedigger's power may end up just being used to fuck with other players, which i do not like, and i feel that the drowned probably needs a stronger healing power. we'll see there though

anyway i'll end this with a question: does anyone have advice for players with the "it would make sense for my character if i was overpowered" kind of mentality? this is sort of work but also playtesting with friends and it's an,,,, awkward situation

now for some plot details below the read more!

the story so far:

the bogeyman (it/its) has decided to fuck around with the rest of the players using its magic, while pretending where possible to actually be a different playbook! it's very entertaining stuff and i can't wait to make it deal with the Consequences there

an NPC has exploded in the middle of their cafe home base, forcing them all to help the injured and deal with the damage

this NPC is a lighthouse, and is going to be part of the overarching narrative -- dangerous NPCs with their own problems and magic, which all tie into the (secretly government-funded) charity that supports "the magically afflicted" in this city

several of the players are also now under suspicion, after being caught lying to the police, or straight up threatening them

my plans going forward:

the NPC has gone missing, so the players are going to track him down and probably discover that he was arrested without trial, due to information gathered from the aforementioned "charity"

the players are going to be dealing with the suspicion they're facing, and the fact that two of them are without a job now

they will be given the opportunity to help rebuild/fundraise/etc for the community centre, but i don't know how likely it is that they'll take it when there are mysteries afoot in the city



[jammatown919]

Nowhere Left to Run

Yaz once believed things would be okay if she could just get off Isla Nublar. She knows better now.

Chapter Six: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

The year as a whole was probably one of Yaz's worst, which was really saying something.

Following the Carnotaurus incident, Yaz spent the better part of a week in genuine shock. She hardly spoke, hardly left her and Sammy's bedroom, couldn't bring herself to keep up with DPW alerts as officers tracked the Carnotaurus farther and farther from where it had nearly killed her.

News of its capture gave her little comfort. Maybe this particular dinosaur no longer posed a threat to her, but there would be another. There was always another.

Every attempt to step outside yielded worse and worse results. Tears, hyperventilating, an absolute certainty that she could hear something roaring in the distance despite Sammy's frequent reassurances that there was nothing there. She couldn't go to work, couldn't take care of her responsibilities around the ranch, couldn't even go see Bumpy or the other animals.

Sammy didn't push her. Ever patient and gentle, she spent significant time indoors with Yaz, took several days off from work to be with her, and handled every outdoor chore by herself without a word of complaint.

As time went on, Sammy returned to work and Yaz did not. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't leave the house, much less even think about going anywhere. She tried every morning, exhausted every excuse she could think of to buy herself one more day of absence, but she just couldn't do it. Eventually, her boss had enough of it, and she was told via text that her presence at the bookstore was no longer needed.

That made things significantly worse. With nothing to even try to leave the house for, Yaz spent a lot of time in between virtual therapy sessions doing literally nothing. Sammy often found her sitting somewhere, usually hidden under a blanket or behind a piece of furniture, crying silently.

When Sammy was home, Yaz spent every second she could glued to her side. When she wasn't, Yaz went around the entire house checking that everything was locked and every window was covered, then laid completely still in bed for hours until the front door opened.

She didn't sleep soundly for months. Every night, at least once but usually more, she woke up in a cold sweat. Sometimes she would just be crying, and she'd lay there quietly and try to forget everything she'd seen behind her eyes. Other times, she would jolt upright screaming and wake up Sammy, who would commit to soothing her back to sleep no matter how long it took.

Above everything else, Yaz felt horrible about how much time and energy Sammy put into taking care of her. She was visibly exhausted day after day, handling everything around the ranch, going to work, and coming home to a girlfriend who could barely function.

Seeing this, and with urging from her therapist, Yaz tried to commit to at least seeming better.

At first, there wasn't much she could do, but she tried. She tried not to be in bed when Sammy came home so it wouldn't look like she hadn't moved in hours, even if that was true and she'd only gotten up ten minutes prior. She tried to take care of more household tasks so she could take at least something off of Sammy's plate, even if she couldn't stand to walk by the windows and got nervous when anything she did made noise. She start drawing more and dusted off that crochet scarf they'd started years ago and hadn't touched in a while so she could at least pretend to be engaging in hobbies again.

Sammy seemed to be happy with the progress, and that made it easier to keep going. They began passing the scarf back and forth again, building on top of each other to form weird patterns. Yaz started having fun with her art again. She gradually thought about it less when she walked by a window or did anything that made noise and might make it hard to hear if something was approaching the house.

The nightmares didn't necessarily slow down, but her reactions to them became less intense. It got easier to go back to sleep without Sammy's help, and to stay asleep once she did.

Eventually, after several months indoors and a long, hard fight with herself, Yaz started trying to go outside again. She didn't get much of anywhere at first, but once Sammy realized what she was doing, she helped Yaz work up to stepping onto the porch arm in arm.

From there, they spent a lot of time on the porch. Yaz couldn't yet bring herself to get too far from the door, lest something happen and she need to quickly run back inside for shelter, so Sammy began bringing the animals to her. Every morning, she stood on the porch steps and brushed the horses, eventually managing to venture a few steps further for easier access to them.

Bumpy came to the porch a lot too, though it took Yaz a little while to get comfortable with her again. She hated herself for it, because Bumpy had saved her life and always been a good friend, but proximity to a dinosaur inherently put her on edge. Bumpy didn't seem to mind, waiting patiently until Yaz could work up the nerve to feed her a handful of berries. It got easier to touch her after that, and Yaz made sure to pet her each day to ensure she remained as comfortable as she could with her savior.

With time and effort, Yaz ventured farther and farther into the ranch until she somewhat regained her ability to move around without fear, provided Sammy was with her and they didn't hang around by the fences for too long.

Through the entire process, Sammy was nothing but kind, patient, and supportive. She didn't push Yaz's limits, never forced her into anything, always stood by her side as she did things in her own time. However, as Yaz's recovery progressed inch by inch, she began to notice something odd. While Yaz put all of her energy into trying to resume normalcy as fast as possible, Sammy seemed to want her to slow down.

When Yaz was ready to try walking around the ranch on her own, Sammy didn't let her. She insisted on being there for every step away from the house. When Yaz asked for moral support to try stepping outside of the ranch, Sammy seemed initially receptive and then repeatedly put it off. There were times she genuinely seemed more anxious than Yaz, and more than one occasion in which Yaz was psyched out of taking the next step not by her own fears but by Sammy reinforcing them.

Yaz thought it was in her head at first, but as it happened more and more, she realized it wasn't going to stop until she said something.

"Should I go out by myself tomorrow?" she asked one night as Sammy was climbing into bed beside her. She hadn't even really meant to say it, but she couldn't stop thinking about today being the third in a row in which Sammy had explicitly agreed to take a walk beyond the fence with her and stalled until dark.

"What?" Sammy stared down at her, still sitting up as Yaz rested against a pillow. "Sweetie, I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"It's just that you keep saying you'll go with me and it just... doesn't happen," Yaz murmured.

"Honey..." Sammy laid down beside her so that they were almost nose-to-nose. "I'm sorry. I got distracted. We'll go tomorrow, okay?"

"You don't want to," Yaz said flatly. Sammy's brow furrowed in response. "You don't. It's okay, Sammy. You've been holding my hand this entire time, and I know it hasn't been easy for you. Maybe it'll be better for both of us if I start trying to be on my own again."

"Yaz." Sammy's voice became mildly more serious as she propped herself up a bit. "There will never, ever be a time when I don't want to be there for you. I want to help you in any way I can. I'm just..." She wavered for a moment. "I'm scared too."

Yaz wanted to kick herself. How selfish could she be? All these months, she'd been leaning on Sammy for everything, hardly considering that she wasn't the only one with dinosaur trauma. Of course Sammy would be afraid. Of course she would also be reluctant to leave their safe, familiar place.

"Sam..." Her hand slowly moved across the top of the blankets, reaching for Sammy's. "Believe me, I know how terrifying all of this is-"

"It's not that." Sammy turned onto her back and leaned against the headboard with a sigh. "I don't want to put this on you, because it's not your fault and I know how much you're struggling, but... do you know what it was like for me when you came back that day? I had no idea you even left. All I knew was that I woke up and I couldn't find you. Then I heard it, and by the time I got there Bumpy was running through the gate and you were just... you were hysterical. For a week, you were completely out of it. You wouldn't eat, you wouldn't talk to me. I'm not sure you even remember it. You just weren't there."

Yaz watched as tears began to well up in her eyes and felt a matching sting in her own.

"And it was hardly better after that. I'd come home and find you hiding in closets. You would sit there for hours and just cry. For the longest time, I felt like I lost you." Despite her gentle tone, Sammy wiped at her face rather aggressively, like she was angry at her tears for existing. "Now, you finally are getting better. It's not perfect, but I have you back. I just don't want to move too fast and risk undoing all the progress you've already made. I'm scared I won't get you back next time."

Hearing this, Yaz realized for the first time just how much her helplessness had damaged her relationship. How her unwellness had changed Sammy's perception of her from someone strong and confident to someone fragile who could never be trusted to take care of herself again.

She needed to fix that. As fast as possible.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," she said. "I know these past few months have been rough. But this is what I need to do to get better."

"I know..."

Yaz gave Sammy's hand a gentle squeeze.

"I won't fall apart on you again. I promise."

They didn't talk about it again after that. They went to sleep quickly, and the next morning Sammy took Yaz for a walk down the road. Admittedly, the quick outing was stressful, but Yaz did her best to appear calm so that Sammy wouldn't be concerned.

In the following weeks, whenever she was feeling especially anxious, she waited for Sammy to leave the house and called Ben or Brooklynn to talk about it instead. She made an effort to leave the house without Sammy more often, even if she could only manage going to the barn and back. At one point, though she knew she was probably a long way off from being able to do it, started looking at jobs and college programs online so she could at least pretend she saw a future for herself in which she didn't spend the majority of her time hiding indoors.

One thing in particular caught her eye as she absently clicked through options; a man-made island in Wyoming that was supposedly completely dinosaur-free, meant to help those who had been traumatized by dinosaurs heal from their experiences so that they could eventually rejoin society. There was even a university right there, specializing in psychology. Yaz bookmarked it for later, just in case she ever decided to look into it more.

As time went on, Yaz began trying to leave the ranch on her own, which Sammy wasn't particularly happy about. She insisted on being there, on holding Yaz's hand through everything, even when Yaz felt that she needed to hold herself up for once. Part of her considered going for walks in secret when Sammy was at work, but the ever-present thought of running into danger on her own kept her from doing so. If she saw another dinosaur out there and came back shell-shocked again... she couldn't do that to Sammy.

With nowhere else to put this concern, she ended up voicing it to Brooklynn, who readily got to work providing her with a solution. Dinosaur immersion therapy, offered for a relatively low price only thirty minutes from the ranch. At first, Yaz wanted to ask Sammy to go with her, but then she thought that it might be counterproductive to bring someone just as nervous as her. So instead, she invited Brooklynn to come visit for a little while so they could make a day of it.

She didn't tell Sammy where they were going. Only that Brooklynn was set to arrive in the middle of the work day and that Yaz would get her settled in the guest room. While Sammy was still out at the stables, the two of them drove the half hour to the therapy location. During the car ride, Yaz told Brooklynn about the college program in Wyoming, which she was beginning to consider a bit more seriously. Brooklynn didn't judge or ask questions; she just acted as a sounding board to help Yaz figure out the logistics.

By the time they got there, Yaz had more or less made up her mind. Talking about it on the return trip only solidified her plan.

She waited until Brooklynn left to tell Sammy, for the purpose of having a nice visit. When they did get around to having that conversation, it went about as well as Yaz expected.

"You want to go to Wyoming?!"

Sammy stared incredulously at the printed out pamphlet for the school Yaz had handed her.

"It's a great psychology program," she replied calmly. "They'll take the credits I already have, and if I do it right, I'll graduate in two years. I can use the money my mom got from Jurassic World."

"All that's great, but how are you going to go to school in another state when you can barely get down the driveway?" Sammy asked desperately.

"You realize that's why I'm going, right?" Yaz put a gentle hand on Sammy's arm. "I'm not going to get better if I don't push myself. I have to take the plunge."

"Isn't there any place closer? The college you used to go to is only forty minutes away. You were already studying psychology there. I can drive you and-"

"Sammy," Yaz murmured, "you've done enough for me. I have to do this for myself. This is a safe environment where I can learn to be self-sufficient again."

"Yaz, it's okay to rely on me." Sammy drew her in closer, looping an arm around her back in a loose hug.

"I know," Yaz said. "But I can't be the person I want to be if I can't rely on myself. I want to be someone you can rely on. I'm sick of needing help with everything. I have to do this."

"You can start smaller. What if you need me out there?"

"I've made up my mind. The best thing you can do for me right now is let me go."

Sammy's eyes shone with tears. Yaz reached up to wipe them away.

"It's not forever, Sam," she said gently.

"When are you leaving?"

"Not for a while. I still have to get some things in order. I just wanted you to know."

The hug tightened, and Sammy pressed her chin to Yaz's shoulder.

"I love you so much," she said softly. "Hurry back."

"I love you too." Yaz melted into her girl's embrace. "It won't even feel like that long. I'll come home for breaks. You'll see me all the time."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

------

Thank you for reading! Chapters are tagged with the fic title for easy searching on my blog!

If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or buying the writer a coffee!

[skylarmoon71]

Harry Wells Earth 2 (Flash) - Extra 1

Note: Apologies if I posted this already, I couldn't remember lol. Enjoy!

Learning that you have meta abilities, especially ones that are similar to Central City's greatest hero is a lot to swallow.

Barry was very grateful to you for restoring his speed back to its neutral state. You had to admit it felt nice to help the Flash.

Although you couldn't exactly tell anyone about your little superhero team up, knowing that you made such a difference was enough.

"I know it might be too much to just expect you to become a part of the team and start fighting bad guys, but if you want, I can show you how to control your speed. It really helps when you're running late."

Barry's invitation was sweet. You liked that he respected your decision to remain somewhat normal. Being a hero might have been his calling but it wasn't yours and you were fine with that.

So you started your little practices. Barry and his team allotted time between their hero adventures to help you master all the perks that came with being a speedster.

Harry carried out a lot of the calculations and kept recordings of your progress. When you weren't at your day job, you were in Star Labs running in the speed lab or completing other tasks to improve your abilities. The first time you'd launched a bolt of lightning you were a little hesitant, but Harry wasn't worried. The sizzling dummy before you had you gaping. Harry just jotted down a note with a small grin.

"You're improving fast. I guess it's expected. It's a lot easier when we already know the fundamentals of speedster capabilities."

You were still a bit awe struck. The entire situation was a bit hard to believe.

Harry noticed your still form, lowering his tablet.

"Is everything okay?"

You nod.

"Yeah I'm fine, it's just crazy. You guys deal with this everyday. I live in this town so I've seen a lot of the weird and unexplained, but to actually become a part of it is kind of strange."

You've come to appreciate all that Team Flash does. Everyday they lay their lives on the line for strangers. Using their gifts to stop the truly bad people.

"You all are so amazing. I know you must get this a lot, but thank you for all you do for the city. I'm sure everyone in this town feels the same way. Thank you for showing me how to make a difference, even when I didn't think I could."

Even when you doubted yourself, Harry believed.

"It was nothing. All I saw was your potential. " He adjusted his glasses, directing his gaze back to his tablet.

"I need to get these readings to Cisco so we can keep track of your speed pattern." You smile, moving to his side. He raises a brow.

"Mind if I tag along, I never really stick around for all the science stuff. I'd like to see how it all works."

Harry didn't object, so you grab your water bottle as you both head to the cortex. When you walk in Cisco is seated at the desk, munching on twizzlers. Not that you're surprised.

He catches sight of the both of you, straightening.

"Hey speedy, how was training?"

"Good I think."

Harry hands Cisco the tablet and Cisco basically shoots out of his seat.

"Are you kidding me! You managed to do the bolt of destruction!"

"We're not calling it that." Harry says blankly. You just giggle.

"Just one. It was a bit difficult."

Cisco places a hand on your shoulder.

"The fact that you can even do it with just two months of training is awesome. With this kind of progress you'll be mastering Flashtime in your sleep." Cisco is already rushing to log the notes into the computer. Cisco and Harry begin to bicker over the entries. If you're being honest you barely understand what some of the notes truly mean. The stats look a bit foreign to you.

Your eyes glance over in Harry's direction.

You've been trying to think of a way to thank him for all the assistance. You've known him for roughly two and a half months and you can tell his personality is a bit standoffish. He's blunt, short tempered and smiles are very rare. Yet, here he is on another earth protecting your city.

Maybe your need to please him isn't strictly due to your need to repay his kindness.

He is very good to look at.

"Next week we'll work on your phasing."

Harry's words pull you back and you nod in hopes that it appears as though you've been listening.

"I guess I'll see you all tomorrow then."

You squeeze your bottle, waving at them.

"Bye!"

You're gone in under five seconds and they both blink at the whiplash of wind.

The concept of phasing sounded so easy. It was actually something you were looking forward to. That's until you really understood what it fully meant.

Alas, you should have known better.

"H-Harry!"

He grabs your hand, and you're full on panicking because the lower half of your body is still phasing into the ground.

"I-I'm scared! H-How do I get it to stop!"

"Just breathe, you need to relax. I won't let you get hurt, just look at me."

You're still breathing heavily, and you direct your shaky gaze at him.

"Picture your body moving through the floor. I'm going to tug, and you'll need to do the rest."

"I-I don't think I can..."

He squeezes your hand.

"You can, I believe in you. Just trust yourself. You can do this."

You swallow and train all your focus on Harry. Taking a deep breath, you try to follow his instruction. Harry gives a tug, and your body begins to move from beneath the floor. You're slowly rising and he smiles. You stumble out and when your body is freed from the floor, you crash into his chest. He steadies you, looking you over. Your body is no longer phasing.

"You did it."

You nod, still gripping onto him. You're a bit scared that if you let go you'll sink into the floor again. It's a bit discouraging how hard this is to grasp. You have no doubt that Barry didn't struggle this much with his abilities. He seems so confident.

Fearless.

"I'm sorry that I'm so bad at this." You mutter.

"I don't expect you to master every skill all at once. You're learning. It's alright if you don't get it on the first try."

Given Harry's personality, you appreciate how patient he's been with you.

"Thanks for always putting up with me."

You finally get yourself to really let him go. Harry looks down and you can't find it in yourself to move back.

"You don't have to keep thanking me."

You really wish he hadn't said that statement so seductively, or maybe it's just your brain amplifying everything.

"I need to stop watching those hallmark movies."

It's definitely warping your reality. But then, where's the harm in asking.

"Then how exactly should I repay you.."

What possessed you to say that.

Harry himself looks surprised at the statement. You both are still very close. His hands are resting protectively on your shoulders. Given the previous situation, it makes sense. The gesture was for comfort, but now it's electing a completely different reaction.

"What if I asked for something outrageous, would you still be willing?"

You swallow, because you can't hallucinate this. It sounds like he's flirting with you.

You can't help but let your eyes stray to his lips, and he catches the action.

"Maybe I-"

"Hey (Y/N) I heard you were practicing your phasin-" Barry stumbles when he sees the lack of distance. You move back from Harry and Barry starts stammering.

"S-Sorry I didn't mean to interrupt."

Barry makes a quick escape and suddenly the air is a bit tense.

You push down the nerves that rise to the surface, turning to Harry in what you hope is confidence.

"Harry, would you like to go out sometime?"

You can tell he hadn't expected the bold move. But he doesn't seem opposed.

"Is this just payment for my help?"

You can tell that the inquiry means a lot to him.

"It isn't."

There's a bit of a twinkle in his eyes at the response and you wear a bashful smile.

"I'd love to." 

[ryuuka-balaen]

mhwilds was bought for me today and while ive been really loving actually playing the game (they did fantastic things to hunting horn), i am having a REALLY hard time with one portion of it

my ideal monster hunter game would be getting told "theres a monster thats gotta get bonk, it lives in this biome. you can find that biome by goin in this direction, relative to this landmark. once you get there, youll find this kind of tracks of its passage"

then going there, finding the tracks or food scraps or dung piles or scratches on trees whatever, following those til I get to the monster, and giving it the bonk.

walk back to camp, get distracted halfway and bonk something or go fishing, make it to camp, repeat process. you wanna hunt with friends? cool. invite through steam, the process remains exactly the same.

i like the idea of there being story between the hunts! tbh MH4U handled that perfectly with 'heres a bit of talkin, maybe a cutscene, alright now take this quest and beat`emup'

wilds is driving me fucking bonkers with the story. i feel like I'm in a tesla on autopilot and the doors are locked. i mean this literally because a majority of the story is SITTING ON THE SEKRET WAITING FOR IT TO FOLLOW SOMEONE CANNOT STEER CANNOT GET OFF the world is gorgeous! i love the level design! LET ME ACTUALLY EXPLORE IT. yeah sure you can explore in between quests. after they've already dragged you through the entirety of the area so the wonder of something new is gone and you would have to DOUBLE BACK to be able to do more than rotate in place on a train ride.

so absolutely chafed about the fake quicktime sequences, being not allowed to walk away when theyre waiting for you to start a quest, not having ANY OPTIONS WHATSOEVER in what I hunt,,,

i want guild quests back. Rise changed how combat played in a way that still feels bad to me even after taking 40hrs to get used to it but it NAILED the story presentation and quest progression. having no less than four quests available to me at any given time. large monster hunts that werent story related at all (could beat the game/story without ever meeting some large monsters if you wanted to!). story that was engaging and entertaining but easy to skip if you didnt want it. a new unique quest type to keep longtime players on their toes. just really well done altogether.

and wilds is the complete opposite. they just... scrapped all that. instead they took everything bad about world and made it WORSE.

I'm really hurt by the lost potential here tbh. ill get through the story because I enjoy the game but I'm not sure ill actually be able to fully enjoy it until ive gotten that out of the way and like,,, normally I enjoy low rank. i like the low stakes easy hunts. but I cant even have that when between every 15min hunt is 20min of wishing my tesla sekret would walk faster and watching cutscenes at 14fps because they boost graphics in them

[paradoxcase]

So over Thanksgiving, my aunt wanted to watch a movie that she was supposed to watch for her film group, and invited me to watch it with her. This was Conclave, the apparently new movie about cardinals electing a new Pope. When we started in on it, I fully expected to have only a vague idea of what was going on, because I figured it was probably going to be one of those movies where every character is a clean-shaven white dude wearing the exact same uniform which means that due to face-blindness I will not be able to actually tell them apart. But that actually was not the case, and I was able to keep all of the characters straight throughout the movie. To be fair to the movie, part of this was because two of the major characters were not white, another one was a woman, and one of the old white dudes had incredibly distinctive body language throughout the movie and also was constantly code-switching between I think Italian and English, but there were still solidly three old white dudes who almost exclusively spoke English and I think had the most overall screentime, and yeah, I could not tell their faces apart. But I did actually keep track of which was which, and I think it was because my aunt watches literally everything with subtitles on because she is hard of hearing, so I was seeing the characters' names actually on the screen in addition to hearing them, and I think actually being able to read them names helped me keep track of what role they were playing in the plot, and I could use that information to figure out who was speaking. Like, I remember watching a scene between two old white dudes who might as well be the same old white dude except one is a bit taller, but based on what I knew of the plot and what they were saying to each other, I could tell which characters they were supposed to be. I think this was a subtitle-heavy movie even if you weren't Deaf/hard of hearing, because there was a lot of dialog in Italian and Latin and Spanish that was translated in the subtitles, but honestly, I might just start watching every movie or show with subtitles from now on if that really does help with the face blindness issue. I already watch YouTube with subtitles/captions anyway, because sometimes there are translations of Eurovision songs there, and I think it's also given me an improved experience even watching non-Eurovision videos that are 100% in English.

(Apparently Catholics hate this movie for some reason, and seem to think that it is anti-Catholic in some way. I don't really understand this, because the main character that the movie took a strong stance against was a raging right-wing lunatic spewing a whole bunch of Nazi-adjacent Great Replacement conspiracy theory shit and calling for a religious war against Muslims, which I don't think most Catholics would want to claim as an official position of the Catholic church. I don't think. There was a socially conservative character who was portrayed at least somewhat sympathetically, and a socially progressive character who was at times portrayed a bit unsympathetically, I don't think it was at all a movie about how the Catholic church should reverse its position on literally everything or anything like that.)

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

I'm gonna share with you guys a post canon Sonic Prime thought I've been having since I watched S3

So after S3 I accidentally became obsessed with Oasis's song Wonderwall, which gave me simultaneous Sonine/Chanine thoughts

I don't think I'll dig too much into what the lyrics made me think, I just needed to put that out there for more context.

So imagine Sonic after the events of Sonic Prime. After Shadow made off with the paradox prism, he ended up handing it off to Tails. He didn't trust GUN with being in possession of a gem of such power, and (given his track record with the chaos emeralds) he felt that he could trust that Tails would keep it safe and figure out a better way to keep it hidden.

So, for the time being, Tails keeps it hidden deep underground under one of his many labs. He figures out a way to harness and contain the prism in such a way that keeps it from overloading his systems or having the chance of expressing excess energy in a possibly chaotic fashion (essentially recreating the idea behind the shatterdrive or the chaos council's power core schematics), and then also develops the technology that would keep the prism hidden from anyone specifically searching for paradox prism energy or chaos energy in excess.

With this, Sonic, Shadow, and Tails are the only people aware of the paradox prism's location.

Shadow, being who he is, checks up on the prism fairly often (at least once in a while) out of concern for anything happening to it.

Tails, being who he is, does run more than a few experiments on the prism's energy and documents as much data on the prism he can technically get "safely"

But Sonic... After the events of Prime, Sonic was so happy to finally be home again (not just physically in green hill, but with his friends). All he's wanted for so long (once green hill would finally be fixed) is for things to fall back into its usual (predictive) rhythm, and he succeeded (to an extent). Sure, there will be a baseline level of weirdness for a while. After all, Sonic's friends practically blinked and then Sonic was a different person (a Sonic who went through trauma and an ordeal they will likely never learn the full details of), so it makes sense. But...that's not all. If it was just that Sonic changed and grew in an instant, then after enough time they'd all grow used to the way things are now. No, the problem isn't how everything that happened affects Sonic's friends.

Rather it's about Sonic himself. This is what he wanted all along! He'd felt so happy to be home among his friends again, didn't he? He does enjoy being able to slot into the old routine, fighting Eggman, hanging out with his friends on the beach, having a long day of fighting/adventuring with Tails and then eating a chili dog with him when all is said and done. So...why does he still feel wrong?

But...Sonic does know why he feels wrong, why he can't just fully settle into his old life dispite enjoying such a life. He just handles it by...not really handling it. He puts on a face when he's with his friends or fighting Eggman, trying to seem like his life is *right* again and he's 100% happy about things progressing as normal and fulfilled in his life. But when he stops running, when he crashes at Tails' place and is forced to be alone with his thoughts, Sonic retreats to where the paradox prism is being kept.

The paradox prism is one of those few things that remind him that everything happened. These days, it's hard not to feel like he must have made up his time in the shatterspaces or the shattering, that he just sort of changed one day inexplicably, that one day Shadow will turn to him and tell him that none of it happened (because Shadow is the one person who should know that it happened, the one person he should be able to rely on being in the same boat as him). At first it was something he did once in a while, giving the same excuse as Shadow about just checking up on the prism, but now Sonic sits by the prism every night he can, gazing into it.

Shadow thinks he's too sentimental about the ordeal, but Sonic didn't really expect him to understand why he'd want to remember everything. It didn't really take Tails too long to catch on to Sonic's sneaking away to look at it either, but Tails doesn't really mind it. If it wasn't for his patience and voice of reason and the fact that Tails cares about him, Sonic probably wouldn't be able to sleep as much as he is (although, during those times the two are both down there looking at the prism, or Sonic is looking at the prism while Tails is up late working on something, it's 50/50 whether they even make it to a bed or couch that night).

The first time he studied the prism Sonic learned something peculiar. Apparently, if one focuses when looking at different colored angles, they can see visions of the other shatterspaces (like a tiny window into the world). This revelation was...exciting to say the least, and even moreso when he found out that he could view certain inhabitants just by thinking about them.

And that should have fixed his issue. Every night if he wants, he can check up on anyone, make sure they're alive and not getting into trouble. He does check up on them.

But more often than not, especially once he's secure in thinking the others are alive and real and okay, he finds himself gazing into that purple section of the crystal, and thinking about Nine.

Nine's okay, he knows. Well, alive at least. Part of him dislikes that Nine is still so estranged from everyone else in the shatterverse, and his heart still aches at having left Nine alone back in the Grim. He can’t say he's gung ho about some of the specific robots Nine chose as company either, but nevertheless he watches. He watches Nine rebuild his Grim robots (starting with alpha grim sonic), restore Chaos Sonic, use the materials he has to build a community of his own (even if they are all robots). It's not ideal, but Nine is safe and growing and not fully alone anymore right?

But as he retreats to the prism practically every night, he watches the grim more than anywhere else, and his heart aches.

Because while he'd love to be able to visit and adventure whenever he'd like, for the rest it's...okay enough. He can live with it as long as he can gaze into the paradox prism, so long as he can at least have his home. But with Nine it's...not enough. It's not enough just to know that he's alive and not completely alone.

Sometimes, when Sonic is having fun and comfortable at home, he can’t help but think of how he left Nine—with no one but his own creations to care for him, while just about everyone else hates him.

"I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now"

When Sonic is gazing into the prism, he wants to be there. He wants to be in the Grim with Nine, congratulate him, hug him (when he allows it), talk with him about everything, or just hang out. What good is knowing he's alive when he can't even hear Nine's voice or hold his hand or try to make him smile? What good is sitting there, caring about him from afar, when Nine has no way to know it?

When Sonic is out adventuring or fighting Eggman or hanging out with his friends, he wants Nine to be here. He wants to show him the friends he'd do anything for, he wants him to meet Tails for real, he wants to take him along on adventures or even...the little things. Maybe he wants to eat street food and watch the sunrise with him, or watch Nine and Tails geek out together (his two foxes getting a chance to actually get along).

He wants to be there for everything. He wants to share everything here with Nine.

He wants to see him he wants to see him he wants to see him and not just from afar. It kills him that he's the only one who wants this.

If the shatterspaces weren't so closed off, if he could even visit Nine whenever he wanted, that would make him feel better. But he's stuck here. Missing Nine all the time, always torn between here and there (because he never would have stayed, but he hated to leave).

And Nine? Nine could never forget Sonic—not as long as he lived. Even if he came to bury the memories of the past—of his time in New Yoke, or the war—he couldn't forget Sonic even if he wanted to. Part of him felt embarrassed about this truth, if not a bit pathetic, but the other part of him owned this. It would be easy to forget, but he doesn't want to.

Nine was...alone for a little while after the war—after Sonic left. At first he was just...depressed. Everything that had happened since he first met Sonic began to fully sink in, and he missed Sonic, and yet chided himself for it. Sonic wouldn't understand that Nine has never been this same since meeting him. He'd wished Sonic would choose to stay with him so so so many times, but he knew now that it wasn't meant to be. For one thing, he had to be taken back to his home if he wanted to live. For another, it was...funny to him that it had taken so long for him to accept that Sonic never would have stayed in the Grim with him, that he could never be Sonic's first choice. And now...he couldn't take that away from him. He's dreamed and imagined so many senarios in which Sonic took his hand, or in which they figured out another way to keep Sonic from shattering and Sonic chose to give up finally going home to stay with him and sometimes even what would have happened had he gone with Sonic and Shadow. But in the end, no matter how much he wants, he'd never make Sonic choose him. He'd never beg him to stay, try and get him to leave his home and his friends. And part of that is due to the guilt of even trying or believing it could be possible. And another (of many parts) is because, deep down, he's not sure if he deserves this.

After everything that happened between them, after everything he did (even if Sonic wasn't a peach either), did he...even deserve to have Sonic at his side?

He couldn't wallow forever, though. No. He eventually set to rebuilding Alpha Grim Sonic with the tools in his lab. And that helped just a little with the loneliness. And then his second pet project was to figure out how to replicate Chaos Sonic, and everything that made him (but loyal to himself of course). Nine was surprised he even had residuals prism energy left after the paradox prism itself teleported away, but he knows that (if not the power in it) the memories held within the prism's energy were invaluable to recreating the robot.

There wasn't much on the Grim, but Nine could do only his best to make it home. Not that he knew what it would ideally look like, especially with Sonic gone, but he gave it a try. He'd come to create new robots and rebuild others—ones that could not move against him, but nevertheless we able to live freely. And as this society of robots began, and they began to build things for themselves, Nine found the inspiration to join in on creating this home for all of them.

An addition he'd been quite proud of was the large statue in the center square of his bustling robot community—a statue depicting himself and Sonic.

This all would take quite a while to build, and it would take quite a long time to get to this point, but it was something. The time spent on all of this gave Nine something to do, made him feel like he was getting ever closer to making things "home".

But even with Alpha Grim Sonic and Chaos Sonic at his side, a whole community to preside over, and ultimate authority in a place no outsider could infiltrate

He knew it would never be complete. He strove for all this because he had to, because he couldn't let himself wither away here. He had to find some way to live and enjoy himself and TRY to make this place the home he always wanted. He couldn't give up.

Of course, it's Sonic that's missing (because everything always seems to come back to him with Nine at some point). When the statue was finished and placed in the center square, he'd wished Sonic could have been there to see it. When he's sad, when he's depressed, when he's happy, when he's showing off or accomplished something, when he's having a laugh, or needs a hug—all the time he wishes Sonic was here with him to take it all in.

It would be even a little better if Sonic had the ability to visit. Or, if there was no other way, sometimes Nine thinks he'd even brave entering Green Hill just to be around him for a little bit.

"I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now"

Alpha Grim Sonic and Chaos Sonic have been with Nine the longest since all the shatterspaces became closed off from each other and Nine was left here alone. His two bodyguards, ever by his side.

Alpha Grim Sonic has had this budding personality and soul that's been growing ever since his creation. But because of this slow process, because of him originally being created as solely obedient to Nine without pushback, and because he's mute, it would take a long while before he'd be considered as more than a loyal robot, not able to live beyond its programming.

So, for a while, Chaos Sonic fancied himself the only one of the pair who really felt for Nine and what he'd been through. To him, he was Nine's one and only best friend.

While Sonic would gaze at Nine from afar, worlds apart, through the paradox prism.

Chaos Sonic stood at his side, talked to him, cared for him, helped him. He was more than the loyal thoughtless bot he thought Alpha Grim Sonic was. He'd be a better best friend than Sonic ever was. He couldn't fathom how Nine would continue to hold onto Sonic's memory after everything that had happened.

So Chaos Sonic, too, began to feel like the only other person who really cared about Nine after everything that had happened to him (even if he'd eventually concede that Alpha Grim Sonic had similar feelings and loyalties regarding Nine)

Sonic and Nine, worlds apart, missing each other.

Sonic and Chaos Sonic, each fancying themselves Nine's true best friend, and the only person who truly cares about him now.

Sonic and Nine, who each want the other to be at their side, but would be content to at least meet again.

Chaos Sonic and Alpha Grim Sonic, two loyal robots who want to forever be by Nine's side, and yet know they'll always play second fiddle to Sonic.

ㅤ

I am so emotional about it

I learned that apparently Wonderwall was depicting a person and their imaginary friend, which hurt more when thinking about all this. Sonic, who may as well be imaginary, because he can see and he can wish but he can never touch. And Chaos Sonic, who may as well be imaginary to those like Sonic, because only Nine really begins to consider him (and eventually Alpha Grim Sonic) as real.

Periodically I just get this imaginary wonderwall amv playing in my head depicting Nine's actions pre and post canon + Sonic and Chaos Sonic each getting a chance to be the speaker of the song

I'm so emotional about them