#I don't have an ao3 yet

[eshasunrise]

Deepsea Glass

This is a pre-Splatoon fan fic that takes place in Alterna, days before its destruction.

Selena (Saline, moon) is an analogue for Marina

Kohime (little princess) is an analogue for Pearl

Inspired by the squid ink panels reflecting the desires of humanity.

Read below the cut.

Selena wanted to bash her head against the wall. She was the project lead in Alterna's delusional corporate suicide cult. Sorry, she meant 'Happiness Research Lab', a once important figure in maintaining Alterna's long-term survival, now a haven for madmen demanding humanity return to the irradiated, flooded surface.

Her job was to figure out the logistics of building, and launching, a rocket from deep beneath the sea and into the Earth's soil. Needless to say, all calculations show the probability of successfully launching a rocket deep underwater was literally, no smudging the numbers, 0%. And that's ignoring the readings showing that the surface is still flooded, irradiated, and over 15 degrees hotter than is ideal for agriculture, let alone maintaining human life. And THAT is ignoring the fact that the force of the rocket would fracture the stone of the cavern in which the population is maintained, assuming the psychic backlash of every neuroLCD panel suddenly exploding from energy overload wouldn't kill the population outright.

So obviously, the higher-ups appealed to reason. Or not. Instead, they scrapped the research to start building the rocket. Needless to say, it was now up to Selena to build an anti-gravity device which could withstand the water pressure while her roommate and boss, Kohime, tried desperately to get the company to stop.

It had barely been 60 years since Alterna was finished and colonized, and yet already people were demanding the impossible. Small crowds creating conspiracy theories about the land being just outside the walls, as opposed to the waterlogged crag of the flooded cavern that you can very clearly see if you just switched off one of the panels.

Selena needed a break. She decided, if her job wasn't going to listen to her findings, then she wasn't going to bother staying the full day. Clearly she wasn't alone in this thought, as when she approached the door, she caught her roommate standing outside on her phone. Selena's own phone pinged a notification right as she opened the glass door, greeting the shorter woman's slightly embarrassed face. That didn't last long however, as she begun to speak:

"Oh good. I just texted you." Kohime said. "You wanna head out early?"

"Absolutely." Replied Selena. She was glad that she was living with somebody who had some sense. The two of them grabbed a frozen tofu desert on the way home (most of the non-seafood was tofu, as it was one of the few crops to easily grow down here), and Kohime began to complain.

"Every day. Every goddamn day, these fucking bastards keep fucking ignoring me! 'Oh look, the princess is mad again' like, no shit? I'm trying to keep you alive! I don't care if the goddamn escapists are profitable, we aren't here to make a profit! We need to focus on the future! Making sure there's a planet to live on, not running to our death as fast as possible! What are we, fish to an angler?!"

Selena sighed in agreement. She had nothing to add, as everything she would say has already been said. Instead, she half-listened to her best friend's impatient ramblings while thinking of how to cheer her up later. There was that one project...

"Hey Kohime." Selena interjected. "You remember that old shark movie we watched the other day?"

"Oh yeah, Jaws, right? You wanna watch it again?" Kohime responded.

"We could, but first there's something I want to show you."

Kohime's attention was peaked right as they got home. From the table in the back, Selena grabbed an audio device.

"I came up with this song while thinking of that movie."

"Oh, fresh! Lemme hear!" Kohime slipped the speaker cuff over her left ear. From it emitted a steady, slightly modern approximation of the shrine music her grandmother would play for her. It was a curious sound, but she couldn't figure out what it had to do with...

"Wait a sec. The chorus, is that-?"

A slightly mischievous grin snuck up on Selena's face, "yup. That was made using the two note progression from the really tense scenes!"

Kohime's face lit up like the midday skylight. "That's hilarious AND awesome! Only you could come up with something so crazy, I love it!" A giggle pushes her face into childish glee, while Selena turned to grab something else, hiding her guilty smile.

It's been twelve years now, but she still couldn't get over that phrase from Kohime. 'I love'. It makes her uneasy every time.

"You wanna watch another movie?" Selena asked, "I found another Jaws movie, although I think it's the third one. Don't know if there's a two we're missing."

"Oh hell yeah! Pop it in!"

An hour later, and Selena was thoroughly bored. This was definitely a sequel to the first movie she saw, but it felt half-hearted and phony, like the corporate slogans she had to write for every apartment and street corner back at her old job.

"Are you watching this?" She asked the small woman beside her. No answer. Her roommate had fallen fast asleep, clearly as bored as she was, and had let her head fall against Selena's shoulder as she dozed.

Selena felt a pang in her chest. A muddy feeling that followed every bit of affection Kohime had given her. She stayed like this however, in part to let her old friend rest from the nightmarish days they've had, and in part for the comfort she has in knowing Kohime would always be beside her, ready to take on the world, which day by day became increasingly relevant.

Selena slowly nodded off herself.

That night, an exhausting dream filled her mind. In it, she was swimming up waterfall after waterfall. She strained against the crashing current, believing that soon, she would find rest. But no rest would come. At the final hurdle, the last jump, she dove straight into the maw of a hungry bear, wearing the Alterna logo on it's forehead, and announcing her retirement.

Selena woke with a start. It was midnight, and she felt dumb for being stressed about such a wild dream. She didn't question why she had it though. She had been working too hard for too little. The research she conducted, the machines she built, all wasted on projects that would kill her led by people who would never listen. She needed to quit. She could do so easily in fact. Sleeping in her lap, having moved herself in her sleep, was the very person she worked under. All she would have to do is wake her and tell her she couldn't work there anymore.

And leave Kohime to fight alone.

Selena let her head fall back onto the couch cushion. She would work tomorrow, if for no other reason than to ease her guilty conscience. To make sure some semblance of sanity stayed in this broken order, just because she knows Kohime would never stop fighting. She's always been bull-headed, and they needed that now more than ever.

"It's is time for your shift at the Happiness Research Facility, Citizen 2117: Assistant Director KOHIME.

It is time for your shift at the Happiness Research Facility, Citizen 2224: Project Manager SELENA.

Have a productive day."

Selena's second waking was a slow groggy ordeal. She had barely gotten back to sleep, and it feels like she just had that nightmare. Clearly some time has passed, as Kohime was sitting next to her. Unusually though, she wasn't dressed yet. Instead, she had an uncharacteristically uneasy glower in her face.

"Oh, you're up." Selena noted.

A long, heavy silence dulled the air at her voice. Kohime continued to stare, pressure rising from her sleep-matted hair. Eventually, she spoke:

"Selena."

At her word, a deafening pause filled the room.

"Do you ever feel like...something big is coming? Like..."

"The end of the world?" Selena finished her thought. "Of course. Every day. It bears down like an ocean of pressure every time I have to think about that goddamn rocket."

"Exactly!" The smaller woman replied "it all feels like we're marching into the end, all over some vague dream!" Tension filled her voice. She lacked energy, however. Selena took notice and pressed the back of her hand to Kohime's forehead.

"! W- what are you doing?" Kohime was flustered.

"You're overheated." Selena spoke.

"Well, that's 'cause you-"

"No, I mean actually" she wouldn't let Kohime finish. Now wasn't the time. "You're getting sick. R.C.A.?"

Selena called to the AI transcriber installed as living assistance. "Contact the HRF. We're taking today off."

"Very well." The voice responded.

Kohime protested: "No! Without us, who knows what those idiots will do?!"

Selena was worried of course, but she wasn't going to let her friend suffer. "How smart do you think they actually are. The lunatics wanna fire a rocket in a closed cave, through the ocean. You think they can think through the logistics without us?" She prattled, hoping she was right. It was her last hope at this point.

"..."

"Come on. You need to rest, and they'll never figure out how to actually build a rocket in the few days we'd be gone. Plus when we get back, you can rub the fact that you were right in their faces."

Kohime couldn't help but laugh at that. "As if. They're heads would be so far up their asses, they wouldn't be able to hear me." She joked, coughing near the end of her sentence.

Selena chuckled back, "in that case, I'll build you a megaphone. Nobody'd be able to ignore you then. Better yet, I'll build a bomb-"

"Okay, stop right there crazy lady. Don't give R.C.A. the wrong idea. Plus, that'd totally defeat the purpose of stopping the rocket in the first place."

The two joked like that for a few more minutes, until the tension left Kohime's shoulders, and she nodded off again.

It would take a week before Kohime would recover. The anxiety from the escape project pushing them to the boiling point. It was only at the end of that week when she had rested enough to feel like working again, and scheduled their shifts for the next day.

When Selena woke, from her bed this time, to the work day she'd been dreading, she noticed that Kohime had already left. Nothing unusual there. She was always a bit of a workaholic, and the praise helped feed her ego. Selena would finish her breakfast before heading out.

Upon opening the front door, however, she was blinded by a scorching white light. The skylight above them was in overdrive, forcing her eyes down. On the porch, collapsed to her knees, eyes wide despite the overbearing light above, was Kohime. Her face was filled with fear as defeat killed what little hope had remained.

Fearfully checking her friends help, Selena would follow her unbroken stare to the neuroLCD panel on the West edge. There, where once was the image of a field with sparse green trees, now stood the image of a white rocket ship, repeating down the walls. The grass, which once had a photo-like quality, now rustled as if blown by the wind. Sparse depictions of clouds were circling the blinding sun.

To any other, it would be an echo of their deep-seated desire to reach the upper world. To the two women here, however, it was a monument to their failure.

Selene rushed to the far moat, from the shore of which she grabbed a raft, unconcerned with ownership. Kohime followed behind, having barely broken from her stupor, and praying her closest could find a miracle. The datapad Selene brought was connected to a terminal on the wall. The screen behind it flickered off, exposing behind it the rocket they had lobbied so hard against, somehow completed.

Selene swallowed her fear as the datapad downloaded the Alterna Logs only people from the Happiness Research Facility has access to. The log read as follows:

"

HRFLog004.02: The Divide

As humanity began it's foolhardy errand to escape their salvation, a small group of resisters, lead by those scientists from the first generation, had resisted the change.

Amongst these were two high-ranking officials who had researched the surface, and concluded escape would doom humanity. These two would be the head speakers, and last bastions, of the Preservationists.

Rather than heed their warnings, those who profited from the Escapist movement would instead sabotage the resistance, slipping a mild poison into one researcher's water.

With the voice of opposition in recovery, the Preservationists were left without a rallying point, and a new fervor would grip the escapists. Thus, the rocket would be built in record time.

Awaiting further data.

"

Selena's heart dropped. A deep, fervent rage built in her heart. They had nearly killed her closest friend, over this pipe dream?! They would doom humanity for their pride?!

Her rage was interrupted, however, by a deafening scream of anguish. Having read the report on her own datapad, Kohime collapsed into a ball, shaking the raft beneath them. Selena steadied herself, then crouched to her friend.

"IT'S OVER. ITS THE END OF THE WORLD. WE'RE GONNA DIE..."

She was yelling, but a defeated misery filled her voice. She was not just screaming out of anguish, but because she couldn't find the strength to control her voice. Selena watched in pain as, for the second time ever, she watched her friend's heart break. She grabbed the girl and held her close, ignoring the pain in her ears. She needed to help her, to make her happy. Something to make her smile. Something she...

A familiar tune resonated from the wall behind her. The neuroLCDs picked up on Selena's desire, and reflected a memory of a week ago, the smiling face of her closest friend. The sound that played was the song she wrote, and Kohime took notice. Her crying slowed as she looked towards the reactivated panel. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Look, it's us." She barely managed to croak through tears. She hummed sobbing in a strained voice to the song that played, while holding desperately to Selena's waist.

This brief reprieve would not last. Those other researchers would hear the song, and, seeing the crying girl, wished for her to be happy. The rocket would be starting it's test launch after all. Soon, she could go home.

As the song spread, more and more people would hear it, carrying with it the image of the surface and the big white rocket. Soon, people began to sing along, making up lyrics that blurred together, as an anthem to the freedom they strived towards. All the while, the woman who wrote the song wondered how her feelings were strong enough to override the panel.

She wouldn't have long to wonder, though, as the nearest panel changed again, this time to a scene all too familiar. A scene she had avoided for so long. As it played, the sobbing in her arms changed to a wretched scream.

At once, two voices spoke. The same person twice, one screaming to a world that would not hear, the other whispering to her closest friend, who alone would listen to her once and once again.

"Selena"

"HOW DARE YOU"

"Is it alright if we talked?"

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?!"

"I wanted to get something off my chest..."

"THAT WAS HER SONG"

"It feels like we've known each other forever"

"THAT WAS HER LIFE"

"And I needed to tell you"

"YOU CAN'T TAKE IT FROM HER"

"Just how important you are to me."

"YOU CAN'T TAKE IT FROM US"

"Selena"

"ALL OF YOU"

"I love you"

"I HATE YOU"

"I love you so much."

"I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU"

"You don't have to respond"

"YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED"

"And I'm sure you don't feel the same way"

"SHE CARED FOR YOU ALL"

"But I wanted to be honest"

"AND YOU BETRAYED HER"

"I've always felt this way"

"I'LL NEVER TRUST YOU AGAIN"

"And maybe, if you're willing"

"YOU ALL GET WHAT YOU DESERVE"

"We could go out some time?"

"FOR KILLING HER!"

A lump held in Selena's throat. She knew what was about to happen. She felt it. She tasted it. Regret boiled in her stomach. And here at the end, she could only manage one more sentence.

"Kohime,"

"Kohime-"

Behind the wall, the rocket's thrusters burst to life.

"I'm sorry."

At her final word, the pain of her closest friend before her once and once again, the wall cracked. The crying smile shattered into a thousand pieces, lacerating the overflowing wrath. Selena tried to hold onto Kohime's dying body, but was pushed back by the torrent erupting from the wall in front of her.

As Selena fell deeper and deeper beneath the flooding water, shards of neuroLCD shone around her. In each reflected the memories that replayed in her mind. Not the plans to maintain Alterna, and not the speeches she gave to the reckless businessmen that doomed them.

Her memories were of the happy times. The days in University she spent learning. The machines she managed to make float in the air. The simple Japanese style tune she composed from the Jaws theme. The grin on Kohime's face when she showed her.

The times she and Kohime would complain about work. The praise she received when Kohime was in charge. The sleeping face of Kohime resting her head on her shoulder. The day Kohime confessed, and how she stayed beside her despite rejection.

Selena scolded herself as air left her lungs. She should have spent more time with Kohime. She should have done what she could to make her happy. She should have humored her, just to see her smile one more time. She should have loved her.

Oh.

She already loved her.

Selena's thoughts were clear in her final moments. She already loved Kohime. She had spent her life seeking that attention, that love, which was always reciprocated, and she never paid it any mind, taking for granted the bond they had shared.

Warm tears of regret mixed with the bloody seawater, as Selena's thoughts betrayed her feelings. Her love. Her fear. Her shame. Reflected in the shards of the neuroLCD, her memories changed to the visage of Kohime. Her smiles, her rage, her sadness, her love. All surrounding her in the deep dark ocean. Even as her sight went dark and her thoughts slowed, all she could see was Kohime's proud, loving face, smiling back at her, as if everything would be alright.

She should have loved her.

She should have loved her.

She should have...

Tens of thousands of years later, a young woman, barely 18, nervously approached the loud stranger on Mt. Nantai. Just a few months earlier, she had defected from the army she was raised by, inspired by a strange song she had heard. A simple, repetitive shrine song performed by enemy mercenaries. One which filled her with fear, love, and a dream of freedom. One which, two days earlier, she heard screamed from the other side of the mountain, as if sung by a particularly skilled jet turbine.

Five years after, at the height of her career, Marina Ida ducks backstage at the end of her band's world tour. At her side, marches the proud woman who found her, one Pearl Houzuki.

The small woman looks back at her, and flashes a proud grin, as if telling her that everything would be alright. At this, only one thought echoed in Marina's head.

I love her.

[erinwantstowrite]

I've been meaning to ask, but is the title for LoF a reference to something or a song lyric?

<3 <3 <3

the chapter titles are references to songs (all of them are meticulously chosen) but the title itself is a reference and a connection to the story itself.

"Leap of Faith" comes from Spider-Man's 'Leap of faith" quote (mostly inspired by Miles in ITSV), and it also sort of ties in to the fact that Dick is a Flying Grayson and etc. It symbolizes how many times Peter has to put his trust into people and himself during the story.

"Catch Me, if You Can" is directly from Peter. Peter's taking a leap of faith as both Spider-Man fighting his first big enemy and as Peter Parker, trying to trust people. He's trying to trust the Bats to help him in this strange universe, and also trying to trust Tony and the others back home to come looking for him. He's asking them to catch him when he jumps for it (which is also a reference to the Flying Graysons, being acrobats that have to trust their partners to catch them).

((Basically, the title could be shortened to 'Trust Fall' lol))

In the chapter where Batman and Spider-Man play tag with the sticky notes, "Catch me if you can!" is a reference to the title (*cinema sins ding noise*) and a hint that it connects to Peter and everyone trying to catch up to him. They've basically been playing tag this entire time, with Peter being a few steps ahead of them, and this is the turning point. Batman catches up to Peter because Peter finally decides to play the game the way it's supposed to be played. It's one big metaphor for how the arcs have been going

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

I AM NOW THE PROUD OWNER OF A 400-PAGE LONG BOOK OF ACADEMIC ANALYSIS ABOUT MDZS (both the novel and CQL, as well as the wider danmei sphere, internet authorship, fan reactions in both CN and non-CN spheres, and so many more interesting things – there are photos of the contents list below) >:DDDD

I only got it this afternoon so have only read the (quite long?) excerpt available online and pages I came across while flipping through, but everything I've read so far is really interesting and well-written. If you're interested, it's promoted on the blog of @pumpkinpaix, where there are also chapter spotlights with comments from authors of each paper/chapter about them and about MDZS in general (which is how I found out about it, one came up in tumblr's 'based on this tag you follow...' recommendation), as well as FAQs (including where to buy it, though I did link that at the start). Alternatively, all posts about it are in the tag #catching chen qing ling!

I really recommend it, especially if content about MDZS interests you! and I promise I haven't been told to advertise this it's just something so so cool... a collection of academic work about MY FAVOURITE BOOK... and I know people do follow me for meta/analysis so this might be the sort of thing people looking at this blog will be interested in..?

[lialox]

Singnsong was so right when they implied that a reader knows the story better than its own author does.

I couldn't understand this until I wrote my first long fic. I always thought ?? doesn't the author know best? It's their story.

But the sheer number of times a reader has told me something about my own story that I didn't know, and was ALSO true has convinced me otherwise.

I'm talking foreshadowing I forgot I added. Or a completely different interpretation to a line I wrote that matched up with how I characterized someone. The author might forget about the line they wrote, but that one reader will totally remember!!

I wish I could pretend I'm a genius but the longer you write the more the story becomes a trust fall and you just hope that world you created exists enough within you to stay consistent the whole way through.

[tastycitrus]

sometimes i see things in cass's tag on both tumblr and ao3 that make me want to do this

[imeriayapping]

My god i just crave loscar fanfiction but my last resort that I'm holding into before starting is boyish, send help

[fag4dykestobin]

i kind of sat down and thought about steve and robin cooking together, and then i entered a fugue state and came out of it with a little over 1.7k words written about them being domestic besties (domesties?). so um. enjoy :)

-

Robin has destroyed one of her mom’s pans again, so she’s been banished to Steve’s house.

Well, okay, let’s back up.

Robin, waking up and feeling especially productive, had taken it upon herself to make some scrambled eggs. Nice and simple, right? So she had grabbed the first spatula and pan she could find, and… scrambled those eggs! She even remembered the salt and pepper! Unfortunately, as Robin had remembered after she oh-so-lovingly scraped off the nonstick coating, metal utensils and nonstick pans didn’t really get along. Oops. Panicking, she had scraped her mess into the trash and called Steve to pick her up. So, really, she had banished herself, preemptively.

“How the hell did you even do this much damage?” Steve asks, holding up the pan. The look of befuddlement on his face is picture perfect; you could teach children how to identify emotions with that face. Robin would pinch his cheek if she wasn’t so embarrassed.

“I don’t know! I just tried to make some eggs!”

“Rob, there’s like, a solid cube of—”

“A cube is a 3D object, dingus.”

“This is a 3D object!”

“Not in that way! It’s not a cube! You mean a square!”

Steve throws up his hands, one of them brandishing the pan and waving it around. “Fine! There’s a solid square…” Steve gives Robin a look. She nods her head at him in acquiescence. “... Of coating rubbed off of this thing. Why were you punishing your eggs like that?”

Robin leans back on the counter she’s been sitting on, legs swinging. Her heel hits the cabinet once, and Steve’s eye twitches, but he says nothing. Because he loves her. But she tries to avoid doing it again, for his sake. “I had to get that yolk distributed! I was working fast, Evie, the burner was on and I wanted it evenly mixed—!”

“So why didn’t you mix it in a bowl before that?!” Steve looks so stressed. It's kind of funny, given how unimportant the subject matter is. Robin suppresses a grin.

“I forgot! I was groggy!”

Steve groans, setting the ruined pan down and rubbing a hand over his face. “... When we move in together,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Robin, “I am keeping my metal utensils in a locked safe.”

The warm, fuzzy feeling that always appears when Robin is reminded of their future together, their permanence in each other’s lives, it fizzes and pops in her chest like a sparkler. It’s still such a comforting feeling, even after all these months.

It doesn’t stop her from antagonizing him a little. “Like I don’t know what combination you’ll set it to,” she scoffs.  “I could just break in. To spite you.”

Steve sits with that for a moment. “You’re breaking my heart, Robbie, you know that? You break my heart.” Not a real comeback. She’s won their battle of the bits, this time around.

“Well, anyway,” Steve continues, “I am really hoping you didn’t eat those eggs after seasoning them with metal filings.”

“It wasn’t— I don’t think the coating is metal. I don’t know what it is, actually, but I don’t think it falls under metal filings.”

Steve hmms. “Well, it’s not, like, plastic, right? Or silicone? That would just melt.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, it can’t be metal, because it loses a fight with metal spatulas.”

Steve thinks for a second. “Is… God, I mean, I guess there are other, other uh… what’s the word? For, like, not from plants?” Robin scrunches her brow in thought. “Synthetic? Inorganic?”

Steve snaps his fingers. “Yeah, both of those work. There’s probably things that aren’t plastic or metal that can be used to cook with, but it feels weird. That there’s another category out there.”

Robin nods in agreement, and they sit in companionable silence for a moment, contemplating on the nature of cookware.

“Anyway, no, I still haven’t eaten.”

Steve curses, gets up from leaning on his kitchen island, and steps over to the cabinets where he keeps his pots and pans. “Yes, God, okay, let me feed you. Still want eggs?”

“You know it!” Robin says, and Steve gets to cooking, bustling around the kitchen with practiced motions. It’s nice to watch him cook. He gets very focused, in a way that doesn’t usually come naturally to him. Steve doesn’t usually like talking while he’s cooking, but he hums bits of songs, bobs his head to the beat.

In no time at all he has a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Robin, and she hops off the counter to sit at a stool at the kitchen island. She grabs the plate from Steve and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek, making him roll his eyes with a smile and subtly wipe her spit off.

Steve takes a seat across from her, and she notices that he doesn’t have anything. Did he already eat? “Did you already eat?” Robin asks.

Steve blinks. “Oh. No, I forgot.” He has a tendency to do that; when he cooks for someone, he can get so caught up in it that he forgets to make some for himself, and is left to scramble afterwards. “I’ll make myself some eggs after you’re done.”

An idea comes to mind. An attempt at redemption, maybe. “Let me?” Robin asks.

“And let you ruin my pans? No thanks.”

A flash of genuine hurt passes through Robin, and she lets it show on her face in the form of a pout. The comment isn’t unfounded, but… “No, please! I know what I did wrong, I’ll do better this time. I’m not sleepy anymore, either.” She just wants to take care of Steve like he takes care of her. She wants to feed him eggs, goddamnit! When was the last time anyone fed him eggs? Actually, if she thinks about that one, she’ll get sad, so she stops thinking about it.

Steve can obviously see her earnestness, and he softens. And rolls his eyes. But that’s just him being Steve, so Robin loves it. “Whatever you want, Birdie. Just don’t burn them. Oh, and use garlic powder.”

So Robin practically inhales the rest of her eggs and toast (very tasty, as always) and gets to work. Steve sits at his stool at the island, trying and failing not to watch Robin like a hawk as she bumbles around his kitchen (“That’s not enough garlic powder, Rob, put some more in there, it won’t bite!”  and “Use the small pan on the top shelf— no, the other small pan. No, the other—”), but she does eventually get a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. Not as good looking as the one Steve presented her, but it smelled good, and didn’t have weird inorganic pan flecks in them. Steve gives her a sloppy kiss on her cheek this time, over-exaggerating and putting way too much saliva in it, seriously, was he a dog or something? Robin BLECH’d and rubbed at her cheek, but he looked happy at his plate of food, so. Overall success, even if sacrifices had to be made.

Robin leaned on the island on her elbows, face a foot away from Steve’s as he picked up a forkful of egg. He side-eyed her.

“Do you… want some…?”

Robin waved a hand at him. “No, dingus. Eat it! Do you like it?”

“Okay, okay!” Steve rolled his eyes and ate his forkful. Robin stared at him as he chewed, looking out for emotions such as delight and wonder, but also disgust and revulsion.

She found nothing. Steve looked normal. He ate another forkful, eyeing her.

“So?” Robin prods.

“They’re eggs?” Steve says, mouth still half full.

“Swallow!” Steve rolls his eyes and does as she asks. “Nothing else? They’re just eggs?”

Steve nods, shrugging a little. Robin feels a little let-down. The first time Steve had made her eggs, it was life-changing. He put heavy cream in them. Robin doesn’t think her parents had ever bought heavy cream in their lives.

Robin guesses that it makes sense, though. This is just how he makes eggs, duh. Still, it makes her feel kind of bad, that she couldn’t give Steve the same feeling he gave her.

Steve seems to sense her inner turmoil. “They’re— it’s good, though! You did a good job. I do like it.” He seems kind of… embarrassed, but grateful. “You didn’t have to make them for me. Thanks.”

Robin bumps his shoulder with her own, and then retreats to her seat, allowing him a bit more personal space. But not too much! She kicks at his shins, and he kicks back, a smile on his face.

Cleanup is easy as Steve washes the dishes and Robin dries. It’s the small, domestic things, like this, that make her so excited to eventually live together. It’s so easy and companionable, full of chatter about band practice and Dustin’s latest science experiment. She can’t wait to graduate.

After the dishes, though, they’re both at the kitchen island again, silently staring at the pan Robin had ruined at her house earlier.

“... It seems like a waste to throw away,” Robin complains.

“I know, right? But it’s, like, useless now.”

Robin hums. “I mean, no, it’s still like… metal. I feel like we should be melting it down.”

Steve stares at her. “In what world would it be more useful melted down?”

Robin squawks, indignant at her idea being challenged. “You know what I mean!”

“No I don’t! Do you just want a, a… what’s the word? A bar of metal.”

“Ingot.”

“Do you just want an ingot hanging out on our mantelpiece?!”

“Well, I didn’t before, but now I do!”

They look at each other for only a moment before dissolving into simultaneous giggles, shared joy crackling and leaping between them.

Steve settles down first. Still grinning, he turns to put the pan at the very top of a relatively bare cupboard. “Fine, we’ll just… keep this to be melted down later.”

Robin can’t do anything to stop the twin grin on her face, not that she would ever want to. “I love you, Evie.” The words come easy, and the delight and surprise on Steve’s face is as wonderful as always. He pulls her into a hug.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[nshi-ao3]

Surprise fan-favorite: Minnie! Dressed in the lvl 100 Dancer AF gear and certainly chuffed that several people proclaimed they would riot in the streets of Ul'dah to avenge her.

[windcarvedlyre]

I see people's modern AU idol Ventis but consider: modern Venti as an internet musician akin to Brian David Gilbert or Jazz Emu.

Venti doing things like this:

[justewil]

[nerdanel01]

Thrown In The Deep End

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook 2.5k+ wc | SFW Agnes Gallatus, a newly initiated member of the Mourn Watch, grows into her new role under the guidance of her mentor, Emmrich Volkarin. Set 22 yeas before the start of DA:TV.

________________

9:30 Dragon Age

Cli-clack. Cli-clack. The heel of her left boot savaged beyond repair, Agnes Gallatus walked unevenly through the colossal halls of the Grand Necropolis, each of her shuffling steps echoing through the vast chambers of the dead.

Ahead of Agnes, her recently appointed mentor, Emmrich Volkarin, was leading the way. He had summoned a glowing, green magelight to illuminate the path before them and beneath their feet. The magelight threw Emmrich’s deep, plush shadow back onto Agnes’ own body, exaggerating Emmrich’s form, casting Agnes in darkness. 

Agnes had no way of knowing—no sunlight reached these lower levels, and they had no timepiece with them—but it felt as though they had been walking for the better part of a day already. She was trying not to be too concerned about that, reminding herself that her anxiety was likely playing tricks on her. Probably, they had only been down in the dark for a few hours… but the growling hunger in her stomach suggested otherwise.

They had brought supplies down with them. Ser Volkarin had walked her through all of it at the start of their morning, taking her through his carefully listed inventory, showing her how efficiently it had been packed for the journey ahead: foodstuffs, water canteens, fire kindling, potions and other remedies, even a tent and a pair of sleeping bags. It was Agnes’ first trip down into the Necropolis as a member of the Mourn Watch; a kind of orientation, it was just supposed to be quick journey, down and up again before nightfall. As Ser Volkarin had told her, however, the Necropolis was an unusual place, and “it never hurts to be over prepared.”

Unfortunately, all of that preparation—food, kindling and all—had been lost within the first hour of their trip. As Ser Volkarin had been leading her to one of the most extravagant of the Pentaghast tombs, they had encountered a nightmarish creature that Agnes was certain none of her training had prepared her to face. The sight of it, all mismatched bones and too-long-limbs and hollow eyes, had made her want to tremble and retch.

Ser Volkarin, on the other hand, had simply identified it as an “uncatalogued anomaly” (with what Agnes thought was too much fascination, and not enough fear) and, to a gobsmacked Agnes’ utter shock, he had approached it. Talking to it, saying something, Agnes could not remember—she could only recall her stupefaction at the fact that it seemed the necromancer was trying to reason with the thing.

When the “anomaly” had turned on him, both Agnes and Ser Volkarin alike had lost their packs in the pursuit; while running through one of the cobbled halls of some great Nevarran lineage or another, Agnes had broken the heel of her boot. All things considered, they were lucky they had escaped with their lives. If Agnes had not pulled Volkarin away from the creature just in time, she wasn’t even certain he’d have that. 

But the chase had driven them far from the elevator that had dropped them down from the upper floors, into chambers and halls that looked (to Agnes’ untrained eye) dusty from lack of use and visitation. Cli-clack. Cli-clack. How long had they been walking? Her knees and her hips were beginning to complain of her uneven gait and the strain it was putting them under. But ahead of her, Ser Volkarin—probably twice her age—had not flagged in the slightest, so Agnes swallowed her discomfort and followed him in silence.

She had never wanted to be part of the Mourn Watch. The idea of living one's life in the Necropolis, down among the dead, far from the sun and the trees and the stars, did not appeal to her in the slightest. But it was not exactly an honor that was easily refused… and certainly what was left of her family would have disowned her (or worse) had she tried. The position came with power, esteem, and honor, things Agnes had no use for but with which her family was quite obsessed. It was not an opportunity they were going to let pass them by.

And so, now, here she was, on her first day, which had already gone so catastrophically wrong. She had been reassured, at first, when Ser Volkarin had been introduced as her mentor. He was clearly an experienced member of the guard who had seen a decade or more in its service already; under his guidance, Agnes reassured herself, she had nothing to fear. 

Only now, that decade of experience did not seem to mean much. They had arrived in a large, vaulted chamber, and the green magelight cast eerie shadows on the tall columns and walls. Ahead of her, Volkarin had come to a stop. He cast his head from side to side, his fine profile a midnight silhouette against the magelight as he surveyed the paths that led forth from the chamber.

He had never paused like that, his step until this moment always confident, clear. “What is it?” Agnes asked, fearing the answer.

Ser Volkarin hesitated, before admitting, “This place is utterly unfamiliar to me.”

Agnes did not like one bit the slight note of anxiety she had detected in his voice. “You said you had taken countless journeys into the depths of the Grand Necropolis. That you practically lived down here.”

“I have. I do,” Volkarin replied. “But I told you above, before we descended—the Necropolis is inconstant. Its architecture isn’t fixed. The levels, even the individual rooms change locations, only a small percentage of them are even catalogued; without some sort of beacon to guide me to one of the known paths…”

His voice trailed off ominously. But then he turned, his cupped hand swinging the magelight around with him so that he could offer Agnes a reassuring smile.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Volkarin said, his voice all warmth, his uncertainty dispelled (or at least, concealed from her.) “For now, we seem to have found a pocket of safe space—I sense no disturbances among the dead here. I shall set a ring of magical wards around our position, just to be cautious, and then we will take a few hours of rest before starting out again. Who knows?” He offered her another smile, his eyes gleaming between the disheveled locks of his thick, black hair—the elegant coif he’d styled it into had melted into a mop of waves and curls during their earlier flight. “Perhaps when we have woken, the Necropolis will have reconstituted itself into a configuration more familiar to me.”

“Do you really think so?”

Volkarin shrugged. “It is as likely as it is unlikely. But I prefer to be an optimist when it comes to such things.” 

Agnes was not sure she shared his optimism, but she was thankful for the chance to rest. She did not allow herself to ask him what would happen if the path was not clear when they woke. The answer seemed rather obvious. They had no food, and no water, and only the shelter the Necropolis would provide them with. To whatever end, they would have to keep wandering—the elevator was their only hope of emerging back into the upper levels of the Necropolis, and rejoining the remainder of the Mourn Watch. 

They decided to rest against the far wall, the place in the chamber with the greatest distance from any of the entrances. True to his word, Volkarin began setting the wards around them, whispering the incantations lightly under his breath as he circled Agnes in a half moon. For her part, Agnes tried to relax, but it was not easy. And now that they had stopped walking through the Necropolis, and her body had cooled from the exertion, she began to realize how cold it was down here. 

She was attempting to warm her palms beneath her arms when Ser Volkarin returned to her, wards set, removing his intricate leather overcoat as he approached and extending his hand to offer it to her. “Here.”

Agnes’ eyes widened. “Ser, I couldn’t.”

“Agnes, I insist. You’re plainly freezing, we’ve nothing else to warm you with because we have lost our supplies, and as your mentor, it is entirely my fault we are in this mess. Please, take it.”

With some trepidation, Agnes took the overcoat from his hands. The brown leather was pliant, soft the way leather is when it is still warmed from the heat of a body. Acquiescing to Volkarin’s behest, she draped the coat across her shoulders and was instantly warmer. But when Ser Volkarin himself sat beside her, to rest his back against the same wall, she extended her arm, to make room for him within the coat.

“We can share,” she told him, “can’t we?”

They could—barely. It was a snug fit, and it meant Ser Volkarin needed to sidle into his coat almost behind her, ducking his shoulder behind hers. Agnes found her back somewhat pressed against her mentor’s chest, the crown of her head tucked a few inches beneath his chin. When he exhaled, she could feel his breath tickle her scalp. 

His body was stiff against hers (uncomfortable, perhaps, with such intimate proximity) and it was also unquestionably colder, nearly clammy to the touch. But as Agnes leaned against him—as time passed, as they fit themselves against one another inside Volkarin’s coat—he warmed. 

And the living presence of him—the smell of him (bergamot and pepper) and his slow breathing—lulled Agnes first into a sense of comfort and safety; then, into sleep. 

The bed beneath her was freezing, but beneath the covers, Agnes was warm. She nestled her head deeper into the pillow. She had been in the Necropolis—had that all been a nightmare? Soft, pinstriped, bergamot-scented pillow.

Pinstripes— trousers—

A fraction of a second after Agnes recognized Ser Volkarin’s leg stretched out in front of her she was jerking her head out of his lap, pulling herself upright, hoping the dark hid (at least somewhat) how monstrously her face was blushing. It felt like all the blood in her body was rushing to her cheeks and her neck. Perhaps she was lucky. Perhaps he was not yet awake—

But, “Good morning,” came her mentor’s voice from behind her—that would have been too good to hope for.

“Or good evening,” Volkarin added. “As you may have noticed, it is nearly impossible to tell down here. Did you reset comfortably?”

He sounded… inexplicably cheerful. Not a trace of mockery, malice or discomfort in his voice. Agnes noticed the leather overcoat, draped once again around her shoulders—Ser Volkarin must have covered her with it when she had pillowed her head in his lap, stretched out on the floor.

“...I think so.”

“Excellent,” Volkarin replied, delighted. “Now, had we not been dispossessed of our supplies, I would offer you some refreshment before we start out again. But I fear we will have to forgo sustenance for now, until we can return to the levels above. Fortunately,” and here, at last, it seemed, was the cause of all his cheerfulness, “I do not think that will be very long from now.”

Agnes’ heart leapt with hope. “You know where we are?”

“Approximately,” Ser Volkarin replied. He rose to his feet, then offered his hand to Agnes. “Shall we?”

Agnes accepted his hand and he pulled her to her feet. Her cheeks still felt like they were burning. She bat at her skirts with her palm, trying to beat the dust of the Necropolis off of them, and offered Ser Volkarin back his coat.

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head and accepting it gratefully. “Though neither of us will need it where we’re going.”

Through one of the archways out of the vaulter chamber, Agnes could see a strange, emerald glow in the distance. They struck out in that direction. As they approached, Agnes realized it was not a glow at all, but some incredible trick of magic—or else of engineering—as they emerged into a large garden, filled with a light that had the same color and warmth as the sun. 

In the center of the room, a large mound rose out of the earth. An imposing door of marble had been cut into its face, but the tomb was otherwise covered in green grass, and tall flowers. The botanical fragrance of the room was dizzying, giddying. Though it seemed impossible so far beneath the surface, fat, furry bees flew, pollen-drunk, from flower to flower.

“It is the Enchanted Garden of Undying Devotion,” Ser Volkarin told her, as Agnes reached down to pull off her crooked mismatched shoes so she could walk barefoot on the warm grass. “It was created in the Exalted Age by one of the Van Markham kings, in memory of his deceased wife. Not the rarest of sights in the Necropolis, perhaps, but one of my favorites—you are lucky to see it on your first trip down here.”

The garden was so warm and light—so humid— it was like being a child, back in the glass greenhouse on the Halkias estate, amongst the tropical flowers and pitcher-shaped plants. Untold miles above, in the city of Cumberland, winter reigned in the city but here , in this warm shrine to the dead, the dahlias are in bloom. Tight little yellow and orange puffballs, wide pink dinnerplates nearly as big as Agnes’ face. Along the lip of a fountain grow her mother’s favorite flowers—clusters of petals the size of Agnes’ hand, with an outer ring of carnelian red and a tight, white face.

“I knew the Necropolis contained wonders,” Agnes breathed, to herself as much as to Ser Volkarin, “but I never thought I’d see anything like this down here.” 

“I’m pleased to tell you it isn’t all the standard mausoleums, catacombs and ossuaries.” Then his voice changed. A passion came into it, a kind of promise. “There are miracles down here, Agnes. Works of art that those who go about their lives in the world above could never dream of.”

He lets that tantalizing promise hang, delectable, for only a moment.

“And there…” Volkarin continued, pointing to a faintly gleaming structure in the distance, “is our way out.”

Agnes squinted in the dark, until her eyes distinguished forms: the elevator’s lever, it’s chamber, its wired gate. “You found it!”

“Perhaps, through sheer luck. Or perhaps the Necropolis guided us to it. Who is to say?” 

And then Ser Volkarin dropped into a bow, extending his hand that Agnes might proceed him, enchanting his magelight to hover a few feet ahead of him and light her path. 

“After you, Miss Agnes.”

And suddenly—with his elegant air, with that gleam in his eyes, with that pleased, delightful smile—he outstripped the inexplicable sunlight and the bright faces of the dahlia blooms to become the most wondrous thing in the room. A little shiver worked its way down Agnes’ spine, and she felt a warmth—unwelcome, unbidden, and absolutely nothing to do with the sun—working its way through her chest. 

Perhaps the Mourn Watch would not be so terrible, after all. 

[erinwantstowrite]

I'm sorry, but that catwoman AU I spotted in one of your post???? Legit had to create a fantasy of that AU to go to bed last night it legit had me frothing at the mouth

i can not WAIIIIT to write Catwoman au, it's constantly on my mind. I think about it day and night

[silawastaken]

CRYING AND SCREAMING...

10k hits??? I'm going to actually explode

This is my second fic to get this popular, but it took months after finishing it for the blonde dazai au to get anywhere near this

Considering the soulmate au is still ongoing, this is absolutely insane

I'm so grateful to everyone who's been reading, this really did start off as a self indulgent idea that I wasn't sure I was ever going to follow through with and now I have actual friends so :D crazy what fanfic can get you huh

I don't know if this is actually as big of a deal as I'm making it, but I'm so happy and so glad that people have been liking it as much as they have

[lovelylotusf1]

So with Nico Hülkenberg now officially joining Sauber next year, which will be Audi after that, and Carlos rumours floating around that he will be going to Audi too...

Are we getting Renault era flirting back? Just asking. Because even if Nico isn't really shown on international TV, when you hear him talk German he is really sassy and flirty and generally very funny. Pair that with Carlos and his general vibes, we are in for a banger driver pairing!

I will be eying the Nico/Carlos tag very carefully next year👀

[thevioletcaptain]

y'all get that screenshotting fic to publicly make fun of it is straight up bully behavior, right? like. it doesn't matter if you redact the author's name. this is no different to a kid taking someone else's art off the wall in a classroom, walking out into the playground, and holding it up to say "haha look how shit this is"

[creatively-cosmic]

POSTGAME

Red has won the championship. A prequel of sorts to the greater story of Missing Numbers. Told from Blue's POV.

CW: Suicidal ideation.

-

Before he got any closer, I made a grand effort to compose myself, puffing my chest out and shutting my eyes in what I hoped looked like a cocky expression, rather than me holding back tears.

“Well, I THOUGHT I hadn’t made any mistakes raising my Pokemon. But darn, I guess you’re the new Pokemon League Champion…”

I sneered at him, “Although I don’t like to admit it.”

I stuck my hand out, offering a shake as if to officiate yep, you did it, you’re better than me, good job in the way that I’d seen grown-ups do on TV. He just stared at it, still looking like someone had died, not like he’d just done the greatest achievement any Pokemon trainer could ever hope to do?

What an idiot. I couldn’t understand why he cared so much. It wasn’t like HE was hurt by any of this. He should be ECSTATIC. 

He opened his mouth, as if somehow this warranted him using his words. Before he could, though…

The door opened behind him.

If my stomach had already dropped, well. Now it was digging itself a grave.