#anyway . the mask detail in this snippet. Yeah

[flow2024]

ALSO necromancy ? (diabolik) what is thattttttt

my necromancy diabolik fic is the result of me listening to ballata dell'amore cieco (o dalla vanità) one too many times in a day and brainstorming a fic that is, essentially, what it says on the tin, i.e. the highly canon non-compliant scenario that diabolik Dies on a heist and eva goes slightly off the rails trying to necromance him back to life. fun to think about but i think i need to rework it a bit because the situation itself is very. non-diaboliky.

anyway here's a snippet i wrote when it was consuming my brain entirely:

She doesn’t believe them when they come back two days later and tell her he is dead, that they will kill her too if they do not get what they want. No, instead she laughs and laughs and laughs, because he cannot be killed, she has seen him escape death more times than she can count. Black spots swim across her vision: one of them says something about reducing her dose, waking her up, she’s no use to us like this. She keeps laughing, even when they leave.

They’d taken the cuffs off him to lead him away. That was their first mistake.

She doesn’t believe them even after they stop giving her whatever they’d been using to keep her calm, shivers through the withdrawals for days and shakes her head whenever they tell her he is dead, nobody is coming for you, don’t you understand? He’s dead. You’re alone. Tell us what we want to know.

She doesn’t believe them when they show her the pictures, either. She knows well enough how easy it can be to fake someone’s dead body for photos. The two of them have done it countless times before.

She doesn’t believe them when they take her to see him two days after they tell her he’s dead, not even when she looks at his eyes, staring sightlessly up into nothingness. There is blood everywhere: creative, but slightly too much to be convincing, she thinks. The drugs haven’t quite left her mind completely: she’s dizzy when she stands, when she walks.

She doesn’t believe them until they let her touch the body. She knows well enough how to tell the masks from skin – they’re almost indistinguishable, save for a few tiny details. She knows when she touches the body’s face, brushes its hair back from its forehead where the blood has dried, and her heart stops.

Only then does she believe them. 

She is silent for one terrible minute, unable to tear her eyes away from the body in front of her.

Then she starts screaming, and doesn’t stop.

[spacedace]

Found this old snippet and don't really remember of the context for it outside of being a joking exploration of how weird the Fenton/Phantom family tree would seem to outsiders (not even getting into how relationships might be classified differently between the human side & the ghost side)

Anyway gonna drop it here as a prompt lol

Mind the quick reference to dismemberment, there's no gore or detailed description and no one is actually hurt, it's more there for comedic effect, but still wanted to give the heads up on it 👍

---

Nomad motioned to the towering, vaguely vampire-looking buff dude with literal flaming hair what the fuck, “Dan, this is everyone. Everyone this is Dan. He’s my…” Nomad trailed off and blinked, a look of confused befuddlement on her face as she let the sentence hang for too long.

“Huh…” She said considering, looking up at vampire-dude, Dan apparently, with a confused furrow on her brow. “You know this is the first time I’ve ever had to try and explain our relationship to each other and I’m drawing a blank and what exactly to call you. Uncle? Dad? Brother? Like, I think you could technically be considered all three.”

What the fuck did that mean??? Kon snapped his attention over to meet Tim’s masked gaze, the look of wild confusion Kon was sure was on his own face mirrored there. Around the meeting room confused and worried looks were being shared by the rest of the League. Which like, yeah, what in the Habsburgs was happening here for all of those terms to be applicable?

“Well, you’re Danny’s Mirror, so if you consider him your dad then it stands to reason I’m also your father.” Dan said, hand coming up to his - literally flaming, how did that work? - goatee thoughtfully.

“Yeah but like, I call Danny dad just to piss Vlad off.” Nomad countered, toying with her severed arm with her still attached hand. Kon didn’t think he’d ever get over how casual she was about being literally disarmed and just…not caring. “And I definitely don’t see you as a dad. Uncle?”

The giant of a ghost shook his head with a frown, “Implies that Danny and I are brothers, which could work but gives our relationship kind of a weird vibe. I feel more like his father than anything.”

“Gramps, then?”

“No.”

Nomad laughed, “Fair, wouldn’t want to take the title of Grampa away from CW. Besides we’re both half Vlad, so I think brother works best here.” She frowned, looking thoughtful, “Maybe half brother?”

Dan considered, “Half-brother could work. Though it gives Vlad more credit than he deserves.”

“Oh come on, can you imagine the look on his face if we went in together on suing him for child support?” Nomad asked, fanged grin wicked. Dan’s face lit up at the idea, and Kon felt like they were rapidly heading towards the two ghosts running off to go and go torment whoever this Vlad guy was rather then them help deal with the current demonic problem at hand.

“Can you please explain what any of that means?” Kon asked, more a squeak than anything else. He was starting to get a headache.

[gvfgal]

6. Everything That Becomes Us.

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

18+ Story, Minors not welcomed.

A/n: Here’s chapter 6! As always, enjoy, and please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist! 🍾

Content Warnings: drinking, smoking, mentions of criminal activity, mention & depiction of serious illness, allusions to violence against reader, weird father relationships… think that’s it!

Word Count: 3.5k

The following morning ushered in an unexpected sense of domesticity that was a stark departure from the chaos that often defined Jake’s past. While you maneuvered in the kitchen concocting breakfast, Jake wrestled with the obstinate washing machine that had rudely interrupted the tranquility of the morning hours earlier.

A formal breakfast was a rare luxury in his tumultuous upbringing, reserved for occasions shadowed by his mother’s fleeting presence and often marred by the underlying tension of impending departure or discord with Rex. Thus, the simple act of someone preparing breakfast for him purely out of kindness struck a chord within Jake, hinting at the semblance of stability and care he had secretly long yearned for.

However, that morning stuck out to Jake for an entirely different reason. He’d be replaying the small series of events over again in his head later, as he’d do with a lot of different instances surrounding you.

He remembered the details vividly:

As he meticulously pieced the washing machine back together, the mundane task was punctuated by the shrill ring of your cell phone echoing through the trailer. Each passing moment seemed to elongate as Jake strained to discern your hesitation before you finally answered.

Jake, unaccustomed to eavesdropping, initially dismissed the snippets of conversation drifting from the kitchen. With the task completed and a bead of sweat wiped from his brow, he eagerly made his way towards the promise of breakfast. However, his steps faltered mid-stride as the tone of your voice shifted to a secretive whisper, one tinged with an urgency that seized his attention. A sense of unease crept over him, an inner conflict warring between respecting your privacy and the compulsion to understand the weight of your words.

Frozen in the hallway, Jake grappled with the dilemma of intrusion versus ignorance. Though he had never been one to eavesdrop, the gravity of the situation left him with no choice but to linger in the shadows to silently bear witness to the conversation unfolding behind closed doors.

“Look mom,” you sounded sincere yet assertive, “I get that you’re sick, but I can’t come back there, you know that. Not after what happened…”

Jake’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern crossed his features as he continued to listen, grappling with a sense of guilt for intruding on the private conversation.

"Mom, you know I don’t have that kind of money… Yes, but… If I give you everything I’ve saved up, I'll be back at square one, and all the progress I've made here would be for nothing..."

A whirlwind of questions stormed through Jake's mind as he lingered in that hallway, overhearing snippets of your cryptic conversation.

What dark chapter from your past barred the doors to your childhood home? Why were you secretly stashing money away?

Caught in the grip of curiosity and discomfort, Jake sought refuge in the kitchen, a feeble attempt to escape the weight of the revelations unfolding before him. You deftly flipped the last pancake on the stove as he entered, your phone still pressed against your ear.

Sensing his presence, you turned, a smile adorning your face. Your voice shifted to a tone of casual innocence as you swiftly wrapped up the call, doing your best to conceal the true gravity of the discussion from Jake's prying ears.

"Yeah, so anyways, mom, I'll, uh, get back to you on that as soon as I can… Mhmm… yeah, love you too… Bye."

Relieved that Jake's attention was elsewhere, you poured a glass of orange juice from the fridge, masking the discomfort that churned within you.

You set your phone down on the counter and focused on the task at hand, plating the pancakes alongside the sizzling bacon, eggs, and an array of fruits. Relieved that Jake’s attention was elsewhere, pouring a glass of orange juice by the fridge, you swallowed down the tumult of emotions stirred by the conversation, and made a conscious effort to maintain a façade of composure until Jake's departure.

"That was your mom?" Jake's casual inquiry floated across the kitchen as he leaned against the counter, his gaze fixed on you as you busied yourself with the breakfast preparations.

"Yeah," you chirped, forcing a veneer of cheerfulness into your voice, though your back remained turned to him, "she, uh, just needed help with something."

Sensing the weight of his stare boring into your back, you turned to meet his gaze, mustering your best grin in an attempt to deflect any further probing into the nature of the call.

Clad in a black tank top that accentuated his tattoos and the muscular definition of his arms, Jake leaned against the counter, his hair cascading loosely around his shoulders. As you admired his relaxed appearance, a gentle smile graced his lips, but the subtle furrow of his brow betrayed the wheels turning in his mind. You couldn't help but wonder how much of the conversation he had overheard.

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen until Jake finally broke it, his voice tinged with concern.

"You okay?"

You nodded hastily, perhaps a bit too eager to dismiss any lingering tension, "I'm fine."

You could sense Jake's desire to delve further into the matter, but a silent understanding passed between you, a mutual agreement to let the conversation rest for now. There was a palpable tension in the air, a recognition that some truths were not yet ready to be unearthed.

He pushed himself off the counter and began crossing the kitchen with purpose. Your heart quickened its pace in response, and you flinched, which Jake noted and tucked away in the recesses of his mind before he enveloped you in a gentle embrace. A tender kiss planted on your forehead ignited a surge of protectiveness within him, reinforcing the depth of his affection.

His hold on you was firm, as if he believed he could shield you from the world's troubles simply by holding you close in that moment. Though countless uncertainties loomed regarding the nature of your conversation with your mother, Jake couldn't shake the unwavering conviction that whatever skeletons resided in your closet, they wouldn't deter his feelings for you.

As your eyes locked in a silent exchange, a myriad of emotions passed between you, punctuated by Jake's warm smile.

You felt a deepening attraction towards him, a desire to nurture this burgeoning connection with each passing day. You wanted to cook him breakfast for a million days to come.

“I’m hungry,” he lilted.

With a playful peck on his lips, you turned to retrieve the plate you had prepared, inviting him to partake in the breakfast you had lovingly prepared, “come and get it.”

Jake chuckled at your playful demeanor, his eyes alight with affection. "Don't talk to me like that, woman, you know what it does to me."

After breakfast, Jake was on the move, headed to the Tavern for a crucial meeting with the club members. The objective: devise a complete strategy to infiltrate Bobby's casino and seize control of his finances.

Fortuitously, Jake had already sketched the framework of the plan; now it was up to the gang to flesh out the finer details.

Sequestered in their private room at the back of the bar, the men engaged in a marathon brainstorming session, fueled by copious amounts of alcohol that seemed to defy the limits of Riley's inventory.

The hours proved mentally taxing for Jake, who found himself thrust into a leadership role, given that the plan had sprung from his initial idea. As the group delved deeper into the intricacies of their scheme, Jake navigated the delicate balance between guiding the discussion and fostering collaboration.

The overarching objective of the plan was straightforward: infiltrate and establish a foothold. However, the devil was in the details.

The Barbarians, armed with their financial leverage over Bobby's casino, planned a direct and aggressive takeover. Prior to this, Alejandro's financial experts would conduct an internal audit to scrutinize the casino's financial records. Concurrently, 8-ball, their reliable reconnaissance expert, along with a team of Barbarians, would meticulously examine the security protocols, identifying vulnerabilities and discrepancies. They would also gauge the loyalty of key staff members to anticipate potential challenges or cooperation during the takeover. Once these preliminary assessments were complete, the Barbarians would be briefed on their specific roles and responsibilities for the impending operation.

This part of the plan was a strategic power play, a calculated display of authority designed to assert the Barbarians' dominance over Bobby Thompson. That, and it left little room for resistance. If they didn’t see it coming, they wouldn’t have time to retaliate.

Upon successfully infiltrating the casino, the real work would commence. With assistance from Alejandro's operatives, the Barbarians would assume control of all operational facets. They would take charge of security to neutralize any potential resistance, gain access to the casino's financial systems, including the vault and registers, and begin discreetly redirecting funds through covert channels to avoid detection.

Given Alejandro's insistence on receiving his share in cash, an additional layer of complexity was introduced to the operation. All diverted funds would be funneled into the Barbarians' club account, covertly managed by their trusted accountant and stored securely until the time of transfer.

It was a solid plan, meticulously crafted to minimize the risk of detection. If executed with precision, they could execute the entire operation within the six months window without raising any red flags with law enforcement. After all, the federal authorities were unlikely to be overly concerned with a medium-sized casino tucked away in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada.

With the plan finalized, the meeting came to a close, leaving the Barbarians to await the right moment to set their scheme in motion.

Ace couldn't help but notice Jake's natural leadership qualities as he contributed to the formulation of the plan. Despite all Jake's modesty, there was an undeniable aura of authority that seemed to emanate from him effortlessly.

However, the meeting had taken its toll on Jake, leaving him feeling mentally drained. And with you having left Riley's a few hours earlier, Jake was eager to head home. Yet, as he approached the exit, Ace intercepted him, his grip firm on Jake's arm. Without uttering a word, Ace produced a thick wad of cash, all in hundred-dollar bills, and displayed it before him.

Aware that the Barbarians always had various revenue streams, however minor, Jake surmised that this must be the source of the money. His gaze shifted from the cash to Ace and back again, estimating the sum to be around five thousand dollars, if not more, leaving him puzzled.

"What's this for?" Jake queried, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Leaning in, Ace responded, "consider it payment for your contributions."

Jake scoffed, "but I haven't done anything."

Ace met his gaze knowingly, "your role in shaping that plan was more than enough."

Jake's eyes lingered on the cash, but his thoughts quickly veered in a different direction.

It was curious how you managed to permeate his thoughts at the most unexpected moments. Now, with five thousand dollars in hand, his mind was consumed with only the desire to give it all to you.

Recalling your earlier phone call, Jake felt an overwhelming urge to ease any burdens you might be carrying, even though much about you remained shrouded in mystery.

Almost impulsively, Jake turned to Ace and blurted out, "what do you know about Cherry?"

Ace chuckled, having anticipated this question would eventually surface, but he had always assumed it would be on Jake's terms. While Ace harbored his own questions about you, he suspected his insights might not fully satisfy Jake's curiosity. Nevertheless, he was willing to share what he knew.

As they stood by the bar, Ace gestured to the nearest stool. Sensing the impending conversation, Jake took a seat beside him.

A nod to the bartender was all it took; she immediately began preparing Ace's usual drink without the need for words.

"To be frank, kid," Ace began, turning his full attention to Jake, "I don't know much. None of us do. But I'll share what I do know."

Two Years Ago

A raspy cough echoed from Riley's frail form as he stepped outside his trailer, watering can in hand. The relentless cancer that had taken hold of him intensified the pain of the smoker's cough he had developed over the years. With each passing day, his strength waned, and after undergoing treatments that had proven futile, he had decided to forego further interventions, opting instead to focus on managing his pain and comfort as he neared the end of his life.

At sixty-three , Riley had lived a life marked by resilience and dedication, spending over half of those years as a formidable member of the Barbarians. He had seen and experienced more than most would in two lifetimes, yet it was cancer that proved to be his final adversary.

As he looked at his reflection, the gauntness of his features and the pallor of his skin made him appear as though he was already a shadow of his former self. Despite this, he found himself standing outside the trailer he had called home for the past forty-five years, tending to a flower garden that would more than likely outlive him.

Riley's thoughts drifted to his cherished Tavern, a place that held as much importance to him as his allegiance to the brotherhood. He wondered about its fate once he was no longer around. While he trusted the Barbarians to care for it, the uncertainty of not being there to oversee its well-being troubled him.

Lost in these thoughts, the sound of approaching tires caught his attention. Initially dismissing it, he grew curious as the idling engine came to a halt outside his home, revealing a Nevada cab at the end of the dusty driveway.

Observing a middle-aged cab driver assisting an unfamiliar visitor, Riley's attention was immediately drawn to your face. A rush of emotions surged within him as he recognized you, a sensation he had never felt before. He was stunned; the last he had heard from you was when you were just five years old, and the last time he had seen you in person was when you were merely two, before your mother had taken you away to Texarkana.

Confused and intrigued, he couldn't fathom why, after all these years, you were suddenly standing at his doorstep.

He watched as the man retrieved a couple of duffle bags from the trunk, while you struggled with a crumpled wad of cash in your hand before completing the exchange. He wondered how much you had to pay to get a cab to bring you all the way out there.

As you approached, the details of your appearance became clearer. Riley's gaze immediately landed on the remnants of a black eye on your right side, accompanied by several smaller bruises along your forearm. Though you wore jeans, Riley suspected there were likely more bruises hidden beneath.Despite his concern, he chose to remain silent on the matter, sensing that, like him, you probably didn't want to discuss it.

As you made your way up the driveway, you took in Riley's appearance as well. He looked even more unwell than you had anticipated, a stark contrast to the stories your mother had shared about him. The ravages of cancer were evident.

Setting down his watering can just as you reached him, Riley greeted you with a simple, "Hey, kid."

The reunion between father and daughter, after over fifteen years apart, was surprisingly subdued. Both of you seemed to have too much on your minds to make a fuss about it.

"Hey, Dad," you replied, your voice trembling slightly, offering him a tentative smile given the circumstances.

An awkward silence hung in the air as you both assessed each other's worn appearance, yet also noticed the shared features that confirmed your relationship.

"What are you doin’ here?"

Riley's question made you second-guess your decision to come without even a phone call. The risk of showing up unannounced suddenly seemed more apparent, but you also knew the alternative was far worse.

"My mom told me you were sick, terminal," you stammered, avoiding his eyes as you looked towards the blooming flower garden he had been tending, "I came to help. You know, take care of you."

Riley could see through your words, recognizing that caring for a man battling terminal prostate cancer was likely not high on your priority list. However, he sensed that you had come for a reason, possibly running from something—or someone.

The fear that consumed you was palpable, evident in your posture and demeanor. You had become fear.

Realizing that he had not been the best father during your formative years, Riley felt compelled to offer you refuge from whatever troubles you were facing. As a Barbarian, he was no stranger to trouble, and he believed he could shield you from it.

In addition, your presence would provide him with much-needed companionship in his final days, rather than sporadic visits from club members. With you, he would have the company of genuine family.

And of course, if you were willing, you could take over the operations at the Tavern.

It seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Finally, a grin spread across Riley's face, and you couldn't help but notice how eerily similar his smile was to yours. "Come on in, we'll get you settled."

You tightened your grip on your bags as Riley gestured for you to enter, feeling a glimmer of hope that being there might offer you the sanctuary you so desperately sought from the looming darkness.

"Watch out for my flowers. Don’t step on ‘em," Riley chided, adding a touch of normalcy to this unexpected reunion.

"That's the only story Riley ever shared with me," Ace admitted, taking a sip of his beer and studying Jake's reaction. "After that, he didn't talk much about her."

Jake nodded, realizing this might be the extent of the information he'd receive, leaving him with conflicting feelings.

"It's not that Riley was secretive or malicious," Ace elaborated, reminiscing about the times when Riley was still with them. "He was just protective, and we respected that. Even after his passing, we still do."

Jake understood the protective sentiment, feeling a similar urge to shield you, albeit not in the same paternal manner as Riley. His feelings for you were complex and puzzling.

"She was incredible for Riley during his final months, by his side when he passed, helped organize his funeral, and has been managing the hell outta this Tavern," Ace recounted with a chuckle. "So, we just leave it at that."

The story left Jake with more questions than answers, yet he found himself strangely content with the information provided.

Ace extended the folded hundred-dollar bills to Jake once again, and this time he accepted them, tucking them into his front pocket before finishing off his beer.

"Thanks, as always, you're appreciated," Jake said to Ace, making a beeline for the exit.

Ace chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That boy is in way deeper than he thinks."

Jake found you just after you’d finished showering, your hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a faded Kentucky Derby t-shirt that he remembered once belonged to Riley. Your face lit up with a smile at his arrival, which only fueled his determination to carry out his plan with the money he had obtained.

"Hey, handsome," you greeted, visibly relieved by his presence.

In response, Jake pulled the money from his pocket and handed it to you, mimicking the gesture Ace had made with him earlier. Your confusion mirrored his own when Ace had done the same to him.

"Jake, what the hell is this?"

"I heard you on the phone earlier," he explained, the words tumbling out as if he couldn't hold them back any longer.

You felt a familiar tension creep back into your muscles at the mention of the phone call, but you remained silent, waiting to see what else he had to share.

"Save your money," Jake said softly, his tone filled with care, “use this to help your mom, and if you need more, just let me know, okay?"

Stunned, you found yourself unable to accept the money. You knew the funds were likely from Barbarian activities, but that was the least of your concerns. You couldn't comprehend why he was so willing to give it to you. His generosity was unfamiliar and overwhelming. First, the truck, and now this.

You were certain Jake wasn't expecting anything in return; his generosity was genuine.

"Take it," he urged gently, “please, Cherry?"

Reluctantly, you reached out and accepted the stash, noting that the bills were mostly, if not all, hundreds.

The money was providing a lifeline for you in ways Jake couldn't possibly understand, making you feel as though he was the catalyst for positive change in your life.

Still holding the money, you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a tender kiss on his lips, savoring the taste of beer and tobacco. "Why are you so good, Jacob?"

Hearing you call him by his full name sent a shiver down his spine. He looked down at you, shaking his head slightly, and admired the way your still-wet lashes clung together. "I'm no good, Cherry. I'm just good for you."

You kissed him again to keep yourself from saying what you wanted to say next.

You’re not good for me, Jake. You’re too good for me.

7. Who Do You Belong To?

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @wetkleenex-gvf @hollyco

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Numéro 23

Part 2

Guess what, ya girl finished a snippet on the plane!!

Words: 1.28 k

TW: Violence, bone fracture, slightly depressed and pretty anxious hero, questionable agency, bone fracture, guns, attempted murders, restraint mentioned

The file was dropped onto their desk curtly, no words spoken, like every other assignment Hero got. Their newest target didn't have a name, no alias of some sort, and the picture of them had shown them fully masked in a sleek, black suit, no inch of skin showing; a faceless caricature. However, their kill count, in three digits, was important enough that any other details seemed inconsequential next to it.

Besides, Hero had been taught to treat their targets more like tasks than people. 

So the crime-fighter trained till they were left dead on their feet, till their knuckles were all ripped skin and covered in bloodstains, till their exhausted muscles felt like they were on fire. 

“Hero! Don’t you think you’re going a little overkill, boss?” Sidekick asked, folding their arms across their chest and leaning against the doorframe.

The young hero was the closest thing to a light in the agency’s pitch black darkness; the soul that gave life to a lifeless place, like a flame lighting the slowly dwindling, half-melted candle that was the older crime-fighter’s life. 

“I. . .can’t, Sidekick,” the hero replied breathlessly, hauling their form up for yet another pull-up, having done so many that they’d lost count. “This new target is unlike all the others before the-”

“Yeah yeah, but when are you not being paranoid about one of your enemies?” the teenager replied, cutting them off. 

“Their kill count is in three digits,” the crime-stopper retorted almost impatiently.

“Bloody hell,” Sidekick interjected, eyes going wide.

“Watch your language,” Hero chided, but a sly smirk danced across their face. 

“Okay, I wasn’t expecting that, but what good will it do if you show up to fight this bloody - sorry - serial killer exhausted? Weren’t you the one who kept lecturing me on the importance of rest for maximum work efficiency?”

The hero may have been stubborn, but they realised their protegé was right. They couldn't risk showing up to fight someone like their mystery killer while tired, so they decided to make their way home.

Normally, a hot bath would easily clear their head. Sure, they could still feel the tension blissfully seep from their form, the warmth relaxing overworked muscles, but their mind remained a raging firestorm of anxiety. It frustrated them how they couldn't even enjoy something this simple, the one moment where they no longer had to think or be whatever the hell they needed to be at the moment. "At least I smell nice," they scoffed, wishing to get this over with much faster. 

They let out a heavy sigh, leaving the tub and slipping into a bathrobe, trudging to the desk in their room to use the old, but still functional laptop. Ironically, being a hero barely payed for rent. 

For someone so high and mighty, their little terrorist wasn't completely difficult to find. Or maybe the hero was really a 'natural with the keyboard', since it had taken them a bit of hacking to find their target. Who's to say? 

Changing into their suit, Hero stared at their reflection with such intensity, that it would look to most people like an attempt to shatter it to a thousand shards by just looking at it. In reality, their own harsh gaze bore into the dark corners of their mind, wondering for the umpteenth time if they were enough. It didn't matter because they'd still have to do this anyway, whatever the cost.

"Target spotted," they whispered into their comm, standing on their knees for long enough that their muscles ached, waiting for their enemy deigned to show up. 

"I will engage now." 

The killer's movements resembled that of a panther, and the crime-fighter would have been lying if they'd denied finding it graceful. They were fast and agile, almost impossible to keep up with, not even giving them the chance to reach for the gun in their waistband. But the hero was no slouch either. They aimed a harsh kick to their enemy's shins, their body slamming into the asphalt with an audible thud. Still, the figure in black remained undeterred, kicking the crime-stopper on top of them in the ribs, sending them toppling down across the street, making their head throb and effectively destroying their flimsy communicator.

The hero swore, muttering something ironically much more profane than what they'd chastise their sidekick for, but they rolled away, out of the bastard's reach, quickly getting back on their feet. Their assailant was quick on their feet, chasing after them, but Hero was faster. They'd managed to slip behind an old building, trying to quiet their laboured breathing. They slowly reached for the gun in their waistband, removing the old magazine and replacing it with a new, loaded one.

They waited painstakingly for their target to reach the perfect spot.

Bang. They fired, aiming for the kill, three perfect shots. 

Except the bastard was wearing bullet-proof armour, the bullets ricocheting off of them uselessly. They were certain that underneath their dark cowl, the criminal must have had an infuriatingly smug smirk on their face, but right then, they recieved an entirely self-satisfied tilt of the head to the side. 

Their only option was to destroy a piece of the armour and shoot them there. 

The fight between them continued being a draw, one striking, their opponent blocking, and neither causing any real damage. Until the killer had managed to back Hero into a corner, kicking them to the ground and twisting their leg into a horrid angle, the crime-fighter crying out in pain as a grotesque crack rang in their ears. Tears sprang in their eyes and with whatever little movement they could manage, they furiously ripped their nemesis's mask off.

It wasn't the face of a stranger, like they'd expected, nor was it the face of someone entirely close to them, not that there were many people, aside from their sidekick, who obviously wasn't the ruthless murderer before, instead, it was their quiet lab partner from college, Villain, the one that sat next to them every day, brought them coffee and the occasional dessert, and doodled silly cartoons in their notebook to keep them both sane during boring classes, the closest thing they had to a friend that had nothing to do with the agency.

Their mouth was left agape, their eyes wide, their whole world spinning, but Villain didn’t even blink. They fired, straight into the hero's chest, utterly remorseless, no readable expression on their stone hard face.

Hero woke up. Woke up? What the hell? But Villain had killed them, yet here they were, lying on a soft mattress underneath a wonderfully thick comforter, with their leg in a cast, bandages crisscrossed across their chest. The only thing ruining the strangely mellow coziness they felt (possibly painkilling drugs) was the fact that they were handcuffed to the nighstand. 

The bullet had missed their heart. But surely an expert marksman like Villain wouldn't miss, right? This, for some strange reason, was intentional. 

We like to believe that our expectations have a foundation in truth, that they are of considerable value, that they can have even the slightest effect on any future outcomes. Yet, that is a fool's dream, a fruitless effort to calm a racing mind in fear of the unknown. Just when you are at the peak of your certainty, when you fully believe your fate is sealed, a spontaneous twist, the slightest change sets you on a path you were never aware existed. Our choices, our words, our actions have meaning, yet they only hold the power of a few tidal waves in the vast unpredictable ocean that is our future because destiny is a weapon one can only hope to master.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @usernotfound000 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[xenon-demon]

WIP Weekend! 🖋️

So I've been tagged in various WIP games this week by @stobinesque @penny00dreadful and @steves-strapcollection - thank you all Very Much for the tags!! <3 (even if the tags were because I am an Enabler Of Fic, I recognise my true calling is to be a hype man and writing is my side gig lmao)

Anyway I have a reasonably free weekend this weekend and a BURNING DESIRE to get something ao3-ready. Also FYI these rules are a slightly modified version of the ones Sam (penny00dreadful) is using, because I am using the "Fuck It We Ball" approach and cobbling together all the various WIP games into something that will work for me.

🎆 Rules 🎆

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

I am listing my WIP names as a poll; the poll will run for 24 hours and at the end I'll do the maths on how many votes each WIP received. I'll then set a goal to write 100 words per vote* for each WIP, and make a post of the vote breakdown for accountability! (*I may change this to be more than 100 words per vote if I don't get many votes in total.)

Snippet from "steve overstimulation projection manifesto" (SOPM) under the cut!

So yeah. Eddie can’t handle sudden change, big deal.

Steve can, for the most part; he's a lot more adaptable. No, Steve's weakness is people.

It took Eddie a while to realize it, and even then, he didn't truly understand until after they'd started dating. After all, how could the former King of Hawkins High possibly find socializing difficult? Eddie remembers all those bitter glances he used to shoot King Steve's way, jealous of how effortlessly he commanded the court of public opinion - not that he'd ever admit to it. But then Steve fell from grace, underwent more character growth than Eddie thought one man was capable of, and now Eddie knows the truth: uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. (Eddie is forever in debt to his freshman year English teacher for pointing him in the direction of the battered copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare in Hawkins Public Library. If only poor Mr Collins knew Eddie was only interested so he could use it as inspiration for D&D campaigns.)

Steve is absolutely charismatic; he knows how to tell people exactly what they want to hear, or make them feel special in a way that keeps them coming back for more. The catch is it's an intentional act. It's a mask that Steve used to be terrified he could never take off, as he mournfully confessed to Eddie one night while sharing a joint in the trailer. As it turns out, Steve just needed better friends; with Robin, with the kids, with Eddie, he finds it so easy to just be himself. He doesn't have to censor himself or fret over what image he's presenting to the world, and can instead relax and actually enjoy the company. Steve's joked around with Eddie before that it's actually kind of good for their relationship that Steve used to have to try so hard - he knows how to flirt without even consciously thinking about it. What Steve doesn't know is that he could go into graphic detail about the shape of his toenails and Eddie would still be listening with hearts in his eyes.

—————

And now some tags, both for visibility and as an invitation to join in if you'd like to/aren't already doing a writing game for the weekend! <3

@sailing-through-hawkins @onirislanding @inairbinad @eriquin @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle

[kaontic]

*Takin’ a stab at this cuz about time I did—*

🦁 Emperor of Destruction, King of Beasts and Guardian Spirit of Paradise 🦁

Or, um, in other words, here’s Megs’ holoform as a shishi:

See? I’m not biased for Megatron over Optimus. I didn’t even color him in all the way. 😅

(Which is totally not because I’m scared of messing up the outlining. That’s potentially demoralizing fr…Maybe I’ll try anyway later idk)

Cliffjumper: >:(

Me: Um...you guys are probably wondering about some stuff— 👀💧 *Clears throat*

*In the tone of Barbs from Geography Now*

What is a “shishi”? 👋

What are the flowers he is holding? 👋

Well, as the poem one Kabuki dance abides to puts it:

As the peony is the king of a hundred flowers, so is the lion the chief of a hundred beasts.

Hence the association.

Reflector: You better put a source for that.

Me: I KNOW— 😭

Renjishi (Two Lions) is the name of that Kabuki dance. There’s another dance (and other versions of that dance), but we’ll get to that if you’re interested of course. ;)

Btw, the dancer above, Yukimasa Futamura of Miyabiya? He’s awesome.

He wasn’t even the one that convinced me (that was Onoe Kikugorō VI), he just reaffirmed it because WOW DO THEY LOOK SIMILAR— O_O

Someone (I really wish I remembered their post 😭) noted how Megatron has one of the most human-like face plates out of everyone (and ironically so)—

Idc what anyone says, they were on-target (yes that pun was intentional).

Oh wait, he’s not “human” after all, is he? Riiiiight… 🦁

(You know he would try to make that excuse lol)

Ok ok ok, last question—

Is a shishi good or evil?

I mean, their purpose, whether in China (as these specific Kabuki dances are based off of Chinese legend. Renjishi even takes place on a holy mountain in China, with the shishi guarding the bridge to Buddhist paradise), Japan or other countries, are to protect important (usually religious) locations and ward off evil spirits.

Yeah, in the other major dance Kagami Jishi (Mirror Lion), a servant girl named Yayoi, working in the shogun’s palace is influenced and gets possessed by a shishi via a lion mask, and dragged off-stage due to the shishi chasing 2 butterfly spirits, but ya know…

Cats will be cats. :)

The same actor that plays Yayoi will even return as the (male) shishi to dance with the butterfly spirits.

What happens to Yayoi in the end though? Um—

She’s fine. Probably. Maybe (just me speculating, this has nothing to do with the actual performances) she gets to spend the rest of eternity as the lion’s hostess. 👀

Are there more to the dances? Oh yeah, always. It's Kabuki, an intricate and detailed art form requiring huge skill that everyone should check out.

(I didn't even mention the son character in Renjishi and his significance, for example)

Furthermore, are there other Kabuki characters (especially villainous) that would fit Megs? Yep.

There was literally this one noble, Togashi Saemon from the dance-drama Kanjinchō, who was so impressed by how far his enemy’s follower was willing to go for his master (through deceptive means), that he just straight up let them go.

Even at the cost of his own life because that’s how much trouble he was gonna get in for that. 😬

Megs notoriously enabling his traitorous subordinates’ behavior even if it’s self-sabotaging?

Same energy.

There was also the provocative (and quite frankly pathetic) governor Kō no Moronō from the drama Kanadehon Chūshingura, who the 46 rōnin came for on their quest to avenge their master, and proceeded to [REDACTED] his head.

Yeah, given our options, so far, he better be thankful that his holoform is a shishi. 😑

It’s not the only holoform he has (any Cybertronian can have several in my AU), but I think it’s a good start.

[nmzuka]

So like, what is Arms about anyway?

I know it's a game, and I think I always assumed it was like Smash Bros or something, but it sounds like there's a storyline? Lore? Plot??

Also please talk about the two characters you always draw. I wanna know about them individually+as a couple (even if it's not a canon thing, I still wanna hear about why you ship em, what their dynamics are, what makes the relationship interesting etc)

Oh boy this is gonna be a long reply lol but appreciate the ask! Im gonna put this under a read more cause it got really long even tho I feel like there is a lot more I could say ^^;;

So yeah ARMS is a fighting game but I would kinda compare it more to Punch Out! then Smash? your pov is behind the character and you’re more or less boxing but the gimmick is that the characters have extendable arms so it’s not like as close quarters as boxing haha You’d think with how invested I seem to be in it that there would be some deep and engaging plot but there isn’t really? There is a “story mode” where you just play thru the Grand Prix to win the ARMS League Championship You do get snippets of character lore from this in the form of dialogue from the announcer Biff (who like… might be a god or something from one of the Fighters cultures??) but it’s all just kinda random fun facts  As for like game universe lore it’s all very vague The ARMS gene has been around for a looong time (where it came from we don’t know) but it causes people’s arms to become spring like This usually manifests in teen years (tho it can happen at any time), usually the person wakes up with their arms changed, and it’s typically something the person was around a lot that their ARMS takes on the material of (sometimes it affects people’s hair as well) ARMS can be hard to control and will randomly uncoil at times and that’s why people wear the masks as control of the ARMS are connected to the eyes (people with ARMS also have spiral irises)  There’s very few like concrete things… there was suppose to be a comic that would expand on the lore and explain things (like the fact that Spring Man is technically the 3rd “Spring Man” as its a title passed on) but sadly they quietly canceled the comic after making us wait like for years with no update about it :////

I could go into more details about things but that’s like the broad strokes of the world at least

I do think the vagueness of it and the bare bones of the Fighters tho is kinda why it still has some very dedicated fans? Everyone is more or less able to take it and make it their own by filling in the blanks of the characters and the lore so we’ve all just kind of made it our own (why I’ve thought many times to just take the characters and make them ocs because at this point they really feel like it haha)

As for the two I’m always drawings…Ribbon Girl is a famous pop idol singer and Kid Cobra is a streamer/video maker and snakeboarder (an in universe sport like skateboarding) he’s also one of the rare people born with ARMS and he keeps his identity secret They are only canon in my heart as I just think they are perfect together haha they fill my love of the “bad boy/good girl” troupe (shipping them at all started out as a joke but damn if it didn’t progress quickly) This will start going more into my own hcs for the characters but I think how well they fit together. They’re very opposite but also similar and bring out better parts of each other Ribbon is very much a people pleaser and has been fairly sheltered, unable to do much of her own things because of breaking into the idol role at a young age (and also a bit because of her mother directly…) KC is very much the opposite haha he does what he wants But they’re both living under a public persona and part of the dynamic I enjoy is them breaking thru each other’s persona in a way I don’t see them able to with anyone else KC helping Ribbon learn to do things for herself, that she doesn’t need to be what others want her to be and should be living her life how she wants Ribbon helping KC open up, to know he doesn’t have to hide who he is from others They’d help each other become better versions of themselves and I just love that for them hhhh Their relationship would be a tender and hesitant one (their personas again get in the way) Ribbon as an idol isn’t supposed to date and KC worries his reputation (as a streetsmart skater punk) will be bad for her reputation. Ribbon worries about the attention she’ll bring to KC (he obviously wants a certain amount of attention but also tries to be very secret) Just a lot of uncertainty from both of them about trying to date but damn the feelings are there and can’t be ignored! They’ll figure that shit out as they go and if it all falls apart in the end well at least the highs were good while it lasted (not that it does they’re gonna be together forever!)

I also enjoy thinking of the dynamic of them being playful and silly together hhgghg KC loves to joke around and shit which does make Ribbon laugh a lot but also makes her be like “omg why are you like this??” Aaaa this reply is truly a ramble and so long even tho I feel like I’ve hardly gotten into any details. I’m not great at explaining things with words that’s why I try to draw Ribbon and KC as much as possible to show people what I see in their relationship I think they are perfect and really just can’t picture them with anyone else hhhh

[il3x]

callbringers ch14 (dropped today!!) spoilers

@thesternest liveblog rambles! i'm pretty much just saying this to you, might make separate posts out of the analysis points when the other readers catch up to them.

ASHELYN DISSOCIATION WINNN

Or loss, if you're Ashelyn.

ooh [kicking feet] i'm gonna have to picrew Ashe with her white hair streak soon!!

i love how she describes him jyhtsdfgyhjk. gonna start calling him "that terrible king"

ashelyn's nobility training coming back to prop up her masking :3 that's a neat detail, and it's gonna make her Losing Herself To The Mask/dissociation moments soooo much worse hehe. worm tangent, I suspect Lisa Wilbourn went through a similar thing with learning to school her expression as Sarah Livsey...

ASHEEEEEE😭😭😭 disconnect between emotions and body/actions, speedrun! magrias really is handcrafting her Issues as well as his own huh

oh magrias is SO fucking slimy. horrible bastard. terrible king indeed. god, that speech...

ough. can't say I'm surprised though

[me who's been daydreaming about an Ashelyn Gets Mind-Controlled Into Killing fic for a while] hmm...

YOU WERE RIGHT I DO LIKE THIS CHICK :DD < me when people are mean to my blorbos in compelling ways

also i would not be surprised if luan was experiencing taylor-esque passive suicidality, ngl. she's certainly Gone The Fuck Through It. anyways i respect the determination [tips hat]

back to ashe - I think the epithets she gives magrias in her inner monologue ("that tyrant", "that terrible king") are a way of reminding herself who he is and what he's done. staying focused on him as an enemy, while everything around her tries to convince her he's her leader. she needs this to centre herself and vent her anger, when she can't express her emotions or have her perceptions validated externally.

Oh, shit, wait - what was that Magnie song you sent me ages ago? Character prediction, the other Scholars working with Magrias will catalyse a crisis of faith for Magnie. I think she'll either leave the Scholars, or drastically change/reform them.

OUUUGGHH I LOVETHE ATTENDANTS PLAYS. loveeeee this. ashelyn channeling her (Reversed) Manipulation <33

"this was a much bigger picture than a few attendants and she could not let them burden her if she wanted to free her country" hm. storing this line. i don't think she's wrong for it but it could be the start of something.

you SLANDER my daughter??? you tell LIES and MISINTERPRETATIONS?? can't really blame you. but damn how did that one happen

Ohhh I Like This Girl

luan<3 storing for future analysis reference

I'M SORRY I-

OUGH FUCK THIS MUST HAVE STRUCK CHORDS WITH ASHE'S UPBRINGING. hold on imma grab the relevant quotes

ashelyn on "what it's like to be a noble":

GOD. FUCK. GOD. THIS IS WHY SHE'S SO COMPELLING. BEING MAGRIAS' PUPPET QUEEN IS THIS TURNED UP TO 200. ashelyn really is worm-esque in that she has the worst day of her life and it makes all the problems that lead up to it infinitely worse... anyways, yeah, bet she hates Aiven extra for that one.

[rubbing hands] is this the bastard we discussed? :3333

KILLING HIM KILLING HIM KILLING HIM

luckily, if he IS the bastard in question, I might have the honour of having (indirectly) orchestrated his demise already >:)

i love how you've done him BTW. there are already some juicy characterisation snippets which may lend themselves to analysis once I've seen more of him. like he totally fits the description of Bastard but you took that and elevated it and [chef's kiss].

[finitevoid]

Omg ok I wasn't expecting to be so blessed by your response(s)! Totally understand the need for a rewrite — while Jaime isn't one of my favourite characters I'd say he's pretty central to anything and everything Bart-related, so it's important to take the time to get him right. That being said, things I loved about the snippets you shared:

1) Jaime's victorious little "There it is." The fact he (and seemingly he alone) can see through Bart's mask; I think this makes a lot of sense and is something desperately missing in the show. Jaime spends the most time with Bart, he's the one who knows the most about Bart's fucked up future and the torture he's suffered at the Reach's hands — and yet he never seems to question the veracity of the cheerful, speedster-y persona Bart puts on? I LOVE that you're making Jaime a little bit of a menace here. (Also love that Bart seems to have maintained his wariness about the Reach with respect to Khaji Da, because like... yeah he would, wouldn't he?? He's come too far to be taking chances like that) It's so vindicating to see Jaime want to try to understand Bart, and equally as vindicating to see Bart let his actual, more battle-hardened personality be drawn out. I love his reactions to that conversation; the shame, the quick shift to rage... That's so human. That's the feeling you get when your teacher berates you in front of the entire class. I can literally FEEL the emotions he's cycling through, it's so!!! fucking!!! good!!!!!!!! GAH

2) Joan and Jay being like "Isn't anyone gonna be missing you???" I understand the show had a limited amount of time to tell the story they wanted to tell, but it seems like a huge oversight that NOBODY in any of the superhero groups questioned why Bart wasn't doing everything he could to get back to his own time. ESPECIALLY since Nightwing (and I think Red Robin) was there to witness the capsule's failure!!! You're telling me Dick mf-ing Grayson wouldn't have been a little bit suspicious that Bart was totally cool with being trapped 40yrs in the past?? Why didn't anybody ask about his plans to get back home??? WHY wasn't there so much as a mention of trying to fix the time machine?!?? Okay, rant over. Thank you for making Bart's family (or lack thereof) a point of conversation with Jay and Joan. I love that they're being (not-so) subtly concerned about Bart apparently taking care of himself, while Bart has accepted this as a fact of life.

3) Bart lying in casual conversation is just so... *chef's kiss* MWAH. Lying about Meloni saying he looks like Don is such a great moment of characterization. You can tell Bart's adept at lying, that he does it often and so well it's like second nature, and you can tell he's meticulous and willing to do anything in the name of the mission. Like, why the hell would he lie about people saying he looks like his dad?? Nightwing already confirmed his blood relation to the Allens — it's not like Jay and Joan were doubting that. I doubt they'd be less accepting of him just because he doesn't bear a great resemblance to Barry. But Bart lies anyway because... he just can't take that chance? Because it'll help with the immersion of his character? Because he knows people will trust him more if he looks like one of them (or if they think he looks like one of them)? It's just... such a great detail. Really, really loved that. Fucking adored it actually

4) YOU MENTIONED MELONI!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW RARE IT IS FOR A YJTV FIC TO EVEN REFERENCE HER???? ALL the fics I've read about Bart's backstory either don't mention his parents, or mention his mom in such a vague way that she could be any generic future speedster, or just fully make up a different woman to be his mom. Which is like... okay, whatever, she's not a huge character anyway, so what does it really matter? But it matters to me!!! ESPECIALLY because he's the spitting image of her in the comics, and ESPECIALLY because YJTV Bart seems to have a bit of a ruthless/cold streak when fighting that — and this is just me — reads more as a Thawne thing than an Allen thing!! (Or maybe it's just a grew-up-in-the-apocalypse thing... but I like to think his mom influenced him some) I think Bart's relationship with his mother has the potential to be so much more tragic than his relationship with his father, and it's such a shame that rarely anyone tries to explore that. Ok, admittedly I'm not sure how much of a role Meloni would play in HH, either, (probably not a big one since she is. well. dead) but just the fact that she fucking EXISTS and that Bart remembers her and has some connection to her, even if it's just by his physical appearance — I am already so invested. I LOVE THIS!!!

5) Bart EXPLORING, feeling everything with his own hands (and feet), being near overwhelmed and maybe even a little irritated by how bright and full of life everything is? (His temper flaring in that convo with Jaime, thinking to himself about how he saved everyone in this shitty world... oof.) The fact that he's done so much for them and they'll never know, how he seems kind of resentful about this but maybe a little proud of himself anyway? ("I did it" gave me chills. He fucking DID IT!!!!!) So so so so so good. I have to ask myself if he'll ever be happy with the world he lives in — the apocalypse was shit, but this new world is too different and that's shit, too. You're really making me wonder if he'll ever find peace. I am so intrigued and interested in Bart's... kinda skewed(?) view of the world, of life and death and survival, and whether that will change. I don't know if it can, and I don't know if I want it to!!!

There's so much more I want to delve into but this is already very long so I'll leave it here. Thank you so much for sharing, I thoroughly enjoy your (correct) interpretation of Mr Bart Allen and am so delighted by what you've written. You have really great pacing, a fantastic understanding of human behaviour, beautifully evocative descriptions, and, I think, an amazing eye for detail and all those little things which bring a story (and its characters) to life. I'm gonna be pouring over those excerpts for weeks to come. Thank you again!!

Wahhhh thank you so much 🥹🥹 I’m glad you enjoyed even the little bits I showed you. HH is my baby and I love playing in YJTV’s vast world. Especially with Bart. Because he’s kind of their avenging angel, yknow? He did a wonderful and terrible thing. The whole world is only thanks to him— and Jaime.

1) Yeah yeah yeah yeah! This is why I felt a need to rewrite him. Jaime isn’t stupid and neither is Khaji Da. Jaime is actually really smart and observant, and— it made no sense, reading it back over, that Jaime was so especially clueless about Bart’s mask. BB06 is an all-time fav comic of mine, so I was like— we need some more of that energy in here. I’m glad it hit like it was supposed to.

Bart and Jaime’s “friendship” is rife with strife and unvoiced tension and hurt feelings. Bart will never, ever forget what Blue Beetle personally did to him. And Jaime is nothing like that Blue Beetle— but it feels close, when he’s near Jaime. So his battleworn personality comes out, jagged and toothy.

2) I’ve always been of the opinion that the Flashfam must’ve been in absolute chaos that first night Bart showed up. Like hey, surprise! Iris is pregnant! And here’s a fully formed middle schooler who can’t go home and needs to be cared for! Jay and Joan definitely expected Bart to be in tears— like any 14 yr old who just lost his home and family would be. But instead here he is, weirdly excited, weirdly at peace. They attribute it to him not really grasping what’s gone wrong. Until— he continues to not break down.

When Wally tells them about the apocalypse, it’s one of those things that’s going to make such an utterly sickening amount of sense, even though it never occurred to them.

3) Bart has reasons for all his lies, and this one is simple. You actually got it— he wants to paint a picture, one of someone trustworthy. He doesn’t have time to be doubted, so he leans into their preconceptions, their biases about who and what and how he should be.

4) You, Nonnie— you are on my fucking wavelength. You are on my wavelength.

I love YJTV, but I have read, as far as I know, every single appearance of Bart in the entire DCU. It’s so exciting to have another comics fan onboard. The allusion to Meloni was deliberate, and she plays a huge role in Bart’s childhood and life prior to the story. Spoiler alert I guess, but Bart didn’t even know his dad. But he knew Meloni.

Meloni Thawne, who is Eobard Thawne’s daughter in HH’s canon. God, I can’t— I can’t say much, because I do want to give you HH in a fully realized form one day, but— that thing you said? About him having more Thawne in him than Allen? Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah yeah. Yeah. Yeah. That’s the whole crux of it. The axis of it. Bart’s grandest deception.

As far as I’m concerned, in every world, in every canon, in every universe: Bart is a Thawne.

5) You’re right to question Bart’s skewed way of thinking, and I’m glad you’re enjoying it, because it’s pretty constant throughout HH. The whole idea is this juxtaposition— this cheerful, happy-go-lucky kid, but when you’re in his head? He starts calling people meat.

Everything beautiful is new to him. Clean oceans and breathable air and pretty flowers and soft soil and earthworms. Yet— and you got this instantly, which is reassuring & exciting— yet, there was beauty in Bart’s world, too. But that’s gone now. He can’t ever go back to it. 2056 will be beautiful in the unfamiliar way, now.

Bart is the prince of a dead world, and ultimately: that’s what HH is about.

Thanks for your kind words. I’m absolutely floored at how engaged with & excited you are for HH. Seriously— you made me take a closer look at it than I have in months. <3

[dreemurr-skelememer]

late ask BUT director's cut for a home for two?

fuck, anon. you don't know what can of worms you just opened.

i was going to keep this concise to one point but upon rereading it for the first time in a while i just....have too much to say about a home for two.

it's my all time favorite fic ive ever written, if it's not obvious.

firstly, i want to bring up these snippets (STARTING OFF STRONG....SORRY)

these were the moments where error finally started opening up to paperjam. and they mean a lot to me.

his personality is finally starting to shine through; his stubbornness and hotheaded-ness. it's the moments where it was clear that this kid wasn't as closed off as paperjam thought and had a personality masked by trauma and anxiety.

after so much struggle, seeing his personality finally peak through sends pj (and hopefully the reader) into fondness.

i love the little details. I KNOW I WROTE IT. but i love the little details.

these snippets were the moments where error started expressing his safety and trust towards pj

he's really made a lot of progress over the course of the few days in the fic, and seeing him finally feel the safety and love he deserves makes me so....AGH. AAGRGRGHG.

the entire fic is so tense and mildly stressful that finally writing down error's new found stability makes me so mushy and gushy!! god

i didn't emphasize it a lot but paperjam really didn't talk to error like most people would towards a four-year-old.

and that's not a bad thing! in fact, the opposite!

this is partly because paperjam is unprepared and does not know how to talk to children, but talking to kids like real, actual people and not dumbing everything down for them is actually really beneficial to their learning and growth process! (iirc, that is)

this scene and the dialogue earlier in it also really showed paperjam's frustrations. he's not perfect in any way, and he almost took it out then and there on error through a stern talking.

neither of it was their fault, of course. just a lot of misplaced love and stress from everything.

i like making my characters feel like people. and pj is such.....a person. i love him dearly.

i could gush about toriel forever in any instance about the way she acts like such a mom, not just this fic. but mostly this fic.

i love toriel. if i could grab every toriel scene in the fic, i would. but one example is enough, and this one shows the best of her.

her fondness, her motherly attitude, her jokes, and her pride towards pj. god i love toriel in this fic i LOVE TORIEL DREEMURR!!!!!!!!!!

i just think this is important. :p

"holy shit they said the thing"

i think title drops are funny lol

ANYWAY YEAH. i had a lot to say about it LOL. i love a home for two and i reread my fics a lot, and this one is the one i reread the most. im so so so proud of it.

[abyssruler]

brainrots ft. scaramouche x gn!reader

thinking about the dynamic of scaramouche with a reader who has a few screws loose, likes being degraded and is a bit of a masochist. a reader who joins the fatui because getting in trouble intentionally to get scolded and punished isn’t enough, and somehow, you hear about a sadistic harbinger who likes to torment his recruits.

your curiosity is instantly piqued.

so you go around your little village in snezhnaya, listening to rumours about this harbinger—scaramouche, they call him, the balladeer. the more you hear about him, the more excited you become, all while you’re thinking to yourself, why the hell have i never heard of this guy before?!

the fatui you questioned all looked at you like you’ve lost your mind when you giggled—a real, honest to gods, giggle—after they finished retelling you the details of what happened to the recruit who earned the infamous sixth harbinger’s ire.

so you set out on a mission to join the fatui and be recruited under scaramouche’s troops. fortunately for you, there’s a rapid case of recruits mysteriously disappearing (re: defecting) shortly after getting assigned to scaramouche, so there’s a shortage of manpower under the balladeer.

lil snippet i made under the cut:

“Okay, we’ve settled your papers and it seems you’re more fit to be under Lord Tartaglia.”

Your face falls at the news. Placing your palms flat against the table, you lean close to the masked Fatuu. “Can’t I choose which Harbinger I can be stationed to?”

You think he raises a brow at your question, but you’re not sure with the way his mask covers his eyes.

“You can send in a request, but unfortunately, it’ll take a couple of months to be fully processed.” The recruit starts shuffling the papers on his desk, preparing to end this conversation. “Now—”

You slam your fist on the metal table, startling the guy behind it. “Damn it! I wanted to be recruited under the Balladeer!”

Silence.

It’s only when you look up that you realize everyone has gone silent. Looking around, you see everyone staring at you like you’ve grown three heads within the span of a second. You shrug off their gazes and turn your attention back to the guy overseeing your recruitment.

“C’mon, dude! Can’t you, like, pull a couple of strings or something?”

“I…I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly. Did you just say you wanted to be under Lord Scaramouche’s division?”

You sigh dreamily at the mention of the faceless man you’ve come to worship with all the stories about him. “Yeah.”

A woman next to you places her hand on your shoulder, a common gesture people make when making sure a person is okay. “A-Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am! Do you know how long I’ve been trying to convince mama to let me join the Fatui?”

A guy on your right leans close. “You really want to be under the Balladeer? Have you heard the stories about him—”

“Shh! You never know who’s listening!” Someone behind you interrupts.

You roll your eyes. “Well, duh. That’s the whole reason why I joined the Fatui.”

Everyone within hearing vicinity gapes.

“Y-You’re crazy,” someone says but you can’t see over the sea of faces looking at you as if you’ve lost your mind. Nothing new.

You grin anyway. “Heh, tell me about it. Papa’s always raving about how someone like me couldn’t have come from him. Can you believe he accused mama of adultery? And he says I’m the one who’s insane. Everyone can see how much mama loves the old man, though Tsaritsa knows what she sees in him…”

No one says anything.

You turn back to the guy behind the desk who’s in charge of handling your placement, mood turning sour at the reminder of your impending recruitment under the eleventh Harbinger instead of the sixth. What comes out of your mouth is borderline whiny, “So I really have to wait for months before I get transferred?”

He blinks at you before seeming to come to a decision. “Actually, I suppose we can make an exception this time. Since Lord Sixth has the lowest number of recruits compared to all the Harbingers, new faces are always w-welcome.”

He visibly turns green at his own words. You, on the other hand, are nearly jumping with joy by the end of his explanation.

You lean close, nose nearly touching the guy’s if he hadn’t leaned back. “For real?!”

He nods, scribbling something in your paper. Then, he hesitates, looking up at you with uncertainty. “I…are you sure you want to be transferred there?”

Nodding vigorously, it takes all you have not to throttle him and demand for him to hurry up. “Yeah, I do!”

Sighing, he signs the paper and hands it to you. You take it giddily, not noticing the somber mood in the room.

“Anatoly is overseeing the placement of the recruits. He’ll group you in with your fellow newbies under Lord Scaramouche’s troops. Don’t forget to give him that paper.”

“Sure thing!”

You’re almost skipping as you make your way out of the room, past the gobsmacked looks of the other recruits. The excited smile on your lips can’t be wiped away even if you tried.

While you’re lost in your thoughts and fantasies, the rest of the people watch you leave the room with a too-bright grin for someone who’s just signed their death sentence. All they can think of is how much you’ll regret your decision.

They don’t know just how wrong they are.

(dunno if i’ll continue this, but i have a few ideas on where i want this to go)

[stackthedeck]

Peter Parker should be a cat if you're still doing the wip thing?

I'm always down to talk about my wips! I promise this one is coming soon. So I was inspired by @waterme-stories fantastic fic frisky business and then I read The Merc with a Beak which is a similar vibe and then found a couple other fics where Peter turns into a cat and I was like fuck I have to get in on this! But like what's the point of having all these cat fics if Felicia Hardy The Black Cat doesn't get in on it!

Basically the idea here is that Felicia and Peter have a fight where Peter says some nasty shit and then later gets cursed to be a cat (for seemingly unrelated reasons, but they are in fact related). Felicia breaks into Peter's apartment to get her stuff back, but finds cat Peter without a food or water bowl and she's horrified that Peter is neglecting this poor kitten so she steals him. Through Peter being accidentally invited into Felicia's home and seeing her at her most unguarded, a causal intimacy that Peter hasn't been given until this moment, his very black and white morality cracks and he slowly falls in love with the less manicured, imperfect, fully human Felicia Hardy. Suddenly she's not just a femme fatale super villain that he has to fix, but a person with a complex worldview that has a lot to offer Peter. And then he, still a cat, curls up on her lap and apologizes mentally because he can't talk, maybe makes peace with just being her cat forever because he just wants to be near her. And then puff no longer a cat and he gets to apologize for real and also explain the whole situation.

anyway here's a snippet

Peter sighs and follows Strange deeper into the Sanctum. Here’s here to fight some spider demons related to the web of the multiverse or something. Honestly, Strange should have just called Julia Carpenter, this is way more her wheelhouse. Strange pushes him through a portal and they fight some eight-legged monsters, but frankly, Peter’s heart isn’t in it. He’s still replaying the details of his fight with Felicia and has been for days now.

Peter caught her stealing from someone’s home, what else was he supposed to do? It’s not the same as museums or stores that have insurance for that type of thing, but even then it’s wrong. She was stealing someone’s personal items, breaking into their private space. How could she put Peter in that kind of position? She can’t use his feelings for her against him, against his ability to do the right thing. Maybe it is time to be…done with the Black Cat.

Strange opens another portal and he and Peter emerge back in the Sanctum Sanctorum covered in demon goo, but ultimately not any worse off than a normal nightly patrol would leave him.

“Well, thanks to you Spider-Man the multiverse is once again put in its rightful balance,” Strange says, “thank you for the assistance.”

“Yeah whatever, call anytime,” Peter mumbles, wiping goo off his mask lens, “hey, don’t suppose you have a shower spell?”

“That would be a gross abuse of my magical powers,” Strange says as a spray of sparkles washes over his body, leaving him miraculously free of demon goo.

Peter sighs deeply, he doesn’t have the energy to fight him on that today. “I’ll just see myself out,” he calls, already turning on his heels and walking back the way he came. Or at least, he thinks it’s the way he came.

“Don’t touch anything!” Strange calls after him, but doesn’t follow to ensure that he doesn’t.

“Don’t touch anything,” Peter mocks in a high-pitched impression of Strange. “I’ll touch all I like, not even paying me or cleaning up the demon guts…”

Peter continues to grumble under his breath as he stalks through the Sanctum, definitely not lost. Eventually, he comes to what he’s pretty sure is the exit and realizes that he hadn’t actually touched anything to spite Strange. He looks around and sees…absolutely nothing of interest. It looks no different than a typical entrance hallway with a doormat, love seat, a creepy mirror with no reflection hanging opposite the door, and...

Wait, that can’t be right. Magic or not, there are laws of physics and the rules of the universe dictate mirrors reflect light. Peter steps closer, peering at the glass that reflects everything except him. He moves around, tilting his head, waving his arms, jumping in and out of frame, but there’s nothing. Staring at it, he decides he needs to touch it.

He raises his hand to swipe his finger over the reflection, but before he can, the glass starts to swirl. Peter can almost see his mask reflected in the distortion or maybe that’s his actual face, but either way, he feels sick just looking at it. There’s a flash of silver light and Peter stumbles back, followed by a crash as everything goes dark.

“What the fuck did I say!” Doctor Strange comes running towards him, his voice shaking him back to consciousness. Shit, did Strange get taller? Like way taller?

There are chunks of mirror scattered around his prone body, still reflecting nothing, just flashes of orange and the hideous carpet. Peter tries to get his own two legs beneath him but finds that as he rises, he has four legs beneath him. Oh god, please not the fucking spider thing again. As he looks down, he’s relieved to see that he has just four furry paws, not eight hands and feet. Oh no, that’s worse actually.

“I said not to touch anything,” Strange says, glaring down at him.

I didn’t touch, just looked, Peter means to say, but what comes out is “meow!”

“I accept your apology,” Strange sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I don’t have anything to apologize for! You’re busted mirror turned me into a fucking cat!

“Mrowww, meooow!”

“Yes, communicating with magical creatures is just one of the powers of sorcerer supreme,” Strange says, “that’s how I know exactly what you’re saying.”

Stop stroking your ego and fucking fix this!

“Mrrrow.”

“That was a valuable artifact—”

Bill me.

“Meow.”

“—it turns the observer into the form they must take to achieve their deepest desires.”

Fixing the rat problem in my apartment?

“Mew?” 

“Yes, most likely a nap in your case.”

Peter stays silent this time, hoping that Strange will get to the “fixing this” part on his own sweet time. For now, he looks at the shattered pieces of the mirror to find an orange tabby cat staring back at him. He stretches out his hind legs and finds them in working order. The tail is strange but not unwelcome. He’s not colorblind, which is good, but he can’t see in ultraviolet like most cats, so less good. Whatever, this will all be a very funny story one day. MJ always did call him tiger, she’ll get a kick out of this.

“I’ll begin the process of reversing this,” Strange says, “but it will take time and frankly I don’t want you destroying the Sanctum when your more cat-like instincts take over.”

What do you mean by cat-like instincts?

“Wrrrrmmaao?”

“Yes, no need to thank me.” Strange starts doing that thing with his hands, orange light glowing from his fingertips. “You’ve said something about having a cat before, right? I’m sure you two will get along great, back at your place. Hell, you might not even need me if you achieve that great desire.”

Wait, Strange, I don’t own a cat, don’t send me home I’m going to starve to death, I don’t have a pet-friendly landlord, and I’m not going to get my deposit back!

[shai-manahan]

The entire Wesley part absolutely KILLED ME. I love Wesley i think I'm going to be heartbroken when the reunion scene happens 😭😭😭😭. Your writing is so emotionally evocative and I'm really really excited for the next update!

Also can i request a fun (or emotionally damaging 😛) fact about Wesley?

Thank you! The reunion scene is one of those I’m equally excited and mortified to write about lmao. Even until now, I’m still working out certain details to make it as good as it can be :’)))). But I’ll still be taking those compliments shamelessly lol I’m just glad it made you feel emotions🥺

Anyway, I did some Wesley fun facts in this link before, so I’m not sure what to add that won’t be too spoilery aside from these two.

1. The last piano piece they heard their sister play, one night before her death, was Symphony No. 6 "Pathétique" by Tchaikovsky (Movement 4). It was one of those they couldn’t play alongside her at that age. Now, whenever they can use a piano, it’s always the first they opt to play.

2. Wesley became who they are now, using a mask in front of the public although they’d very much like to be left alone, all because they wanted to help the MC when the latter decided to become a cop. 👀 I may or may not have prepared a snippet giving details to that for the upcoming patreon launch. But yeah, Idk if that decision looks much, but to Wesley, it really was.

[daxieoclock]

🥺🛒🎶💖🦅🤩🤲 and 🧠 for Haru!!! :D

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK AAA

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

Uhhh okay so I'm such a fucking sucker for when a character's mask involuntarily slips, but I also fucking love when a character intentionally lets down that mask as a gesture of trust. fucking kills me every time. In Red Gaia, you've got when Vee drops her unaffected shtick around Tifa and starts being full and genuine with her. And in DV, you've got when Akechi surrenders their knife to Kasumi, and early on the scene where Ren drops the lies fully for Ann that just fucking kills me every time.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

@lilyhoshikawa hooked me on scar imagery, @mcpuliotjr hooked me on egg imagery, but. masks. masks are all me. i mean it's big inspired by persona 5 obviously but i think the initial piece of media that made me start obsessing with masks was Bleach. if you know you know.

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

Always. always always. I sometimes have to pause it to think through tricky parts but music helps me so so much. g-d bless character playlists, really.

song wise ive been listening to the hosiers and des rocs a lot, but Worried About Ray has been my repeat song for a few weeks. still hits so hard.

💖 What made you start writing?

Can't remember! I was like eight, and I was always obsessed with stories and storytelling and it felt natural to me to make my own stories

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Column A, column B? If it's a big fic I've already outlined at least a chunk of it in my head, and I often have to write down those details to keep from losing them. Even then, I often and up coming up with stuff midway through writing that I'd never considered, or making big changes on the suggestion of my beta readers (hi jane <3). with oneshots, it's full on pants. I get a basic idea and just sit down and flow thoughts and see what happens.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

G-d. how can I even pick. Uhhh. Ann Takamaki probably. G-d I love her and I love writing her. She's so angry and loves so fully and like ALWAYS has a strong opinion about everything and I love that about her. I also adore her friendship with Ren SO much aaa they're so good for each other.

Haru...I love her so so much but she's got like five million masks that it's sometimes hard to hit on what she's actually feeling at any time. I'm confident about how she'll react, I'm just not always sure what she's feeling.

Akechi's also really fun to write but I'm not nearly as good as Jane and Jae at writing them djfgbjb.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

I'll share a few actually. All from the same oneshot, which is fully first-drafted but i have no idea how to properly contextualize it without getting into my five million unposted headcanons about a Final Fantasy mobile game.

***

***

***

***

Anyway it's fun to jam characters from different Final Fantasy games together cause sometimes I'm just like "yeah Y'shtola (XIV) would sleep with Kurasame (Type-0) to get over her angst towards Lightning (XIII) who is currently ghosting both her and her other lover, Prishe (XI)." Messy polycules of traumatized sapphics dating traumatized sapphics from other worlds. As you do.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Oh hey I can bust out a relatively new one for this. My friends know it, but I haven't posted it here yet.

[thunderpetal]

7, 18 and 31 for the writer asks :D

7 - Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Prose isn't my strong suit, but here's a bit from As Time Passes, my obligatory Sunset fic. This fic took TWO MONTHS to write, but I'm really pleased with how it came out. I like this section cause it's kind of what the whole fic builds up to - Wind's realisation of just how scared Time truly is of losing Twilight, and yet how resigned he is to the inevitability of it, even though Twi is still alive and kicking. Anyway this fic is still my pride and joy and I love it sm.

There’s something between Time and Twilight, something everyone is aware of without being privy to any of the exact details. The powerful magic Time displayed while protecting Twilight earlier speaks volumes of it, though. A part of Wind thought that when they returned to town, they’d find Time in a blind fight of rage, cursing the earth and ready to fistfight the goddesses themselves. He wasn’t expecting the man in front of him, hunched over in his chair and unable to find the right words for their current situation.

Wind was sure Time would get angry at any suggestion Twilight might die, hence why he started to regret bringing up his parents. But when he looks at Time’s face - really, properly looks beyond the remnants of the mask - what he sees is far worse.

Resignation. 

He thinks once more of the letter Time was trying to write to Malon, and he feels a little bit sick.

“We will know if anything changes,” Time says, but the words are somewhat hollow, like he’s trying to convince himself. “Sky will come and tell us.”

Hope is what Wind holds onto. Even after he lost his parents, even after seeing how deeply that blade cut Twilight, if he does not hope, what reason is there to live for the future? It’s one of the lessons he took from his first adventure: even when everything seems lost, there is always the chance to start anew.

Wind searches for the same hope on Time’s face, and he does not find it. 

18 - Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

I use outlines for any multichapter I write, and occasionally oneshots if they get really complicated. I also like planning out in real notebooks with pencil - I can get super scribbly with brainstorming and notes in a way that I just can't when I'm typing into a doc. Also it gets rid of my 'not using notebooks' guilt.

31 - Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

Hoo boy.

I wish I could be one of those people who go 'screw canon I do what I want' but I never will be. I have a perfectionist gene somewhere deep inside me but it only manifests with me being incredibly nitpicky about my fics being 100% accurate to canon.

It's kind of a pain in the ass with LU because that's 36 years of multimedia content I have to sift through to get the details of the boys' games and personalities down - and I haven't even played every Zelda game, so I'm trying to avoid too many spoilers while also doing research about the games to stay true to canon, and, yeah. It's a tricky balancing act.

TOH is a bit easier since I can just watch an episode if I'm unsure about something.

But yeah in conclusion I am physically incapable of not being canon compliant. This leads to unnecessary time spent researching even just the tiniest details, but I think it's worth it. Maybe. Who knows

[fineanimesideblog]

thicker than forgotten 👀❤👀❤👀❤ i gotta know

Both you and @tenderlysizzlingfart asked about this one, which is hilarious bc its...probably THE most convoluted and hard to explain but I'll do my best 😂

Basically this arose between me and my sister during a series of speculations after I finished the adoption fic (Taking Care) where we went on to flesh out the OC and her clan/family, and play with how the story would go from there and where things would end up if Narto (and Sask) had a whole adopted family during the events of the show. This is where it gets weird. At the time, we were also obssessed with this book called "The Incredible Lives of Greta Wells" (which everyone should read- its literally lifechanging) which is about a woman who keeps waking up as parallel versions of herself in different timelines and trying to reconcile them, and we took those ideas and were like 👀👀

So yeah, basically this is "regular naruto wakes up in our au adopted naruto world where everything is perfect for...angst reasons? I guess?" Here's a bit of a snippet below. Eri and Wada are the OC's created for the story- like I said this is heavily au-

“Not true,” Said Sasuke, “Naruto knows all about how worms taste, don’t you?” 

He turned and looked sharply at Naruto, and Naruto felt like he’d been sucker punched. His teammate had an actual smile playing around his lips, as he looked slyly over to him across the table. Naruto had never seen Sasuke so relaxed and happy; for one strange fleeting second, he felt like he really was his brother, being playfully ribbed with an inside joke at dinner. The next second, Sasuke realized his slipup, and his face re-masked itself. 

“Oh, you wouldn’t know about that.” He said, clearly embarrassed. “Nevermind.” 

Tell me about it then Naruto felt like begging him. All of a sudden he could no longer stomach it; the warm inviting banter at the table and the hot food and the feeling of being surrounded by people seemed cruel. He pushed his bowl away suddenly. 

“I think I’m gonna go to bed.” He said, throat suddenly raw, “OK?” 

“Alright…” Eri blinked at him from her seat, “Do you want me to show you where your room is?” 

“No, I can find it.” 

It wasn’t hard to find. At the top of the landing a note scribbled on a piece of paper and stuck in the attic door with a kunai read, “Wada’s room, keep out!” in bold lettering. Down the hall, all of the other doors were open; he had only to get a glimpse of the Gai poster, smiling brilliantly at him from the wall to tell which one was Lee’s. That left the door in front of him. The room was a high-ceilinged space with bay windows. On one side, the dark blue bedspread was perfectly made and clothes for the next day laid out. On the other, the garish orange bedspread was haphazardly tossed over the mattress, familiar looking clothes and socks strewn around it. 

I share a room with Sasuke. He realized, and tried not to dwell on the thought, kicking off his clothes and searching through the pile of unfamiliar items before pulling on a T-shirt and sweatpants that already smelled disconcertingly like him. 

The sounds of them talking and laughing downstairs drifted up to him, Sasuke’s voice among them, and he bit his lip and tried to snuggle down into the blanket. 

It wasn’t fair. If this was a genjutsu, it was a particularly cruel one. But it couldn’t be; the detail went too deep; Naruto only had to look around the space he was in to see touches that couldn’t have been constructed by his own mind. Sentimental items he didn’t recognize, trash shoved into the frame of his bed; there was even a diary, hidden not-exactly-well within his pillowcase. He pulled it out and began reading the latest entry,

Tuesday, July 10’th. 

Kinda spent all day goofing off again at training, but captain Yamato takes forever to get to the point so it’s not really my fault. Sakura is totally eager to spar all the time now and I don't plan on getting my face caved in, so i’m pretending to learn a new move to avoid her. Tomorrow Wada and Shino and I are going out to Ichariku’s with our mission money. Might ask Sai to come just so i don’t feel like a third wheel (gross). Ok, Sasuke is literally snoring right now even though he says he doesn’t snore. As I'm writing this I can hear him. Note to self; borrow a video camera for evidence. 

There was more to it, but Naruto closed the book and quickly shoved it back under the pillow. He didn’t want to read anymore. He didn’t want to be here any more. It was too cruel, and unfair; and a cruel and unfair thought was beginning to form in his mind. Maybe, he thought under the covers listening to the warm family banter below, maybe he just wouldn’t get back home. Maybe that other Naruto could take his life- the empty, trashed apartment, the fractured team, the lost Sasuke- and he could have this, if only for a while. He’d had it pretty good for a while, hadn’t he? That other Naruto? It was only fair. Maybe that other him would even  know what to do with his life. 

He lay there considering it in the darkness for awhile until he heard someone come up the stairs. In the hallway outside the door he could hear people talking in hushed voices; Eri and Sasuke, it sounded like, before the door was pushed open and Sasuke slipped inside. He didn’t bother being particularly quiet as he pulled on his pajamas and slid into his own bed. 

“Night.” He called quietly after a few minutes, and Naruto jumped, having forgotten that he could, of course, use sharingan to tell if he was awake. 

“Night.” he called back, guiltily, but he stayed awake anyway, as long as he could, listening to the sounds of the house as it settled. Trying to create a perfect snapshot of it, in case he closed his eyes and woke up in his old life again.