#i love this series so i would actually eb excited for this

[the-kr8tor]

I'm sorry about the last one I just got way too excited to express my admiration for your works, I forgot to check!! But I've checked now and I saw The "Imagine if Hobie was prowler" that actually sounds really cool!! I was thinking if you could write something about that, maybe Reader is someone who he cares a lot for but it turns out they're also fighting against each other, (I haven't actually tackled the whole Universe of spiderman so I was genuinely just thinking of Reader as someone with powers TvT) but yeah I got a bit curious about that, I'm not sure if you wrote about that yet since I haven't went in all the master list and hopefully I don't finish it yet cause I'd be left with the deep emptiness (I love all the series so finishing it while it's ongoing would devastate medhdhx) but if you did you can discard my message or if this is too much, that's alright!!

Oh and I'm really happy I didn't make you Uncomfortable it's my first time writing something to a writer and I got anxious TvT I hope you have a great day!!

No worries! You're good! I put my own spin on it, I hope you like it! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Prowler! Hobie Brown x gn! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw blood, cw violence, cw injury, tw death, Prowler! Hobie, Venom! Reader, ANGST.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The air runs cold, and your breath staggers in your throat. The fighting around you hasn't stopped, nor all the screaming, and bleeding flesh. But everything seems to cease when you see him. The noises deafen, debris and blood stilling in the air— Hobie in all his glory, covered in metal and crimson iron. Hobie, whose face is obscured by steel plates over his familiar face, purple smoke ebbing out of his suit. And yet, despite his rough and intimidating exterior, despite his sharp claws and sharper gaze, your heart still longs for him. He still feels like home.

Home, you haven't thought of it in years, the trees that dance in the wind, soft lavender wandering through the air. And your little house in the middle of the fields you once shared with him. A house that now ceased to exist, burned to ashes, nothing left but dark soot and blackened smoke that seemed endless. Ever burning, flames still snaking along the lavender fields, forever burying your memories with him under the red hungry flames. Those memories still live with you, deep down. You hope it still lives with him. If not, you'd rip it from your heart and hand it to him in your waiting ruby drenched palms.

“H-Hobie?” You ask in a broken tone, even though your soul knows him from where you stand. In between gore soaked bodies, bodies you've ripped and chewed yourself— he stands there motionless. You wonder if he still bears the warmth you used to hold in your arms.

The metal bridge creaks and squeaks, hinges about to give up from the stress of the fighting in its steel embrace. Tethering close to devouring every soul standing on its last life. You've felt the earth collapse years ago. If the ground fell from under you, would you notice?

Hobie doesn't answer, you see his chest rise and fall, gauntlets leaking blood. You don't know if it's his or someone else's, you just know it's not yours. Not yet. Would he hurt you?

You stand there, all worn out, arms bleeding and throbbing, legs trembling from the sheer pain. And yet, your eyes never leave his own mechanical mask, as if you can see the worry behind the steel curtains.

He stands there, heart ripped out, still beating atop the bodies laid out in front of him. He stands there, but he should walk towards you, run towards you and hold you. Hold you like he once had in that lavender field he once called home, hold you as if he didn't lose you all those years ago.

To live in his delusion, to never leave from the haze of the past. He longs for it, to stay where he once held you.

But the blackened tendrils coming out of your wounds is the one that he's fighting against. It curls around you, wrapping you in its mass. White eyes in place of your own that he sees in his dreams, sharp claws and lolling tongue— he doesn't see you anymore. Can't see you underneath the obsidian flesh of his enemy. He wonders if it's still you under it.

With a gutteral screech from the large mouth of the alien mass inhabiting your body, he takes his guitar from his back to pluck its strings. The noise could kill you, or it could liberate you. So he decides, and he plays.

The sound reverberates around the bridge, the creaking pauses for a moment, replaced by the ear piercing shrieks from the venoms. Hobie sees you crumble to your knees, tentacles of black slime ripped apart at the seams.

Your face is revealed under the mass, contorted into pain, the light in your eyes slowly fading as the creature feeds on your very being. Your nails dig into the slimy flesh, desperately trying to rip it out from your body. Eyes meeting with Hobie's, you nod for him to continue despite the blood spilling from your ears.

With bated breath, he strums again. More shrieking, more screaming, flesh torn apart, teeth chattering above the sound. His eyes never leave from your suffering as tears prick from his eyes. Grief snakes along his stomach up to his chest, pressing hard on his heart.

“Again!” You yell, ripping and gnawing at the agony filled venom. He follows, another strum, and another, one by one, venoms leave their hosts, and one by one, the bridge's wires collapse. But your own demon doesn't yield, it clings to you like a babe, holding onto you like a lifeline.

“C’mon!” Hobie stalks closer, plucking his strings over and over again despite your screams that would haunt his dreams. The venom wraps around you in its cold embrace, your own screams stifled with its arm over your mouth, choking you. “No!”

The bridge crumbles, someone tries to yank him away and take him to safety. But he shrugs them off, even if it means his own death.

“Hobie!” You manage to yell, “run!” It has you in a chokehold, dark veins ebbing from its touch towards your skin. It's killing you with it. Swallowing you in darkness, drowning you.

He abandons his guitar to dig you out of the mass. He rips out a chunk but it's immediately replaced and healed. Your muffled breaths can still be heard from under, he doesn't leave you. He won't leave you to die in the arms of the thing that took you from him.

Claws cutting and tearing, he heaves, breath stuck in his lungs. Yanking his helmet off, you see his face from the last pinprick of light. You wish there was a smile on his face instead of the desperation and fear. Still, you wished for home and you got it.

He pleads, and he calls for you, and his face is the last thing you saw before you fell into the suffocating depths.

The bridge collapses from under his feet, and he falls with you, holding onto you, plunging into the icy tides below. In the water, venom dissolves into nothingness, and he could finally hold you again as he joins you on the other side.

[bookcub]

Books I Read for My SFF Class Rated from Worst to Best

clearly this is the most objective list ever obviously (jk this is based on how much I got from reading the text to how useful it was in context)

also while this syllabus included movies and tv shows, I am focusing on the books cause this is a book blog

19. Islands at the End of the World by Austin Aslan- The worst of the worst. Contains racist ideology and a magic system that makes no sense. This is a book clearly written by a white outsider about Hawai'i. I am also far too old for dystopias. One upside is that there were no random romances and it was about familial love.

18. Survive the Dome by Kosoko Jackson- Despite agreeing with the ideology of this book, this was truly a horrible reading experience. Poorly written, annoying and bland characters, and very inconsistent.

17. Blazewrath Games by - You wouldn't guess that a book that's essentially The World Cup with Dragons could be boring, but you'd be wrong. Nothing significant in this text rip.

16. Peter Pan by J M Barrie- Unfortunately, this book makes sense being included in this context of children's SFF so I can’t say it shouldn't be included, but this book was agonizing to read. Beautiful writing. And yet, some of the most racist and sexist content I have ever read in my life!

15. Charlotte's Web by EB White- Pretty painless to read and interesting to discuss in the context of sff literature cause uh, not generally a book I would categorize as such. I didn’t think our discussions were particularly notable and I would have preferred another text.

14. The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline- *sighs* There are some incredibly important concepts in this text but woof. Again, I am too old for dystopias but unexpectedly I had a real problem with the way women were written in this.

13. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L Frank Baum- Again, this is helpful in context of a children's fantasy class and it was fun to read in context as a Wicked fan. If I didn't know it from related media, this would be super forgettable.

12. Bunnicula by Deborah Howe and James Howe- Fun, and a fantastic audio but there wasn't much to talk about here in our class but there's potential. Very funny.

11. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by JK Rowling- I am dreading the class on this but I am very excited for the critical readings and it was exciting to re examine the text as an adult with the knowledge I have now. I do think that we could have done a magic school section with books responding to HP instead. Again, interesting in the context of the genre.

10. The Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen- One of my classmates had a lot of issues with the portrayal of Judaism in this text, so ideally this would be replaced with a text written by an author who did more research.

9. Feed by MT Anderson- I did NOT like this but incredibly relevant and scary to think this was written about 20 years ago. Good for the syllabus, not good for me!

8. The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien- I didn't mind listening to this and it was another sensible inclusion. Occasionally boring but I'm supportive.

7. Haroun and the Sea of Stories by - I liked the perspective this book provided and it was a pretty fun read. I think this would work best as a readaloud text. It was also beneficial to read a book written by an author who wasn't American or British for comparison to the other texts.

6. A Wrinkle in Time by - Another classic that makes a lot of sense in its inclusion in the syllabus. Sparked really good conversations about the definition of genre. I enjoyed resisting this text as well, incredibly nostalgic for me.

5. Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Cordova- A lot of fun! I love portal fantasies and this had a classic adventure but didn't feel trite at all. I actually enjoyed the love triangle and will consider reading the books later in the series.

4. American Born Chinese by Gene Luan Yang- This was a difficult book to read but it was incredibly rewarding. I had to sit with it a lot to process and I think the author asks really interesting questions. I would recommend this to most people.

3. Family Lore by Elizabeth Acevedo- Shockingly, the adult novel ranks 3 on my list. .. hmmm . . this was largely both because I loved it and hated many of the other books. Absolutely stunning as a novel, engaging, and downright magical. I love books centering family and slowly finding how much I enjoy multigenerational novels. However, it is interesting considering this class is about children's lit. . . I would highly recommend this to readers who want a story that isn't afraid to challenge normal.

2. Kindred (graphic novel) by Octavia Butler- I love Kindred and if this was the novel and not the graphic, it would be #1. An amazing book that does not stray from intense topics and makes history very accessible. The only time travel book I love. I adored presenting on this book and still believe Kindred is one of the best books I have read. Such a good inclusion on this syllabus.

1. Nimona by ND Stevenson- NIMONA MY BELOVED what is there to say. This is perfect for this class. It is certainly marketed to young adults, and uses elements of scifi and fantasy masterfully. Challenges conventions of the genre, asks the age old question of who is a monster and who is human. . .beautiful found family. . .funny as hell. Perfect.

[againstacecilia]

A Path Changed

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating: M, series is E so minors DNI

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, angst, this one gets emotional, gun use.

A/N: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for getting to 300 followers! I know I've said this before, but I'm so thankful and grateful for all of you being here. I'm so excited to share this chapter with you! All I'll say is: enjoy the ride. 😉 @creatively-analytical is forever and always the best beta reader, thank you love. 💖 Asks are always open!!

You woke up as the shuddering of the ship knocked you from your seated position. Cursing the crick in your neck and sore back, you stood up and stretched. Suddenly, you realized you were taking off and you shot up the ladder to the cockpit. 

You clumsily scaled the ladder, sleep still ebbing from your veins, and found the door already open. “Where are we going?” you say as soon as you straighten up on the landing, “I thought we were staying here?”

“I got a tip from Tonis early this morning, the bounty your fiance is tracking was seen on Batuu last night. The planet isn’t too far from here.”

“And you were going to tell me this, when?” You snapped, strapping into your chair behind him. 

“Now,” he said, flipping a couple of switches.

“Anything else I should know?”

He answered with silence. A common occurrence, you’d found. You were left to simmer in your anger at being left out of the loop as the ship sped away from Jakku, leaving the oceans of sand behind you. 

After a night of poor sleep, the hum of the engines quickly lulled you into a doze and you let yourself drift. Vague dreams of Arlon floated through your mind, filling you with joy and sadness all at once. Even in your dreams, you missed him. 

Before you knew it, a light touch on your shoulder was waking you. 

“Hey,” Mando’s voice was soft, “We’re here.”

You dragged your eyes open, blinking the sleep away as soft light filtered in through the windows and reflected off Mando’s armor. “I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep, sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he responded, straightening up and heading toward the ladder. 

You unbuckled and stood to follow. Climbing down, you noticed Mando strapping various weapons to his belt from a closet against the wall. Guns you’d never seen before slipped into holsters, while knives of all sizes were slipped into pockets and hiding places all over his body. 

“Wow. That’s a lot of weaponry…” You commented, uneasy about what his personal arsenal would mean for the day’s events. 

“You can never be too careful,” he said, strapping a rifle across his back.

“Why do you have so many?” You asked, crossing the small room to look in the cabinet, “How do you know what they all do?”

Mando reached into the cabinet over your shoulder before he answered, “Weapons are part of my religion. I’ve trained with them for most of my life.” He picked up a blaster and handed it to you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, staring at the weapon.

“You need something to protect yourself. This should work.”

“But,” you stuttered, still not taking the blaster from him, “I’ve never used one of these.” 

“I’ll give you a quick lesson before we head to the quarry’s last location. It won’t take long.”

You closed his fingers over the weapon and pushed his hand back towards him, shaking your head. “I’m more likely to hurt myself or someone innocent than actually use it to protect myself.”

His other hand reached up and gently nudged your chin up to look at him. “You’ll be fine.”

Something in his promise made you believe him, so you sucked in a breath and took the small blaster from him. Bright silver metal with beautiful filigree along the barrel shined in your hand. You went to put it in your waistband when Mando interrupted.

“Ah ah ah, let’s not do that,” he chuckled, handing you a leather strap with a holster. “This goes around your thigh and the blaster fits inside.”

He showed you how to clasp the holder around your hip and thigh, keeping a respectful distance and guiding you verbally. Once he was sure it was on correctly, you slipped the blaster into its place and you both headed down the ramp into the forests of Batuu. 

- - - - - - - -

“Alright, time for the basics,” Mando said once he had set up some empty ration containers to use as targets. You had found a clearing not far from the ship and Mando announced this was where you’d get your lesson. Mando ran through the parts of the gun; the grips and barrel, the sight and trigger. “Most importantly, always treat a blaster as if the safety is off. It’s better to assume the weapon is live than to make a mistake that could be costly.”

“Okay, I can do that. Um… Where’s the safety?”

A small sigh slipped through the modulator as Mando closed the distance between the two of you. He pointed at a small switch above the trigger.

“And the safety is on right now? Or, no, I’m supposed to assume it’s off…”

“Right now, it’s on. Let’s switch it off and see how your aim is, we don’t have much time,” Mando stepped away and gestured to the targets set up across the clearing. 

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you flipped the safety and memorized the difference in the “off” and “on” positions. You lifted the blaster and closed one eye, aiming down the small sight on the top. 

“Stop,” Mando said before coming up to your side once again. He gestured to your hands, “May I?”

You nod and he repositioned your fingers along the grip, as well as shifted your arms and shoulders. “Relax, you’re too tense.”

You snorted, “Sure, I’ll just relax. As if anything about this situation is anything other than tense.”

“You can do it,” Mando said, stepping back. “Now, try and hit the targets.”

You spent the next 20 minutes firing at small tin boxes, hitting some, missing more, and generally learning the basics of the weapon. 

“That’s a good start,” Mando said after a time, “you should be able to at least hold someone off until I can get to you.”

You looked at him with an eyebrow cocked, “Is this a scenario you’re anticipating?”

“You can never be too careful,” he said again, echoing his statement from earlier. 

“Super reassuring,” you mumbled, flipping the safety on and holstering your blaster. “Come on, let’s get moving.” 

It took 20 minutes before the small outpost came into view through the trees. The path widened into a road leading straight into the makeshift town, small wooden buildings patched together lined the road. 

“This outpost was the most recent place the quarry was seen. We need to ask around.”

“Lead the way, Bounty Hunter,” you responded, scanning the buildings for people. “Although, it is really quiet… Do you think…”

Before you could finish the question, a shot rang through the air. Before you could react, Mando had thrown his body over yours. The impact of his body throwing you to the ground made your teeth rattle, but you didn’t have any time to worry about aches and pains as another blaster shot ricocheted off his beskar. 

“Back off, Mandalorian, the quarry is mine!” A voice echoed down the street from the direction of the gunshots. A familiar voice…

“Arlon,” you whispered as the ringing in your ears faded. “Mando, get off, that’s my fiance! Arlon!”

“You need to stay down…” Mando started, but you wiggled out from under him and stood up, already running toward the voice.

“Arlon, it’s me!” You shouted, legs and arms pumping and driving you closer to him. His eyes widened as recognition flitted across his face. He said your name in quiet surprise as you reached him, throwing your arms around his neck and holding him close. 

“I’m so happy you're alive, I’ve been so worried,” you buried your face in his neck and fought back the tears of joy threatening to fall. 

“What are you doing here?” Arlon asked, gently pulling you away from him. He looked hard into your eyes and scanned your face as if not totally believing you were standing in front of him.

“You didn’t come back and I was so worried,” your words started falling from your lips in a rush. “I asked Tonis what happened and he told me you had gone after some big bounty and then asked the Mandalorian to help me find you and we did it! We found you! And now you can work with Mando to get this quarry and come home!” Your breathing was heavy after you finished talking. You studied Arlon’s face for the happiness you were sure he’d feel but, instead, you saw… Anger. 

“Arlon… Say something,” you breathed. A pit formed in your stomach.

Arlon looked away from you, fist clenched at his side.“You weren’t supposed to follow me,” he said after a beat. He looked back at you, anger fully burning in his eyes now. “You were supposed to stay home and assume I died. I was banking on you being too scared to come after me; too weak to follow into the scary galaxy outside your little hole.”

Tears finally began to fall, but these weren’t tears of joy. Pain, searing and brutal, rushed through you as the meaning of his words began to set in. “Arlon… You don’t mean any of this…”

“I do mean it! Every word! You always kept me from being what I was capable of being, and the worst part is, I almost fell for it! And my parents, always so happy I had found such a good girl, always so ecstatic that I was going to be settling down and finally following the right path. Pathetic.” Then he pushed you, hands coming up to shove your shoulders quicker than you could react. 

You felt your body fall, but felt your heart fall faster. You could feel it shatter as it landed at the bottom of a pit deeper than you could fathom. Your world fractured around you as your body moved in slow motion toward the ground. 

Strong hands slipped under your arms and caught you before impact. Through the tears that flooded your eyes, you caught the swimming image of Beskar and a dark visor looking over you toward Arlon. Mando eased you to the ground, pulling you into a seated position against his chest. 

“Do we have a problem here?” Arlon asked, the sneer in his voice scraped through your ears. Mando ignored the question and looked down at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice as gentle as the hands holding you. 

You shook your head, words failing you. You tried, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

Mando squeezed your shoulders before helping you into a standing position. He shifted to stand in front of you and finally addressed Arlon. 

“Apologize.”

“Excuse me?” Arlon responded.

“Apologize to her.”

Arlon scoffed, “I have nothing to apologize for. She ruined my life for too long, and I needed to find my own path so I took my chance.”

In the blink of an eye, Mando had gone from standing in front of you to holding Arlon above his head by his collar. In the next blink, Arlon was on the ground.

“Arlon,” you started, reaching toward him.

“Don’t touch me!” Arlon shouted, scrambling to his feet. “If you didn’t get the hint the first time I’ll spell it out for you now: leave me alone and forget about me. I have no room in my life for boring, unimaginative, dreamless people with no ambition.” Without so much as looking at you or Mando again, he turned and ran down the road, disappearing down a side street. 

You watched him go, the echoes of your heart shattering still reverberating in your ears. The world lurched uncomfortably before tilting, and darkness swallowed you up.

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[mdhwrites]

Concept Pitch: A Witch and her Human Apprentice

So I'm going to be blunt that I have not given a lot of thought to this story concept but like... I recently got shown an article where Dana claimed that TOH was motivated by a not small amount of spite because a writing partner heard her pitch a show about a teenage girl learning to be a witch by an old mentor and it was called boring. With what we got... Where did that spite go because Luz actually being mentored isn't a part of it at all.

And, well, as a Ranger's Apprentice fan, both sides of this annoy me because my favorite book series literally is about a young boy getting taught a mysterious and dangerous craft by an old mentor (at least for four books). I know how compelling that can be. How you can absolutely have a story like this, overarching plot, serialization and it can be FUCKING AMAZING.

So.

A teenage girl helps her mom with the small bookshop her family owns. She loves all of the tales within its walls but above all else she loves the roleplaying and fantasy books the most. Their worlds and magic make her mind spin and buzz and she's tried making a few stories of her own. They're usually a pretty big mess so she doesn't show anyone them. Not when it's as impressive as proper novels or as practical as her mother's business skills. In fact, her love for fantasy has left her feeling like she lacks any skills in general.

One day while manning the front, she notices an older woman going through the books. She looks mysterious, new but most importantly: How did she get in here? There's only one front entrance and they keep every other method locked except for when deliveries come in and those are on Thursday. It's Tuesday. She confronts the crone and the women, realizing she's been had, runs for it. Right into a closet.

The girl catches it right before it closes and when she opens it, sees not the closet that she was expecting but instead what looks like dungeon room of some sort. She lets out both a panicked shriek and an excited shriek at the same time and accidentally lets the door close in her panic. When she opens it again, the room is gone and the closet is back.

She wonders about it, wonders if she dreamed it and even makes a small module with one of the roleplaying books at the shop about what might have happened, casting herself as a level wizard for it. She gets killed quickly by the first thing she comes across because level 1 D&D sucks and is absolutely terrifying.

But then, the crone is back. The girl gasps but no noise comes out. A muted giggle comes from the woman before the silence spell ebs and the air around them warps. "You know, I've been coming for a few months now for cookbooks but hadn't thought that Felicia would make you work mid-shift during Summer Break. That's on me."

An amicable and candid conversation later and a deal is struck: The girl won't tell her mom about the witch so she can keep trying out human recipes and in return, the witch will let the girl come learn magic from her and explore the world just on the other side of the closet.

And from there the lessons start. At least one chapter spent on the nightmare that is potions because it's both a science like cooking and also art like baking and if you mix either element wrong, you end up covered in gunk, best case scenario.

The dungeon room? Used for dangerous magic, like the portal. Magic that might need to be contained. It has lots of artifacts in it from the crone's years of exploration but it'd be best not to touch them. She doesn't even know the effect of most. Now, wanna summon a demon?

And with every stride the young girl makes, another chapter has to cover how to use it it carefully. Learn how to inscribe an artifact with magical power? Okay, here are the things you need to keep in mind, with the mentor and her going on adventures to showcase the world and how others have fucked up, like the artifact fortress that roams the lands because someone thought enchanting an entire castle and giving it legs was a GOOD idea. Or how now she knows how to make some potions but how she shouldn't try random ingredients because many of these parts come from magical creatures and that means that they can be pretty limited in supply so don't waste them and that you might actually manage to all too well bring back what it came from but now twisted as an amalgamation.

And all the while, when she's bored at work or in her room, she keeps working on her stories and her modules. She won't give the players a flying carpet, she isn't ready to handle what they might do with it, but a ring that acts as a Sonic bounce pad but only by sending whatever jumps on it a hundred feet straight up? There's things you can do with that but it's not quite as simple and presents a problem. This ancient fire demon she made pure evil? Now it's the last of its kind and the players can bargain with it or even sympathize and work with it if they want.

The magic expands how she sees the world and makes her better at using her imagination, culminating in her activating one of the artifacts and getting trapped in a puzzle box that's almost akin to a Saw trap. One wrong move, one misconsideration and it's over. Her, her mentor, and the house she's spent learning in, will all be lost if she can't be a smart player within this module.

And that's when the final twist comes: "Honey, you're fourteen years old. I know you're worried about your skills but you have a brilliant mind and a kind heart. Even if you don't think you have useful skills, you're adding to the world by just making it brighter with your joy and your passion. You don't need some grand plan. You can just be fun and happy and that's more than enough to make a life good."

The girl smiles at the old woman who has been playing D&D with her all Summer before they close up the books, return things and the old woman heads for that same closet that held the other world. But this time, the reader doesn't get to see what's behind it because whether it was real or not, learning that sort of perspective is all that really mattered.

======+++++======

I do want to just reinforce that while this was effectively prompted by annoyance, this isn't meant to be spiteful at what TOH could have been. It was just fueled by the question of what I would do with the concept.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past.

I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead.

If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[skywardkey]

look all i'm saying is if we ever get a kh kart racing game and it's NOT called Kingdom Karts wHAT EVEN IS THE POINT OF ANYTHING ANYMORE

also it'd be plot relevant because OF COURSE

[angelasscribbles]

Bad Romance Epilogue 1: Rashad

Series: Bad Romance

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: Riley x Liam, Liam x Max, Riley x Max, Riley x Drake, Riley x Rashad

Paring this chapter: Riley x Rashad

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: 1,276

A/N: Huge thanks to @21-wishes for pre reading this for me like a month ago! It was written but the rest of the story wasn't so I couldn't post it but was dying to share it with someone. I'm absolutely certain that her reading and discussing it with me kept me from spontaneously combusting!

My other stuff: Master List.

“If I was ever in love with anyone, it was Riley. Is, I guess.” He took a long pull of his imported beer, a contemplative expression on his face.          

“Riley? Who is Riley? I don’t remember anyone by that- Oh. My. god! Are you talking about the fucking queen?” He knew she was his client and long-time friend. A close friend. He’d been described by the press as one of her most intimate confidants.

Rashad blushed, he actually blushed! Faizan gaped at his older brother in utter shock. His poised and self-assured brother, the one that had been named most eligible bachelor by the Cordonian Star eight times, the one that had been photographed with supermodels and starlets on his arm, the one who had vowed never to marry, and had held to that, much to their parent’s dismay, was fucking blushing. Over a woman. Over the very married queen of Cordonian no less. Who he referred to by her first name. It’s like everything he knew about his brother was a lie.

“What? How? What?” He spluttered. “Are you having an affair with the queen?”

Rashad shrugged as he eyed his brother over the top of his drink. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What would you call it then?”

He tapped his finger against the edge of the bottle as he thought, his eyes flicked sidewise to his brother, “First of all, you understand that anything I tell you can never be repeated to anyone, ever, right?”

“I…yeah, I get that.”

“I would characterize it as a deep friendship, but it’s more than that. There’s no denying that she’s beautiful. Anyone can see that. But she’s also funny and smart and passionate. She can be so manipulative but it’s exciting to me how her mind works! I mean, she’s strategic and brilliant and she would have made a hell of a lawyer in another life.”

“Oh damn. Yeah, you’ve got it bad!” Faizan laughed, “Nice to know you’re not impervious to the female sex after all. Turns out, you’re mortal, just like the rest of us. Please, enlighten me as to how she’s so different from the hundreds of other women that have literally thrown themselves in your path over the years.”

“She makes no demands on me.”

“Uh��she’s your client, I’m sure she makes demands…”

“I meant of a personal nature.” Other women wanted his time, his attention and not just when he had it to give, they were jealous of his job and with good reason. He was a workaholic who had no desire for a better work life balance. His work was his life. It was easier to have a string of casual affairs, moving on to the next one before she started to demand sacrifices and compromises.

While it was true that he frequently dropped everything to do Riley’s bidding, that counted as work. And it was exciting, challenging work that came with the most delicious fringe benefits. When she called, he went.

She had drifted effortlessly in and out of his life over the years when circumstances dictated. Their encounters always characterized by playfulness, passion and an intensity he’d never managed to replicate with anyone else. A real friendship build on mutual trust and admiration had grown over the years and they always parted amicably, each returning to their own lives, and relationships, until the next time the winds of fate, be it her need for his legal expertise or the demands of the social circles they both ran in, tossed them together again.

Their love affair had never ended, it just came and went, ebbed and flowed with the currents of their lives. They could go for months, even years, without contact, but when they found themselves together again, the carefully banked embers flared into a raging inferno once more.

Faizan snorted, “I guess not, she already has a husband.”

“Yes.” Rashad was unfazed by the comment, “And they have a Cordonian Arrangement.”

“Are you sure?”

“Who do you think drew it up for her?”

Faizan covered his mouth as he fell back in his chair laughing, “Damn! That’s cold!”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Rashad’s lips, “I was only following my client’s orders.”

That statement sent Faizan into a new fit of laughter, “Yeah, I’ll just bet you’re good at following her orders!”

Rashad’s smile grew bigger even as he tried to give his brother a disapproving look, “Don’t be crass.”

“Wait. Aren’t you like one of the named godparents of their children?”

“Yes. Because she trusts me.”

“Yeah, but-“

“You have no idea how difficult trust is for her. The list of people she depends on is quite short. I’m honored to be on it.”

“You know there are low key rumors that she’s carried on a long-term affair with the head of her security team, right?”

“So? It’s not like I’m celibate in between our encounters. Nor do we have anything approaching a conventional, or exclusive, relationship. Plus, as you’ve pointed out, she’s married. I’ve never expected nor required fidelity from her. Nor she from me.”

“That doesn’t bother you? The married part?”

Rashad shook his head, “No. It actually helps, to be honest. You know I never wanted to get married, I can’t give a relationship the time and attention it deserves. She gets all that from her husband. Or maybe from one of her other lovers. Either way, she doesn’t demand it from me.”

“How the hell have you kept this from me all these years?” This was the last thing he’d expected when he’d asked his philandering brother if he’d ever been in love. A love affair, a bona fide, passionate, secret, affair of the heart that had spanned decades. It was fucking romantic as hell is what it was and this from the man who eschewed romance in all its forms.

“I’m a lawyer. Keeping secrets is literally what I do.”

“And you’re not sorry you never married, had kids?”

“No.”

“You have no regrets?”

Rashad gazed over the balcony railing at the rolling hills of his estate in Domvallier, content with knowing that he had, in fact, despite his parents’ insistence otherwise, done his duty to his family and his people. The future was secure for his siblings, nieces and nephews. The Faheem name would go on, their holdings stronger for his leadership, the duchy he presided over since his father’s death more prosperous.

His life’s work had brought him happiness and fulfillment, his love for it had sustained and nurtured him through the years. His dedication and devotion to it had been the driving force of his life. The only thing that had ever come close to second place was his love and devotion for one singular woman that had excited him, challenged him and supported him in a way no one else in his life ever had. She understood him and she had never judged his choices.

Could he imagine what a life with her would have been like? Marriage and children? Yes, some small corner of his mind could, but then he wouldn’t have been him and she wouldn’t have been her and none of it would have worked.

He much preferred the reality they did have. Working weekends spent in front of a roaring fire in a remote ski lodge in Lythikos, or days stolen in Paris, Milan, Maldives, dancing, laughing, making love under the stars. Their relationship never falling prey to the mundane and humdrum of day-to-day existence.

He took another long drink from the bottle in his hand before responding, a sense of peace and contentment in his heart, “None.”

[pkducklett]

“The Friend Of My Enemy...Is My Friend” - A DST Fanzine Fanfic

Now Available on Ao3!

Fandom: Don’t Starve Description: Wurt unlearns some prejudice regarding the tribe of scale-less living in the Constant, and makes some new friends along the way.  Rating: Gen.  Characters: Wurt (Don’t Starve), Webber (Don’t Starve), Wendy (Don’t Starve), Abigail (Don’t Starve), Wickerbottom (Don’t Starve) Pairings: n/a Author’s Notes: This was my part of the Don’t Starve Together fanzine, this effort was a labor of love for the Don’t Starve community and its creators. I thoroughly enjoyed doing this piece on a character which, until recently, I had overlooked. Wurt is now probably among my favorites in the cast, and it was really through writing this that I came to love and appreciate her as a character. I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

Wurt was small, but she would grow. She was young, but would age. She was different, and…

She clutched the object in her claws. A series of papyrus pages with words and illustrations on them bound together with pigskin and string. The object was her fascination, something she had never seen in her marsh village. The scale-less left the object behind when they were chased out of merm territory. 

At first she told herself she was on a mission to return it. Drop the object outside their village and sneak home; she’d never have to face them. The scale-less couldn’t be trusted. That’s what she was told since she could remember. Afterall, scale-less allied themselves with pigfolk. By trading with the pig “king”, they had placed their kind in direct opposition with mermfolk. Wurt knew this, the scale-less just destroyed when they came into the swamp. It was for this reason, she set out to have as little contact as she completed her mission. 

The object slipped in her claws and she was snapped from her daydream to catch it. The midafternoon sun above barely touched the evergreen forest floor where she was standing. She looked around to catch her bearings, all traces of swamp had been left behind hours ago. How far was the scale-less village? At least there was some semblance of a path; she could only hope it led closer to them.

Walking allows for time to let the mind wander - which is why she felt another idea pushing through her brain. Perhaps scale-less had more paged objects, and maybe she could trade to get more. If she established a trade with the scale-less, maybe more merms could as well. Then the scale-less wouldn’t need to rely on pigs ever again. Wurt could be the first merm to reach out to the scale-less and usher in a new era for mermkind. It was ambitious, but she felt the responsibility of all her young years on her shoulders. 

Shaken again from her daydreams, she heard movement come from the bushes. She stiffened, placing the object safely on the ground next to her and adopting a defensive stance. “Stay back, florp!” she was woefully aware of how defenceless she really was all alone in the forest. 

The movement stalled slightly before some… thing popped up to face Wurt. They floated above the forest floor, completely transparent and unblinking. The apparition bore no difference to the specters that occasionally wandered into merm territory - except the flower atop its left side. 

Wurt felt the green drain from her face. An angry ghost was likely to rampage and destroy anything in its path. On the other hand, a neutral ghost was like a stalker, following just close enough waiting for a chance to strike. It was an ultimate darned if you do situation. She shook her head, no she couldn’t back down now. She was going to save mermkind; she had to be brave. “You...nice?” her voice faltered, but she managed to stay standing.

The apparition blinked and twisted around to get a closer look, brushing their ghostly tail against her side. Shivers rose from the spot and she had to push herself to keep standing. “Hey! Stop that.”

They stopped, surprised and cocked a ghostly head in confusion. 

“You understand me?”

A nod.

“You know where scale-less is, glort?”

They cocked their head again. Looking Wurt up and down before focusing on the object at her feet. She noticed and rushed to grab the object tightly against her chest. 

“No, this not yours!” She growled “This belongs to scale-less. Me going to return it myself!”

Once again the ghost looked confused. They maintained eye contact with Wurt for a brief moment before turning back toward the bush. 

“What is it, Abigail?” a voice called before pushing out from the bush. A scale-less girl brushed leaves from her shirt. She was pale with round expressionless eyes and long yellow hair tied in symmetrical pigtails. The flower pinned on the right side of her head matched the spector’s. She regarded the ghost briefly before turning attention to Wurt. “Oh. A merm.”

Wurt could feel her heart pounding against the object and tried to readjust her posture to appear confident once again. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by-

“-Wendy! Don’t run too far ahead!” from the bushes came another figure, covered in a thin layer of fur and eight blinking eyes. They were a spiderfolk but apparently someone forgot to tell them that they had to walk on eight legs, not two. Like the first scale-less, they almost immediately noticed Wurt, who was beginning to think meeting scale-less was a bad idea.

“Oh you’re a merm!” They spoke in an excitable manner and waved one of their spider arms in greeting. “Are you friendly? My name’s Webber, and this is Wendy,” they pointed to the other scale-less “and this is Abigail” they pointed to the ghost. 

“What are you doing away from your swamp?” the other scale-less, Wendy, questioned.

“Wendy!” Webber reprimanded. “Be nice, she could be lost.”

“Am...not lost flurt.” Wurt’s voice shook more than she cared to admit. She breathed, here goes nothing. “Me looking for scale-less village. Wanted to know-” she paused and held out the object for the scale-less to see. “-Wanted to know if they had more of these.”

Wendy and Webber shared a look before Webber broke into a big, fangy, grin. “Oh that’s one of Miss Wickerbottom’s books.”

“Book?”

“She writes them herself.” they further explained. 

“How did you find it?” Wendy asked.

“Was in swamp. Scale-less left it when village chased them away.”

Wendy and Webber exchanged a glance and Wurt’s heart dropped. Had she said something to provoke them? If so, it was all too clear who would win this fight. Merms fight best in groups, and Wurt was far from home.

Webber was the first to make a move, pulling Wurt’s arm further into the evergreens. “Come with us.” Their voice sounded almost too cheery if killing her was the objective. 

Despite the growing feeling of dread, Wurt obediently followed at the spider kid’s insistence. Wendy took a spot behind, with the ghost following alongside. Wurt kept pace between the scale-less, but kept her eyes elsewhere. At the first sign of trouble, she had to try and escape. They had her boxed in. The path wound further into the forest, bushes and underbrush lined the sides of the path.

“So,” Webber’s excitable voice broke the silence that had hushed over the group. “I don’t think we actually caught your name. What is it?” The spider was walking backwards now to face Wurt. 

Wurt looked away, keeping her gaze off their multiple eyes. Her nerves were fraying by the second, and with it her bravery ebbed away. She wasn’t sure if she was visibly shaking, though she felt like she might be. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Webber lowered his voice. 

“Fear is an unnecessary reaction.” Wendy’s tone was flat.

Wurt continued to stay silent. The piney forest floor was soon ending into a grassy path. The world was cast in an orange glow as dark was soon approaching. Away from the trees, Wurt felt less claustrophobic, but not completely safe. 

“Hey,” Webber pulled Wurt’s arm, the concerned look on their face was top acting. “Are you okay?”

Wurt didn’t respond, she couldn’t. Her chest was tight and it locked up her voice. She was positive she was visibly shaking now, and close to tears. 

“Children, is that you?” a separate voice called. “Get back to camp before it gets dark!”

The voice provided just enough distraction that Wurt took no time sprinting away from her kidnappers. She charged back into the evergreens. Her thoughts raced as she desperately tried to remember the way back to the swamp. Dusk was giving way to night and the forest floor looked darker than ever. The shadows expanded and through her petrified mind Wurt remembered what the elders had said about going out at night. She remembered the stories of a shadowy night lady that had scared her so much she still occasionally had nightmares. Looking up, she could see the last of the sun’s light wane into the night sky. 

Now she could feel something; she was no longer alone. Tears blurred her vision, she continued running; her swamp was still so far away. She heard whispers from the shadows, and now she felt something grab her. It pulled her foot, and Wurt collapsed onto the pine needles, the book sliding into the bushes. She whipped around and caught the creature’s eyes. Pale white against the blackest black. The eyes illuminated some of its face. Sharp teeth aligned into a malicious grin opened and Wurt could feel the creature’s claws against her stomach. She let out a shriek; the creature’s mouth opened wider and its claws dug harder. She closed her eyes; she didn’t want to die.

Then the creature’s weight was gone. Its claws lifted from her belly and she could no longer see its evil smile. There was light, a torch. 

“That’s her Miss Wickerbottom!” Webber’s loud voice proclaimed. 

Wurt could see the two scale-less that held her captive earlier had come back with a third, older woman. Her gray hair was tied tightly in a bun on top of her head. She had sharp features, wrinkled some with age and dark beady eyes. The torch in her grasp was extended towards Wurt and she was intently watching her. “Oh dear.” She breathed.

“Stay back.” Wurt warned hoarsely. The older woman had bent down to her level. Webber and Wendy following suit. Every muscle in her small body ached and her throat felt like she had been eating spikes, yet she still tried to look somewhat threatening. “Keep away from… me, florp.” It hurt to speak.

“I’m just going to make a fire, dear.” the woman responded calmly. She set down the torch in her hand and pushed the kids away with the other. She worked quickly and soon the forest was illuminated by a small campfire. 

Wurt pushed herself to sit up. The spots where the creature's claws dug into stung. She tried to not look at it. Instead she kept her eyes on the three scale-less (and one ghost) who were keeping their eyes on her. The suspense was eating at her, no one was saying anything to her, just watching.

“What you...waiting for?” she hissed. “Scale-less want to hurt, just do it, glorp.” 

“We don’t want to-” Webber started but was shushed by the elder scale-less. 

“You are a long away from home, little one.” she said softly.

Wurt fought back more tears. Her muscles tensed. She was cornered, hurt, and not in any shape to fight back. 

The older scale-less moved a little closer. “What brought you out of the swamp?” 

“She found one of your books.” Wendy said flatly.

A smile. “Did you now? I wonder which one it was.” She continued moving closer to Wurt. 

“No...no closer.” Wurt struggled to get the words out. 

She complied. “Are you scared, little merm? I promise we aren’t going to hurt you.”

Wurt stayed silent, still very aware of her trembling. She curled in on herself and shut her eyes. It would be useless trying to run now, she was once again outnumbered, except this time she wasn’t even sure she could stand on her own. Something brushed up on her toes, and she flinched. Looking down, she saw there was another book at her feet. It looked similar to the first book, bound in pigskin, but the print etched into the cover made different shapes. She hesitated, but slowly picked it up flipping through the papyrus pages and revealed several pictures of little birds. A small smile crept up her face.

“I had a feeling you might like that one.” The elder scale-less was smiling with satisfaction.

She blinked. “Me called Wurt.” she said softly; her voice still hurt.

“And it is a pleasure to meet you, Wurt.” She moved a bit closer to Wurt. “You can call me Wickerbottom.”

“Wick...Wicker-lady?” Wurt struggled on the syllables. “That a...funny name, florp.” 

A smile. “I suppose it is.” She situated herself next to the merm child. “Now, are you quite alright Wurt? That was quite a scare you gave us.” 

Wurt blinked confused. “Me...scared you?”

“You ran into the forest by yourself.” Wendy interjected. 

“We were afraid you were going to be eaten by Charlie!” Webber cried. 

“Alone in the woods at night is no place for a little one like yourself. Especially without a light.” Wickerbottom spoke with a calm, concerned voice. 

“So, you really not going to hurt me?” Wurt asked.

“Goodness no.” She spoke as though the mere suggestion were outlandish. 

“But...scale-less and merms?” Her thoughts spun. 

Wickerbottom placed a hand on Wurt’s knee. “I know we’ve had our differences, but we really are here to help you Wurt.”

She trembled, tears pooling in her eyes and she flung herself onto the elder scale-less. Wickerbottom pulled her into a hug and she didn’t even fight; just sobbed harder into her chest. Then she felt someone else embrace her. Soft fuzzy arms held tight grasp on the merm child. Then another embrace joined the pile. Wurt opened her eyes, all three scale-less (and one ghost) were clinging tightly to her comfortingly. 

She smiled and let herself sink back into the hug. It felt right. She was Wurt, she was going to bring about peace between mermkind and the scale-less village. Though the beginnings were rocky, she felt assured that she had the ability to make the friend of her enemy… her friend too.

[popculturebuffet]

Green Eggs and Ham: Here (Patreon Review for Emma Ficci)

Hello all you happy people! And I have my first fully paid for comission and patreon review all in one! Yes my good friend Emma became a patreon and you can too, go to patreon.com/popculturebuffet. Even one buck a month helps and 5 a month nets you a review of whatever of your choice a month. An episode of any tv show I have acess to. It feels good to have more than one person paying my salary, though I sitll want to thank Kev, my other patreon for helping with that. 

So with that all in order, let’s talk about this thoroughly weird, thoroughly wonderful show from a couple years back. Green Eggs and Ham is modern adaptation of a Dr. Seuss book..... and I bet those of you who haven’t heard of this series before or it’s reputation just had your bowls clinch a bit. Yeah while I haven’t seen illumination’s takes on the maestro of children’s books, I haven’t heard the best things and the trailers and odd and counter productive marketing tie ins for the Lorax have made me want to stay 30 feet away from it at all times. Seriously you get certified Legend Danny DeVito.. and you waste him on “Dat’s a woman” a joke that I don’t have time to unpack all the ways it sucks. My point is Seuss really hasn’t had the best time with adaptations latey.  But leave it to Warner Animation and Netflix to pull out a great one. Yeah I wasn’t too excited about a tv adaptation of one book at first due to all this and even a celebrity cast wasn’t a good sign. They roped Danny DeVito into the Lorax. So even with a whopper cast containing Michael Douglas, Diane Keaton, my boy Adam Divine, Ilana Glazer, Kegan Michael Key,  Jeffery Wright, Eddie Izard and JIllian Bell.. I wasn’t convinced. But word of mouth was really good, and the animation looked downright gorgeous, perfectly mimicking suess’ work and feeling like an unabashed love letter. 

So I did what I tend to do.. and sat on it for several years because I simply forgot to watch it till my friend comissioned it and here we are. And off the bat.. the reputation.. is not remotely overblown. This is easily the best Dr. Seuss adaptation i’ve seen in some time taking the best of his ideas and whimsy, with what little behind the scenes stuff I could get saying they specifically took art design from his art of book, with a modern and intresting story behind it and an all star cast that this time around are used well instead of just being there for Name Recogntion. Not only that but it takes inspriation form, of all things, Planes Trains and Automobiles, but does so well so far, getting the oddcouple dynamic down perfectly. 

So join me under the cut as I cut this bit of green eggs and ham into bite sized pieces for you all and go into why it’s so delecitable. 

This episode’s mostly broken up into bits to introduce all the main players, so as I tend to do when there’s multiple plots, I will be covering each one at a time. 

Guy and Sam: The Failed Inventor and the Animal Thief

So our story begins with.. a ninja breaking into a zoo to steal the rare Chikaraffe. 

Neither was the narrator, played by Key.. and the narrator naturally for a work like this delightfully interacts with things and is one of the best parts of the whole episode. But this already shows how well the series updates things. There’s one or two things like Ninja Sam or a family making ducklips during a photo, there’s even a fairly obvious trump stand in we’ll get to.. but none of it’s SO overdone it takes you out of things or dates the projects. The tech is kept to about the 70′s or 80′s with cameras still used instead of camera phones, crt tv’s, and what have you, and most inventions seens are susian. It feels wholly in line with his books while still nudging it into our current decade here and there. In other words.. how you SHOULD do it: add in a few things here or there but no overt pop culture refrences and at most a take that at something Seuss would gladly take aim at. 

So we meet our other hero the next day, Guy-Am-I. Guy is the show’s version of the nameless harassment victim from the books, with a bit of a darker fur and hat, likely to help better distingish him from sam as well as sell him being older than his co-star. It’s a good change, and helps sell Guy as what he is.. a grumpy middle aged man who keeps failling in life as demonstrated by his way to the inventions: he falls in a puddle, signs no on a pettition because he’s in a hurry, reminds me of man in a hurry from hatchefield but I couldn’t find a good image of him saying that in time and takes a picture of the family “Say runing my life” “ruining your life!”. We later see after some of the following scenes Sam do the same.. but he hops over the puddle then dives ino for fun, signs an entire page of the pettition, and takes tons of pictures. It’s a nice establishing scene for both. 

Guy is presenting his invention for Snerzco, your standard megacorp given a delightful Seuss twist with LITERAL pencil pushers and beancounters, to present his invention, with other inventors presenting, witht he hopes of presenting to Snerzz himself, having such delightfully bonkers and seussian inventions as a reverse umbrella (it rains on you) and an automatic fingercrosser. It’s touches like this that really tell me the series really loves Dr. Seuss. 

Sadly things don’t go well for guy as he’s hoping his invention dosen’t explode, his invention being a backpack made of hands to help people fly. Most people are imprestted apart from Michelle a bean counter who.. randomly snarks she wouldn’t let her daughter fly on it.

Yeah it’s not a great introduction for one of your major characters to have her randomly mock something that hadn’t exploded yet, and to for no reason bring up what a paranoid and unfun parent she is. We’ll get to her more in a bit. But yes it does explode and Guy’s dreams are ruined. 

And this whole picture.. shows who guy is. He’s someone whose kept trying agian, and again and again only for it not to work, and to get laughed at by the public and spat on by god themslef. It’s easy to see WHY he’s such a bitter curmudgeon: life hates him, so why shouldn’t he hate it back. That’s a self defeating prophecy of course but this is episode one and tha’ts probably the point of the series: to explore this. That being said I could see this coming from a mile away and felt it to be the most unupsired bit of the episode. 

Guy enters a diner to get some Oatmush “The Sadmans Special” after the bus leaves before he can get to it because again, God hates him personally.  No the sadman’s special is a famous bowl from KFC. I should know as a professional sadman. Regardless Guy is miserable.. and in enters sam, whose fascenated their “Breifcase Buddies” because thier briefcases match.. and unlike the above I like how they call attention to them being identical. We know wha’ts going to happen there but the lampshading helps it go down easier and makes us wonder if they will swap. Sam is a regular, being friends with Donna the waitress and ordering his usual green eggs and ham.

So we get the expected bit: Sam asks Guy to try them, he says no, but the show makes a good choice. Instead of just.. stalking guy for the next 11 episodes to get him to try it.. he simply asks if he’s actually tried it, Guy says no and makes a great poop joke, and Sam leaves it. He apparently asks once an episode, but it’s made more into a character thing; Guy refuses because he hates to try new things outside of his inventing and that’s hit a wall. It’s also a nice suprise that Devine and Douglas just play perfectly off one another. The two are from vastly diffrent generations and backgrounds acting wise, but they just work perfectly together and it’s what makes their interactions work. 

Sam does leave it and the other inventors having ALL got the golden ticket, arrive and Sam treats them.. only to notice Guy’s paper and the fact guy failed, and asks donna politely to get guy his mush as he ordered first. It’s good setup for Sam. We saw him be nice and free and what not, but we also see that while he can be insietive (He asked guy what broken dream he had earlier in the scene) he does geniunely care and it isn’t just surface level. He loves people and helping them and getting to know them. 

Of course while Guy is greatful, showing that beneath his own exterior he’s not a bad guy just one made miserable by life, he’s not going to be best friends or anything.. that’s a lot to ask they just met and takes his case after gulping down his oatmush. 

That night Sam prepares to leave, having given Donna his adress.. multiple times. in the hopes someone comes over and hangs out. Can relate even if i’d never go that far. He does however reveal himself as the ninja and prepare to take the chikaraffe with him for whatever reason. 

Guy goes to his hotel room to sulk, not helped by the other inventors partying outside, and full of misery and self loathing throws his suitcase in the fire.. until it makes a noise. He quickly pulls it out to find the Chickaraffe. Will he surivive? I mean probably. We have 12 episodes left. And a full second season. God this is going to take a few years.. regardless, let’s move onto the subplots. 

MIchellee and E.B.

We meet Michelle’s daughter EB who just wants to live but her mom dosen’t let her have toys or shenaniagnas.. and comes off untetionally as really abusive. She’s SUPPOSED to be overprotective, but saying “I detect a hint of whimsy.. i’ll allow it” really just paints you as an overcontrolling psycho. Their headed on a trip and while EB wants to catch the chickaraffe for herself dosen’t have the time and her mom gives her a magnetic friendship bracelet.. that shackes her to her. Just... yeah Michelle has made me  hate her in one episode and she’s played by Diane Keaton. How do you do that? Hopefully she’ll get better but hearing about these two characters was part of the reason I procastinated so long. The other is my brain being kind of a forgetful swamp. 

Snerz: We meet Snerz himself who has someone bringing him the chickaraffe. Snerz is a cold, mean man with trump hair.. that in this case is a literal being he’s forcing to be his hair, has everything gold plated and keeps animals in a wall forcing them to stand on the other side and put their heads through like he mounted them because he’s a sociopath. And this is the refrence I meant. Snerz has many comparisons to trump, the hair, the gold platings, but it dosen’t really date the thing as Trump has been around since long before this and will sadly probably be around till his inetivitible jail sentence. But it’s not so overt or over the top that it takes you out of it it works. Okay one more. 

BAD GUYS:

Two mysterious agents, one old and one on her first mission, go to the zoo and interogate the guy running it holding him over a slapping turtle exhbit. Their after the chickaraffe and depart.. with the yougner agent accidently dropping him. Whoops. At least he gets to get hit into space by a turtle. Some of us never will “Sigh”

Final Thoughts:

This was an excellent first episode. It fleshes out the characters well, sets up the story without feeling too slow, and the show strkes the right ballance of being it’s own thing while still feeling Seuss. It’s a wubusoully wonderful good time and I recommend checking it out. I look forward to the rest of the series over the next year. 

Next on this blog: Sleepover time as Shadow into Light, my Lena Saberwing retrospective resumes. 

[draggingthedregs]

Ok, here's a prompt then! 😊 "A quiet night. The Crows are staring at the stars in Wylan's house garden. Kaz notices Wesper and Helnik are cuddling, so he tries to win his fears and do the same with Inej."

a/n : hi! i loved this prompt so muchhh. and i had way too much fun with writing it which is why it took a bit longer then i had anticipated. but i am kinda proud of how it came out! i hope you enjoy what i did with it! 

word count : 2667

~~~

As much as Kaz would have liked to pretend otherwise, he looked forward to their dinners at Wylan’s. 

No one could really remember how they began. First it was a dinner to celebrate a tricky job in the Financial District. Then, the next weekend, it was to talk over possible ideas for the Crow Club renovation. They continued this way nearly every week since, sometimes missing a person or two, but never without a good reason. It was a constant for them; despite the dangerous jobs and greedy gangs and petty criminals of Ketterdam, they always had each other. 

That night had been the first dinner since Inej returned from sea. She’d been gone for nearly six months, her absence felt like a gaping hole for the rest of the gang. For a girl who was so good at being invisible, she was impossible not to miss. 

Kaz sat at his desk, his toe tapping an anxious rhythm against the wooden leg. He knew that she was to be back today, she had written weeks ago, promising to return in time for the first weekly dinner of the month. Was her ship sailing into Fifth Harbor? Had she already docked? Was she walking to the Slat or Wylan’s estate? Or had she been stuck at sea for longer then expected?

He let out a frustrated sigh, which coming from him, sounded closer to a growl. Too many damned questions swam about in his brain. Kaz scrubbed a hand over his face, running it back through his hair. He debated on leaving for dinner. Did he want to be early to greet her when she arrived? Would it be better to wait? To let her talk with the others? 

You are a damned fool, Brekker. 

Here he was, focused on whether or not to be fashionably late to a house he’d visited more times then he could count. And for what? Inej was just a girl, the same girl she had always been. Kaz was sure upon first glance, she’d smile and make a remark on how tired he looked and how the saints had intended for their people to sleep. She would hug the others, let Jesper lean an elbow on her shoulder, gift everyone with some trinket from her travels, and she would complete them.

Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if there would be more, specifically where he was concerned. Before she left, they had tried to hold one another, he had tried. The gloves were discarded, his hands trailing up her arms to her bare shoulders, landing at the nape of her neck and the bottom of her jaw. It was slow and gentle, for his sake and hers. Inej responded with a gentle hand on the crook of his elbow, a silent ask for permission to touch in return.

Kaz gave a small nod, whatever pain he felt, being pushed away as he focused on her warmth, the glow of her steady gaze. She set her palms flush against his chest, her thumb running over the collar of his shirt. Her hand slid upward, warm against his neck. The other moved to his side and, whether she had meant to or not, nearly pressed her front against his. 

The cold water crept into his lungs, his breath catching. He couldn’t feel her warmth through his shirt, couldn’t feel his hands on her skin, only felt nausea crawling through his veins.  Inej noticed immediately, pulling herself back, the look on her face apologetic. Kaz took a deep breath and forced himself to look at her, It’s Inej, Inej is warm, Inej wouldn’t let you drown. When he felt ready, he reached for her hand. 

She took it cautiously, afraid to hurt him again; he could see the guilt swimming in her eyes. Kaz simply gave a gentle squeeze, pulling her close enough to lean down and nudge the tip of her nose with his. It was small but it was something, a way to explain that he wasn’t angry, that he would be ready someday. He just didn’t know when. 

Finally, tired of debating it, he shoved up from his desk. He would leave for Wylan and Jesper’s, arrive whenever he did, and that would be that. Kaz reached for his cane, throwing his suit jacket on. The walk from the Slat to the estate wasn’t horrible, and he’d certainly done worse, but it gave him just enough time to think, something he wasn’t sure he needed.

A thought crossed his mind as he started on his way: maybe he’d never make it to dinner, maybe he’d throw himself into the canal before ever getting there.

*

The house was always warm. No matter the season, no matter their pain, it was a safe place from it all. There was a soft glow emanating from the front windows, similar to the pubs and pleasure houses of the Barrel yet… so very different. This glow was made of life and comfort, a home cooked meal and bright candles; the Barrel’s light was built of greed and lust, a smokey imitation of contentment.

Kaz looked either direction before swiftly picking the lock to their front door. He himself had designed it, a complex system of locks and gears, ensuring their safety and ensuring that he’d never have to wait for Jesper to answer the door. After he entered, he clicked it shut behind him, turning the series of locks once more. 

There was a bright raucous of chatter and laughter. It floated through the halls, accompanied by the smell of warm waffles, to reach him in the foyer. As he turned through the maze of corridors, coming upon the dining room, a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. 

Wylan was making an attempt at setting the table, forcing Jesper to help, trying to set trays around Nina, who had taken to sitting directly on the table. She plucked a cinnamon covered waffle from its plate, popping a chunk in her mouth, hoping Wylan wouldn’t notice. 

“Nina!”

She spoke with a full mouth, forming words around the half chewed waffle. “Wha-?”

Jesper let out a laugh, “There will never be a day when Nina Zenik doesn’t get the first and last waffle.” 

Matthias spoke up, throwing an arm around Nina’s shoulders. “And you’d better not fight her for them either.”

“I’m sure Zenik wouldn’t let you walk away with all ten fingers.” Kaz finally spoke up, walking closer to the table. 

They all turned, Nina scowling at him, as per usual. 

“Look who decided to join us!” Jesper put a disapproving hand on his hip, looking bare without his gunbelt.

“I didn’t realize I was late. Actually, if I’m not mistaken, we’re still missing another person.”

Wylan smiled, “You’re fine, Kaz. Sit.” He added a last remark before turning to get the silverware, “Shove Nina off the table while you’re at it.”

Her distaste for Kaz seemed to have disappeared, replaced by a bubbling excitement. “Do you know when her ship’s supposed to dock? Is she on her way here?”

“I don’t work on the docks. I know what she said in the letter which means, I know as much as you do.” 

She grumbled, stepping off the table to sit in the seat across from where Kaz stood. Matthias settled in next to her, reaching over for her hand.

Suddenly, Kaz was keenly aware of something behind him, an unsettled silence ebbing into his peripheral; his spine stiffened, ever-so-slightly. It was a familiar feeling, a presence he hadn’t realized he missed this much. He felt it like a punch to the gut, all the wind nearly knocked from his lungs. After all these months, it was a wonder he hadn’t lost his sense for her.

Inej’s voice came first. “I hope I’m not too late.” She stepped up next to him, pulling back her hood, a soft smile on her lips. 

Kaz felt as though his knees may give way. He let his eyes rove over her, paying careful attention to new scars on her arms, the long braid laying against her shoulder, her keen gaze that met his before anyone else’s. 

He searched for something to say, his voice awestruck and near disbelief, coming out in a breathless gasp. She was really here, she was really home. “Wraith.” 

Inej gave a bright and knowing smile, “Kaz.” 

He had just managed to give a grin in return when Nina tackled her into a hug. Inej laughed, hugging back and then, she was swept away from him. Kaz watched as she smiled and greeted everyone, felt everything brighten when she laughed, the laugh that nearly made him drunk with bliss. With Inej came a sense of completion, the closing of a door just slightly ajar; everything felt right with her there. 

*

Dinner was mostly used as time to bombard Inej with questions about being on the sea, asking for stories of her adventures as if they were a group of children listening intently to bed time stories. She obliged happily, telling of swordfights and rescues, naming all the people she saved from each ship. Kaz sat it silent amazement of her. Inej was always too good for the Barrel, too good to be just another spider crawling through the sludge, but now she was living it, and she was thriving. 

After they finished eating and stacking their dishes on trays to be returned to the kitchen, Wylan suggested they go out to the garden. Ketterdam hadn’t reached the peak of summer yet, bringing with it an unbearable heat. The air around them still cooled as the sun descended in the sky, allowing for a comfortable evening. 

The six of them sat down on the grass and, in the soft glow of the moon and their half formed circle, they looked like the children that they were. It was easy to forget that the oldest of them barely pushed eighteen, especially after all they’d been through, after all they’d done. And yet, here they were; a group of teenagers staring at the stars together. 

Kaz looked over at the others, paying close attention to their unbridled affections in the safety of the garden walls. 

Jesper pulled Wylan onto his lap, the smaller boy leaning his head gently against his chest, blushing and giggling at whatever obscenities Jes whispered into his ear. 

Matthias and Nina laid back against the grass, his arm wrapped around her body, pulling her tight against him. His arm was pointed to the sky as he talked to her softly, tracing the shapes of constellations with his finger and telling her their stories from memory. 

Kaz looked to Inej at his right. She looked content, her chin lifted and her eyes closed, breathing in deeply, as if this were the first time she’d ever experienced a night like this. He realized this was close to the first moment they’d had to themselves since she’d arrived and he found himself struggling with what to say once more.

Inej turned a bit in his direction, the corners of her lips upturned. “I can feel you staring.” Her words came out like a forgotten melody he was hearing for the first time in years. 

“You’re aware as ever then.”

Her smile widened and she opened her eyes, “The sea doesn’t change your instincts, just makes you adapt them.” Then, her gaze met his. “Had you hoped you could start sneaking up on me?”

In all honesty, Kaz wasn’t sure what he had hoped for. But he knew that having her home, having her next to him, was certainly near the top. “Ketterdam would never be ready for the day when a crip like me could sneak up on the Wraith.” 

Inej laughed, and again Kaz thought he could survive on that sound alone. A comfortable silence sat between them yet, he couldn’t help but remember all there was to discuss. 

“Inej…”

“You don’t have to.”

A sigh escaped him. He took another moment before whispering what he’d really been thinking all night. “I missed you.”

Inej realized that she had wanted to hear those words from him, she had been waiting for them. Not expectantly, not as if she believed he owed it to give her as much; she simply craved them. She had waited to see him like this, to be near him again. Her eyes met his again, the look in them just as desperate and starved as his. “I missed you too.”

Kaz gently reached for her hand, giving her space to pull away if that was what she wanted. But she wanted the exact opposite; she wanted to be as close as their minds would allow. It was then she noticed that he hadn’t been wearing his gloves. A smile spread as their bare fingers intertwined. 

For a moment, they both stared at their hands. The touch, after so long of being apart, felt like thousands of stars exploding between them. They were burning alongside the sparkling constellations they were studying in the night sky, mere minutes ago.

After he was sure they both felt comfortable, he moved closer. Kaz kissed the back of her hand before letting it go, wrapping the same arm around her back, letting it fall against her hip. He was careful to listen for any change in her breathing, feel for her stiffening or beginning to inch away. But she remained, letting her head fall against his shoulder. 

Kaz waited for the worst. He waited for the cold water to wash through him, her warmth turning clammy beneath his touch. But it never came. The garden remained around him; Inej, a steady beat of life, pressed to his side. 

His thumb moved up and down against the back of her arm. It caught the edge of a thick, raised scar he didn’t remember being there. He let his fingers explore it at her mercy. 

Inej simply smiled, “A rough privateer.” 

“I don’t remember hearing of a privateer in your stories?”

“Seemed a bit bloody for the dinner table.”

“Will you tell me?”

And so she did. She told him everything, from how he’d tried to take her ship to how he then decided he’d take her arm instead. 

Kaz felt anger bubble up within him at the image of his Wraith, bleeding on the ships deck. Perhaps because it was something he was all-too-familiar with. “Where is he now?”

Inej looked up and smiled, giving a small shrug. “The bottom of the ocean.” A crooked and true smile spread on Kaz’s lips. She registered it as pride; it made her heart stutter in her chest. Her chin lifted, the tip of her nose barely touching his. 

With the tilt of his head, their lips met. It was only a soft brush, testing it for the both of them. When neither pulled away, he tried again. This time deeper and longer, as if the months apart had finally caught up to them. They just wanted to hold one another, even if this was as far as they could ever go, it didn’t matter for them. This was all they needed. 

Inej smiled into his lips, breaking them apart. Kaz felt himself smile in return. 

A laugh escaped him, filled with pure joy he never thought was possible. “What is it, Wraith?”

She shrugged, a blush settling on the tops of her cheeks. “I just- I didn’t realize it could be like that.” 

He pressed his lips to her hair and she settled into the crook of his neck. 

In that moment, Kaz realized he felt happy, a feeling he of all people, surely didn’t deserve. But even if he didn’t, he would earn it. He would be a better man, even if it was only for her. Inej would be his exception, his anchor, his reason, and he would do anything possible to ensure that he deserved her. 

Dirtyhands and the Wraith… what a pair they made. 

fin.

[beesloosewithcanon]

Personal, Account, and Fanfic Updates

Hey there, lovelies!

I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted anything. I wanted to explain a little bit about what’s been going on with me, update you about some stories, and my plans for moving forward.

First and foremost, the main thing that has prevented me from writing and posting regularly is the sheer fact that as I’m getting older my 9-5 job is taking more and more of my time and energy. There are weeks that I work 50-60 hours doing all sorts of shifts and doing emotionally taxing work. I’m a Human Resource professional in my day job. The COVID pandemic has been rough because I’ve had to enforce some hard decisions to ensure the business I work for survives but it has eaten me mentally and emotionally. Thankfully we’ve been able to bring most of the people back that we had to lay off and we’ve actually created new jobs, but the ebbing and flowing nature of COVID cases and numbers in my area of the United States made things feel like a hobbled together glass house in an active earthquake zone for most of the last almost 16 months. So I just haven’t had the mental energy to come home and do creative work when all day at work it is touch and go. 

A second factor to my lack of posting and writing until recently comes down to my user name giving me dysphoria. So on top of all things COVID in the last year, my brain decided now was a good time to finally unpack my apathy and indifference toward my gender. I came out to my friends and social media as agender back in February 2021 which was a crucial step for me, but names have continued to give me dysphoria. My writing handle ESPECIALLY does this. The name is a holdover from an inside joke from high school and I am a.) no longer the same person I was back then and b.) not comfortable with the term mistress being associated with me in any way shape or form. I’ve been debating changing my writing handle for quite some time but have been worried that I would lose followers because they wouldn’t recognize me. But at this point, if I lose them I lose them and I’m okay with that. 

Moving forward my Tumblr, AO3, and FF.net handle will be BeesLooseWithCanon

And if Tumblr isn’t your thing so much anymore, I’ve created a Twitter for my fanfiction work @BeesLooseWCanon!

Alright! Updates!

I’m excited to get back into my three current stories, Cracks in the Foundation (Mass Effect, FemShep/Traynor longfic, slowest of slowburns), Love Lost in Translation (Dragon Age Inquisition Fem-Mage-Human-Inquisitor/Krem, longfic, slowburn), and part two of Close to You (Korrasami short fic series). The first thing I am going to do is go through all of what I currently have posted and do some much needed edits, especially for Cracks in the Foundation. I started writing that story when I was still in college. I am not going to change the content but there are some much needed line edits that need to be made and some clarity that a thorough edit will give a couple of scenes. My hope is to be done with all of those edits by the end of July. 

Moving forward, I’d love to get into some semblance of a posting schedule. I’m not sure just yet what that schedule will look like or if a schedule is even feasible with my day job and its demands on my mental energies. But I have ends plotted out for each story and several more parts outlined for the series and I want to see them through to the end. I have a few other story ideas I’d like to do but none that I will start until I finish all of my current projects. 

Thanks for sticking with me and thank you for continuing to engage with my work even though it’s long sat dormant. I appreciate y’all so much and love each of these fandoms so incredibly much. 

[honeyandhondewberries]

Can we get Raihan and Leon's reactions to their crush kissing them on the forehead and murmuring, soft and sweet, for them to sleep well before slipping out of the room quietly. Their crush thinks they were asleep.

😭😭😭🤗🤗🤗 alright ill do it you better get ready for some friggin COMFORT anon this is going to be so soft you dont even KNOW

(dont mind the awkward shift in tenses between Leon and Raihan’s stories either 👀 sometimes that just Happens)

~~

Chicken Noodle Soup & Movie Night (LeonxReader, RaihanxReader)

Leon:

“I’m not sick,” Leon mumbles, and his glassy eyes follow you as you move about the room. You don’t humor him with a response. “You don’t have to do all this.”

You only hum as you continue to bustle about. More tissues, more blankets, and you should probably check his temperature again soon, too. He’s taken his medicine (though you hid it in a snack like you have to do with your Pokemon), and you finally got him into bed after some coaxing. He’s propped up on three pillows, he lets out a hearty cough, full and phlegmy, and you return to his side once his fit is over. You gently sit on the covers, set your hand on his forehead, and purse your lips.

“Yep, still burning up,” you say, and Leon groans.

“I’m fine,” he croaks. “You’re making too big a deal about this.”

“Leon,” you say sternly as you go to find the thermometer. “You’re shaking with chills, burning up, and hacking up a lung every few minutes. You’d probably still be on the pitch if I wasn’t making a big deal about this.”

“Exactly,” Leon says in exasperation as he throws his arms up. The motion sets off another series of deep coughs. “I could be finishing my training! It’s just the sniffles, nothing more.”

“Alright,” you say, and you sit beside him again. “If you don’t have a fever, then you’re right and I’ll leave you alone. If you do have a fever, then you need to promise to cooperate. Deal?”

Leon’s glassy eyes squint, though the effect of his frustrated glare isn’t much when he sniffles through it. You raise an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he says, but he doesn’t look at you.

You offer him the thermometer, he childishly snatches it from your hand, then sticks it in his mouth. You adjust the quilt around his shoulders, fluff his pillows for him, and mindlessly brush his bangs from his face. His eyes widen at the motion, then his gaze flicks to the side again.

Hm, his cheeks are looking quite pink… he definitely has a fever.

The thermometer beeps, you pluck it from his mouth, and showcase that your prediction came true. You set the thermometer on his nightstand without a smug word spoken, but Leon can certainly read it on your face.

“Now that you’ll cooperate, do you want some orange juice?” you ask.

“No.”

“Some candy?”

“No.”

“How about some chicken noodle soup?”

Leon doesn’t immediately grumble anything, but instead fiddles with the stitching on the quilt.

“...with the spiral noodles?” Leon asks quietly.

“Mmhmm.”

Leon purses his lips (not for long since he can’t breathe through his nose), and he finally mumbles an:

“Okay.”

“I’ll go heat some up for you,” you say, and you give his hand a pat. He curls one of his fingers around yours, just to quickly retract his hand again. His cheeks are looking even pinker than before, now. Is he getting warm?

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Try to get some rest,” you hum, and after adjusting his blankets again, you head out of his room and into the kitchen.

You had a can of chicken noodle soup (with the spiral noodles) in your pantry, and you stuffed that and some cough drops in your bag before you came over. You rustle around Leon’s kitchen for a pot to start cooking his meal. As you stir and taste-test the soup every few minutes, you wonder how Leon’s feeling. He isn’t hacking so much, so as the soup simmers, you step to his room to peek.

He’s still propped up on his pillows, though his scowl is gone and his eyes are closed. He’s wrinkling his nose in his sleep, as if to push his bangs from his face without using his hands. You let a smile slip, and a plume of affection blooms in your chest. You step over as quietly as you can, brush his bangs from his face, and before you can stop yourself, you gently press your lips to his forehead.

“Sleep well, love,” you say softly. “I know you want to work, but you need to rest and heal too. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You’re not sure why you’re telling this to his sleeping figure - perhaps telling it to him awake would be much too embarrassing. Leon’s eyebrow twitches, so you stand as quickly and quietly as you can, suddenly embarrassed by your tender moment, and you step out of the room.

If you had stayed for a second longer, you would have seen how Leon’s cheeks tinged pink yet again, how he smiled to himself, curled against his pillows, and so sweetly repeated one word:

“Love.”

Raihan

It was movie night, Raihan’s favorite night of the week, because that’s the night he got to spend with you. More importantly, that’s the night he got to sit on his couch snuggled in blankets and sweaters and drinking tea and bantering back and forth with you as you barely watched whatever was on the screen. It was always such a good excuse to sit close, and it was so natural just to casually wrap an arm around the back of his couch, and he decided that tonight was the night he’d finally make it around your shoulders.

Movie night started out as a joke when you mentioned that you had never seen Love in the Time of Pokerus (a cult classic), and Raihan was absolutely appalled and he demanded that you come over that same night to watch it. You agreed, and even brought snacks. The next week, you were shocked that Raihan had never seen Pulp Fanfiction (another cult classic), and you demanded movie night round two. The week after, Raihan suggested you both should probably make movie night a trilogy in order to honor the true cinematic genius that was trilogies, and you agreed by saying it would be an insult to art if you didn’t.

Raihan had lost count of what number you were at, but you were definitely beyond a trilogy, beyond a quadrilogy, and beyond whatever you called what was after five movies. Movie night had even evolved into dinner and movie night when you came a few weeks ago to his apartment and he could hardly focus with how much your stomach was grumbling. You tried to tell him you were fine, and when he noticed how genuinely embarrassed you were, he lied and said he hadn’t eaten dinner yet anyway, so it really wasn’t a hassle to make you something.

It was, however, an excellent opportunity to show off his cooking expertise. Although he was hoping for affirmation to begin with, your enthusiastic praise actually made him blush. Then, your comment on his blush made him blush harder. Not his best moment, but at least it made you laugh.

Raihan practically skipped to his apartment, noticing how beautiful the autumn trees were and how crisp the air felt in his lungs. Leaves crunched beneath his feet like a jaunty melody to add to the giddiness welling in him. It was your turn to pick the movie, so that meant it was his turn to cook, and he already had your favorite meal planned. It was going to be perfect. You had told him to wear his comfiest sweater, and you would wear yours, because whatever you were going to watch tonight deemed it necessary. He was fine with that, because big sweaters on you made you even cuter. If you were wearing his big sweater, well, that’d be just icing on the cake. One step at a time, though.

As he unlocked his apartment Raihan decided that, yep, tonight was the night. He’d finally break the touch barrier. You’ve hugged before (Raihan made sure of that), but never for longer than a normal friend-hug would last. You’d be full of delicious food, tired from your long shift at work, and you’d be snuggled and comfy and cozy in all the blankets he’d set up. He’d have the window open a crack so you’d want the fresh air and the blankets at the same time, but because you’d be a little chilly, you’d need to sit closer.

It was the perfect recipe for cuddling.

After cooking and prepping and swallowing his excitement time and time again, you finally texted to say you were on your way. Raihan used to be embarrassed by how hard he was crushing (Leon would even say whipped), but now he couldn’t care less. He wasn’t sure how you felt, though, so he tried not to lay the flirting on too thick like he would otherwise, just in case that scared you off. He’d rather have you as a friend than not at all.

There was a knock on the door, and Raihan nearly jumped out of his skin. Okay, be cool, be cool. He checked his appearance in the reflective microwave door, tousled his hair just enough, and stuffed his hands into his pockets nice and casually. He sucked in a breath, then opened the door.

And, he let it out, unable to hide his smile when he saw you standing there in your oversized sweater and cheeks pink from the cold.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ve brought options.”

“Options?” Raihan repeated as he leaned against his doorjam, perfectly cool. “That’s not how movie night works.”

“I’ve already taken it to the movie night board of advisors,” you said as you invited yourself into his apartment. “And they approved.”

You bantered back and forth, just as you did every week, sidestepping around each other as you prepared to eat. You were stepping closer to him than you usually did, though, but maybe that was just in Raihan’s head? It did solidify his plan of finally making a move tonight, though. He even took the chance of brushing your waist as he stepped behind you, but he didn’t get much feeling beyond your thick sweater.

Once his initial excitement to see you ebbed, Raihan covered his yawn with his sleeve. He actually had a pretty busy day himself; early workout, then extra training with the new apprentices at his gym, and a training match with Kabu. And actually, the day before that was pretty busy too… he bit back another yawn at the thought.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, just tired,” Raihan said as he stretched.

“You better not fall asleep,” you teased, and Raihan rolled his eyes as he followed you to his couch.

You both decided on one of the corny holiday movies you brought, turned it on, Raihan adjusted the blankets, you took your regular places on his couch, and his heart was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t initiate anything too early though, he had to set the mood.

Were candles too corny? Too obvious? You liked candles though, right?

“You like candles?” Raihan asked. “A fan gave me one earlier, and it smells like vanilla. Since I didn’t make a dessert, I figured that would be fitting.”

You laughed, and Raihan smiled at the sound.

“Yeah, candles are good,” you said. “Are you getting sentimental on me, Raihan?”

“No,” Raihan huffed, though his smile was prominent on his face. “Maybe.”

He stood, lit the candle, set in on the coffee table, and while he was up, he got your tea and flicked off the lights. Everything was going according to plan, so he took the initiative of sitting a few inches closer the next time he sat down.

The movie started, and the opening scene was immediately corny. Raihan groaned, but when he looked at your reaction, you had your lower lip jutting out, you were leaning towards the screen, and absolutely eating it up.

“Are you getting sentimental?” Raihan asked incredulously. “These movies are so cliche!”

“That’s what makes them nice!” you huffed. You hugged a blanket to your chest in embarrassment. “Yeah some are dumb, but they’re all like, wholesome and warm.”

“Are you cold?” Raihan asked. He knew that’s not what you meant, but he’d snatch any opportunity he had tonight. “Here, let me help.”

He scooched closer, enough that your thighs were touching, and he flung his blanket over both of your laps. He set his arm around the back of his couch, then in a moment of pure, calculated risk, curled it around your shoulders instead.

You blinked a few times, and Raihan tried not to make his tension obvious, though he did let out a deep breath when you eased into his side. Neither of you spoke a word about it with your mouths, but as the movie played, your bodies spoke loudly enough when you curled your arm around his waist, and nestled into his chest.

Tonight was going perfectly.

It was all a little cliche: the movie, the blankets, the snuggling in autumn evening, but Raihan didn’t mind. This was the most comfortable he had been in a while, and his eyes slowly drooped as the night went on. He jolted into focus when you poked his stomach though, because apparently the credits were already rolling.

“That was a good one,” Raihan mumbled, and your laugh shook your shoulders, so it shook his.

“You didn’t even watch it,” you tease when you poke him again.

“Yes I did. The woman came from that big city to the small town, then she met a guy who was humble and she didn’t think she’d like the little town but she did, he taught her the true meaning of family or friendship or something, then they kiss and live happily ever after on their quaint farm.”

Whatever you mumbled next was incoherent, and Raihan chuckled again. He gently fiddled with the fabric of your sweater sleeve and his eyes started to droop again. How could he get you to stay for just a little bit longer?

He didn’t need to think long when you bashfully mumbled next.

“There’s a sequel…”

“Amazing,” Raihan yawned, and he inwardly pouted when you got up to start the next movie. He held his arm out when you came back, an obvious invitation that any other position would be absurd. You quickly nuzzled against him again as the opening scene started.

Raihan let out a yawn and let his eyes close. He actually was dozing at first, but when you started talking to him about the movie, he jolted into focus again. After your brief conversation, he felt how you melted against him, he pretended to let out another snore, then he curled closer to you. And suddenly, the credits were rolling again, and you were both laying on his couch, tangled in thick sweaters and blankets and each other.

“Raihan,” you whispered. “Raihan wake up, the movie’s over.”

He wondered what you’d do, so he kept his eyes closed. He did curl his arms around you tighter - sleeping people did that, right? He didn’t want the night to end.

“Raihan I’ve gotta go home,” you whispered. “I can text you later, okay?”

He didn’t respond, though he was certainly frowning in his head when you untangled yourself from him. He listened to you bustling about, probably collecting your things, but he wondered why you suddenly paused. He heard the soft pat of footsteps, he almost opened his eyes, then his nerves tingled when you pressed your lips to his forehead.

“Um, tonight was fun,” you muttered. “Sleep well.”

He heard you scuffle away, heard his door open, then close again.

Raihan bolted up.

Did you just… did you just kiss him?

His legs and arms and the rest of his body were haphazardly tangled in blankets, so Raihan stumbled to the floor when he tried to stand.

“Hey!” Raihan called. “Hold on!”

He could do that for you too, except aim a few inches lower and really make it the perfect ending to the perfect night. Luckily you were only halfway down the hall.

Yeah, movie night was easily Raihan’s favorite night of the week.

[lucifermorningstark666]

DAY OFF-2( Deckerstar Fanfic)

Hi darlings,

Please note that this is the second part of Day Off. First part has already been posted. Do let me know what you think of this. Hit the like button, if you enjoyed it..🥰. You can also check it out on Wattpad( Megalomaniac_123, Book Name- Devil's Detective- Deckerstar Oneshots).

😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘

" Oh that..um..your mommy gave me some kisses" Lucifer replied honestly.

"Really? Are you two dating ?" Trixie asked with a naughty smile.

Chloe heard this from the kitchen and went to the living room.

" Trixie babe, can you give mommy and Lucifer a moment." Chloe said.

Trixie went to her room.

"Lucifer, I actually haven't told her that we are dating" Chloe said in a soft tone.

" Well detective, it's high time.I think the urchin will agree." Lucifer said with a smile and placed his hand on her cheek.

" Yeah, I know. I don't know whether she will be happy about it. Her happiness is all that matters to me." Chloe said as a concerned mother.

" I know very well, Detective." Lucifer smiled.

Chloe finally made up her mind and called Trixie to the living room.

" Baby, I want to tell you something. Lucifer and I are...um..dating. I am only moving forward with our relationship , only if you are happy about it. You will always be my first choice, baby." Chloe said with a small smile.

" Mommy, I really love you and Lucifer together. If being with Lucifer makes you happy, then I am also happy about it. Lucifer takes good care of you, mommy and that's all that matters." Trixie said with a big smile on her face.

" See Detective, I told you, the urchin will be happy about it." Lucifer said with a smile.

"I love you a lot, baby" Chloe said, with her eyes filled with tears of joy, and hugged Trixie.

"I love you a lot mommy" Trixie said.

" Lucifer, please take good care of my mommy. Please don't leave her like the Pierce guy." Trixie said in a serious tone.

" You have my word,urchin . I'll take good care of your mommy and I am definitely not like that over-stuffed man-ham Pierce." Lucifer said confidently ,and kissed Chloe on her cheek.

Chloe returned the kiss.

" Yay!Woohoo!Applause for Team Deckerstar" Trixie shouted and clapped.

" Hmm..Team Deckerstar..suits us, don't you think, Detective?" Lucifer asked looking at Chloe lovingly.

" Yes, my Lucifer" Chloe said and hugged him.

" Hmm...my Lucifer, I like the sound of it." Lucifer said in flirtatious tone.

Chloe's doorbell rang. It was Ella and Maze with packets of food in their hands.

They all had a sumptuous lunch with burgers, fries and homemade juice.

"Decker, got a call from the Lieutenant,I need to go to a crime scene immediately" Ella said. 

"Goodbye all. Take care Decker" Ella winked. 

"Goodbye" everybody said in unison.

"Mommy, can I go with Maze to the carnival  now...Please,mommy ..please.." Trixie asked with puppy eyes.

"Uhm..baby..it will be too crowded there...I don't think Maze will be able to handle you.." Chloe said.

"Decker, don't underestimate me..I'll take good care of this small human...I will make sure nobody will even lay a finger on her...If anybody does, then they won't be having their fingers..I'll take my whips and knives.." Maze said confidently.

"Uhm..alright...but both of you should be back home before 8..and Maze don't buy her  too much candies ..." Chloe said strictly.

"Alright,Decker" Maze smirked.

"Yaay!Carnival here I come." Trixie shouted in joy.

"Mommy, have a romantic time with Lucifer.Goodbye!" Trixie said and left with Maze.

After bidding goodbye to Trixie and Maze, Chloe went  inside and  sat beside Lucifer on the couch.

"Hmm...some alone time with my lovely Detective." Lucifer said with a naughty smile on his face.

"No need to get excited,Lucifer....no more sex today...alright..?" Chloe said in an angry tone.

" Detective, are you alright?...I think you are in a bad mood..I shouldn't have said that...my apologies, Detective..." Lucifer said.

" I'm sorry Lucifer, I didn't mean to get angry at you..it's just that...I am sick of sitting at home...I feel like going to the beach..." Chloe sighed.

" Well that's all, Detective. I gladly take you to the beach." Lucifer smiled.

" Lucifer, you sure you don't need to go anywhere?" Chloe asked.

" Detective, your well- being is far more important to me than anything. It will be my pleasure to take you to the beach." Lucifer said.

" Oh..thanks a lot, Lucifer. I'll get dressed." Chloe smiled.

AT THE BEACH

" Ah...this is exactly what I need, Lucifer." Chloe said, breathing the wonderful air.

" I agree, Detective...I am glad that you  are really enjoying it." Lucifer smiled, looking at the splendid setting sun and the ebbing waves.

" Lucifer, this gives me a trip down the memory lane...do you remember?" Chloe smiled at Lucifer.

" I do. Our first kiss." Lucifer smiled.

" I still remember your reaction, when I kissed you." Chloe chuckled.

" I really couldn't believe it, Detective." Lucifer giggled.

" Lucifer, I want you to know something." Chloe said, keeping her hand on Lucifer's cheek.

" I will always and forever, love you. I truly accept who you really are. You have given me some of the best moments in my life, which I can never forget." Chloe said with a beautiful smile.

" I know, Chloe. Despite all my flaws, you did choose me. With you, I was able to experience the feeling of love, something which I have neither felt in Hell nor Heaven. I will always be there for you, you have my word." Lucifer said, tucking Chloe's hair behind her ear.

Chloe slowly moved her lips towards Lucifer's, for a passionate kiss. She ran her fingers through Lucifer's curls, while kissing him. He held her waist gently , to keep her intact. Their tongues started fighting for space and dominance.

They slowly broke the kiss and smiled at each other.

" Well..that was lovely." Lucifer smiled.

" I can't agree more" Chloe said, placing a small kiss on Lucifer's cheek.

" So Detective, what next?. Its getting dark. Shall we go home or would you like to go out somewhere to eat?" Lucifer asked.

" We'll go home, Lucifer. Maze and Trixie must be back." Chloe said.

AT HOME

Chloe rang the doorbell.

Maze opened the door and both of them got inside.

" Where'd you go, Decker?" Maze asked.

" Um...Lucifer and I, went to the beach. I was feeling bored at home. Where's Trixie?" Chloe said.

" Oh..don't worry,Decker. Your small human is safe , if that's what you are worried about. She went to take a bath." Maze said.

"Thank you so much for taking care of Trixie, Maze." Chloe said.

"I'll never let anything happen to that kid."Maze smiled.

"Mommy!!" Trixie shouted happily and hugged Chloe.

"Hi baby, did you enjoy the carnival?" Chloe asked.

"Yes mommy, it was wonderful. We got on a lot of rides, ate popcorn and ice cream...played games. And mommy, Maze played a game and got me Wonder Woman doll..." Trixie said excitedly.

"We also got some things for you and Lucifer." Trixie said.

"Oh...is that so, urchin." Lucifer said, eagerly waiting for his surprise.

"Yeah...but to get your surprise..you need to close your eyes..no peeping..ok?" Trixie said.

" Alright!" Lucifer and Chloe said.

"Lucifer and mommy, show me your hands." Trixie said and placed their gift.

" A necklace." Lucifer exclaimed.

" A ring." Chloe exclaimed.

" What am I supposed to do with a lady's necklace,urchin?" Lucifer scoffed.

"Baby, I am sorry...i think this ring is too big for my finger..." Chloe said.

Trixie smiled.

"Lucifer, the gift I have given you is for you to put on mommy's neck and the ring which I gave you, mommy..you need to put it on Lucifer's finger." Trixie said.

"Urchin, you are just as clever as your mommy." Lucifer smiled.

Trixie smiled at Lucifer's remark.

" Aww...thanks a lot,baby. I can't believe you did this." Chloe said ,hugging Trixie.

"I knew from the beginning onwards, you liked Lucifer, mommy." Trixie winked.

Lucifer and Chloe blushed.

"Now, time to exchange your gifts." Trixie said.

Lucifer put the necklace on Chloe's neck gently and she put the ring on Lucifer's finger.

" I love you, Lucifer." 

"I love you, Chloe." 

Trixie and Maze whistled and clapped.

" Deckerstar forever." Maze and Trixie shouted.

"Decker, can we all watch something to commemorate this wonderful day?" Maze asked.

"Yeah sure, Maze." Chloe said, putting on Netflix.

"Detective, what about the series Lucifer?Heard that it's a series based on all of us." Lucifer said excitedly.

"I have been dying to watch it!!" Maze shouted in happiness.

"Yaaay...Lucifer!Lucifer!Lucifer!..." Trixie shouted.

"So...Lucifer it is." Chloe said, smiling at Lucifer.

They all sat together on the couch and happily watched Lucifer..😁.

😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

I love you all..🥰🥰

[yggdrasil-mith0s]

Tales of Symphonia is one of the most common answers I get when I ask "What was your first Tales of game?"

It's usually followed by "I didn't finish it my first time" or "I finished it but kind of forgot about it and didn't realize how good the story was."

Most of those people fell in love with the Tales of series through a different game than Symphonia even though Symphonia was their first Tales of game.

While this is okay, a lot of them also state that Symphonia is one of their favorite games in the series.

I have a theory on this and I want to lay it out. So... I will. Here is why I think Symphonia was a lot of people's first Tales game but wasnt the one that made them love the series.

First off, age. Destiny and Eternia (Tales of Destiny 2 in NA) were the only western releases before Symphonia. Destiny was released in 1998 and a lot of people weren't quite old enough to fully play through it all grasp the seriousness of the game and story. Those that were old enough probably weren't too excited about the gameplay and battle system which was mostly turn base at that time. It seemed weird, a little stiff, and a bit clunky at times. A lot of people didnt like that and the challenge it brought. It was also the first in the series (second ever) to reach the west. It had no fanbase and the internet wasn't exactly there like it is now.

Tales of Destiny II came out Seltember 10, 2001. That's right. One day before the Twin Towers fell, Tales of Destiny II was released.

Okay, I have to stop. It's Eternia. I hate they called it Destiny 2 in the west. Lol. I am going to say Eternia from now on.

Tales of Eternia had almost no good advertising for it's western release and the status of 9/11 brought about some weird thing where people only remember the towers and not much else going on. That being said, Eternia wasn't all that great and there were other things to be hyped about.

Namco thought that naming it Tales of Destiny II would be enough advertising since Destiny did pretty good in the west. The only problem is... they literally didn't do almost any advertising. They kind of just threw it out there to the west with minimal effort. A big mistake in my opinion but it sold enough to try the western market at least one more time.

Now it's on to Symphonia' release!!!

So here is the main part to my theory on why a lot of people begin with Symphonia but never finish or it takes a different game to love the series. This whole theory is more based on people 32ish and under.

It's because the beginning of Symphonianis bright, vibrant, and childish. I think people started it expecting some awesome adventure with a darker undertone than what we got in the first hour or the game. It takes a long time to get to the boss in the fire temple. There is one fight with humans. After that you fight bunnies and birds. Yep. You're supposed to be on a big adventure to regenerate the world and you fight bunnies, birds, and snakes at the start lol.

Also, your protagonists are children with two adults. Raine does make the situation better with her history enthusiasm but Kratos is kind of boring tbh. The cast is kind of dull at the start. They are immature (naturally) and fight bunnies lol. I digress when it comes to their decisions with the start to an otherwise epic, monumental game.

Symphonia was released in North Amarica July 13, 2004. Also, Final Fantasy was dominating the JRPG market and FFX was released a year prior and FF X came out just before 2002 and that's is arguably one of it's best games, mainly among FF/JRPG newbies. FF X-2 entering NA during December the same year (2004). Final Fantasy XI was kind of a disaster but it was there as well. Crystal Chronicles was a Final Fantasy game released in 2004 that was a multiplayer and kind of a 3D battle system (in a weird, "step outside the circle and you will die" kind of way).

There are a few other games that took attention away from Symphonia such as Drakengard. Drakengard got a bunch of advertisements that year. It was everywhere. I bought it abs remember thinking how amazing the gameplay and graphics were. It was one of those "test the limits, build an amazing story, and show off current gen capabilities" games.

Drakengard took up time. People had both saved to the memory card. A lot of people played both and sometimes never finished Symphonia or half assed paid attention.

Star Ocean: Till the End of Time was released. Star Ocean was a hit in the west and everyone waited forever for the new Star Ocean (TEOT). It finally came that year and Square Enix knew the west had been waiting forever for a new Star Ocean. Square Enix had the big name in the JRPG and did a beautiful advertising job.

All that being said, Tales of Symphonia is finally released. The gameplay and story were amazing. Word of mouth helped out. Couch co op existed and the 2 player option was actually fun. The second player felt way more involved and could move around during battle and at the time, a co op JRPG of that caliber didnt really exist. It drew some people in. Siblings could play an RPG together and it was actually a really good game with an amazing story and combat system.

Namco also advertised Symphonia and learned their lesson that name alone wasn't enough in the west. They had full page ads in Nintendo Power. They advertised it in EB Games (Electronic Boutique, AKA, Gamestop before Gamestop bought them). They actually advertised it very well. I think it was because Star Ocean advertisements were out there and that was their big competitor for that release (they had to beat that before they could step to FF even though SO and FF are both owned by SE).

So... I think the flurry of all these things created one of the best games of all times. However, all the other games surrounding it and what led up to it created a storm.

A storm that had almost everyone play it at some point.... but not realize it's a series. Having played it they eventually come across another Tales game and buy it or play it. Quickly they think "oh... that's a series? I played that. Oh... this looks good actually."

Thus.... we have a reason why so many people have ToS as their first Tales game, admit it's one of the best in the series, but then tell you it's not why they love the series lol.

Thanks for reading my essay. There is more but tbh I spent way too much time as it is and wrote out way too much. I highly doubt anyone is even going to read all this or be interested but here it is. My stupid, useless theory.

[percywinchester27]

About a boy (Part-15 Final)

Word count: 2.6K

Warning: Feels, mentions of physical abuse and child-trafficking. Did I mention feels?

Characters: Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Benny, Michael, Will, OCs and… Sam?

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: The last one, guys! Thank you for all your love <3

All my love to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​​ and @deanssweetheart23​​​​​​​​​​ for beta reading this story <3 

About a boy masterlist

“All your stuff is in here,” Dean said, putting the bag on the counter. “Your clothes, books, and everything else.”

The last thing Dean had wanted to do was to go back to the Orphanage, especially now that there was no one there. Better him than Will, though. Which was why he had made up his mind and asked Bobby to make the detour. The place looked haunted, now that it was completely empty, save for the few cops doing rounds and working on the evidence.

Shuffling through Will’s things had made him realise how impersonal all of them were. Most of his clothes were used and donated ones. The five pairs of clothes, including those that he slept in, did not fit him well. The majority of the trunk under his bed was just books- Old, yellowed and tattering books. 

Dean had been staring out of the window lost in thought when Bobby made a pit stop outside a shopping centre. 

“We have to get something his size for the kid. He can’t step out of the hospital tomorrow in these clothes.”

Dean had to admit; Bobby had been pretty awesome about the whole deal. It had been all trial and error when it had come to raising Dean, but now he knew what he was doing. Will had thanked both Bobby and Jody profusely for wanting to adopt him, and it had taken some convincing to get it through his head that it wasn’t charity or a favour. They really wanted him to be a part of their family.

Convincing him had been mostly easy. The hard part was the Kensingtons. They weren’t willing to let go of Will and were ready to get dirty about it. With all the drama, child services had stepped in. It wasn’t like the Kensingtons could drag Will away with them, but this meant a substantial delay till the paperwork was sorted. Will was stuck here, and Dean wasn’t going to leave him alone in all this. It meant renting a cheap motel for the month, but hey, it was still a million times better than the orphanage.

Presently, Will blinked at the bag. “You went back to that place?” 

He could walk now and manage to do most things by himself. 

“Sure! Here, try this one on,” Dean said, throwing the new t-shirt on the bed. It was black and had ‘π-rate’ printed on it next to the face of an eye-patch wearing bearded man. “We picked this for you on our way here. See if it fits. There’s a few more inside the bag.”

Will stared at the t-shirt like it was something alien and the expression tugged at something inside Dean.

It was the little things that broke Dean’s heart. Before, he wouldn’t have cared about getting a new shirt, but all this was so new for Will. No one had ever bought him anything; something specially for him and completely his. 

This was just the first of many, and Dean was going to be there for all the rest. 

It was still subduing to walk Will to the temp centre at Child services. It was a comfortable place, and Dean had promised Will that he would be here as much as he could. Though Will still looked morose going in, like he was doubtful his happiness was lasting. 

That night, Dean couldn’t get much sleep between nightmares of Will calling out to him as Andy dragged him into the car and cries of baby Sam when Dean had carried him out of their burning house. He spent the whole night tossing and turning, then woke up late in the morning. It was already too bright outside the window when Dean sat up groggily. Beside him, Bobby’s bed was empty.

He checked the clock. 10:17. Dammit!

What would Will think? Dean had promised to be there early in the morning and now even Bobby had disappeared to some place.

So he did all he could. He washed himself and got dressed for the day, then paced around the room waiting for Bobby, fixing the tiny messes in the room, like empty food bags and burger wrappers. Eventually Dean found himself back on his bed, his bags emptied on the covers. 

God, there was so much mess.

He should have cleaned his trunk at least once when he had been living in the dorm, because now there was a gross mouldy half eaten bagel there that he didn’t even remember having touched. Ever.

He hadn’t added anything to what he had left with from Sioux Falls, except some school books. Underneath the pile of clothes, his hand hit something solid. Slowly, Dean pulled out the long rosewood box that Bobby had given him. In all the crazy mess, he had never had the time to actually go through it.

Dean opened it cautiously. The contents had of course remained unchanged, though he was stuck by the power of them all the same. He ran his fingers lightly over the baby angel, and the silver charm bracelet. Maybe it had belonged to his mother, maybe it was an anniversary gift from his dad. The small folding knife was jammed at first, but when Dean pried it open, it gleamed wicked sharp. The inside was etched with H.W. Maybe it had belonged to some long lost family member. Each of the objects was a ‘maybe,’ a story in itself. A story which Dean would never know.

He turned to the black and white pictures, especially to the one where his mom was holding him from behind. If Dean hadn’t known for sure that it was in fact him and his mom, he’d have never believed it. For one, he was smiling too widely. He didn’t ever remember smiling so much, even as a kid, and secondly, mom was beautiful. She was so beautiful. Her eyes were so full of love, that it hurt to look at her, and then it hurt to look away.

If Dean was being completely honest, this was why he had never opened the box again. He couldn’t look at those memories without feeling this ache in his chest. He flipped through the pictures. His parents in front of their car, his dad holding a huge fish, laughing with a friend. His mom kissing baby Sam on the forehead, while small Dean was looking at his little brother. The baby’s hand was tightly wrapped around Dean’s finger. Like he was holding on to something important.

Dean sighed. 

What would his mom think of him now? Would she be disappointed in him that he had stopped looking for Sam? Stopped looking for her baby?

If he closed his eyes and concentrated really hard, he could almost hear her voice, humming the notes of ‘Hey, Jude.’

Dean looked at the picture again. She was just so beautiful, and the baby was so happy. Little Sam’s face was turned towards the camera. The hand not holding Dean’s finger was fisted and turned towards the camera, a dimpled smile on his face. His mother's face was looming right above his, her lips hovering over the tiny black spot next to his nose… The spot was just like…

“Shit!” Dean swore, jumpin out of his bed, his things tumbling onto the floor.

“Shit shit shit,” he muttered, shoving the picture in his pocket and hurriedly pulling on his shoes.

The door opened and Bobby came in. He had the weirdest smile plastered to his face. Another time, Dean would have called it creepy and laughed over it. 

Today, he ran to Bobby and grabbed him by the arm.

“Bobby! You won’t freaking believe this!” He yanked the photo out of his pocket and shoved it in Bobby’s face, “Look! He has a mole next to his nose. That’s exactly where-”

“Will has it,” Bobby completed, the grin on his face stretching further.

What was happening? Dean felt his breath coming up short and he sat down at the edge of his bed, feeling faint from either excitement or fear that this was all just a dream.

Bobby pulled out an envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Dean. “You might want to take a look at this.”

Dean’s fingers trembled as he reached out and took the envelope. Inside was a medical paper of some sort. He could spot his name on it, but most of it was gibberish to him in the keyed up state of his brain.

“What’s this?” he asked, waving the paper around.

“It’s a DNA test,” Bobby said. “It proves that Will really is your brother.”

“What?”

Bobby sat down next to him. “I asked the doctor to run it right after they operated Will. I mean it was a crazy coincidence that your blood group matched. And that’s one hell of a rare blood group in America. Did it not occur to you that it might mean something more?”

Dean was too shocked to react.

“That, and his eyes are shaped exactly like John’s. You didn’t spend that long with your old man, but for me, it was hard to miss.” Bobby shrugged. “I didn’t want to tell you before I got the results and knew for sure.”

“He’s really Sam. He’s really my Sammy, isn’t he?” Dean whispered wonderingly. The burst of energy that had come to him had all dissipated just as suddenly. He was cold and clammy. “He was right in front me all along.”

“This means one other thing.” Bobby looked at him sideways. “The Kensingtons have no case now. Nobody is taking him away.”

And then Dean was crying in his hands. Years and years of exhaustion, worry and fear just ebbing away. This was unbelievable, too good to be true. 

Bobby put an arm around him, and it felt right. Of course Will was Sam. Of course he belonged.

“C’mon, let’s go tell your brother,”

*******************************************

Will had been waiting for them in the lobby of the Child welfare Centre, nervously pacing as if he was scared that Dean wouldn’t show.

When he saw them, the relief spread quickly through his features before morphing into annoyance.“Where were you?” He demanded. “You’re an hour late.”

Dean didn’t retort like he usually would have. He simply couldn’t stop looking at his brother. His brother.

“I have something for you,” he said quietly.

Will scowled. “Don’t think you can get out of keeping me waiting by buying me a cool t-shirt or something!” But the anger was already leaving. “And you’re looking at me weirdly. Why’re you looking at me weirdly?”

“Here,” Dean pulled out the picture. “Take this.”

Will took it, then gave him a puzzled look. 

“That’s me,” Dean pointed out. “And this is mom.”

Will’s eyes glazed over and a small smile tugged at his lips. “She loves you. I can tell,” he said. It was quite obvious from the picture. “Is this Sam?” 

Dean put his finger on the baby. “This right here,” he took a deep breath. “This right here is you.”

Will looked up startled. “Dean!”

“It really is you. Look, look at that mole. It’s exactly where you have it.”

Will shook his head, eyes wide, like he was scared of believing.

Dean took hold of Will’s hand and thrust the DNA report in it. “Here, take this. It’s a DNA report.” In low voices they quickly explained to Will what Bobby had told him at the motel.

“All that time in the record room, all those nights, we were looking for me?” His voice was strangled.

“Yes, Will. Yes.”

Will was staring hungrily at the picture now, as if he couldn’t get enough of it. His eyes lingered on their mom and then where his tiny palm was wrapped around Dean’s pinkie finger.

He gave Dean one disbelieving watery look and then flung his arms Dean’s waist, burying his face in the front of Dean’s shirt.

Dean gave a watery laugh himself. “So I guess you really are stuck with me now, huh, little brother?”

Will gave a sob.

“Sure you don’t want to run away with those rich ass Kensingtons?” Dean said it mostly as a joke, but the apprehension was still there underneath it all. 

Will shook his head. “They wouldn’t have wanted me if I wasn’t some sort of protege or whatever they were calling it. You… you wanted me even when I was nothing… when I wasn’t even your brother…”

He sniffled. “I don’t want any of it. I want you.”

“Yeah, alright now... hush,“ Dean said, rolling his eyes to stop the tears. “Don’t go wiping your snot on my clothes. That’s still not allowed.”

Will snorted amidst the waterworks and Bobby handed him a bottle of water. It took a while to calm him enough to talk without hiccuping.

Bobby had gone to handle the paperwork with the Child services. They were heading to the precinct next to clear the formalities and were taking Will with them.

“Hey,” Dean said softly. Will, who was leaning against him, jerked a bit. All the crying had exhausted him. Dean worried that the emotional and physical strain was messing with him. 

“What do you wanna be called?”

“What do you mean?” Will sat up straight in his chair facing Dean.

“I mean you can go by ‘Will’ or ‘Sam,” whatever you want.

Will was quiet.

“You can take time to think about it,” Dean suggested

He shook his head. “Sam. I wanna go by Sam.”

“What? Don’t you want to think about it?”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I can come out and say this now, but I was a bit jealous of the way you talked about Sam… the longing when you said the name. It meant something to someone.” he hesitated. “Mom… and dad… this meant something to them. ‘Will’ is probably just a lottery name or the matron just loved Shakespeare too much.”

“But it has been your identity for so long,” Dean said gently. “You don’t have to give it up just because you found out your real name.”

“It’s not it,” Will said. “I want to be Sam Winchester.”

Dean caught his breath. Sam Winchester. It felt like such a big name for such a small boy.

“Alright then,” Dean said. “Sammy,’ it is!”

Will’s… Sam’s eyebrow quirked up. “I agreed to ‘Sam,’ not ‘Sammy!”

“Yeah whatever, Sammy,” Dean grinned.

“Sammy’ sounds like a five year olds name!”

“You can whine all you want. I ain’t gonna stop calling you that.”

Sam huffed, then crossed his arms. Dean could see he was trying hard to not laugh. “Fine. But you’re the only one who gets to call me that.”

Dean smirked.

“Boys!” Bobby had appeared at the far end of the lobby. He was already carrying Sam’s bags, gesturing to them to hurry up. “C’mon! Time to go.”

Both of them slid down from the chairs, standing besides each other.

“You ready?” Dean asked.

“Mhmm.”

“Let's go home, Sammy.”

With that they both walked out into the evening sun. Neither of them turned to look back.

*******************************

A/N 2: I cried while writing the end. The epilogue is based one year later... I so hope y’all like it also <3 

Please do tell me what you thought of the chapter? I live for comments!

If you wanna be tagged, please send me an ask

About a Boy taglist:

@sdavid09​​​​​​​​​​ @deanssweetheart23​​​​​​​​​​ @blacktithe7​​​​​​​​​​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​​​​​​​​​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​​​​​​​​​ @chalicia​​​​​​​​​​  @anathewierdo​​​​​​​​​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​​​​​​​​ @protectteamfreewill​​​​​​​​​​ @firefly124-writing​​​​​​​​​​ @spnbaby-67​​​​​​​​​​ @hoboal87​​​​​​​​​​ @rizlow1​​​​​​​​​​ @donnaintx​​​​​​​​​​ @starmission​​​​​​​​​​ @gh0stgurl​​​​​​​​​​ @tftumblin​​​​​​​​​​ @emily-a-c11​​​​​​​​​​ @ericaprice2008​​​​​​​​​​ @jotink78​​​​​​​​​​ @charliebradbury1104​​​​​​​​​​ @ohgodwhybloggg​​​​​​​​​​ @i-dont-get-cold​​​​​​​​​​  @bobbie3939​​​​​​​​​​  @samsexualdeancurious​​​​​​​​​​ @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba​​​​​​​​​​  @cookiechipdough​​​​​​​​​​ @wildfirewinchester​​

[wellesleyunderground]

Wellesley Writes It: Conversation with Sumita Chakraborty '08 (@notsumatra), author of ARROW

Sumita Chakraborty is a poet, essayist, scholar, and a graduate of Wellesley College, class of 2008. Her debut collection of poetry, Arrow, was released in September 2020 with Alice James Books in the United States and Carcanet Press in the United Kingdom, and has received coverage in The New York Times, NPR, and The Guardian. Her first scholarly book, tentatively titled Grave Dangers: Death, Ethics, and Poetics in the Anthropocene, is in progress. She is Helen Zell Visiting Professor in Poetry at the University of Michigan - Ann Arbor, where she teaches in literary studies and creative writing.

Sumita’s poetry appears or is forthcoming in POETRY, The American Poetry Review, Best American Poetry 2019, the Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-Day, and elsewhere. Her essays most recently appear in the Los Angeles Review of Books. Her scholarship appears or is forthcoming in Cultural Critique, Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and the Environment (ISLE), Modernism/modernity, College Literature, and elsewhere. Previously, she was Visiting Assistant Professor in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, as well as Lecturer in English and Creative Writing, at Emory University.

Wellesley Underground’s Wellesley Writes it Series Editor, E.B. Bartels ’10, had the chance to chat with Sumita about publishing, reading, and writing. E.B. is grateful to Sumita for willing to be part of the Wellesley Writes It series in the middle of her book debut!

EB: Thank you so much for being part of the Wellesley Writes It series, Sumita! I’m excited to get to talk to you about writing in general, but especially your debut collection Arrow. Can you start off speaking a bit about how this book came about?

SC: Thank YOU so much! This is such a joy.

The book that’s now Arrow went through about seven prior full versions.

EB: Oh my gosh! Wow.

SC: While there’s a lot going on in there, the most fundamental story I wanted to tell was that of the experience of living in the aftermath of severe domestic violence, other entangled forms of assault, and grief (in my case, particularly for my sister, who died in 2014 at the age of 24). The word “aftermath” is a tricky one, because there is no neat and tidy “after” violence or grief, particularly when one considers the varying scales on which various devastations and mournings take place. One of the main narrative arcs of the collection, though, is that of becoming someone who can embrace love and joy and care and kinship even when those concepts have been weaponized or altogether foreclosed for all of one’s childhood and adolescence. And that’s a narrative that requires a sense of an “after” that I am deeply fortunate to have personally experienced. That’s the main tightrope the collection is invested in walking, which forms the through-line around which and with which its other preoccupations and obsessions orbit and collide.

EB: Wow, thank you so much for sharing all that, Sumita. I especially like what you said about the lack of a “neat and tidy” ending -- isn’t that always the case when it comes to writing about things from our own lives? We want real-life closure but sometimes have to settle for just narrative closure instead.

I meant to say also congratulations on the publication of your collection not only in the US but in the UK as well! What was it like to put that version together? The same? Different?

SC: I was wildly lucky in this regard. Some years ago, I published the poem “Dear, beloved” in Poetry, before it was in Arrow—and in fact before this version of Arrow even existed. At that point, the editor of Carcanet reached out to me to say that the press would be interested in bringing out my collection in the UK. I kind of panicked!

EB: I totally would have, too!

SC: As I mentioned, there was no Arrow yet. I was on a much earlier version that was “complete,” but when I looked at it, I knew: This ain’t it. And querying US presses was therefore not something I was prepared to do at that time; UK publication was even less within the realm of my imagination. I essentially told them the manuscript was in progress and asked if I could reach back out when it was ready and if I had secured a US publisher. Some years later, the collection was picked up by Alice James in the States and I reached back out to Carcanet to see if they were still interested, and they were! Alice James and Carcanet worked together during the production process, so while there were certainly some differences in approaches across either side of the pond, much of it was really streamlined, and that is all thanks to the outstanding and immense labor of the extraordinary editors and staffs at both publishers.  

EB: How did you begin writing poetry in the first place? What was your path to becoming a writer?

SC: I didn’t come into much of a sense that I was interested in poetry and in literature until college. When I got there, I didn’t have a sense of really any passions and skills that I had, and that’s not imposter syndrome speaking—it’s because I had a terrible record in high school and found nothing inspirational there, and I was also pretty busy attempting to survive the violence I was experiencing at home and working toward moving out, which I did before college. In my first year and my sophomore fall at Wellesley, I took a really broad smattering of courses, including (with wild, and probably inappropriate, disregard for prerequisites in both cases) Advanced Shakespeare with William Cain and Advanced Poetry Writing with Frank Bidart. I was very much not good enough for both of those courses! But even as I was flailing around in them, something in my mind clicked: this was something I was willing to be terrible at until I started to understand it a bit better. These were puzzles that I liked, questions I liked, problems I cared about dwelling with. It was pretty much “love at first confusion.”

EB: I love that idea: “this was something I was willing to be terrible at.” That 100% nails how I feel about writing, too.

So, obviously, as you just said, Wellesley was very important in your trajectory as a poet -- the title of your book is a reference to a Frank Bidart poem! Which other faculty, staff, fellow students have influenced or inspired you? Are there any professors or classes you would tell young Wellesley writers that they 100% have to take?

SC: Following “love at first confusion,” I essentially made a second home of the first floor of Founders, so my answer to who at Wellesley influenced or inspired me could fill multiple pages!

EB: I love Founders. I miss Founders.

SC: I will invariably accidentally leave someone out and feel guilty, so I offer my mea culpas in advance. In addition to Bill Cain and Frank Bidart, I am beyond grateful to Dan Chiasson, with whom I worked on both my literary studies (including my thesis) and my poetry, and who graciously offered me more mentorship than I’d ever experienced in my life before that point; to Kate Brogan, from whom I got the bug for twentieth-century poetics, which remains the focus of my literary studies research; to Yoon Sun Lee, who taught the theory class when I took it, and planted a hugely important seed that I didn’t even know had been planted until much later simply by being a brilliant Asian American literary scholar (not a role I had ever before seen filled by someone of this subject position); to Larry Rosenwald, who was the first person I had ever met in a literary context who both knew that English was not my heritage language and, in his infinite and genuine passion for multilingualism, viewed that fact as a strength.

I wish I’d had more of a chance to get to know my peers while actually at Wellesley—my life circumstances while I was in college differed from the typical Wellesley experience in ways that made doing so challenging (for one, I worked multiple jobs the entire way through), but I’ve gotten to better know many people I knew at Wellesley more in the years since and that’s been a wonderful experience.

EB: I’ve also made a lot of Wellesley friends post-Wellesley. The Wellesley experience never ends, in that way.

SC: Since I’ve already spoken to the coursework that inspired me, I’m going to zig a bit where your last question zags: there isn’t a single course I would tell young Wellesley writers or literary enthusiasts that they 100% have to take. I don’t think one could go wrong with anyone I’ve named here (and I’ve been really excited to learn about the new additions to the English department: I would have loved to have learned from Cord Whitaker and Octavio González, and have heard wonderful things about both!). But I think that what made the Wellesley experience truly influential for me was that I had the opportunity, like Whitman’s “Noiseless Patient Spider” (though, um, not very noiselessly or patiently), to “launch’d forth filament, filament, filament,” and really listen to what spoke to me. I came in with no preconceptions, no expectations, no firm career plan (or even career plan). Knowing what undergraduates at environments like Wellesley frequently pressure themselves or feel pressured to do (or achieve or produce or attain), I don’t want to offer advice along the lines of a “must-do.” Rather, try things out and truly listen to yourself. What’s your “love at first confusion”?

EB: I know from personal experience that writing can be a really lonely practice. Who did you rely on for support during those really frustrating writing moments? Other writers? Your spouse? Friends? Fellow Wellesley grads? What does your writing/artistic community look like?

SC: All of the above! The thing is, for me, I don’t think writing is a lonely practice. When I feel most energized about writing, it is because I feel like I am in a conversation—or, to put a finer point on it, when I’m in a conversation that is nestled within hundreds of thousands of other conversations that have happened for millennia, are currently happening all around me, and will continue to happen after I’m a hunk of dirt. Tapping into that is often what brings me to the page in the first place.

EB: That’s such a good point.

SC: So when students, for example, feel really isolated or alone in their writing life, my first recommendation is to remind themselves of their beloveds. These may be actual living ride-or-die humans in their lives; these may be ghosts of writers and artists past that are important to them; they might be their most frequently bustling group text or their favorite TV show. Honestly, if one’s thinking of this question as broadly as I recommend, those beloveds probably belong to all of the above categories, to some degree. When you write, even if none of these beloveds are your subject or your audience or anything quite that easily analogous to the process, they are with you, and they have formed who you are before you’ve even picked up a pen or turned your computer on, so they are with you when you are writing, too.

EB: What is it like to now be teaching poetry to undergrads? Are you channeling your inner Dan Chiasson?

SC: Ha! Thank you for that—I just got a visual of myself trying to go as Dan for Halloween and I cracked myself up. (Dan, if you’re reading this: sorry!) I teach undergraduates and graduate students at Michigan, both in literary studies and in creative writing, and I love it very, very much. My students of all levels are brilliant, thoughtful, curious, and wildly imaginative people who often help bolster my faith in the ongoing importance of literary work. Honestly, particularly during this year, I have frequently been in awe of my students and have felt overwhelmingly lucky to be able to work with them.

EB: I know that you are also currently working on your first scholarly book, Grave Dangers: Death, Ethics, and Poetics in the Anthropocene. How do you approach writing poetry vs. writing an academic work? How is your creative process similar or different?

SC: For me the two have been inseparable since Wellesley. I essentially ask similar questions and have similar preoccupations no matter what genre I write; in terms of deciding which thought belongs to which genre, or which project a particular moment is better suited to, that’s often a matter of thinking carefully of what shapes that I want the questions to take, and what kinds of “answers”—in quotation marks because I don’t strive at certainty or mastery in either genre, or in anything for that matter—for which I imagine reaching or searching. For me, the processes for writing both are very, very similar: I draft wildly and edit painstakingly. It’s more a matter of closely listening to my patterns of thinking on any given subject or day in order to find out if the rhetorical patterns of academic prose would better suit them or if the rhetorical patterns of poetry would better suit them.

EB: What are you currently reading, and/or what have you read recently that you’ve really enjoyed? What would you recommend to read while we (are continuing to) lay low during this pandemic?

SC: 2020 was such an incredible year for books! Which feels somewhat perverse to say, considering everything else was dismal and it was hardly an easy year to put out a book, either. In terms of new poetry releases—and this is not a comprehensive list, so my mea culpas here too to the many that I have loved and will end up accidentally leaving off—I have this year read and loved: Taylor Johnson’s Inheritance, francine j. harris’s Here is the Sweet Hand, Craig Santos Perez’s Habitat Threshold, Jihyun Yun’s Some Are Always Hungry, Eduardo Corral’s Guillotine, Rick Barot’s The Galleons, Jericho Brown’s The Tradition, Shane McCrae’s Sometimes I Never Suffered, Victoria Chang’s Obit, Danez Smith’s Homie, Aricka Foreman’s Salt Body Shimmer, and Natalie Diaz’s Postcolonial Love Poem. Two prior-to-2020 poetry collections that I reread every year are Brigit Pegeen Kelly’s Song and Lucille Clifton’s The Book of Light. I’m currently reading Claudia Rankine’s Just Us and Alice Oswald’s Nobody.

EB: Also what about Lucie Brock-Broido? I know she was a teacher of yours at one time, and she was a professor in my MFA program. I had the pleasure of once sitting in on her lecture, and it was life-changing. Are there any particular poems of hers you would suggest?

SC: I joined Lucie’s summer workshop held at her home in Cambridge, MA the summer after my sophomore year at Wellesley, and I stayed in it until I moved to Atlanta for graduate school in 2012. “Life-changing” is right—in fact, it feels a little too modest. She was transformative. A cosmos-realigner. A hilarious, brilliant, extraordinarily kind meteor. A fox with wings. A unicorn. I could go on, and on. For a reader new to her work, I’d recommend starting with her posthumously published “Giraffe” in The New Yorker. I think “A Girl Ago” and “You Have Harnessed Yourself Ridiculously to This World” from Stay, Illusion (2015) are also remarkable entry points. After that, I would probably recommend reading her collections in this order: first Stay, Illusion; then A Hunger (1988); then The Master Letters (1997); and finally Trouble in Mind (2005). The sequencing here isn’t intended as a ranking in the least—my own personal favorites toggle back and forth depending on where my own “trouble in mind” lives, and each collection is dazzlingly strong and has its own raison d’être—but rather because I think the story those collections tell in that order would let a new reader have a full sense of Lucie’s poetics outside of the story that mere chronology can tell.  

EB: Any advice for aspiring young poets?

SC: Filament, filament, filament. Let your writing life be as huge and wild and disparate as the whole person you are—don’t feel like there’s only a part of you that’s “worthy of poetry,” and don’t let anyone else tell you what kind of writer you should or shouldn’t be.

EB: Thank you, Sumita! That was wonderful.

[yoshinom2u]

Hey Animal Crossing fans. We need to talk about something.

I know this series means a lot to you. I know you've all been looking forward to it for *years* and are excited to get it tomorrow as soon as you can.

Please. I am *begging* you. If you can purchase and play Animal Crossing from places other than your local GameStop/EB Games EVEN IF ITS A LITTLE LATER I urge you to do so. More so if you can get the game delivered or downloaded so you don't have to leave your house.

I know physical is important to some people and I know the world has gone to hell but if we can't compromise waiting a little bit to get your plastic Animal Crossing box then what's even the point of trying to quarantine if we're gonna throw away human lives the second we're inconvenienced?

I've been trying to preach this mindset all week on Twitter as well as others but the support has been... disappointing. News stories ran but GameStop/EB Games are still planning on being open on Friday, despite the dangers of these large gatherings.

They haven't supplied ANY sort of cleaning supplies.

They haven't offered to cover ANYONE with COVID-like illnesses and are basically firing anyone who stays home without sick leave time.

Employees are now having to choose between the safety of their immunocompromised loved ones or their job. Which is NOT a decision they should have to make.

I'm not talking out of my ass, either. Here's a leaked conference call from their regional management meeting: https://youtu.be/JSYBHMIZ1Q8

And not ONLY that but I know someone personally who's suffering because of this. She can't visit her own father because she's worried of this virus being contracted while she's working. I'm seeing people *breaking down crying* over this.

But no one seems to be listening.

Because Animal Crossing.

The sad part is if this were any other game release I think I may have actually had a chance to change people's mind and help flatten the curve.

People I thought would be supportive of this? A deaf ear. Why? Because Animal Crossing. I feel like I haven't been able to get to anyone.

I pray that no new cases occur because of this I really, really do. I've got loved ones who are VERY HIGH-RISK for contracting COVID and I don't want to have to tell them that it's getting *worse* out there.

So, Tumblr, this is my last attempt. And then I'll shut up about this for good as I'm sure some of you would be glad to hear.

I feel so defeated. I never had a chance.

Because Animal Crossing.