#just click on her for full res <3

[puppygirlpencil]

its meeeeee :3

[talesofesther]

I told the moon about you

Wednesday Addams x OC/Reader

Summary: Wednesday finds herself enchanted by the black wolf who always watches her play the cello in the dead of night.

A/N: This was written for a request sent by @roleplayfandom and I combined it with an idea of mine that I've had for a while, hope you don't mind and can still enjoy it. Arguably one of the most important stories I've written, because this oc has been my baby for so long, and I'm so happy to finally have the opportunity to include her in one of my stories; just hope I was able to do her justice with this. <3

Word count: 6,4k (sorry)

Masterlist

There was a drizzle in the air, the wind carried it around easily; tiny droplets of rain landed on the strings of Wednesday's cello that shook with each note she played.

Past the thin rain and clouds, the brightness of the full moon was nothing but a faded blur, casting a silver glow over the Addams girl and serving as the only witness to her spectacle.

The strong melody traveled with the wind same as the rain did, reaching the deepest parts of Nevermore and undoubtedly waking up a few students from their slumber. It only served as incentive — Wednesday could feel the burn on her fingertips as her song reached its momentum. The pain was welcomed, embraced.

When she released the strings, a soft sigh was let out as well. She blinked up at the moon above her, silently thanking it for its loyalty in keeping her most vulnerable moments a secret.

With uncanny delicacy, Wednesday lowered her cello, closing the case with a soft click.

The rain looked like it was starting to pick up, bigger droplets started to kiss Wednesday's cheeks, making their way down to her chin. The sky was darkening, with the moon fighting for a chance at a last goodbye to the one responsible for her favorite lullabies.

Wednesday walked up to the railings, her hands leaning against the wet concrete there. Save for the howling wind, it was strangely quiet.

But there was something different with today. Wednesday could feel it. She could feel the weight of a mysterious presence nearby.

As expected, her instincts never failed. It was dark, pitch black, the shape of trees blending together with one another in the distance.

But in the middle of the darkness, a pair of caramel eyes were spotted. They belonged to what appeared to be a black wolf; big in its size, ears pointy and tail long, fur a little spiked as it glinted from the raindrops that fell on it, almost resembling a starry night sky. It was just sitting there, on the grass of the gardens outside. Its golden eyes fixed intently all the way up to the balcony where Wednesday was standing.

The Addams girl expressed no reaction other than angling her chin up with furrowed brows, a dare; and the wolf understood, because it slowly stood up, its ears resting back against its head before it trotted out of sight and into the woods.

Wednesday remained under the rain until she could feel the wetness of it seeping into her clothes. Her hands held onto the railings tightly.

Turns out the moon wasn't the only witness tonight.

—

Those same golden eyes followed Wednesday in her dreams, and she woke up frustrated for not knowing who they belonged to.

Was it just a wild animal passing by or a student braving the woods past curfew?

The thought of the wolf being a student seemed… unlikely, because it looked much different from Enid when compared to her 'wolfed out' form. The black wolf was simply that, a wolf — albeit a tad bigger. Yet Wednesday didn't discard the possibility of it being someone. Someone who was watching her.

She tried pushing the thought out of her mind during the day for the sake of her grades.

"Miss Addams?"

Wednesday snapped her head up, only to see her anatomy teacher and the whole entirety of the class with their heads turned her way, eyes expectant as they waited for something to happen.

A scowl came to Wednesday's face at the unwanted attention. She rested both hands on her table, briefly realizing that the board had three extra paragraphs of lessons written on it that weren't in her notebook yet.

"I made you a question," the teacher continued, one of her hands coming to rest on her waist, "for how long can a gorgon stone a person?"

Wednesday gulped, her lips hovering open as she searched her mind for the useless information yet came empty-handed.

The teacher was annoying, one of the least liked by the Addams girl. She was old and wore long and colorful skirts, with obnoxiously large glasses resting atop her nose.

"It depends on the gorgon," a familiar voice suddenly said, "but usually from two to four hours."

Wednesday glanced beside her to where the owner of said voice sat, and was met with a smirk being directed at her. She huffed in annoyance, visibly rolling her eyes.

You had transferred to Nevermore a little over two months ago — adorning a pair of dark sunglasses you never took off and dressed in all black, save for the light pink pendant of your necklace — instantly getting into Wednesday's nerves the moment you stepped foot into the school and called her 'sweetheart'.

"Very well." The teacher looked between you and Wednesday, not entirely pleased that Wednesday wasn't the one who answered but deciding to let it pass, and turned around to write on the board again.

Wednesday didn't know what your deal was, no one did. No one knew who your family was, what were your abilities, or the reason you enrolled in Nevermore; not even Enid knew, and she was the gossip queen. Despite the ever-present sunglasses, one thing Wednesday knew for a fact was that you weren't a vampire, just by the way you scrunched your nose at the mere sight of blood; but that's about everything she knows so far.

Too smug for your own good, you leaned back on your chair. Wednesday could feel your gaze roaming up and down her body, before you said, quietly; "you're welcome-"

There was sunlight coming through the dusty windows. Wednesday could see her reflection in your glasses. "Shut up."

"Sweetheart," you finished with a grin.

The pencil that was thrown in your direction missed you only by an inch.

—

When Wednesday walked out onto the balcony of her dorm the next night, the wolf was already there.

She got a little taken aback by it, halting in her steps and gripping tighter onto the case of her cello. Wednesday immediately discarded the possibility of it being a coincidence or just a wild animal passing by. The wolf was there for her.

Those caramel eyes held a staring contest with Wednesday, and they eventually won. Satisfied, the wolf then lay down on the grass… and waited.

Long beats passed by until Wednesday finally sat down on her chair and adjusted her cello to be played. Her movements slow and calculated, all too aware of the heavy stare on her.

The moon was bright in the night sky, and Wednesday briefly glanced up at it, partly searching for some kind of reassurance but only finding that it wasn't a night of full moon.

When her gaze found the wolf again, she saw it looking up at the moon as well. The sharp silhouette of its muzzle being highlighted by the silver glow, fur flowing like silk with the wind.

Wolves sing for the moon, maybe that's why this one took a liking to the Addams girl.

There was hesitance on the way Wednesday's fingers hovered over the strings. Save for the occasional twitch of its tail, the wolf was unmoving on the grass, patiently watching.

Wednesday could tell the wolf to leave again, part of her knew it would obey. She didn't. She only closed her eyes, and started playing.

—

The next day, Wednesday made a trip to the school's library. She dug up every single book about werewolves and lycanthropy that she could find — some of them old, pages fragile to the touch and covered in a thick layer of dust.

The place was mostly deserted as per usual, and Wednesday saw no harm in staying. A table waited for her in the middle of the tall bookshelves, the only one hidden from sunlight.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little thrilled at the prospect of a new mystery. Things have been dull at school without an evil pilgrim trying to destroy it.

Though she was able to read in peaceful silence for all of ten minutes.

"What's with the sudden interest in furs?"

A heavy sigh left Wednesday's lips when she heard your voice. She sat straighter on her chair and chose to ignore you, pointedly turning the page of her book and focusing on it.

You hopped up on the table, sitting there cross-legged so you could face Wednesday, "you know your roommate is one, right? I bet she'd be happy to answer your questions."

See, there's a reason why Wednesday is bothered by your presence. Every time you're near, every time she can hear nothing but your voice or feel nothing but the warmth radiating from your body; Wednesday's little black heart gains a burst of color that should never exist, it picks up a faster rhythm and makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. It's a feeling that's been there once before, fleetingly, much smaller than it is now. But she's no stranger to what comes with it.

"I don't remember asking for your advice," Wednesday said, still refusing to look at you, her bangs hiding her eyes from you.

"Ouch," you mumbled, leaning back on your hands, "was just trying to help."

No one else but you could make Wednesday feel the slightest bit of remorse for snapping. And it's not like she paid attention to the last three lines she just read in the book anyway. Begrudgingly, Wednesday glanced up at you, and the moment her eyes found you, she knew it'd be a whole challenge in itself to look away again; the dim golden light of the table lamp framed your profile and the way your hair fell over your shoulder — for a second, it reminded Wednesday of her wolf.

Her wolf. The thought jolted her back to reality and she cleared her throat, heat rising to her cheeks as if you'd be able to read her thoughts.

"When are you gonna stop chasing after me like a lost puppy?" Wednesday didn't sound half as confident as she should for those words.

You raised an eyebrow at that, almost as if you wanted to be challenged. You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees, so you could cast over every twitch on Wednesday's expression, your personal space shy of mingling with hers. "When you ask me to," you whispered.

The air felt electric, there was something enticing about the way you refused to back down sometimes. Wednesday felt the hair at the back of her neck rising with a shiver. If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under already — or at least fighting for air between her and this damn table. Wednesday couldn't decide which outcome she liked best.

Wood scratched against the floor as she suddenly pulled back the chair beside hers; "sit down properly, stay quiet," without looking at you, she shoved one of the books in your direction, "we're looking for a werewolf who can transform without a full moon."

—

Nothing. There was nothing in any of the books.

Wednesday walked back to her dorm without having learned a single thing. None of the books in the school had anything remotely close to the creature she saw the past two nights. Frustration was eating at her insides because she was running out of leads to follow, a dead end steadily approaching.

She went up the stairs of Ophelia Hall in a haste, pushing the door to her room out of the way and causing a loud thump that got Enid jumping on her bed, almost throwing her cell phone to Wednesday's side of the room.

"Jesus Wednesday, what did the door do to you?" Enid grumbled, sitting up on her bed.

Wednesday didn't respond, she threw her black backpack by the feet of her bed and came to stand in front of Enid. "What do you know of werewolves that can transform without a full moon?"

Slowly, a frown came to Enid's features. She turned off her phone when Wednesday kept glaring at it. "Nothing? Werewolves don't usually change without a full moon," Enid explained, confusion evident in her tone.

"And what if they did?"

"Then they're most likely not a werewolf."

Wednesday clenched her jaw in annoyance, she tugged at the tie around her neck, taking it off and messing up her hair in the process.

"Uh- my mother used to tell me about people who could shift into wolves at will, when I was younger," Enid kept going, wondering if that's what Wednesday was after.

The tie fell to her feet and Wednesday came to sit beside Enid; "tell me."

"Well, I don't know much about it, just that they're technically not werewolves. At least not like me," Enid shrugged, her colorful nails tapping her knee as she searched her brain for the stories she heard as a kid. "Oh, people used to call them hellhounds… pretty creepy if you ask me," she grimaced momentarily, "because they could change form whenever they pleased, and their… looks didn't help either, it made others scared of them. Most of the hellhounds succumbed to the fame and lived up to the name back in the 1850s I think, from what I know."

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, "lived up to the name?"

"Killers," Enid gulped, "or hunters, as they'd call it. My mother always told me they were no good, so I guess the bad rep still follows," she shrugged, "maybe that's why no one has seen one for the past twenty years or so."

—

Wednesday didn't sleep that night. She kept staring at her ceiling and going over everything that Enid had told her. And the only other thought on her mind was you. It was inevitable, too fitting for it to be a coincidence.

Every time she's seen that wolf she felt the exact same tug on her heart that you so inconveniently brought. It couldn't be a coincidence.

For a week straight, Wednesday waited for the wolf to appear every night so she could start playing her cello. And every night without fail, the wolf was there; same place, same time. It would lay down, watch her, and then leave.

—

On the tenth night, Wednesday wasn't on the balcony of her dorm. She decided to break the pattern.

There was no moon in the sky tonight, it almost looked like a storm was brewing. The air was frigid outside, the grass already coated with a thin layer of ice. Wednesday enjoyed the cold, but even she was reprimanding herself for having only one coat on.

Glancing down at her phone, Wednesday saw that it was already five minutes past the usual time the wolf showed up. She wondered if it saw the empty balcony and left. Or maybe it wasn't going to show up at all tonight. She felt strangely disappointed at the thought.

A twig snapped behind Wednesday, causing her to hastily turn around with a gasp lingering on her tongue. The trees stood tall in front of her, creating a blanket of pure darkness between them, nothing could be seen. Nothing, except a pair of golden eyes. For a moment, they looked like they were floating on nothing, intently watching the girl in front of them as if she was prey.

For several beats, Wednesday waited. And then, one paw stepped out of the woods and into the grass, causing a chill to run down her back — not from fear, at least not only fear.

The name hellhound has never seemed more fitting. One paw in front of the other, white air huffing from its nose with each breath, fiery eyes, and fur as black as the night. It was almost as if darkness became alive.

Admittedly, it was bewitching.

The wolf, even on all fours, was almost as tall as Wednesday; and still, it kept its distance. If she didn't know any better, Wednesday would say it was afraid of her.

The night was suddenly calm, with not a single soul around to witness. Wednesday had come all the way down here tonight to put an end to things, discover who this wolf was and the reason behind all this… stalking?

Yet any words had died on her tongue and she found herself taking a step closer. The moment felt strangely delicate. When the wolf didn't move, she took two more steps.

Wednesday was reaching out before realizing it. The wolf's ears twitched, caramel eyes following her every move until her hand was barely grazing the dark fur. It was silky, engulfing her hand in a blanket of darkness as it sunk into the wolf's cheek.

Wednesday didn't dare breathe, trapped in a moment that felt unreal. But her attention was soon caught by a glint of color, dangling from the wolf's neck.

The wolf backed away as soon as Wednesday tried to take a closer look, bright eyes looking at her one last time before it bolted away into the woods.

—

The next night, her wolf didn't show up. And Wednesday sat on the balcony of her dorm in silence, waiting for something she knew wouldn't happen. She didn't play. Loneliness clawed at her heart.

A loneliness that shouldn't be there, but it was.

Wednesday found herself slipping away when the moon was highest in the sky, her bare feet feeling the cold of the wooden floor as she walked the empty hallways of Ophelia Hall. Maybe a walk out in the cold would take her mind of off foolish matters.

She walked until she eventually reached the main doors that led outside, stopping short of crossing the threshold. There was a figure sitting on the grass just ahead, cross-legged and looking up at the moon.

Wednesday would recognize you anywhere. She wondered why, for a fleeting second. "What are you doing?"

You tensed when you heard her voice. You had heard her coming, you heard the soft pattern of her steps down the stairs. You just weren't expecting her to talk. You didn't turn around to face her when you spoke; "admiring the moon."

Subconsciously, Wednesday's gaze shifted to the natural satellite in the sky, before settling back on you. She could barely make out the silhouette of your nose and cheeks, but she could tell you were smiling. Foolish. She thought to herself.

Why would you look at the moon as if it held your heart's affection?

Why would look at the moon like that, when Wednesday was standing right there?

The Addams girl let out an indignant scoff at her own inner thought, reprimanding herself for even coming up with it. She couldn't possibly be feeling jealous of a floating rock.

"What are you doing up?" You eventually asked, your voice gentle into the night.

If you turned around, you'd see Wednesday chewing at the inside of her cheek as she tried to chase away the mess of feelings swimming in her stomach. You'd see her take half a step toward you before deciding against it, and instead rushing back inside without giving you an answer.

But you didn't need one. Part of you already knew why she was there. It was the same for you, and it was bittersweet that you ended up meeting in the middle anyway, even if for a moment. Part of you wanted to run after her and just tell her.

—

You weren't sure why you did it.

On the first night, it was mere curiosity. You could remember the coldness of the grass beneath your paws, announcing the inevitable arrival of winter. You could remember the howling wind, causing your ears to twitch as the fur there felt sensitive to the force of it. You could remember the first drops of rain hitting your nose as you walked and how that's when you heard the first note of her song.

You followed it easily, soon finding yourself in the gardens that her balcony overlooked. And even seeing her all the way from down there, she was nothing short of entrancing. It was like you could feel her emotions through the music.

You never meant for Wednesday to see you though, even if all she'd see was a black wolf. But it happened, and yet you kept coming back, night after night; you couldn't help yourself. You started missing her. Because listening to her play felt like an escape from your unfortunate reality. It put you at ease.

But you should've known Wednesday would not settle for so little, you should've known from the moment you found her in the library, already digging up every last bit of information on anything regarding werewolves. You should've stopped then.

You didn't. Instead, you allowed her even closer, close enough to touch. On that night, part of you knew she'd already figured it all out.

—

It was a gray day outside. Fitting, you thought to yourself; as it was also your most dreaded day of the year. There was no more dodging it, you could fake sickness or an injury only so many times until it gets too obvious.

From your dorm's window, you could already see the familiar car pulling up in the parking lot. There was a bitter taste on your tongue, a suffocating feeling weighing down on your chest for what was to come. It felt like drowning.

It's tradition. That was what your father always told you. It's keeping the memory of our ancestors alive. As if they were anything worth remembering.

You couldn't care less. Part of you wanted to yell at him to stop living in the past, but you'd probably lose your tongue for that. Literally. He had called you yesterday to let you know he'd be coming, as if you weren't stressing over it for a whole week already.

There was a chilly air outside, you could feel it even before walking out the doors that led to the quad; and it was right as you were making your way out, that she bumped into you. A quiet grunt left her lips at the impact, and she only didn't fall to the ground because your hands steadied her; your hold warm on her waist, keeping her body the closer she's ever been to you.

Now, you never intended to fall for the resident Addams of the school. It just happened. Maybe it was your incredible bad luck; or those dark eyes that sometimes put the midnight sky to shame with their beauty. The teasing came with the package of your growing feelings for her, it was your natural defense mechanism whenever your heartbeat skyrocketed at the mere smell of her perfume. Though you could swear that, sometimes, you managed to get her cheeks a tad rosier than normal. It got you wondering if it was wishful thinking to consider the small possibility of her returning your affections.

"You good?" You asked, subconsciously squeezing her waist.

Wednesday stumbled back when she realized that if she leaned forward just a tad more it would result in her nose brushing yours. She blinked multiple times to focus back on you, yet the first thing her eyes found was the light pink pendant of your necklace, the very same she saw on the wolf the other night.

For someone who's always so hard to read, she let the facade slip pretty easily this time. Wednesday's features did something complicated, as if she wasn't sure what she should be feeling.

"You're my wolf," the words rolled off her tongue against her volition, her wide eyes darting from your necklace to the dark sunglasses resting on top of your nose.

An awkward chuckle escaped you. You felt a lot more timid than you thought you would, "what?"

Wednesday clenched her jaw, she felt anger but wasn't sure towards what; "you're the wolf I see every night, aren't you?"

Your lips hovered yet no words came out, you took a step away from her. If it where any other time, you'd be happy to bounce arguments off of her until inevitably confirming her idea; but her timing wasn't ideal, "W-Wednesday, now is not a good time-"

"Why did you hide it-"

"What part of 'hurry up' did you not understand?" A gruff voice interrupted both you and Wednesday. You only gulped and looked down at your feet, while Wednesday turned her head to see a tall man walking towards you. He wore a dark red suit and had the same golden eyes Wednesday saw on her wolf every night, though his held a much darker undertone to them. The man's gloved hand closed around your arm with a tight grip. "We don't have all day."

"I'm sorry, father," you mumbled as he dragged you away and you tried to keep up with his steps. You turned around to give Wednesday a last tight-lipped smile, "see you later, Wednesday."

—

The sun was nowhere to be seen when your father dropped you back at school again.

You had brushed your teeth three times already, but it still felt like the taste lingered, making you nauseous.

Part of you was grateful to have come back late, Nevermore's hallways were mostly empty at this hour already so you didn't have to explain your looks. It's not like you couldn't have freshened up at your family's cabin, you just didn't want to stay a minute longer than necessary.

So you hurried into the first bathroom you found, not really considering the fact it was a communal one and anyone could walk in on you.

—

Wednesday wouldn't call herself obsessive, more like committed. She had pending matters with you, and she was going to get to the bottom of them.

So of course she kept an eye out for when you'd return to school. She saw the car drop you off by the gates, following after you as soon as you walked inside.

When Wednesday pushed open the bathroom door, you were standing in front of the mirror, damp paper towels in your hand as you tried to clean a rather nasty cut on your cheek. Your sunglasses rested atop the sink, giving Wednesday a clear view of your eyes; they were a shade of caramel she was all too familiar with, the same ones that have been keeping her company at night.

You tensed up when you noticed her, your hand freezing midair as you were about to throw the paper into the trash can.

There was a silence that stretched uncomfortably as none of you seemed to know what to do next. You were shifting on your stance, breathing unsteadily and Wednesday feared you might run away, again.

She took a single step in your direction and asked the one thing she came for; "why have you been stalking me?"

As if breaking from a trance, you looked down and away from her; allowing your hair to fall from behind your ear and hide your profile. "I wasn't stalking you."

"What would you call standing outside my window at late hours of the night only to watch me play the cello?" Wednesday raised her eyebrow pointedly.

You chuckled humourlessly, "now you make me seem like a creep." You felt small under her piercing gaze, embarrassment twirling inside your stomach. Sure, when she said it like that, it sounded weird. But you were just enjoying good music, right?

You slowly turned around to face her, your hands gripping tightly onto the sink's edge behind you. "You never told me to leave," you said quietly.

Any words Wednesday might have thought of died on her tongue. She felt uncharacteristically shy knowing that it was you who'd been witnessing her late-night lullabies. Yet she was also glad that it was you, and not someone else.

You shrugged weakly, focusing your gaze on your feet, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just- I heard you one night and-" you glanced up at her with a bittersweet smile, fragility still lingering on your heart and making your vision blur over. Even under the cheap artificial light of the bathroom, she was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen; alabaster skin contrasting with soft dark hair, sharp eyes, and burgundy lips — she had your heart on a leash.

"And I was blown away," you continued quietly as your feelings escaped you, "it was like I could feel what you were feeling through the music, and it was so freeing… I had to come back to it."

There was a distant ache in Wednesday's lungs, because she refused to breathe. Her heart was thundering against her ribcage as she took in each of your words. No one has ever made her feel as if she was a piece of art, worthy of a display at the most renowned museum, like you just did.

"I'm sorry if it seemed like I was stalking you," you breathed.

"Why keep it a secret?" She asked then.

Her sudden gentleness startled you. You've never heard her voice so soft. "I feared you might hate me." It went beyond just late-night encounters with a wolf Wednesday didn't know was you; you feared she'd hate what you could turn into; you feared she might see you as the thing you least want to be if she ever found out what you try to hide behind sunglasses and a snarky attitude.

It's because of the way your voice breaks at the end, that Wednesday finally looks at you. And she sees the tiny splatters of blood on your cheek, a cut running from your lip to near your ear, scrapes and bruises in your hands — you're nothing short of a mess.

And you weren't hers. Wednesday knew you weren't hers to worry about, to care for, to protect. Yet she had the annoying urge to do it all anyway.

She wordlessly closed the distance between you, the sound of her boots loud against the bathroom tiles. Taking a few paper towels, Wednesday dampened their edge under the running water of the sink. She hesitated before coming closer, it felt like crossing a line, walking down a road with no way back. Her eyes never left you as she came to stand in front of you.

Your grip on the sink's edge was bruising, knuckles white. You were so quiet, so on edge, so shaky; your eyes had a darkness around them, your lips quivering. It felt all wrong. Wednesday hated seeing you like this, without your usual light.

She raised her hand slowly, stopping short of reaching your cheek, "may I?"

You nodded, feeling a warmth rushing to your heart at the delicacy you didn't know she was capable of. A barrier had fallen between you. When you leaned against her touch, Wednesday started gently cleaning the few places still stained with blood on your skin.

"Did he do this to you?" Wednesday couldn't hold the question back anymore. A different kind of anger bubbled in her chest — one that was mixed with an unusual sense of protectiveness. "Your father?"

"Not him," you choked out, unable to look her in the eyes — not wanting to, "not directly."

Wednesday frowned at that, her eyes tried to chase after yours but you avoided her.

"He makes me do it." A tear rolled down your cheek, you bit into your lip to contain a sob, "he always makes me do it."

Wednesday would never dare call herself an empathetic person, but her chest clenched in pain to see you hurt. One of your tears fell on her thumb that rested on your cheek, and she wanted to take all the pain to herself.

"But I hate it, Wednesday," you told her fiercely, desperate for her to believe you, a new batch of tears coming to your eyes when you finally looked up at her, "I hate the killing."

The moon was high in the sky when Wednesday walked out of the bathroom, with you close by her side. The darkness of the night easily hid the way her hand was holding onto yours.

And as you walked through the gardens together, Wednesday could feel the shift in the air. You had told her about the 'stupid tradition', how your family gets together once a year for the hunt, and how you felt dirty, disgusted at the feeling of sinking your canines into the white fur of the rabbit. Yet they still make you do it.

The door to her dorm came before yours. You stopped in front of it with her, nothing but the dim yellow light hanging from the ceiling to make you company. The moment felt more intimate than it should be. Wednesday didn't look like the girl who threw pencils at you in class — there was a faint blush to her cheeks and her pupils were blown wide — she looked like someone you could love.

"Why don't you ever take it off?" Wednesday asked, shooting a brief glance at the necklace hanging from your neck.

You take the light pink pendant between your fingers, tracing the nooks and crannies in it, "it was my mom's," you said softly, "she was the only person who ever told me I didn't need to be what others said I was. That I didn't have to carry the sins of my forbearers."

Wednesday nodded softly, glancing up at you before she turned around. Her hand left yours and she instantly missed the warmth there, it made her think of how lonely the nights started to feel when her wolf wasn't there.

Her fingers hesitated on the doorknob, she looked at you from over her shoulder, "if you wish to see me play, stop lurking around," she pushed the words out quickly, "Enid is out until nine most nights."

And with that, Wednesday closed the door in your face, not giving you an opportunity to ask about the abrupt invitation.

On what was usually the worst day of the year for you, Wednesday managed to make you go to sleep with a smile.

—

There was suddenly an unspoken thing in the air.

Wednesday went about her day as per usual, following her routine precisely. But there was something making her feel as if spiders were crawling around inside her stomach; it happened each time she walked into a room hoping to find you there, each time she'd feel you looking her way and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise, each time she found herself checking the time on the clock to see how long was left for the sun to set, and especially, each time Enid pointed out her looking at you.

When night came, Wednesday had her cello already set up outside, and she sat on her bed with her eyes fixed on the door. She felt a little silly, waiting on you like this even if you hadn't given her the slightest hint you'd be coming at all.

But she hoped you would.

It was two minutes past the usual time she'd go out to play her songs, that Wednesday heard three knocks on her door. She opened it to reveal you on the other side, looking as nervous as she felt.

"Hi," you greeted with an awkward smile.

"Hello," she bit back a smile of her own.

You followed after her when Wednesday quietly made her way outside. You felt a little out of place, up here instead of down there on the grass. But when Wednesday played the first note on her cello, it was as if the whole rest of the world went quiet, and it was just you and her.

You figured you'd never be able to settle on watching her from a distance anymore. Not when you'd just had a taste of listening to her music so loud and clear, of watching her up close, following each small movement of her fingers on the strings and the twitches on her expression as she immersed herself in the melody. She captivated you in a way no other soul ever did.

Wednesday had her eyes closed the whole time, she knew she'd stumble on the notes if she blinked them open and saw the way you were looking at her — she could feel it though, the weight of your gaze; it was enough.

Only when the last note stretched out, that she did look back at you. And sure enough, the song ended with abruptness as she lost her focus.

Because Wednesday realized that you were looking at her the same way you looked at the moon. Maybe you always have been, for all of those nights you laid outside in the cold only to watch her play. She wondered for a moment if that is what love looked like.

And maybe that's the reason why, before even getting up, she decided she'd take that gamble.

"You are so amazing," you breathed out, your lips hovering as you gestured around in search of words good enough to describe your feelings.

Wednesday put her cello aside, getting up from her chair to take the few steps that separated you.

"I mean, every time that I hear you play I'm just-" you choked on your words, your eyes finding hers when you realized that with each beat of your frantic heart, she was coming closer, closer.

"I'm just in love," you told her in nothing but a whisper.

Wednesday had taken a hold of your jacket, and she halted only for a second when the word love left your lips. She didn't say it, but the way she was looking at you with the softest of eyes held a lot of love too.

The kiss she pulled you into might have been long overdue, given both of your eagerness. You were quick to grasp her waist and pull her body as close to yours as humanly possible.

Wednesday cupped your cheeks, holding you in place as her nose bumped yours and she gave a gentle nip on your lower lip.

She kept her lips on yours until her lungs screamed for air, pulling away slowly, feeling each one of your deep breaths grazing her lips. Wednesday felt your nails gently pressing against her spine, she felt you trace a path from her jaw to right below her ear where you chose to place a lingering kiss.

And she knew, right then and there, that she'd never be able to look up at the moon again and not think of her wolf.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A/N: This is a storyline I'm definitely willing to expand, so if you have any requests regarding Wednesday and her wolf, feel free to send them in.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @jjsmaybank20 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany @v1ci0us @the-nightshades-library @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @greyscxle-is-taken

[theundercoversquid]

A Trip to Diagon Alley

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Request: hiii!! I love your fanfictions it's amazing! idk if you take requests rn but if you do can you do one with remus and reader where the reader is heavily pregnant and Remus is just super overprotective over her

JUST A LOT OF FLUFF PLEASEE thank youuu <3

Warnings: Pregnancy

A/N: This could be read as part of the Domestic Bliss universe. But is totally stand-alone

A/N 2: I so enjoyed writing this, I sort of want to make this a super fluffy series so I can make more in this universe

Masterlist

Domestic Bliss universe

The first thing you were aware of when you woke up was Remus, but that was always the case. Whether you were awake or asleep, your subconscious was always searching for him.

You heard the sound of his gentle cooing as his hands ghosted over your stomach. His touch was reverent, and his voice awe-filled as he talked to the baby in your womb.

You basked in the warmth of not only the sunlight but also your husband's attention.

But still, you did not move. Letting Remus have his moment before you would alter him to his presence.

Only it would seem that his moment was going to be cut short anyway if the pattering of the little feat was any indication.

Smiling to yourself, you basked in the moment. Listening as the little feet got even closer.

Then they suddenly stopped, and you listened as the latch on your door clicked. You could tell that Remus was listening to from the way his hands had stilled. No longer talking to the baby in your womb and now instead listening out for your other baby as he made his way towards the two of you.

You could hear as the door swung open before the little feet padded towards the bed.

"Dadda?" The little voice called.

"What's up, Munchkin?" You could hear Remus whisper. Worried about waking you up.

"Can I join you and Mumma?" Harry questioned.

"Of course you can." Remus grinned. "As long as you promise to be gentle as Mumma is still sleeping."

Groning you stretched. Finally, leaving your hazy state. Cracking open your eyes, you could see the warm sunlight as it filtered in through the curtains. Setting the room aglow and lighting up the dust motes that hung in the air.

Looking down, you were greeted with an adorable mop of black hair as a little face beamed up at you.

"Mumma!" Harry squealed. Making graby hands up at you.

Just as you leaned down to grab him and pull him into the bed, Remus beat you to it. Swopping down, he bundled Harry into his arms and pulled the boy into the bed. Positioning him so she was between the two of you.

You shot a look at your husband, but he just smiled lovingly at you in return.

"Good morning," he murmured, leaning over Harry to kiss your temple.

"Good morning," you murmured back. Basking in the moment.

"What are we doing today?" Harry questioned. Already squirming around the bed. Too full of energy to sit still.

"Well, we need to go into Diagon Alley so your Dad and I can pick up some potion ingredients and a few other things." You started. "Then, if you are good, we can maybe stop for some ice cream."

"Yes please." Harry grind. Finally stilling as he stared up at you his green eyes big an pleading.

"Well, how about you get ready? Then we can have breakfast and head out." You suggested. Booping him on the nose.

Harry nodded, his curls bouncing before he turned around, scurrying off the bed as he raced off to his room.

"Do you think this one will be as much of a ball of energy?" Remus questioned. His body curling towards you as he reached down to cup a hand around the swell of your stomach.

"I hope not." You laugh, "I am not sure if I could keep up with two Harry's."

Remus laughed. Finlay rolling out of bed as you followed him.

The two of you needed to start getting ready for fear of Harry returning and finding the both of you still in bed.

Remus stood next to you. Harry propped on his hip, his head resting on Remus's shoulder. Remus's other hand was warped around your back. His hand just coming to rest on the profile of your bump.

"Okay, what do we need?" Remus questions, looking down at the shopping list in your hand.

"Well, we most importantly need to get some aconite." You told Remus, looking at your list. "But while we are at the apothecary, we might as well grab some Murtlap tentacles, asphodels, salamander blood, and some more Dittany." You listed off.

"Ah, I also wanted to get some more owl treats," Remus added. "Poor Archimedes and Nyctimene deserve them for how often the poor things have to go to London and back."

"You spoil those owls." You laughed, adding Remus's request to your list. "I also need to swing by Scribbulus Writing Instruments so I can grab some more quills and parchment."

"Then the second had book shop, Florean Fortescue's and home," Remus suggested. 

"Perfect." You nodded. "Do you have enough money, or must we go to Gringotts first?"

"I have enough." Remus nodded.

"How about you grab the potion ingredients? I will go to Scribbulus and Eeylops with Harry, as you know how much he loves the owls." You suggested.

"Are you sure?" Remus questioned. Shifting Harry on his hip.

"I'm sure." You nodded. "Then we can meet up in the bookship."

"Only if you are sure." Remus nodded, lowering Harry to the floor.

The two of them had a moment as Remus whispered something to Harry before kissing his forehead and ruffling his hair, causing the young boy to giggle before running to you and latching himself onto your leg.

"See you in about 30 minutes," you murmured to Remus before he gave you a peck on the lips.

Turning on his heels, Remusl walked in the opposite direction to you. His long strides causing him to quickly reced into the crowd.

When he was no longer in sight, you reached down for Harry's hand.

"You remember the rules?" You softly asked Harry as the two of you started off in the direction of Scribbulus.

"Of course, Mumma." Harry nods. Almost offended that you would doubt him.

"Okay then." You laugh. Giving his hand a squeeze. "What are they?"

"Rule number 1. Hold Mumma or Pappa's hand at all times. Or, if I can't hold, then stay close." Harry started. Rule number 2. Do not talk to strangers, especially if they ask to see my scar. Finally, rule 3: If I get lost, I am to stay where I am and only repeat that I am looking for my parents and your names."

"Well done." You praised him, giving his hand a squeeze.

Harry beamed up at you. Looking proud of himself, too, as the two of you finally entered Scribbulus Writing Instruments.

"Okay, Bubba. You can look around while Mumma grabs what she needs, but don't touch anything and don't talk to any strangers," You instructed. 

Harry grinned before rushing off to look at all the pretty ink colours while you whizzed around the room as quickly as you could, keeping an eye on Harry the whole time. 

When you had gotten everything, you headed for the counter. Your bump hindered the process as you tried not to accidentally knock into anything.

When you had paid, you carefully put your new quills and parchment into your bag. Before turning your eyes, search for Harry. Unsurprisingly, he hadn't moved since you last looked. Still staring, transfixed at some of the more extravagant quills that were on offer.

Softly, you called his name. Causing the young biy to while around, beamed at you as he came bounding in yoru direction, immediately grabbing your proffered hand.

Giving it a squeeze, the two of you carried on out, heading for Eeylops Owl Emporium.

"Are you looking forward to getting to see all the owls, Bubba?" You questioned Harry, smiling down at him as you pushed open the door—the two of you entering Eeylops.

Harry frantically nodded his head. His curls bouncing as his eyes light up.

You let Harry lead you by your hand as he dragged you around the shop, pointing out all the different owls to you.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here." A voice behind you sneered.

Whirling, you nudged Harry behind you so he was partially hidden behind your legs.

"Malfoy." You greeted. Keeping the sneer out of your voice as, you tried to be as cordial as possible.

"I assume these are yours with Lupin." Luscious sneered. Inclining his head at your dump and at Harry hidden behind your head.

"They are." You nodded. One hand coming up to cup your bump as the other remained on the back of Harry's head.

You and Remus had adopted Harry, given Harry your surname. He was yours and Remus in all but blood. Something the general public didn't know. The wizarding world didn't know what had happened to Harry since that fateful night, and you and Remus wanted to keep it that way.

"Such a shame to see such an affluent pureblood line be soiled in such a way." Malfoy snarled with such hate that it caused you to physically recoil.

"You alright Love?" A sudden, warm, comforting voice asked. As you felt Remus appear behind you. On hand coming up to cover your hand on your bump. The other coming to rest on Harry's back.

"I was just talking to your charming wife about your offspring." Luscious drawled.

"That's nice of you, but alas, we need to get going." Remus smiled politely guiding you away before one of you two would say something you would come to regret.

Guiding you away from Luscious Malfoy, Remus leant down, grabbing Harry and lifting him up to his hip as you grabbed a random bag of owl treats before heading to the till.

Your heartbeat was still wringing in your ears as Remus paid. He continued to lead you out of the shop. A hand was permanently placed on you as he led you away.

You were still shaking when you reached Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. But the shakes had subsided, and sitting in a both with Remus pressed up against you was enough to ground you to that moment.

Harry was utterly oblivious to what had happened. Already forgetting about the strange man with white hair now that he had been presented with an ice cream. 

You and Remus shared a look over your own chocolate ice cream, as the two of you promised to discuss it at some other point when Harry wasn't there to overhear it. But for now. There were happier and more important things to think about.

Such as the second-hand bookshop just next door, which you and Remus would definitely be visiting.

[paarthursass]

Decided I'm done being nice about this btw

I like the rewrites and I like the version of Wyll we got in full release. But the Wyll we had in early access was not a lesser version of the character. He was not poorly written. And I think Larian was being far too generous to the fans when they went "Something about him isn't clicking with players so we need to rewrite his entire character."

That "something" was racism, plain and simple. That's why players weren't connecting with him like they did Astarion or Shadowheart or Gale. I'm sure Larian got complaints about Lae'zel as well - since she's probably the only character I can think of who's just as divisive as Wyll - but they stuck to their guns and trusted that the story they had written for her was a good one. And I wish they'd done so with Wyll, too.

Are there parts about Wyll I prefer in full release to EA? Yes! I'm glad he's less overt about wanting to kill all the goblins, but toning down something like that wouldn't require a full rewrite. Gale was a lot more pompous in EA, and he didn't tell the PC about Mystra and the Netherese Orb until after sleeping with them - both things Larian changed for full release. Making Wyll a little less trigger happy with goblins would not require a full re-haul of his character. I also quite like how he's chasing a fairytale romance now, and how he wants to properly court the PC. But his original romance scene at the tiefling party wasn't in opposition to that in any way, and no one's to say the Wyll we had in EA wouldn't also have had wonderful romance scenes like the dance in Act 2 or the proposal in Act 3.

I do like the Wyll we got in full release, but the fact that he was rewritten last minute shows.

So, yes, I am going to be constantly bitter about people complaining about how Wyll is "boring" to them. People didn't trust that he was going to be a fleshed-out character in early access because he wasn't their white fave, they complained about him so loudly that Larian decided he needed to be rewritten, and now he feels under-developed compared to the other companions because he IS. And yes a good part of the blame falls on Larian for not giving the game the time it needed, for forcing the writers into crunch mode.

But a not insignificant part of the blame also falls on the fandom, because the rewrites were specifically made in response to the fans deciding their least favorite character was the black man.

[simtanico]

Ellie Williams (inspired by The Last of Us) for The Sims 3

Teen | Brave, Loner, Artistic, Animal Lover

Behold: my pride and joy. You could say that this character is the reason I started creating CC in earnest. Now it's been almost 10 years since I first saved a version of her in CAS and here she finally is! A whole depressing heart-wrenching sequel to her story and a live action adaptation has come out since then!

So maybe this is the opportunity to give her the fun-filled tragedy-less life she deserves?????? Perhaps???????

If you're up for it, Ellie comes with brand new CC including her hair, Fall Hoodie, Summer Top and an edit of the Diesel High Kee jeans I recently released and a soft-launched slider that is soooooooo niche that I don't think merits its own post. You can find it at my sliders page and in the download. :)

And her being a sim of mine, she has a LOT of CC requirements and uses a ton of sliders. You've been warned!!!

The rest of the details below!

The List (and credits):

Skin: @kurasoberina Primer Skin HD+ (Default) with @chinsims Extra Tones [She will probably do well with another skin, as most of her features are slider and makeup reliant.]

Eyebrows: @simmillercc Low Full Tweezed brows from the EA Female Eyebrow Overhaul (Non-Default) collection (MTS archive.org link, current Patreon link does not have the non-default version of the eyebrows, afaik)

Face Details: Gosik Subtle Freckles v2 // v3 // v5 | @pralinesims Delicate Freckles for the Nose // Delicate Freckles for the Cheek

Makeup:

NOTE: ALL MAKEUP THAT WASN'T ORIGINALLY ENABLED FOR TEENS WAS MADE SO. This tutorial covers how to do that with s3pe.

Eyeshadow: 1. Base Game Eyeshadow (w/ lavsm's default replacement alpha fixes) 2. mochi029 inner eyelid make06 [reuploaded by @hyperkaos] 3. @sk-sims Natural Eyebag 4. Ephemera E121228eyeshadow [hosted by me here]

Eyeliner: 1. @sclub-privee Eyelash 3NA 2. Eyelid 2 by me [included in download] 3. Base Game Top Eyeliner

Blush: 1. @gramssims Contour 2 and Contour 5 [Link inactive. Click here for official archive link.] 2. mochi029 plainMakeSet A 3. Tifa Shading Line Blush // Nose Mask V2 [creator inactive, shared by @simdreams] 4. ModernLover Nosemask 5. @agnelid Bloodland Blush N1 Part 3

Lips: 11 IN3S Dry Lips [re-hosted by @villesims] | 2. Lip Definition III by me [included in download]

The Riding Pants in her athletic outfit (with the striped shirt) are by @sweetdevil-sims!

*** she does require a slider that I have not been able to find reuploaded anywhere, Ottershell's Chin Tallness. Link here. ***

For any other defaults and mods installed please visit my newly-updated resources page linked on my page!

Last thing: Feel free to change her up as you need. Simplify her slider usage, use her as a base, whatever. Just, please, do not claim you made her all on your own OR make money from reposting her or subsequent sims. I've spent years making her and worked very hard to compile all this. If you've made it this far, thank you!!!!!!!!!!

Download .sim and included CC (and leave a 💖): https://simfileshare.net/download/4512068/

Please tag me in any photos you might take!

She will also eventually be hosted on simblr.cc!

[finelinevogue]

can you write a story with swiftie!reader and harry about 1989 (tv) coming out please and thank you.

a/n - this is so small but enjoy all the same <3

word count - ~1k

1989 tv

You screamed at the top of your lungs, dropping your phone on the floor and onto your big toe.

The scream turned into excited cheers as you bounced up and down on the hard floor of the kitchen.

Next thing you knew, Harry ran into the kitchen. His chest was bare and glistening from the summers heat outside and he wore black gym shorts on the bottom. He whipped off his sunglasses from his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” Harry asked concerned.

He looked you up and down, and saw your phone on the floor.

“Nothing’s wrong, you idiot.” You couldn’t keep your excitement down at all.

“Really? I come save you and y’call me an idiot? Well, I love you too baby.”

You rolled your eyes from the sarcasm dripping from his voice. You picked your phone up off the floor and shoved it in Harry’s face.

“Look!” You waited as you watched his face.

His eyes were squinted as he processed what he was looking at. A tiny smirk appeared at the corner of his lips, only a subtle one.

You couldn’t really gauge what he was thinking and it was beyond frustrating.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.

“Babe.” You paused to laugh to yourself, “It is literally your turn in the spotlight whilst Taylor re-releases her album that is obviously about you, and all you say is okay? The fuck?”

“What do you want me to say?” Harry laughed.

You put your phone on the counter side. Standing in front of Harry, you crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him.

“This is a very important moment in my life. You will not ruin this for me just ‘cause she’s your ex.”

“How can I ruin it?”

“Uhh.. Maybe by not freaking out about this news.”

“Huh. Maybe there’s a reason for that, I don’t know.” Harry shrugged his shoulders and put his sunglasses back on his face, as he walked out of the room and back towards outside.

You stared at him as he started walking away, until his words and actions clicked.

You took off and ran in front of him, slapping your hands on his chest to prevent him from moving. Now his smirk was out in full force and you knew that he knew that you knew something.

“What do you know?”

“Why would I know anything?”

“Harry…”

“Oh, I’m Harry now am I?” He faked a scoff, “Must be in trouble.”

“Tell meeee!”

Your wrapped your arms around his neck loosely and tilted your head back so you could look up at him.

“Y/N, baby.” He laughed at you.

“I swear I’m breaking up with you if you don’t tell me what you know.”

“Are y’now?” He smirked that annoying smirk, because he knew you were bluffing.

“Harrryyy…”

“Y/NNNNN…”

“You’re so mean.” You pouted and he took it as an invitation to lean down and steal a kiss from you. You pulled away from his lips after a second, “No. No kisses for you.”

“Now who’s the mean one?”

“You’re so annoying.”

“It’s my best quality.”

“You are walking a fine line here.”

“Fine line, nice one.” Harry giggled like a child. You took your hands off his neck and sulked off like a child.

“I hare you. Enjoy jerking yourself off alone tonight.”

“Well I could do that… Or” That got you to stop in your step, “Or I could show my wife a song that Taylor and I wrote and sang together. One that is going to be on 1989 tv.”

Your jaw dropped and Harry just laughed, him knowing he was back in your good books. Possibly forever.

[bcolfanfic]

need more about the bucks' baby micah, headcanons or blurb i want more!!! (please, and when you have time ofc)

for ref

doing this in headcan0ns list form bc im tired from the time zone switch back to the states

the bucks do, as reffed in that blurb, turn the car around from going to wisconisn to go back to wyoming. end up having to get a hotel somewhere for the night so they don't drive more or less 20 hours roundtrip themselves into an early grave. but yeah.

swing josie by gale's sister’s house on the way back to sheridan. don't explain all the details but have to give her *some* explanation when they go from headed them to wisconsin to now suddenly back in wyoming.

maybe don't explain that this baby is her biological sibling right away but just. say that someone they know needs help with their baby, and that they gotta go back because they don't want him to be in the hospital by himself. pretty word salady but they're exhausted and she's five so. it is what is for the time being.

get to the hospital and get scrubbed in to down to the nicu with natalie to go see him. john's head still feels like his head is still in in spin-mode to the extent that he's not really processing everything fully.

but gale sees that itty bitty baby in his little nicu incubator with a little tube in his nose and is just. distraught.

has to sit down after a minute because its making his chest hurt. he just can't fathom how little he is and how he's in *danger* and how connected he already feels to him.

he gets reallll "woowoo" about the fact that he finally brought up wanting another kid to john all of 20 minutes before they got the call about him. feels like he somehow already intrinsically knew about him before he actually knew.

so kinda the reverse of how it was with josie- gale instantly feels bonded to him and john has a little bit of a harder time.

loves him so much already, is worried sick with all the preemie health stuff he's got going on. its just hard to process how fast everything is happening. if him and gale had sat down and decided to go the infant adoption route that'd be one thing.

in that case he'd have a lot more time to work through his hurdles re: being scared of having a baby, of being responsible for someone's life from scratch etc etc. but here he only had the drive back from wisconsin.

calls his mom a lot. calls curt a lot. that helps.

lil guy doesn't have a name for the first week of his life lmao. they just call him buddy and baby boy and then john is sitting up w/ gale one night and asks if he's given any thought to his name.

they land on micah curtis. micah as a riff off of michael the archangel, and curtis after their best friend (:

curt cries when he finds out. sweet man.

john's mom comes out from wisconsin and when she's there at the hospital that's when both the bucks go to gale's sister's house and have to explain to josie- the best they can- the full details.

poor peanut is so conflicted about Everything. has been confused about not seeing either of her dads in the same room for almost two weeks. is excited about having a baby sibling- but confused about why if he's /her/ sibling from her mom why she can't see her mom.

just a lot of Big Feelings, which gale and john handle the best that they can. good dads <3

i think it finally really Clicks for john when micah is doing okay enough that theyre allowed to hold him. looks at that lil guy in his lil nicu baby beanie sleeping on his chest and just. yeah. big thats my son, i would do anything for you feelings.

john gets really into sitting by his lil incubator and reading to him. nice way to bond that isn't super overwhelming. makes gale heart happy to watch. his boyssss.

this is getting super long lmao so ill cut if off here. but i wove micah- and rachel and i have developed a looottt of lore about him as a teenager/young adult (specifically re: him and wyatt- helen's baby with nash/ev's step son). so feel free to come prompt me to yap more!

[mediocre-writerr]

love quinn x fem!reader where reader celebrates valentine’s day with love like she baked and prepared dinner just like love had taught her before and reader paid attention to make this day special for her. everything is a surprise btw but as we know love she was starting to freak out a bit thinking reader is being distant and secretive but all turned out well. anyways lots of fluff 💖

-🎈

banana pancakes [love quinn]

love quinn x fem!reader

warnings: a few curse words

mediocre author's note: hey guys! happy belated valentine's day, hope it was full of love in all different forms. love you guys!

Your location was off…why was your location off? Your location was never off. Love swiped out the app, only to re enter it seconds later. It had to be some kind of tech issue right? Your location wasn’t actually off…right? Wrong. Sure enough your location was still off. 

Love let out a huff, as she shut off her phone, throwing it onto the metal counter in the kitchen of Anavrin. The brunette closed her eyes, resting her head on the cool metal door of the fridge, as she took deep breaths. ‘I trust her’ she repeats to herself over and over in her head, like a troubled school child writing ‘I’m sorry’ on their paper repeatedly. It was odd to her. It was Valentine’s Day, the day of love, and you were completely ignoring her. Only sending a ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ text to start off her morning. 

Everything seemed fine then, so what changed? 

You were stressed, like really stressed. It was your first actual Valentine’s Day with someone you truly love. You wanted to make something perfect for the first time. The only problem? You can’t cook to save your life, despite Love teaching you her favorite recipes. 

“Oh for fucks sake!” You yell, opening your apartment door to let all the smoke out of your house before you set off the fire alarm. You take a deep breath, resting your head against the cool metal rail, as you try to get your shit together. This needs to be perfect. Everything needs to be perfect. 

Your head snaps up, as someone’s voice calls your attention. “Hey Gordon Ramsey, I see cooking is going super well for you. A solid five Michelin Stars!” your sometimes favorite 15 year old teases from right next to you. 

“Not now, Ellie. I keep fucking up the recipe and Love gets off work in like 3 hours and nothing is ready,” you vent to the brunette, as you begin to pace the small pathway between apartments. 

She rolls her eyes at you, “Dude, chill out. You’re stressing out about this way too much.”

“I’m sorry, I just want everything to be perfect.”

“And that’s the problem,” she shows herself into your apartment. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “Sure Ellie, you can come in,” you say before mocking her voice. “Oh gee thanks Y/N. You’re the best.” 

You follow in after her, a fearful expression on her face as she looks at the steak you attempted to cook. The entire piece burnt to a crisp, she cuts into it, nibbling a tiny piece out of the corner. Her mouth immediately opens, dropping the tiny piece onto the dirty counter. “I didn’t think anyone could be this bad at cooking,” she admits, grabbing a glass of water to wash down the taste. “Like, I actually think you used sugar to season the steak and not salt.”

“Ellie, if you’re just gonna sit here and tell me how shit I am, you can just leave. I already know all of that,” you swing the front door open, gesturing for her to leave.

“Oh stop that ‘poor me’ bullshit,” she tells you, causing your eyebrows to furrow at her sudden tone. “This is why nothing is working out. You’re trying to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be perfect. For some odd reason that I don’t understand, Love is madly in love with you, and no amount of shit steak can change that. So shut the fuck up and just stop trying so hard!” 

Then it all clicks in your head. One of your first dates, she mentioned the simplicity, yet perfect bite of roasted chicken. Nothing too extravagant or special, but a dish that is strong with flavor, yet still feels like it's made by someone who cares. You snap your fingers together, “That’s it, Ellie! You’re a genius! C’mon, we gotta stop at the store!” 

“We?” 

You smile at her, a cockiness written all over it, “Yes we, you just got hired to be my sous chef,” you grabbed your keys, immediately ushering her out of the apartment, and to your car. 

“Oh fuck me,” she mumbled. 

Cooking for Love was supposed to be therapeutic, a way to ease her mind. Unfortunately, for the vegetables she’s cutting right now, it means that they’re receiving a brutal chop. Especially since you left her text message on read, asking what your plans were for tonight. 

A low whistle fills the kitchen as Forty walks in, eyeing his twin, “What did those poor poor celeries do to you?” She shot him a glare without another response, causing him to nod, “Don’t want to talk about it, got it. Let’s talk about something else then. What did Y/N get you for Valentine’s Day? I know she’s got her gift-giving science down to perfection. I told her multiple times to start a business doing that, I’d invest in it, she would make some serious money! I mean can you imagine all the lousy excuses for husbands going to her to buy a gift for their-” 

Forty was abruptly cut off when Love’s knife slammed down onto the metal counter. His eyes wide as he stared at his fuming sister, “It’s 8, I’m off now. I’ll see you later,” she responded in a monotone voice, storming out towards her car with one destination in mind. Your apartment. Whether you were home or not, she’ll let herself in and wait for her, so you could explain yourself to her. 

“God, I hate that you dragged me into this,” Ellie speaks up, through the soft music playing from your speaker. She wiped down the counter, as you set the table with cheesy decorations. 

You shrugged, smirking at her, “If I remember correctly, you butt in yourself. I think it was something about a five Michelin Star rating?” 

She was about to retort when your front door burst open and a seething Love stepped foot into your apartment. You and Ellie stood there wide eyed, not quite sure what happened to make the sometimes intimidating brunette mad. The two of you were bracing yourself for the burst of anger, but it never came. The girl’s frown slowly turned upward into a soft smile. 

“Surprise?” You said, smiling sheepishly at her. You interlock your fingers together, guiding her to her seat at the table. “I made some roasted chicken, and I know you could tell a lot about a chef by their roasted chicken. I just want to say, my roasted chicken will probably tell you I’m a shit chef. But uh, I tried to follow it exactly like you make it, with the potatoes and carrots and reduction, whatever that is. You’ve made it a few times, so I tried to copy from memory.”

Love smiled softly, as you pulled out her chair. “I was trying to make everything perfect, you know? I mean I even turned off my location to go to your favorite donut shop, but they were sold within like ten minutes of opening, and as soon as I got to the front of the line they were closing. So, that threw out the idea of surprising you at work. I almost set fire to my apartment a few times. But I think it turned out okay,” you drift over towards the kitchen, nervously rambling, as you pull out a small little plate of banana pancakes. “I know these aren’t super fancy pastries that you usually bake, but I remember you telling me that you and Forty would make these all the time when your mom was on this no sugar kick. You said it used to be your favorite breakfast and dessert when your were younger, so-” 

You’re immediately cut off when Love grabs the hem of your shirt, attaching her lips deeply onto yours. Your hands fly to the back of her neck, fingers lacing into her hair.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Ellie says, blowing her cheeks up to mock the vomit. The two of you back away from each other, chuckling. 

You let go of Love, walking over towards the kitchen to find a few small plastic containers. You start packing some food into the containers, before handing it to Ellie, “Thank you my sous chef. It was lovely working with you,” you chuckle as she rolls her eyes, trying to fight off a small smile on her face. “I packed enough for both you and Deliliah. Thank you again, really.” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me, Chef Ramsey,” she takes the containers from you gratefully, as she bids a goodnight to Love. 

“I love you Ellie!” You exclaim before she leaves. She raises her middle finger towards you without another response. You turn back to Love with a wide smile, “That means she loves me.”

Love chuckles, shaking her head, at your goofy antics with the young girl. “Sure it does,” a fake pout crosses your face as you stand in front of her with your arms crossed. Her hands find your waist pulling you to sit in her lap, “It’s okay though because I love you. Very very much…this was really thoughtful of you Y/N, really.” 

You smile softly, kissing her gently, “I love you more,” you cut a piece of the chicken, giving her a piece with skin, potatoes, carrots, and dipped into the reduction. Just like how she would always tell you to eat it, “Here, try.” 

You watched in her anticipation, biting your bottom lip. Her eyes were neutral as she chewed on what she usually calls the perfect bite. 

“So?” You ask as she finishes chewing. 

A wide smile spreads across her face, nodding, “It’s perfect. You are perfect.” 

[eponymous-rose]

So I've been rewatching Star Trek: TNG as comfort TV during/post-move and just got to Yesterday's Enterprise, which I remember liking well enough, but man, it's really unusual in the context of the rest of these early episodes. For one thing, the violence shown is a lot more stark than we've seen in the show thus far - Riker with his throat cut, Captain Garrett with the metal shrapnel in her head, lingering close-ups on dead faces. It's dark and moody and the "happy ending" resolution (as far as we know at this point, anyway) is saving the few survivors of a brutal battle, patching them up, and then shipping them straight back into that battle to be killed.

Given the show's not-so-great track record with its female characters, it's weirdly refreshing that we get a re-do for Tasha Yar. And yeah, she falls in love with a dude and goes off with him on his ship, but she was ready to say goodbye to him and that would've been that - what finally prompts her to step willingly into the meat-grinder is the realization that she had an "empty death" (Guinan had some really raw lines in this one) in the other timeline, and that now her death can have some meaning. It's nicely done, if a bit of a self-flagellating "mea culpa" on the writers' parts.

The alternate timeline isn't the gleeful, campy evil of the Mirrorverse, it's just an exhausted grind through the final days of a losing war. Lots of little touches show how desperate things have become - Wesley's been fast-tracked to a full ensign, Picard is a tactician first and foremost (he takes officers' opinions under advisement, yes, but he's also keeping from them the inevitable, imminent surrender), the bridge is laid out so the captain is front and center with everyone else in the background. As a contrast with the actual Enterprise's chill 90s living room lounge vibe, it's pretty striking. It's like a sneak preview into the bleak and war-heavy sci-fi that would start saturating pop culture a decade or so later, and then it's a firm rejection of that premise - "This isn't a ship of war. It's a ship of peace."

I have a long, long history with TNG - DS9 is my favorite Trek on balance, but TNG is encoded in my DNA. From around ages 3 and 5, my brother and I were watching and rewatching TNG constantly. (My parents would laugh over the fact that my brother didn't know how to read yet but had memorized the episode titles of the first couple seasons.) We had pajamas. We scoured every garage sale and had a giant metal can full of action figures and phasers and tricorders and ships and even, shockingly, that transporter toy that made things disappear using mirrors.

The tactile experience of those toys is burned in my brain - the loose nacelles on the Enterprise model, the click of the left phaser button, the little hole at the bottom of the Borg cube that we once stuck a pencil in and had the tip of the graphite snap off and rattle around forevermore. My brother and I played incessantly with our action figures, to the point where most of them had the paint at least partially rubbed off - we created hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of new episodes over the years. The first time I ever used a touchscreen was at some sort of Star Trek exhibition in Canada in the early 90s that we stumbled across on our way to visit my grandparents.

I'm always fascinated by how kids interact with fictional media - my brother and I were so young, but we obviously knew Star Trek wasn't real. Except... I just always assumed that important people watched it, realized "well, that seems nice", and were actively working to make that future happen. I was (perhaps a little embarrassingly) older when I realized that no, we weren't gonna be out there on science missions to the stars during my lifetime. At least, not in an Enterprise kind of way.

At any given time, there's just this Star Trek filter over how I experience the world - when I got to go to college thanks to scholarships, I had that weighty feeling of responsibility and awe that came with daydreaming about Starfleet Academy. I saw my career shift from the gold of engineering to the blue of science to the red of command. And the older I get, the more I appreciate a show that, for all its flaws, managed to make a utopia interesting and complex.

Because TNG was such a phenomenon when I was a little kid in the early 90s, a lot of my family relationships also have TNG tied up in them. I remember going to my grandparents' apartment and my uncle showing us a fan magazine about the show. I remember another uncle who didn't really "get it" but gifted me and my brother astronaut ice cream because he knew we liked that space stuff. I remember watching most episodes curled up on the couch or my parents' bed with my brother and my mom and dad. When Mom got sick and we talked about death, I remember the way she wistfully brought up the Nexus from Generations or how she hoped she could see the next season of Picard (she didn't, sadly, but she really enjoyed that first season). Hell, one of the first real bonding moments I had with my otherwise hyper-professional and businesslike PhD advisor was when she made a TNG joke, I laughed at it, and she said, "I just love that show, everyone's so nice to each other."

It's just been a lot of fun coming back to this show, is all. I think I periodically forget how much it's affected me and the extent to which it was a fundamental, formative influence. While a lot of it either hasn't aged well or fails to hold up to modern media analysis, so much of it is still lovely, and occasionally there are these moments of shockingly good storytelling.

Star Trek good.

[testingthewatersss]

I never lost him Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture,  etc. Just unapologetic cuddling and comfort ft. Steve Rodgers. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 3 2980 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Post TWS Steve realises that he's not the only one looking for Sargent Barnes. Reader is Tony’s sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who recently resurfaced.

The next day, Y/N palms Steve an envelope in the common room, and he finds a folder full of everything SHEILD had uncovered about The Winter Solider.

He reads that first.

It takes him 3 hours.

By the time he reaches the final page, he’s shaking.

The letter Bucky has written him seems almost like it’s taunting him, from it’s position on his coffee table.

Every time he blinks he sees the images from the report. Crudely stapled polaroids of his best friend being tortured, decades ago, somewhere he couldn’t reach him seem to be swimming behind his eyes.

He wants to burn the whole mess of papers.

He wants to drink until he can’t remember what HYDRA is.

He settles for slamming his hand on his counter so hard that the marble cracks.

“Shit” he mutters to himself, realising, when he does look back at the letter he’s yet to read, that his eyes are full of tears.

His fingers have just closed around the delicate envelope when there’s a gentle wrapping on his door.

“It’s Y/N” a voice calls from behind the wood, “Are you alright?”

Steve sniffs, stealing himself before going to let her in.

Before he can open his mouth to lie about his wellbeing, she’s shaking her head at him.

“Is it that bad?” she asks, “I told him I’d kick his ass if he made you cry with that letter-“

“I haven’t read his letter”

Her head tilts, the jovial smile she’d been wearing a moment before dissipates like smoke. He sees her scanning the room. She sees the file, open and abandoned next to a large crack that’s new on the surface it’s resting on.

“Steve”

He steps aside and lets her in, closing the door as he turns to face her.

“I… uh- I’m gonna get to it now-”

Y/N can’t help but think it looks like he’s expecting a scolding, she softens her expression deliberately as she shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t have started with that” she says, nodding at the file, “…can I?…”

It takes a second for Steve to realise what she’s asking. When it clicks for him, he nods, and watches as she flicks through the papers, straightening the images and tucking everything back into the outer sleeve it had come in.

“Is that everything?” he hears himself ask, bile still flooding his mouth

“Everything?” she repeats, thoughtfully, “…No, Steve, he was there for the better part of a century, I don’t think any agents could have wrapped it up in under 50 pages, even if they had been given all of the information”

His jaw locks. His angry, he realises, even though he’s not certain of why.

“What more could they have done?!” he spits, “some of the things in there-”

“Would you like me to compile a list for you?”

The calmness of her voice only fuels his sudden rage.

He barks out a fake laugh and storms towards her, ripping the neatly organised documents out from under hand hand before tossing it to the ground.

Papers flutter down elegantly. A few of the unsecured images land face up by their feet.

Y/N finds herself starring at the man she loves, strapped to an operating table, with a gag wedged between his teeth.

She hides her upset, bending down silently, to gather everything back up.

Her lack of reaction makes guilt stir heavily in Steve’s chest. His heart is pounding in his ears.

“Did you read anything that would make you object to him moving in?”

Her question filters through his clouded consciousness and hits him in his chest.

She’s on her feet again, she slips the re-bundled folder into her bag, before placing that on a stool by her right.

“No” Steve answers briskly “Of course it didn’t.”

Y/N considers him strangely for a minute, before nodding.

Embarrassment prickles at his cheeks. He feels them burning red, and can’t help but divert his gaze when he realties how temperamental he must seem.

“I’m sorry” he sighs finally, rubbing his jaw, “It just- I- I wish I could’ve done something”

“He deserved better” she agrees softly, “You both did”

That hits him strangely. He’s not used to hearing that of compassion from anyone, it’s seems incredibly out of place, especially considering the tantrum he’s almost thrown.

A horrible thought occurs to him then, as he looks at the face of the woman offering him that kindness;

She was there, too- She lived through it, for five years, and she wasn’t brainwashed, so she must remember it all, and here I am, getting upset by a third party write up.

“Oh, god” he mutters, seeing her anew, “Oh, god, Y/N I’m- I’m sorry”

She looks amused as she shakes her head, dismissing his apology.

“It- It must’ve been- I can’t even imagine what it was like, if that was a tame version-”

“You’re right” Y/N says, “You can’t imagine”

He nods, looking down at his feet, ashamed.

“So stop trying, Steve” she continues, “Bucky’s alright, he’s not there anymore, and living in the past, dwelling on what you wish you could’ve done differently doesn’t help anyone”

Blue eyes blink at her considerately, and she thinks he looks an awful lot like his friend.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

That question is unexpected, that much is clear from her face.

“I’m fine” she answers softly, “don’t worry about me.”

That last part sounds an awful lot like a command. He nods in bashful agreement before looking back towards the envelope he’d been about to open.

“Don’t forget” Y/N teases, suddenly pushing up to walk back towards the door, taking her bag and the concealed document with her, “if it makes you cry”

“I’ll never admit it” he murmurs, trying to match her playful tone, “will you give him my reply?”

She scoffs, looking over her shoulder.

“If all goes to plan, you can give him your reply yourself.”

Steve does more than just cry when he reads the letter. He sobs like a baby, tears making the swirling hand written script bleed out into patches of faded blue ink as they land on the paper he can’t seem to put down.

It’s an apology, more than anything else, it’s his oldest friend explaining that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be the man he was before he fell, and pleading for forgiveness for the heinous crimes he was forced to commit.

He thanks Steve too, for being who he is, and he ends it by saying that even though they both thought it was, it’s not the end of the line.

When he finally ventures out into the common room the next day, red eyed and tired, he almost misses the way Y/N is on her cell-phone, chattering happily into the handset.

Almost.

“I know, sweetheart” she says, unbothered by the lack of privacy, “He’s fine- I promise”

Her eyes skirt over Steve, she smirks a little.

“I told you the last line was over kill- he definitely cried.”

As soon as he hears that he’s certain about who’s on the other end of the call.

His pulse spikes, he looks frantically at Tony, who’s sitting on the couch a few feet away, and then at Natasha, and Clint, who look equally as unaware.

“We can get dinner if you like? I’ll spend the night.”

She laughs, nudging the refrigerator shut with her hip as she takes a care free swig of the juice she’s just pulled out from inside it.

“Sounds good, sarge- it’s a date.”

How the others haven’t tuned in on her conversation is beyond him, especially when it’s so obvious to him who she’s speaking too.

Although, he supposes that might be because he already knows. He finds himself wondering how many times he missed it himself, back when he’d been just as in the dark.

Y/N hangs up, and offers him an innocent smile.

He gawks at her, waiting for some kind of confirmation.

“What?” she asks, “do I have something on my face?”

Steve shakes his head, unsure of what he’d actually been hoping for.

“Tony” Y/N calls suddenly, breaking eye contact with the man who’s been watching her phone-call with such interest “Can I borrow you for a sec?”

“Y’know what kid? I’ll give you a whole minute”

Her eyes roll as her brother comes up on Steve’s right.

“First of all” she begins, sliding him the carton she’s been drinking from, “don’t call me kid-”

The man makes a disinterested sound, unscrewing the cap.

“second of all- I need a room makin’ up”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, gulping “for who?”

Natasha is standing now. She looks at Steve, confused and intrigued.

“Bucky.”

The atmosphere in the room is suddenly electric.

“What did you just say?” Tony asks, voice thick.

Steve is wide-eyed. Natasha looks like she’s been slapped.

Y/N, however looks completely unfazed. She even cracks a smile.

“Don’t play dumb, T- You know who that is.”

“Oh I know who that is” he agrees, “I was just hopin’ I’d misheard ya’”

Steve looks like he wants to say something, but he can’t find the words.

Everyone else is just as speechless, watching the interaction unfold.

“You’re not that old yet-” Y/N says, “-your hearings’ just fine.”

“Not that old?”

She barks out a laugh, and all the onlookers find themselves even more out of touch with the tone of the interaction.

The dynamic is so strange to see, that they can’t predict what either one of the siblings will say, or do next.

Given Tony’s previously violent reaction to the topic at hand, everyones teeth are every understandably, on edge.

“I think there are a couple of rooms free on Cap’s floor- or, there’s one down the hall from me-” Y/N says next, “Not that I expect it’ll be gettin’ too much use, but it looks better on paper doesn’t it? If he has his own?”

Natasha can’t help but gawp at that. And Steve lets out a disbelieving gasp.

“Y/N-” the blonde man murmurs, urgently trying to make her rethink her entitled approach, “you can’t just-”

“I can” she counters bluntly, “It says Stark on the lease, and last I checked-”

“You” Tony agrees, looking at her strangely, “are definitely a Stark.”

There’s a beat of silence where everyone adjusts to the reality of what’s been said so far.

Natasha is mumbling explanations to Clint, and Steve is still too shocked to move an inch.

“I hope he’s at least cookin’ for you tonight-” The billionaire says suddenly, “The amount of take outs you’ve been gettin’ on your company card is gettin’ out of hand’, he should be treating you for once-”

Steve’s head jerks over, Natasha lets of a choked gasp of disbelief, he stares at pair, and almost screams when Y/N only rolls her eyes again.

“He doesn’t have a bank account, Tony. How exactly is he supposed to treat me?”

“I’ll settle for him not murderin’ you” he replies dryly, “given his track record with our family-”

“That wasn’t him” Steve says, unable to bite his tongue anymore, “Tony, I swear-”

“Do you really think I’d be havin’ this conversation if I didn’t, on some level believe you?”

There’s an undeniable sharpness in the other man’s voice. It’s the kind of tone that brokers no argument, it silences him instantly, leaving his head reeling with the implications of Tony knowing, about Bucky, about Y/N, about all of it-

“I’m pretty sure I can still take him in a fight” Y/N says, ignoring both of the men’s out bursts, “although I’ll be sure to avoid followin’ him into any tunnels, if it puts your mind at ease”

Tony snorts. Rubbing at his goatie.

“does he have any preference for the decor?”

Steve’s eyes widen, and then he finds himself blinking wildly at Natasha, who looks just as stunned by the speed of the man’s acceptance.

“Not really” Y/N answers pleasantly, “Like I said, it’s for paperwork, more than anythin’ else, we’re used to sharin’- although it sounds like you've' figured that out?”

Tony laughs, pulling out his cell phone.

“What?” he says, “That my little sister’s been shackin’ up with a former Russian assassin right under my nose?”

“He’s from Brooklyn, Tony- Not Russia.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Natasha speaks at last, “Have I had a stroke? Have you been working on some weird, dangerous chemical gas down in the lab, something that alters people’s states of-”

“Not recently” Y/N answers, “but now you mention it, a gas does seem like a more elegant solution-”

“Y/N” she insists, tone firm, “What the hell is going on?”

Steve catches the woman’s eye, and for a moment he’s tempted to break the promise he’d made, and explain things on her behalf, but he bites his tongue, and Tony jumps in to fill the gap-

“She’s been coupled up with his old war buddy since they got thrown in a cell together in Siberia”

He nods at Rodgers,

“and despite her best efforts at keepin’ it quiet, she’s not nearly as slick as she thinks she is.”

“I’m plenty slick” Y/N counters, making apologetic eyes at Natasha, “Nobody else caught on, it’s not my fault that you’re-”

“incredibly perceptive?”

“My brother.”

“Oh don’t say it like that” Tony objects, false pleading in his tone, “you’re breakin’ my heart”

“I’m not sayin’ it like anything” Y/N says, “I’m just sayin’ that that, is the only reason you pieced it all together.”

He shrugs, not denying her statement.

“So when exactly where you thrown into this cell?”

Natasha’s question breaks the emotion in the room, Y/N is clearly uncomfortable for a moment, but then she forces a smile and looks at the woman she holds so dear,

“That’s classified” Tony says, bristling protectively.

“T…”

He huffs a little, and pushes back from the counter,

“It was awhile ago, Nat, it’s… it’s a little hard to explain” Y/N makes eye contact with the redhead, and feels relief and gratitude swell in her chest when she smiles back at her, nodding in acceptance.

“Vy budete, odin den’?”

You will, one day?

“YA budu.”

I will.

The promise is genuine, and it means the world to Natasha.

“Does he have a favourite colour at least?” Tony asks, attention on the cell phone he’s holding

Steve can barely believe his ears. Clint chuckles dryly.

“Blue, I think?” Y/N answers, looking at Rodgers’ for confirmation,

He blinks, before swallowing, and forcing a nod.

“It was” he confirms, not wanting to say anything that might set Tony off.

Tony pulls an exasperated face. Tapping something into his device.

“I’ll put him in room 8- Next to Steve”

“Fine” Y/N agrees, like she’s only half listening, “I’ll pitch it to him over dinner”

The billionaire makes a disinterested noise, and puts his phone away.

“You’re joking?” Clint says, speaking loudly for the first time, “Seriously?”

His eyes are jumping between Steve and the Starks,

“Last time this guy was mentioned you all spent months attackin each other - you nearly killed-”

“I wasn’t here last time.” Y/N says quickly, “Too much testosterone complicates everything”

He laughs then, and Steve dares to let himself believe that this might be real. That there might be a real possibility of this working out.

“So does him murdering our-”

“Stop” Y/N cuts in, silencing her brother instantly, “Unless you want us to have a very public conversation about hypocrisy?”

“I do not” Tony concedes, “His bank account is up and runnin’” he tells her, “he can sign for the card whenever he decides to show up.”

“Thank you” she replies, with an edge of finality, “Want to grab somethin’ for us to eat before we go meet Banner?”

“Sounds good”

With that, he turns and leaves the room in silence.

“Fuckin’ crazy” Clint mutters, “Both of them- fuckin’ crazy”

He nudges Natasha and slumps back down on the couch.

Steve is stood, overwhelmed and unsure of what to do next. He’s half convinced that he’s imagined the entire interaction. He wonders absentmindedly if he’s dreaming, if he past out in his room, with Bucky’s tear stained letter in his hands.

Y/N’s palm on his shoulder almost makes him jump six feet into the air.

“Woah” she teases, “You doin alright?”

He forces a smile, and makes himself shift on his feet.

“Sure I am” he says, “just…surprised that went so smoothly”

She shrugs, clearly not sharing in his disbelief.

“You’re not?”

“Not particularly.”

He laughs, a short, curt scoff. Natasha looks up at the sound, before returning to her conversation with Clint.

“So what’s the plan, now?” he asks, adrenaline that had filled him earlier starting to ease, “Is there anything we need to do?”

“No” she replies, “Not really- I mean, I have to get this gammer exposure report finalised before three, and Fury wanted me to sign some documents about yesterday-”

“That you are not going to sign” Nat cuts in somewhat unhelpfully,

“That I am not going to sign” Y/N agrees, “But, I should at least tell him that- and then… I’ll probably go for a run, grab a shower—”

“He’s only interested in the parts involving Barnes” Romanoff interrupts again, shooting a half accusatory glance at Steve, “he doesn’t actually care about your plans”

“I-” he goes to object, “-that’s-”

“I’m meeting him at 5” she says, “he promised he’d have dinner ready, but to be honest, I’m not holdin’ out much hope”

“-and how are you planning on getting him here?” the other woman asks,

“I’m going to ask him to come”

“And if he says no?” Steve counters, worry slipping into his tone.

“Then I’ll persuade him”

There’s a hint of teasing in her voice, but her smile is coy and knowing.

When he meets her eyes, he finds that he has no doubt of her ability to convince anyone into anything.

1 | 2 | x | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

[thehistoriangirl]

Bonjour!! I actually wanted to tell you how your writing is always something I look forward to at the end my day, like a candle lighting the darkest corners of my room. Could you maybe write a hopeless romantic!reader that slowly turned pessimistic at the thought of love (psst slow burn). Then Viktor realises how much reader has adored him since forever and wanted to do so in return! Merci♡

Bonjour ! <33 SADFGHJDHSGDJHDHDG thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺 Before anything, I have to said, you just cracked my well-preserved secret! Legend says if you ask me for a slow burn I will get overboard and make a multichapter fic :D and I guess it's true so here we are 🤡 [Brain why you have to be like thissss I hate you] Anyway, I hope you like this first part ;3 Passe une bonne journée, petalthea ! <3

The Oblivious Game I Want to Lose (Without Losing You) [Chapter One]

> M A S T E R L I S T <

Viktor x Fem! (Hopeless Romantic!)Reader-------2.1K------SFW

Synopsis: Your father wants you to forget about pursuing your dream of being an opera singer as your mother was. Instead, he's determined to make you a great business person to fit into his wealthy family—his solution? Hiring one of the smartest students of the Academy as your personal tutor, no other than Heimerdinger's assistant himself. But when you two grow closer, the plan gets tricky as you get your confidence back to fight for your re-discovered dreams just as Viktor starts to achieve his own.

Tags: Friends to Lovers| Not-Actually-Unrequited-Love| Hidden Feelings| Crushes| Slow-Burn| Oblivious (both Viktor and Reader)| Romantic Fluff| I'm not going to spoil more heheh >:)| ((Obviously Happy Ending))| Disfunctional Family/Family Drama

Viktor saw you four times before he was obliged to talk to you.

Inside the Music Faculty, the chandelier sent golden hues against the gold and silver accessories of the guests filling the auditorium. A line of teenagers was waiting, removing awkwardly on their feet as the people organizing the admission test formed them into order.

He was in charge of the lightning, tucked next to the half-open curtain that separated the scenario and the backstage, sitting on a stool with uneven legs. Viktor was careful to balance himself up the wobbling seat, growing less interested in the auditions as time went on. While managing the levers, he considered what his final project for his Mechanic class could be.

Until a wailing interrupted his line of thoughts, almost tripping his body off the stool.

Looking backstage, he saw a teenager being dragged away from the queue by two men in twin outfits, a woman looking at you some feet away with a stern expression. You were thrashing and screaming—begging should be a better word—, Viktor thought when he heard what you were saying in a river of blabbering, like a plea.

Please just let me try. Father doesn’t have to know—

But they ignored you and the tears that shone clear against the dimmed light inside the backstage.

He didn't recollect the moment his body decided to move on its own, but the click of his wooden cane snap him back to the present.

One of the organizers looked at him from the corner of her eyes, shaking her head slightly as if saying don’t even think about it.

Viktor frowned because he wasn't thinking about doing anything. They were full-grown adults working for an important house, if your tailored clothes were correct signal enough of your upbringing.

Though that didn’t stop the bad-hidden laughs behind some participants’ hands. 

But even as the sound of the cacophony grew fainter, the heaviness of his chest remained while remembering your broken voice, hands frantic trying to pull away, and he thought, brows pinched in confusion, that if that would have been him if Professor Heimerdinger hadn’t helped him enrolling into the Academy.

He saw you try three more times, with the same outcome. Only that each failed audition your pleads became weaker, and you didn’t fight back as much.

People kept mocking you, you fought and lost, and he watched you every time.

What a particular case, because Viktor couldn't understand why a rich family wouldn't let their child enter the Music Faculty and become an artist for the Opera House. And why you didn't give up?

The last time, just a touch on the shoulder was enough to take you away from the stage. Without the sound of your voice echoing in the room, you heard the quiet laughs, and for the first time, you looked back at them, eyelids heavy—Viktor couldn't know if it was anger or just fatigue.

The competitors cleared their throats and looked away, removing in their place as you scanned their clothes, eyes lingering in familiar crests.

"Good luck in the audition, then," you said, walking away without looking at him, even though Viktor felt as if his gaze was so heavy at least you should have felt it.

But no. You didn’t look back, and Viktor forgot about you soon after; when he became Heimerdinger’s assistant, leaving behind the myriad of little jobs he took at the Academy for extra income, the Music Faculty lightning technician included.

Until now.

*~*~*~*

The Ventos family manor was flooded with people as richly decorated as the house itself, and Viktor pretended to ignore the glances they stole as the guests looked at him following Heimerdinger’s steps.

Viktor knew the Ventos clan was horrifyingly wealthy, with around half of all the airships belonging to some member of the family, but reading about it and looking at the proofs were two different things.

The hall was bigger than Viktor's apartment, with arches supporting a tall, vaulted ceiling incrusted with mosaics. All inside was a spotless white and a pale blue, taking the nickname "owners of the sky" too seriously to be considered funny.

Professor Heimerdinger was greeting the few people that crossed his way into scanning the room, looking for the host of the party, even though Viktor was the one carrying the gift box.

A man Viktor recognized as part of the Chemistry Faculty of Teachers stopped his travel midway to the wine fountain when he spotted the yordle. He exchanged a polite and short greeting to Viktor before pouring his attention to the Dean of the Academy, asking him if he would like to see some experiments he’d been working on.

Heimerdinger raised a hand. "Excuse me for a moment—Viktor? Oh, there you are. Could you please give this to the birthday celebrant? I don't want them to run away from the party unexpectedly without the gift! Thank you, thank you."

The yordle turned his back on him, engaging again in the conversation while Viktor stood a couple of steps away, frozen, with an expensive gift tucked inside his arm.

He sighed, tapping his fingers over the box as his eyes scanned the room. How was he supposed to know who was the host of the party? All rich people looked the same, with expensive clothes and too many decorations with gold, all of them holding cups of wine while engaging in business deals.

Viktor walked toward some butlers and maids that were carrying away the empty platters from the dessert table and replacing them with new ones. He didn’t want to ask a rich Piltie about who was the birthday's celebrant—much less give any of them a gift—but it was part of his job, he supposed.

It didn’t make it easier.

One of the servants told him a name he hadn’t heard before. Frowning in confusion, the servant stopped what he was doing to give him a detailed description of the youngest Ventos heiress.

The young man shrugged. “I haven’t seen the Young Mistress in a while, though. I don’t know where the she could be.”

A maid interrupted. "Miss Ventos should be on the green balcony," she blinked and signaled the west corner of the room. "It's the balcony filled with plants. If they aren't there, then she probably withdraw to her bedroom already."

Viktor nodded, thanking them. After a short pause, the servants replied with a doubtful, “it’s nothing, Sir” and he left them to fulfill their job not wanting them to be punished because of his incompetence.

It wasn’t that late, perhaps 10 PM or something around that hour. If this person was already in bed—how old they were? Suddenly, his stomach twisted thinking about a spoiled child. What if she didn’t like the gift? What if she didn’t accept it because maybe she didn’t like him? Would he be in trouble?

The green balcony was obscured by thick potted flowers and little palms, only a narrow passage connected it to the marble rail that had a spectacular view of the city.

Viktor froze when he didn't see anyone in there. Should he return the gift with Heimerdinger? Or could he leave it with a servant?

His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling sound, his eyes darting toward the sound's source.

He recognized you right away, and Viktor felt a little embarrassed by it. You looked older—around four years had passed since the last audition you tried to join—but your clothes were very similar, contrasting with the pale blue and shining white in dark tones of purple and blue.

“Who are you?” you said, frowning. He felt your eyes sweeping his outfit—the Academy uniform—and your stiff posture, half-hidden behind a rosebush, seemed to relax.

Viktor blinked, and you blinked back, arching your brows.

“Ah! Right. I’m Heimerdinger— I mean, I’m Heimerdinger’s assistant.” He locked his cane’s handle in the crook of his elbow to take the box gift in his both hands, arms extended toward you. “He wanted me to deliver this gift. But I don’t, eh, I don’t know who the host is. By any chance… could you help me?”

You smiled then, a little tug of your lips as you took the gift box between your hands.

“Sure. Please tell Professor Heimerdinger my gratitude.”

“You’re the birthday celebrant?”

"That's right," you paused, shaking the box a little. It sounded metallic, and it was a little heavy. "Please sit down, I'm sure you must be tired from all that walking around."

You signaled at one marble bench built on one side of the balcony, next to where you were sitting, a glass of wine half-empty that you shoved away.

"You know you're hard to find," Viktor said, feeling the cold rock against his legs. He shivered a little, trying to be subtle about it. Then, he realized the words that slipped out of his mouth. "I apologi—"

“No need. You’re right, anyway.” You opened the box, putting aside the protective cloth to reveal a music box. When you pressed the button, the little shell opened, showing a little doll dressed in a deep blueish-greenish dress going in circles around a wooden stage.

Behind her, the scenery moved, showing an Ionian forest. You chuckled, moving one of your feet at the rhythm of the melody repeating inside the toy. Fingers hovering in the air as if you wanted to touch the little doll but wouldn’t dare to.

For a moment, he thought you looked cute.

“I knew Professor Heimerdinger still makes the best music boxes,” you muttered, and Viktor heard it for he was listening carefully.

“Do you know Professor Heimerdinger?” Closely, he wanted to add, but you seemed to understand his inner meaning.

“Yes. He was friends with my mom. Well—he helped her to pursue her career as an opera singer.”

Viktor smiled a bit. He finally understood that you wanted to enroll in the Music Faculty.

You jumped when someone called your name—a male voice.

"Shit," you whispered, and Viktor got surprised to hear you curse. Hurriedly, you took the music box under the bench, where the bushes hide it well enough. Your hands tried to accommodate your hair that had been disturbed by some branches as you stood up. "Enjoy the party for me—oh! That's right. What's your name?"

“My name?” You nodded, smiling warmly. “I’m Viktor.”

You extended your hand toward him. “A pleasure to make you my acquaintance, Viktor. I hope you enjoy the night.”

He frowned. "Are you leaving? No, wait. Where you hiding here?”

You beamed. "You're smart. Yes, I was. You see, when you reach a certain age your parents just organize these kinds of parties to shove suitors at your face each half an hour or so. I needed a break."

“Oh. You don’t seem fond of the attention.”

"I'm not. People still can't get over the fact about my mixed upbringing." You took off the shawl that was covering your shoulders, and let it fall on his lap. Viktor was still shivering slightly, the air of the night getting colder as time passed.

He wanted to ask what you were referring to, but you interrupted him:

“If you’re going to stay here, wear it. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

“But—” You shook your hands.

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the gift, Viktor. It’s the best I’ve been given in a long time. Thank Heimerdinger too, please.”

Viktor nodded and you said your farewell just as the same male voice entered the balcony.

You encountered him midway, dragging him away from Viktor.

“Yes, Father?”

The man sounded angry. Viktor could hear the disdain in Erik Ventos’ voice even from he was sitting, back hunched forward so he could hide better.

“Were you talking with someone?”

You laughed. “Oh, dear Father. Don’t tell me you have too much to drink again. Or it’s that you just like to nag at me?”

“Don’t try to act cocky. You left Yael from house Kiram all alone an hour ago!" Viktor heard your father whispering at you, a voice full of poison. "Is this how you pay for everything I've done for you? You're just an ungrateful brat."

Viktor closed his eyes while listening to that. His parents never talked to him that way, he couldn’t believe that some people would treat their own family in such manners.

“If you want me to marry him so badly, then go make the deal yourself,” you spitted out back, shoving him aside and walking away.

Erik Ventos followed you, stomping like a wild animal, the noise getting further away until all that was left was the crickets singing on the lonely balcony. His hands were tangled in your shawl, thinking that he was going to stay there a little longer, childishly hoping you would come back.

[uramilf]

hi! I love your writing sm. can I req this it's based on a tiktok I saw and thought it'd be cute. so basically y/n singing taylor's new song you're losing me esp the bridge! and matty is concerned like "we're okay right? you've been singing that song with much passion" or something like that! I just really thought it would be cute thank u so much

Ok I decided to turn this one into a proper imagine where the reader is a popular solo artist who misses her rockstar boyfriend and literally sat up until 3am working on it because i loved the idea so fucking much, thank you anon <3

Warnings: Angst and sadness but happy ending I promise

You're Losing Me

Y/n Y/l/n was sitting alone in her dressing room cross legged on a battered sofa. She had just received a message from her friend George to inform her that The 1975 had performed their last show of their tour and were flying back to London the very next morning. He also dropped in that Matty was excited to see her again and couldn't wait to get home. She hadn't bothered to respond. Why couldn't Matty have told her that himself? Her heart sank on remembering that although Matty was finishing his tour, she was just beginning hers. She would spend one night with him in their shared house before flying to the USA and wouldn't return for several weeks. Y/n felt empty, as she had since Matty left. She looked up to realise that she wasn't alone at all; in fact the dressing room was full of people refilling her water bottles, fixing the order of her costumes for quick changes, ensuring the setlist was right. But still, the crushing loneliness got to her. She doubted that it would be remedied in twenty minutes when the crowd of 15,000 people were screaming her name. She was right.

--------------------

Exactly 24 hours later, Y/n lay in her boyfriend's arms, thrilled to have him home but heart not feeling any lighter. She could feel them pulling apart from each other, the demanding schedules their careers presented them with tearing apart the best relationship either of them had ever been in. Even as Matty stroked her hair and pressed soft kisses to her forehead, she was fighting to keep a smile on her face. She wanted to burst into tears and tell him she needed him. She needed to be with him all the time, not just sometimes. She needed to fall into his arms the second she came offstage. She needed to feel as though their relationship wasn't a liability. When Y/n left Matty in bed to use the bathroom, he started to scroll Twitter and look for videos of his girl's first show of her tour. He came across one that already had thousands upon thousands of views. It was captioned "Y/n Y/l/n cover Taylor Swift's "You're Losing Me" at her London show last night". He clicked and started watching. His girlfriend sounded angelic as usual, but he didn't feel like he was watching a video of her usual happy, performance-loving self. The girl on his screen was breaking from the inside out. The passion she was singing with was gave her the image of someone who undeniably related to what she was singing. She wasn't just covering a popular song. He could tell she meant it. He listened closely to the lyrics; "And I wouldn't marry me either, a pathological people pleaser", "Do something babe, say something." Matty's heart was in his throat as he realised that there was a reason she had chosen the song. Did she think he didn't love her anymore? Had she been hoping for the next step in their relationship? Was he really losing her?

Y/n re-entered the room to see Matty, phone in hand, with a tear slipping down his cheek. "What's wrong, baby? Aren't you happy to be home?" "Are we ok, Y/n?" Matty whispered. "What? Of course we are. What's brought this on, love?" "The song. Last night. I know you didn't write it but you just sang it with so much passion, I couldn't help but feel like there's something you're not telling me." Y/n looked at his phone and was overcome with guilt. He understood that she had been singing to him. She took Matty's face in her hands and swiped away a tear gently with her thumb. "I'm sorry, Matty. But I just felt like I related to the song so much. I couldn't help but feel like we drifted apart while you were on tour. We were barely speaking by the last few weeks of it. I just needed you here, and honestly I did feel like you were losing me." Matty's sobs didn't stop. "Are you saying you want to break up with me because I'm away too much?" "No! Of course not baby, I couldn't imagine breaking up with you for the world. You are all I want in life. I promise. But I just don't know how to do this long distance thing anymore. I need us to be together." "Y/n, darling, I know. I'm dreading tomorrow. In all honestly, I understand why you sang the song. I was drifting away from you. I just couldn't bear to talk to you over the phone. I couldn't even answer a text from you without crying about how much I missed you."

Y/n was crying now too, feeling terrible that she hadn't seen how miserable Matty had been on tour. She stroked his hair as he buried his head in her chest. "It's ok baby, we're gonna be ok." Matty lifted his head to kiss away her tears. "Listen, darling. I'm going to speak to the boys and let them know that I'm not gonna be in the studio for a while. Give me a few days to recover from tour and then I'm gonna fly out and meet you. We'll only be away from each other for another week tops." Y/n tackled him into a hug. "You're really coming on tour with me?" "Yes, darling, really. I'm sorry I even considered going back to the studio instead of coming with you. I've just felt so pressured into releasing new music recently. But everyone else can just wait for me and my girl."

Y/n and Matty lay in each other's embrace once more, and as she was drifting off to sleep, she heard him whisper, "I promise I'll never let you feel like you're losing me again."

-----------------

A/N: Soz guys that got way deeper than I wanted it to. Got carried away ig but oh well

[amadeusgame]

July Devlog - Amadeus: A Riddle for Thee ~ Episode 1 ~ Waltz

Quick overview of all changes/updates implemented this month:

MUSIC: wrote almost all remaining music for Episode 1, and recorded some live parts for certain tracks

MYSTERY: created a "glossary" menu in the backlog notebook for reference (including things like the terms of the Witch's deal, etc)

SAVE/LOAD: system can now handle loading from multiple "progression points" within each scene

AUDIO IMPLEMENTATION: code for seamless audio looping (with reverb tail) exists now and works

TEXT SYSTEM: scrolling text can now support rich text codes, including font style changes mid-text

POINT-AND-CLICK SYSTEM: there is now a visual change to the background image when hovering over an interactible object

UI DESIGN: started reformatting main menu - still in progress

The rest of this development log is a lot more personal than usual, and is quite long. This month has been a lot, and I want to talk about how that impacted my ability to work on this game.

Read on below the cut.

More on Amadeus: linktr.ee/amadeusgame

The fact I have still done so much is a testament to how much this game means to me, and how much it helps to acknowledge when I just can't do what I planned to do and need to re-prioritize.

I was severely set back this month because of health issues. This resulted in a compounded setback because the health issues made me more easily frustrated by life in general, so any development issues ballooned into perceived catastrophes.

I eventually identified that I was really stuck on a few particular aspects of the finalfinal-final-forrealfinal vision for the game:

Design - I hadn't sat down with my overall art direction since finishing the demo. It was still feeling rather demo-y from a design perspective and I became self-conscious about this. On the other hand, I was really stressed about whether changing anything about the design philosophy this late would create exponentially more work for me as an artist, and feeling like I might have to choose between quality and finishing.

Narrative - although I'd written Episode 1 in full, I wanted to do more foreshadowing of much-later reveals. As I started considering how to do this, I began to worry about being so heavy-handed with it that I would give everything away and completely undermine the whole project before it gets going. I was too afraid of striking the right balance to make any actual progress.

Build/Implementation - a lot of mechanics were still buggy, and in addition to fixing them, I still needed to do a lot of tedious and very manual work to build the remaining scenes of the game. This work felt so mind-numbing that I had no desire to do it, and yet it still needed to be done. A perfectly demotivating combination.

Over-fragmentation - at this point in the game's development, the fact that all of my tasks for it were separated by category in Asana ("art"/"audio"/"mechanics," etc) made it difficult to see the dependencies in how these all come together, which in turn made it difficult to manage the remaining tasks to ship the game. It seemed like my to-do lists were all invisibly interconnected and felt impossible to track progress.

Once I realized I was stuck, and was stressed out by my to-do list but not actually working on it, I ignored my actual planned tasks for that week and gave myself a new assignment of figuring out how to get un-stuck and feel less overwhelmed. This mostly came in the form of asking friends for advice. It also involved following my own advice I love to give other people, which is "acknowledge when a system isn't working for you and change it." I went from feeling frustrated, lost, demotivated, and stressed to really excited after some self-reflection and 2 conversations.

Over-fragmentation

...Technically 3 conversations, as the fragmentation issue was solved thanks to an earlier conversation I had last month with a different friend about my narrative workflow. After talking with her, I started using Notion to manage the writing side of things. I built out different projects for each particular scene so I could have not just the text embedded, but also additional notes on metanarrative information, links to BGM inspirations, checklists, and more. This was something I did just to make it easier to finish writing the full script of the game, and it was definitely a game changer (hah).

I initially built it out as a writing tool, but now that the game is in the final stages of development, I find it is useful to think about all of my remaining tasks like this. It helps to consider them holistically in terms of the multimedia scene(s) they relate to, not as discrete and disconnected art/audio/mechanics needs. Once I realized this, I spent a weekend migrating all of my Asana checklists into the scene-based projects I'd already made in Notion. This was a lot of work, but it is now much easier to see a direct path from the current state of Amadeus to a finished game. And it gives me achievable goals on the way there: discrete checklists for finishing individual scenes, which are playtest-able while I work on the rest!

(I still use Asana to manage big picture stuff as well as recurring reminders and what I plan to do each week, but the specific tasks pertaining to the build of Amadeus Episode 1 all live in Notion now.)

Narrative

To address my narrative bottleneck I first had to get over the thought that spoiling my narrative to a particular friend would ruin it for them. Once I actually asked them if they'd like to be Amadeus Spoiler Friend #2 (because I was desperate and knew I needed more help workshopping the narrative), they were so enthusiastic I regretted not asking them several months earlier. We set up a voice call, I told them everything, and we bounced ideas on certain Very Important Topics.

I know that the more I have figured out from the very outset, the stronger the whole series will be; so I am very excited about this.

This friend also asked some questions that I hadn't thought to ask myself before (even though, in retrospect, they seem obvious) - and answering those questions gave me solid direction for finishing this installment in a way that's fun and also should pay off really well later. Then after our conversation they also offered to proofread certain sneaky things I am doing from the lens of their Forbidden Knowledge.

Talking to them has made me feel much better about my reveal/foreshadowing pacing, and I have someone I can ask directly about my "is this too on-the-nose" concerns, which helps a ton. Also, it just felt good to hear someone say "oohhhh, that's really cool!" about something I can't talk about until way later, because I THINK SO TOO I'M GLAD YOU ALSO THINK SO.

Build/Implementation

As for build issues, I talked to a friend (listen, the power of friendship got me through this month, I'm not going to lie) who is a career game developer, and who previously worked in Unity although he doesn't anymore. I used to worked with him on game jam games... the first of which was in 2016... when I was fresh out of undergrad composing exclusively in MuseScore. In a roundabout way, it's partially thanks to him that I eventually built a portfolio to go to grad school, which in turn got me to make Amadeus and also become a (much worse) Unity developer myself. Funny how things work out.

Anyway, I really enjoyed talking to him. He is non-judgmental - he knows I've taken exactly one Unity/C# course and have learned the rest by trial, error, and StackExchange.

He gave the best possible advice for where I am currently at in development: since I've built almost everything, even if I've done it with the world's jankiest spaghetti, the most important thing right now is to Just Finish It. But once it's done, we're going to have another call where we can discuss how to refactor everything to make my life a million times easier making Episode 2.

But it wasn't all about planning for Episode 2. He also helped me identify how I can slightly tweak some of my existing structure to automate more things that I've been doing incredibly manually. We effectively made a list of "here are the things to do NOW to make things simpler, and here are the things that are not worth fixing at this stage but we can talk about for Episode 2." (Example of a quick NOW fix: instead of dragging a reference to my Menu Settings script to every single slider and button in my menu, just have a script in the parent for all of those menu sliders/buttons that automatically grabs the sliders and buttons in its children and assigns it that reference. Then I only have to assign the reference ONCE to the parent. Seems so obvious now! I need to be doing a lot more stuff in scripts to just make my own life easier.)

In the grand scheme, though, that advice wasn't the most helpful thing he told me by a long shot.

In our conversation, since he is a developer who chose that career because he enjoys it, he started talking about focusing on what I LIKE about building the game. When I open Unity, what do I find fun, and want to do more of? Obviously I should also take note of the major pain points so we can reduce the amount of time I have to deal with them in future episodes; but he also told me to pay attention to what I really like to do.

I'm going to be completely honest. I'd completely forgotten that building the game itself was something that was, at one point, fun. When I was first building the game, it involved a ton of interesting problem-solving. It was asking myself "I wonder if I can figure out how to do this..." and being excited when the answer was "yes." It was showing off by doing way beyond what the Unity class homework assignment asked. It STOPPED being fun after I'd built all of the baseline mechanics I wanted to use, and then my to-do list slowly - so slowly I didn't realize it was happening - shifted from "stuff I want to build," into "stuff I think other people will want me to implement."

And while many of these mechanics are indeed important and good, it is not particularly motivating to build mechanics just because I think someone else will want me to build them. For the past several months I have been programming for other people and not for myself.

I really, really appreciate this next bit of advice this developer friend gave me. He prefaced it by saying "now I don't usually advise people to increase scope, but..." and that's how you know it's good advice! It is clearly tailored to ME and what I find motivating. His point was: this is MY game. I'm building it entirely myself. So if there's anything that I'm curious about, anything that's made me think, "hmmm, I wonder if I can figure out how to do this?" - then I should just do that. It's my game, I'm not building it for anyone else. I can build stupid mechanics for no reason. I can, and should, try building stuff just because it would be cool.

And that was so incredibly motivating. I actually HAD been thinking of a particular "what-if" mechanic, a mechanic I'd actually literally said "man, it would be cool if..." to my writer friend in our conversation from a few days earlier! But I'd given up on it because it seemed not as important as other things I "should" be working on. This new advice gave me permission to prioritize self-indulgence, not just in writing/art/direction/music, but in the programming of the game itself. There's a reason I am making a game, and not another form of media! I find the process of building the (janky) mechanics myself fun, interesting, and rewarding! It lets me play with the part of my brain that watches math YouTube videos for fun, in addition to the part of my brain that likes making music that goes dugga dugga and drawing pretty pictures.

Opening up the engine and writing code is supposed to be something that makes me feel like a cackling evil wizard, not a bored and frustrated person going through the motions because they have to. There is no obligation. I am making this because I want to make a game.

Soooo after this conversation I immediately built three things that I'm really happy with.

Text now supports rich text codes, which means I can be REALLY tacky with fonts and colors and all sorts of stuff.

(Obligatory this-is-a-WIP disclaimer but the finished game will probably be comparable in terms of how much psychic damage it deals to graphic designers.)

Now, Unity's TextMeshPro supports rich text by default, so you may be wondering why I haven't been doing this all along. Two reasons: one, I didn't realize that until recently. Two, the way my text-auto-scroll mechanic worked was NOT compatible with this. I had to completely re-work the entire logic of that mechanic so that it wouldn't also visibly type out the characters " <style= " in the textbox. But after making the necessary changes, which was a headache but it's fine I figured it out finally, I HAVE BEEN HAVING SO MUCH MORE FUN IMPLEMENTING TEXT!

BGM with a reverb tail can now loop seamlessly, which I really wanted for a very important later scene I've been working on.

This was one of those things I'd been putting off as a "nice-to-have" and figured I shouldn't spend time on until I finished working on "essential" stuff, but after this conversation I decided to just sit down and make it. It was really easy! It only took me like an hour, including time to research! I'm actually really excited about this because I hate basically every audio middleware program in existence (Wwise, I'm looking at you) and it's so much easier and more convenient to just do this in Unity.

In fact, this is pretty much the only script I have that is super generic and not tied up in lots of other Amadeus-specific spaghetti, so if you have a use for it I put it on GitHub here: https://github.com/ArcanaXIX/UnityScripts/

Hovering on interactible objects now visibly changes the appearance of the object, in addition to the existing cursor changes.

Actual implementation needs to be tweaked a lot, but this was my first time using sprite masks in Unity and it was very fun getting it to work. "Background objects visually change on hover" was another mechanic I had been considering for a while, but I was thinking about doing it very manually by rendering a unique sprite for every single interactible and then activating that sprite when it's active. This would require so much extra art and very hands-on implementation, so I had given up on it.

Once I turned it into a question of implementation, it became less manual (I no longer need to redraw every single interactible object) and also a fun challenge to learn more about Unity functionality. The only additional art assets needed are something with roughly the right shape to use as a mask, and then an alternate version of the full background art which can be really easily made by just applying a filter.

Here is the version of that background art that I'm using as a proof-of-concept, which was made in about 2 seconds by just converting the existing image to a 1-bit layer:

I will be experimenting with what exactly I want the highlighted areas to look like, but once I've found a process I like, it will be really easy to just apply that to all of the background images.

After importing the asset, I just added some very simple code to reveal part of this alternate art using sprite masks when you hover over interactible objects. The only detail work using this process is in the sprite masks for each interactible, which don't have to be perfect for it to look good, just approximate. Pretty straightforward and feels good. 

I'm really satisfied by how well it works even as just a functional placeholder - this is with using the "N" key sprite as a mask for testing purposes. I intend to do more than just add a black outline, but again, functional placeholder:

(I'm too lazy to make a GIF, but imagine the window there is brown pencil like everything else until you hover over it and then the black lines appear. I'll definitely be making a new gameplay trailer once this is in better shape, so look forward to that if you want to see it in action.)

Which brings me to...

Design

...except not really! I just needed to realize from my playing around in Unity that "Design" is not a separate and distinct thing that can be tackled independently from implementation. Implementation is a driving force of design. By approaching implementation with joy and excitement, I have also found an avenue to address the game's design needs. I'm going ham with fonts and figuring out what visual direction I want to take the interactible mask layer.

Instead of treating the "design guy" and "implementation guy" in my brain as two coworkers who vaguely dislike interacting with each other, if I imagine them as two coworkers who are both stoked and insane about this project and each other's work, the collaboration becomes really fun. The implementation guy shows the design guy this mechanic they built and the design guy goes "oh, I can have SO much fun with this. I'll be right back with some placeholder assets so we can see what looks good!"

Motivation

I think the actual message of this devlog, at its heart, is exactly the same as last month's. I've just been repeatedly coming to the realization that I keep trying to make a "good" game, by some generic "objective" definition of "good," and it's made me miserable. What I really should be doing is making an incredibly self-indulgent game. That means a game I find fun to build, too!

Amadeus is not going to be a broadly marketable smash success. It has a chance, when it's completely finished, of gaining a cult following by word-of-mouth via people going "you have to just trust me and play all 5 episodes of this. We can't talk about it until you're finished though." But, as its sole author and artist and musician and developer, Amadeus is something that I need to make in a very certain way to prove a point. It's coming entirely from within, and I am absolutely determined to finish it, so I must be self-indulgent.

Let's not get it twisted, though: I don't believe that self-indulgent and good are at odds. Spending a couple days making mechanics for fun actually made the game better! But in a project like this, where my primary goal is personal artistic expression, and my secondary goal is proving I can finish a major project... motivation is the most valuable currency in the universe, and therefore self-indulgence matters more than anything else.

I am speaking so passionately about how motivating it was to talk to people who understand my priorities and are excited about meeting me where I'm at, because without motivation this game would never be finished, and I want to be very honest about the fact that finding ways to stay motivated has been crucial.

I would also like to contrast these motivating conversations with how demotivating it is to receive feedback from folks who, shall we say, are missing the mark on what this game is and seeks to be.

While I sincerely believe that Amadeus: A Riddle for Thee is going to be good, there are a few things to keep in mind about it. These are things that I think are pretty obvious, but just in case they aren't:

It is made by one person.

With a budget of $0 and all of my spare time.

With a very strong professional background in audio, 

And the scrappiest DIY skillset in everything else.

That's not to say it can't still aim to have smoother player experience, to have stronger visual cues, to be better written, to be a better work of art. Those are in fact all things that I have been constantly working toward and seeking feedback to improve, because I do want other people to engage with it and have a positive experience. I am making this to share with other people. But I will occasionally receive feedback that seems to want to steer Amadeus in the direction of your average Kickstarter-funded publisher-backed title with 15 people working on it, and not a solo passion project.

The remainder of this devlog is written as objectively as I can while very demonstrably being upset about it. I debated removing this section entirely, but I think it's important to discuss, because this kind of thing can really impact development when you're a team of one person.

I also know that normally this kind of feedback wouldn't bother me so much, but since I received it after going on 2 weeks of dealing with the onset of a new chronic pain issue (which has been a massive stressor), it utterly tanked my mood.

Dismissive, Demotivating Feedback

I received the following feedback as "things to work on" from an anonymous juror evaluating my game for an indie game event.

When first meeting the witch the dialog is just incredibly long and boring and I ended up skipping through most of it. Given how linear this story seems to be, I think it would be better suited as a webcomic or a motion comic, not a visual novel. The interactivity hinders, rather than helps, in this case.

All due respect: who are you writing this critique for? For me, to make my game better? Or for you, to validate your own preferences? I think the answer to that is clear.

This is an obvious--and egregious--example of particularly demotivating feedback, but since it is real feedback I have really received, I want to talk about it. Specifically, I want to talk about how much it sucks to hear this.

This isn't actionable, unless you count "throw everything away and do something else" as an action worth taking. This makes no attempt to meet me where I'm at or consider my reasons or motivations for making the game as I have. It does not even consider that there may be aspects of the interactivity that are crucial to how the story will unfold; I'll acknowledge that the currently-live demo does not do much to showcase this, but this feedback has already decided that there is no such intention and I've wasted my time making a game.

My actionable feedback is to go make a webcomic instead. It also insists that my writing is boring, but doesn't tell me how to make the Witch dialogue more engaging (which, I have received other feedback from others addressing the same topic, who did give me specific and actionable feedback that has since been implemented). It just tells me that it's boring and they didn't like it.

And what's worse, this was feedback submitted by a juror evaluating my game for an indie games event. This kind of feedback sucks no matter what, even if it's just somebody leaving a public comment. But this is an individual who, in a certain context, was given some manner of influence, authority, and merit; and given this authority and merit, their feedback amounted to, "why did you even make a game?"

The rest of this juror's feedback was similarly dismissive and made it clear they did not like the game. That is understandable. However, it made no attempt to acknowledge that this game does have an audience, even if it's decidedly not this juror. Every single other juror's feedback at least understood that Amadeus has certain priorities and gave feedback that was more or less aligned with those priorities, but this one did not seem to think I've ever so much as had anyone else playtest it. In fact, they effectively said as much:

I get the feeling that this is an experience that makes a perfect amount of sense to the developer but that there hasn't been any attempt made to make it playable for someone who doesn't already know the garden path.

And this is feedback from before I decided to become more self-indulgent! This was the reaction to the game in a state I was actually trying to make even slightly marketable! I suppose in a way it validates my current priorities, because even when I try to prioritize quality over self-indulgence, people like this will still assume I've prioritized self-indulgence and write dismissive feedback about it anyway.

This feedback sucks so much I've dedicated a full segment of my monthly write-up to discussing it. Because as I've already mentioned, when you are one person making an entire and incredibly ambitious game entirely by yourself, motivation is the most valuable currency in the world. In that currency, things like this are expensive.

Further, when you are one person, you are ill equipped to handle things like "100% of your development team suddenly has a new health issue" and can't delegate the role of Accepting Bad Feedback With Grace to someone else in a better mood. I probably wouldn't even be mentioning this if it weren't for the pain that came on this month, but the pain happened and it has tangibly impacted my ability to work on this game, and put me in a place where this kind of feedback was the single last thing I needed to hear.

I know very well what the professional wisdom on this kind of topic is. The professional wisdom is: if feedback hurts, that's because part of it may be true; don't use "it's a solo project" as an excuse for shortcomings of your indie game. If you can't do something, form a team with someone who can cover your weaknesses. The player doesn't care how many people made it, they only care if it's good. Don't whine when people point out that your scrappy indie project feels scrappy.

That's valuable wisdom for someone trying to make a profitable career in games. That's also precisely what I intend to do after I finish Amadeus: take on a more collaborative project with a group of people I trust - we have a tentative team, but I've told them all they have to wait until I've proven I can ship this whole 5-part game. I'm not ready to lead a collaboration until I first finish Amadeus and prove that I know how to manage a project of this scope from beginning to end. Beyond that, of course, it is personally important for me to share Amadeus's story before I worry about other projects.

"Put together a team to cover your weaknesses instead of making excuses" is not valuable wisdom when the entire point of a particular project is that it derives meaning from being one person's vision. That is what Amadeus is. It's far more about expression than quality, even if in my opinion, good expression is quality.

I sought feedback from this indie event because I hoped that indie spaces would understand that "indie" can mean anything from "personal multimedia art piece" to "modest budget and team of folks who quit their AAA careers to follow their passions." I've also really enjoyed attending this particular event myself, and have made meaningful connections with developers who have showcased at it previously. That's a big reason I took this feedback so personally - I had higher expectations that my work would be respected for what it is from this feedback.

Oh well.

At any rate, the lesson I learned from this was not that I should go make a webcomic, or that the music in Amadeus is too dissonant.

(I got that feedback as well, but it's easier to shrug off critiques related to audio because I am extremely confident in my abilities as a musician. I have an ego too big to deflate on that front.)

The lesson I learned from this was that my intentions are always going to be dismissed and misinterpreted by some people. There's nothing I can do about that, so I might as well make what I want to make with full authenticity, and hope the people who are interested in listening will hear what I have to say.

[asturniolos]

you too - matt s.

chapter one (intro) ; mystery boy

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

in which;

living out of an apartment in the city, it's your second year of university and things are going smoothly. one morning, your best friend annie tells you about a new boy attending your university; matthew sturniolo. he's hot, smart, and exactly your type. you don't think much of it, but once you meet him yourself, you can't seem to get him out of your mind- or your bed- and neither can he. but how long can you keep matt's triplet brothers, chris and nick, from finding out?

warnings - none (for this chapter !)

6:45am

my eyes slowly open to the sunrise slightly peeking through my window and the sound of birds chirping as i roll over, tap 'snooze' on my alarm, and sigh when i see what time it is. i rub my eyes and try to fight the tiredness flooding my body. as much as i love being to able to study literature at my dream university, waking up this early for lectures sucks.

today is tuesday, meaning i have almost 2 hours with my least favourite professor; mr bryan. luckily, my best friend annie, short for annalise, is picking me up afterward for brunch at starbucks. i would drive us there but unlike me, annie got her license the second she turned 16. i tried to get my license three times but didn't pass once and am way too scared of failure to re-try it. we're both 19 now and she's basically been my personal Uber for the last few years.

i rub my eyes once more, pulling the sheets off my body and standing up. i instantly walk to my bathroom and splash a hand full of cold water onto my face to help wake me up.

as I start to brush my teeth, i decide the silence in my apartment needs to be broken with some music. i walk back into my room and grab my speaker off the top of my dresser as well as my phone, opening spotify and clicking shuffle play on my liked songs.

valentine by COIN starts playing as a smile is suddenly plastered on my face.

"perfect.", i whisper to myself, turning the volume up by a few and walking back to the bathroom.

~

7:42am

blue.. or pink?  i tilt my head at my reflection and struggle to decide which long-sleeve shirt to wear.

"y/n? you there?"

screw it. i'll just wear a hoodie.

"...y/n?"

"sorry! i'll meet you out front in 5.", i apologise, remembering i'm on facetime with annie.

"ok.. don't take too long, i have something to tell you. and it's literally freezing out here. love you!"

"bye! love you too, annie!", i exclaim, making a kissy face at the camera before hanging up. i place my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and pull my favourite grey hoodie down from my dresser, sliding it slowly over my head so i don't mess up my hair too much. i grab my airpods and a random lip gloss from my bedside table and stuff them in my bag with my macbook and textbooks. glancing in the mirror once more, i hear a honk outside followed by annie impatiently yelling my name. i quickly turn my speaker off and rush into the kitchen, snatching my apartment keys off the counter and walking out the door.

~

as i stumble down a few steps and almost drop my bag on the concrete, i finally reach annie's car. i pull open the passenger door and hear bodies by dominic fike blaring. i get in and throw my stuff in the backseat as annie quickly turns the volume down and turns to face me.

"you're not gonna believe what happened this morning." grinning from ear to ear, annie turns back to face the road and puts the car in drive.

"ooh what is it? has mr bryan finally retired?", i reply with a giggle.

"better."

"better? no way."

annie giggles too and continues driving.

"well? tell me!", i say.

"there's a new boy. and he is definitely your type."

i roll my eyes sarcastically and look away from her. she says my name and i look back at her with half-fake annoyance plastered on my face.

"annie, you know i don't want anything to do with guys right now after what happened with the last one."

"just pleaseeee trust me on this, y/n! seriously, he's so hot."

"that's what you said last time! and the time before that!", i smile at her effort to hook me up with this mystery-boy.

"no this one's different! he's cute, and funny, and genuinely smart. he's studying filmmaking!", annie says in an attempt at being convincing.

"ok ok, what's his name then?". i try to hide my slight intrigue when she mentions film making; i was originally going to study filmmaking but chose literature instead as i felt i had more of a passion for writing.

"matthew - well, matt. i don't think anyone really calls him matthew. i mean, besides his triplet brothers when they make fun of him.", annie giggles.

"triplet brothers?"

~

before reaching our university, we drove for another 15 minutes listening to music and talking about this 'matt' boy - who i was slowly getting more and more excited to meet..

note ⋆｡˚

sorry this chapter is suuuper short, chapters 2-5 have already been written and are way longer- this one’s just kind of an intro to the series!

this is the first fic i’ve written since like 2020 so hopefully it’s not too terrible, trust it will be getting a lot better !! :)

[skyland2703]

May I request some Javelia headcanons, now that Cosmic Fury is out?

This became a “how Javi and Amelia got together after Cosmic Fury: Sky’s headcanons, a List”, somehow, and I’m not even sorry for it—

During Cosmic Fury, in the days when they were stranded on Erridus, to spend time and to keep them occupied, Amelia asked Javi to teach her guitar. That’s how she knew how to play, when they went masquerading as meat chrome. Neither felt it, at the time, but that’s where Amelia started developing feelings for him.

That and when he sacrificed his arm, and offered to go through it all AGAIN, when it came to save the universe. Single handedly, (pun intended—) Javi’s stature increased in her eyes~

Javi had been in love with Amelia, for almost two years, but in cosmic, he learns that the infatuation he had for her was indeed pointless. That was right around when he lost his arm, but the feelings come back, hitting him like a bulldozer, when he sees this side of Amelia, the leader, the one, who, although emotionally a wreck herself, is holding herself together for the sake of their team. Javi falls in love with her all over again, but this time, it’s so much more.

Of course, they’re both mature adults NOW who know it’s not okay to act on their feelings. When Amelia actually confesses, he tells her that she should re-check her feelings after they get Ollie back. If they’re real, the feelings are gonna be there even after Ollie comes back.

Amelia never tells this to Javi, but the six months she had with Ollie, they realised they weren’t the best compatible. The two of them were trying to save their relationship, trying to do everything necessary to —involving, but not restricted to getting new haircuts together— but the Zedd Crisis (that’s what they start calling it afterwards) served as the final blow to the relationship. Amelia wanted things to work out with Ollie, but deep down, the both of them knew there was just… something that didn’t click.

They tried again after the Zedd Crisis, but something seemed even more wrong than before, now…

In the meantime, Javi quit working at Buzzblast, after the Zedd Crisis. He starts paying full attention to his music. Amelia, who had initially thought her feelings for him would go away, starts missing him. Missing him, that’s as bad as heartache.

She finds herself humming his songs, she finds herself gazing longingly at the now empty desk in front of her, hoping he would walk in, plop in on the seat, put his feet up, and say something so dumb it would make her laugh— only she wasn’t sure she would laugh anymore. She feel sure she would blush.

I’m gonna rush this bit without drama- she and Ollie talked about this, and decided to end things, realising their loves lie in different people, Javi and Aiyon respectively— and she finally confesses to Javi. (Fic? Yes.)

And ah yes, true love’s kiss. This one has an entire story of it’s own.

After Cosmic Fury, sometimes, oftentimes, Javi, when he got overwhelmed with people, with his own life, with having to deal with his prosthetics, would teleport to Erridus. They had bad memories associated with this planet, but it had had such beautiful nights, and such peaceful moments, that Javi didn’t even realised how this place became his place—A place he knew nobody could reach him, a place where he could be alone, and at peace.

He didn't know how Amelia found out about the spot, but she did. She somehow found him out, and she confessed to him there itself, in the desert, under the stars. :3

It became their spot... their little uninhabited planet, someplace only they knew of, a new hideaway. It was a lot more relaxed and easy to be here now that there was an easy way home.

Javi moved out as his music career took off, and he was able to afford an apartment near the studio he worked at, mostly to save the commutation charges, and to get away from his dad, who was still a little bit, if not a lot, annoying about his career choice.

Amelia moved in with Javi very soon after, Pop Pop now living with Tarrick and Santaura, and not being completely dependent on his granddaughter.

They really like living together. They’re both very weird. Amelia likes the taste of the weirdest stuff, and Javi is more than happy to make it for her, even if he will NEVER take a bite of it himself (re: flargon cake), he’s MESSY, and she tries to teach him to clean up after himself, sheet music EVERYWHERE, but then realises there’s no point. They make an arrangement: Javi makes all the messes in one room, lets Amelia keep the other rooms of the apartment clean. They share the rent, they go out to get groceries together, they have a lot of sappy cute spicy and happy time together.

So yeah~ bottom line, THEY ARE TOGETHER. THEY ARE HAPPY. The most beautiful ending to cosmic fury~

And yes. Yes they’re still rangers together.

+ Bonus:

Javi NeVeR called Amelia “Jones” in cosmic fury, as almost everyone else on the team does~ my fave Javelia headcanon remains that Javi’s favorite endearment for Amelia is STILL “boss”. He never actually changed that, because he low-key loves to say that. She might not be his boss at Buzzblast anymore, but she TECHNICALLY is, when they’re rangers~

[atinyladybug-daydreams]

Btw major tom aint made by the author so its not confirmed cannon that adam and evelyn are abuse,ffs yall just want to make them seem more evil,yes theire negligent since sarah was born they had no choice but to use tj to heal her but they were in mourning

First reaction:

Now onto the actual essay, research and resources. Jump towards the bottom at the General Conclusion if you wish to skip the entire essay:

Part 1: The concept of Canon in SCP

The fundamentals to the SCP fandom is that there is NO canon in SCP. This has been stated over and over by the authors, wiki staff, content creators and even fans of the SCP wiki. Some prominent figures of high standing who agreed to this and had contributed to the wiki and the fandom on a large scale itself are Dr.Sherman from Site-42 and Author Raddhager- writer and creator of the Find Us Alive podcast.

SCP Canon is fluid. Period. There is no "One Truth Above All". Articles, tales, series and canons had time and time again, constantly contradict each other because everything is based on the authors' interpretation and canon- which, surprise, the authors are in fact the consumers itself.

Such incidents of contradiction can be seen in the multiple canons, the existence of the few dozens of SCP-001s and every other article that follows its canon (Factory and its lore, Daybreak and its lore, etc) and even who are on the O5 council.

If we're going on the logic of "Everything written in an article is canon", then let me propose a question. What if two articles using the same character/SCiP are contradictory towards each other? Does it mean that one article is "canon" and the other is "a headcanon"?

And this isn't a thought or a what-if situation because this has actually happened in multiple SCP articles. One I can bring up is literally the article for SCP-963.

In SCP-963, the amulet containing Dr.Bright is confirmed and tested to be indestructible. Yet in SCP-6170, an anomalous incident has caused the amulet to crack (and fucking up Dr.Bright in the process). This isn't the first incident where 963 is damage or Bright dies. In the tale for Yesterday in the Resurrection Canon (re: CANON), Clef "kills" Bright by sending the amulet towards the sun. The arguement of "it's a tale" doesn't work here as well because in SCP-6170, an SCP article, 963 begans showing cracks upon the death of the anomaly (6170)- which should be impossible if "SCP-963 is indestructible". Also the argument that 6170 affecting all anomalies in general so 963 being affected isn't wrong can't be brought up cause in many cases, 963 has been pretty much an item that doesn't follow reality's rules

Part 2: The Bright Family, lore and Author Bright. Trigger warning for this part for rape, incest, pedophilia, racism and ableism

The actual canon of the Bright family written by the author is really fucked up and if you wanna kiss their ass and make that canon, be my guest but keep in mind that the Bright family is canonically incestual, openly support rape, pedophiliac and ableist.

I won't go much about all that but @canorrus made a pretty good post collecting all the parts here. [a big tw of rape, incest, pedophilia, racism and ableism before you click the link.]

Anyways if you are standing on the hill where canon can only be confirmed by author bright that means you are in full support of the canon that the bright family is incestual, rape-positive, pedophiliac and ableist. These aren't my rules love, they're yours <3

Also I don't know how to tell you, having YOUR LIVING SON who can heal people heal your DEAD DAUGHTER is fucked up. TJ's anomaly comes in the form of absorbing their injuries and making it his. Are you telling me that the risk of TJ absorbing Sarah's DEATH to revive Sarah is a form of love? Are you telling me that Adam Bright, in his grief of losing his daughter, making the decision to sacrifice ONE LIVING CHILD to bring back a CHILD WHO NEVER LIVED, is not fucked up?

I don't know how to put it in words to tell you that sacrificing a living child to bring back a dead child is not fuck up and grief and mourning doesn't excuse literally hurting a child <3

You wanna know what choice they had towards Sarah's death? NOT USE THEIR OTHER SON TO RAISE THE DEAD.

Part 3: The topic of abuse with Adam and Evelyn Bright. As such, big TW on Abuse

According to Google, abuse refers to "cruel and violent treatment of a person or animal." There's roughly 11 types of abuse towards children which are:

Bullying and cyberbullying

Child sexual explotation

Child trafficking

Criminal exploitation and gangs

Domestic Abuse

Emotional Abuse

Female genital mutilation

Grooming

Neglect

Non-recent abuse

Online Abuse

Physical Abuse

Sexual Abuse

As you can see form the list that I've gotten here, then you can clearly see that Neglect is a form of abuse. Therefore, putting two and two together would make Adam and Evelyn canonically abusive if they had committed neglect towards their 4 children prior to Sarah's birth.

This isn't a thing the fandom came up with, smartass. This is an actual fact that they are abusive

Abuse comes in many different ways and just because Adam and Evelyn don't hit their kids, they still fucked them up severely. Abuse is abuse. There is no "neglect isn't that bad".

If it weren't "that bad", it wouldn't be on the fucking list, genius.

My thoughts:

First of all, so what if we want to make Adam and Evelyn more evil? There is nothing wrong with that in a fandom that has no canon (refer to Part 1). Everything is up to interpretation and if you're being a pissbaby about a majority of the fandom agreeing that Evelyn and Adam Bright are shitty parents, then maybe don't interact with them.

Don't like? Don't interact. If you don't like my canons and interpretations of the Bright family, then kindly please remove your presence from my blog before I do it for you. The block button is right there. Stop shitting on my canons, interpretations and headcanons.

Also like, if you're like "Nothing is canon unless the author of that character makes it canon" then SCP is not the right fandom for you because again, please refer to Part 1 of this entire essay to get it through your thick skull that EVERYTHING and NOTHING is canon and it's up to readers' and writers' interpretation.

SCP and the wiki uses the creative commons license. That means everyone is free to use, distribute, remixed and BUILD ON what is posted in the site and surprise surpsrise, the Bright family were. Don't get your knickers in a twist because what people had build on isn't what you wanted or expected, love.

Oh, one more thing, just because they're mourning doesn't give them an excuse of using their son to bring back their dead daughter. Yes, grief absolutely changes and causes people to act irrationally but at the end of the day, you are still using a paying a living, breathing child to bring back a stillborn, dead daughter. I apologise for the cold and rough wording but I want to be absolutely clear and straightforward with this situation.

General conclusion/tl;dr

Firstly, SCP Canon has never been canon and it belongs to the people and how people interpret it. Canon is cherry picked and nothing is certain.

In addition, canon Bright family is fucked up thanks to the author and if you deem only what Author Bright write as canon, you need to self reflect on some of your personal values and critical thinking.

Plus, Neglect is still abuse. Therefore, Adam and Evelyn are abusive.

Lastly, SCP runs on a creative commons license so everyone's interpretation is valid. Respect other peoples' interpretation and canons and if you don't like it, move on.

Resources, links, other explanations:

SCP Articles & Tales brought up here:

Authors and Content Creators Mentioned who can explain better than me:

Site-42/Dr Sherman:

Wiki Profile

TikTok

YouTube

Author Raddhager:

Wiki Profile

TikTok

General/Other Resources:

NSPCC Types of Abuse

Creative Commons License

Your move.