#just wanted to add a cool detail oof

[yuurivoice]

Hello! I'm pretty new to all this and I'm just trying to piece together everything so I'm sorry if this has been asked before! but does the listener (I think thats the correct term?) have set characteristics? like gender, background, etc? Thank you!

Welcome! Different artists have different levels of specifics for their characters, but in my particular case I try to keep them fairly ambiguous!

There are varying degrees of detail I'll add, but they're plot specific. For example, Auron's listener, Rook, works in the legal department. So obviously they've gotten a law degree and have a background in that. Boo, the listener in BitterSweet with Alphonse and Seth, is probably the most ambiguous. They like to bake, and have a knack for seeing the best in people.

I try to avoid things like family and relationships (shoutout to Talk Floral mentioning parents, oof that was an oversight at the time) because that's sensitive and even if you're creating a character to fill that role of listener, some people truly do just immerse themselves and are the listener character. So I avoid things that might have some trauma or icky attachments to it because I don't want folks to step on a landmine.

Gender is always ambiguous unless it's ancient content that was commissioned and released publicly. I know that can sometimes exclude certain language (and even then, saying dirty words about peoples genitals actually adds an additional layer of potential mess ups because we have a large trans community here and sex is not gender etc) so I've mastered the art of being fithy without actually naming bits and bobs.

I also have become even more aware over the years about racial ambiguity as well. Things like hair, blushing, etc may not translate very well and the last thing I want to do is have someone dwell on the idea that whiteness is the default when I'm truly trying to make things accessible to everyone and take them on a ride.

I think I've done a decent job of being able to maintain that ambiguity without sacrificing the imagery or language along the way. Always room for improvement and new ways to accomplish things better, but that's my approach.

The things I try to specify are skills, interests, personality, and background. Some of it isn't always given up front, Charlie's listener Casper is like that. There are a few things you don't know about them yet, but have been teased. It's sort of a spin on the unreliable narrator, but we haven't found out if it's cool or not. There's a chance that people don't like receiving building blocks that late into the plot, so I'm prepared for that. But I think it's cool and the truth is I wouldn't do any of this if I didn't think it was! 😂

Welcome to the community! 💖

[saberamane]

So I haven't put too many of my thoughts on Valhalla out, aside from my frustration on the anomalies, so heres some things I've liked so far, found, or otherwise want to comment on.

First off, I have to mention some 'false advertising' I've noticed. In the store section there's a 'weekly free gift' thing. This is wrong, it's more of a free gift every 7 days you start up the game. I played yesterday, the first time in well over a week, and it said I still had 2 days until I could collect my weekly gift. So 'weekly gift' is not accurate.

I really like the standing stone things, they're pretty cool. The cairns have been a bit problematic in some aspects, but not too bad.

I finished all the beast hunts. They were all cool and interesting, but I have to say I was a bit disappointed about the 3 wolves one. Only 1 head is mounted in the long house. It would have been better imo if all 3 wolves were included.

The black shuck was awesome. I wish there was more English folk legends included in the hunts and not just oversized local wildlife.

The mystery things are usually cool, I just wish they acted more like mini missions and had general goal markers and not just 'look around the large oak tree' told to me by a note or person.

The raids are pretty fun, just wish there wasn't so many things to upgrade that I need so much exotic supplies for.

Fuck those skull curse things. In general they're fine, but the fact that your movement and sight gets impaired is annoying. You want me to solve how to find and destroy this skull thing while it's hard to see and move? Not fun.

I wish the horses had more variety that's not part of a set locked behind money. You get black, graying (the dark dappled one), a dark brown, brown/white paint, and a white horse with black mane and tail. Where are the gold horses? No buckskin, palomino, cremello, pearlino. At the very least buckskin is naturally occurring in wild horses and should be available, right? And don't get me started on the Roan coats.

So yeah, horse variety for free is not great. There are plenty of raven ones though and I really like them.

Now, something I've noticed in game that makes me believe that female Eivor is the 'canon' choice:

For one, I've noticed at least twice where, while playing as male Eivor, an NPC referred to Eivor as 'she' or 'her', and this is during main story requests.

During a recent story quest where I'm helping the alderman reunite with a childhood sweetheart and getting his wife back to france, you request the help of a 17 y/o Dane named Rollo. During most 9f the quests with him, he is shown as being about Eivor's height, maybe a small bit shorter. The very last cutscene shows Rollo as suddenly being a lot taller than Eivor.

This has happened several times. In game Eivor is on par or slightly taller than those around him, but in cutscenes he is suddenly MUCH shorter. This is both annoying because it's inconsistent, but also seems like the development was rushed or people just didn't care about this detail.

But also, if Eivor is supposed to be Odin reborn, why would he be so short? Even if you played female Eivor, they should be taller than average. Kassandra was noticeably taller than pretty much everyone she met, and when I did the mission where you run into Kassandra, Eivor is was not shorter than her. Thisnlack of attention to detail is just... bad.

Ok, rant over. Overall liking the game. Sigurd has been a dick on screen so far, but I blame Basim for that. Just found out Sigurd had his arm cut off, oof.

(Forgot to add, I loved the hidden ones bureaus, very cool. And if someone knows if Reda is in Mirage, without spoilers, I'd love to know. I'm surprised he's still alive AND a child. Is this ever explained ?)

[ninjagirlstar5]

I love Haru, but he does deserve to get slapped every now and then for his pervertedness.

So, Haru is a pilot, that goes without saying with his hat and goggles as that's the most clear indication of his Ultimate Talent. His OG design was alright and I liked it as is. But I guess I just wanted to push his pilot design a little bit more while still keeping to his very casual look. So I, uh, replaced his vest with a bomber jacket. I'm sorry but I just wasn't feeling the vest as it looks like some kind of jacket that had it's sleeves ripped off and Haru decided to wear that cause he thinks it looks cool...which is actually pretty in character for him so it's not a bad design choice honestly, fkdgytdklymtlkym. I was just in the mood for a bomber jacket, so I gave Haru a bomber jacket. I just pushed the sleeves up juuust below the elbow to give the impression that he's pretty chill. When his temper is not flaring up, at least. But otherwise he's a pretty chill dude that just...wants to hang out and do dumb (perhaps even dangerous) teenage things and even go on a date or two. Anyways, back to the jacket, I also had it unzipped below his collar to again push the fact that he's pretty casual. But looking back on it now, I feel like I should've left the jacket completely open like his old vest. It would just fit his vibes better. But I decided not to go back and change the sprite simply because I was lazy and I didn't want to go through all the effort of erasing the linework and stuff. Just know the next time I draw him, I'm going to leave his jacket open. Also, I find it interesting that Haru's OG sprite has what looks to be a military symbol on his sleeve?? And his likes aside from women (of course) is also the military, at least according to the wiki. Which makes me think that Haru is a military brat of some sort, like one of his parents, probably his dad, was a pilot for the military or something. I could just be overanalyzing this but I don't think LINUJ would add these to his character without some kind of purpose. It'd be better if we actually had an idea of what his home life actually was, but alas, all we got in his FTEs was his love life (and his guilt over his role in Kiyoka's death, oof). Anyways, I decided to make that symbol on his sleeve a little more clearer on his jacket and I changed his necklace to dog tags to tie it all together. I found his blue necklace in his OG design kinda just...there...to fill in some space on his torso. And I thought it was kinda meh and out of place for such a plain necklace, so changing it to a pair of dog tags fits the whole military thing way better. After that, I changed his shoes to boots and gave him a ponytail cause...honestly, I just wanted to give him a ponytail. I love it when male characters have ponytails so Haru was lucky enough for my brain to go, "ponytail, now" while I was designing him. It kind helps his hair stand out when he's wearing his hat as it mostly covers his bangs in this redesign, not like in his OG sprite where tufts of his hair peaks out from underneath. Besides, I can see Haru being the kind of guy to grow out his hair, even if it's against regulations or something, like, say, occasionally serving in the military. For someone who seems to be interested in the military, perhaps even worked for it as a pilot, Haru actually has no issue in arguing against authority figures. No, seriously, if he's not arguing with Teruya in the killing game, he's butting heads with Kinjo. He may fall in line once, but if he has an issue with you, he doesn't hesitate to say it, regardless of your position. And with that, I just adjusted his color palette, desaturated his skin tone a little bit while making sure he remained tanned and that was it. Haru is done!

Man, I miss Haru. I feel like he really shined in Chapter 4 but I enjoy the little details of his character outside of his usual role of being the "comic relief."

[mayflowers515]

Random Scenario #1: The Living Traffic Light

Just thought of this because these three literally are the colors of a traffic light. I hope you enjoy!

____________________

Crafty: Thank you for deciding to model for me guys!

Bobby: Of course, Crafty!

Kickin: It's no problem really. I'd like to think I make a pretty rad model, so hit me up anytime you want a good-looking fella as your model again, K?

Hoppy: *rolls eyes* Oh, don't get too over your head, Kicks. It's ONE time. And we're just getting started.

Kickin: Aight, whatever. Was just sayin'. Sooo, what's the prompt, princess?

Crafty: I was thinking you guys could tower on top of each other to look like this! *shows them a painting of a traffic light*

Bobby: A traffic light?

Crafty: Mhm! Seeing you guys side by side made me think of that. Do you like it?

Hoppy: I mean... I guess, but did you only decide on that just because of our colors?

Crafty: *looks down shyly* Maybe a little bit- *looks back up quickly* But that's not the only reason! Your traits made me think of each color on a traffic light, too!

Bobby: Ooh, you really think that? How so?

Crafty: Bobby, you remind me of a red light because you always encourage us to stop and think through our feelings.

Bobby: Oh yeah. I see what you mean, Crafty!

Crafty: Kickin, you remind me of a yellow light because you like to take things slow when it comes to finishing things. Okay, maybe that isn't TOO good of a reason, but...

Kickin: Hmm? I can sorta see that. Clever thinking, princess.

Crafty: And Hoppy, you're the definition of a green light! You're always going into life head first and whenever you see a chance to keep going, you take it!

Hoppy: Hey you're right! I am like that aren't I?

Crafty: Mhm! I can't wait to make you guys look like a traffic light. It'll be so cool!

Hoppy: Hold up, are you going to paint us as an actual traffic light?

Crafty: No no... I'm not sure how I would go about that... Maybe I'll at least add something extra to the background though. You know, to make it more thematic...

Kickin: Alright, do what you need. *points at self* This dude's ready to strike a pose!

Hoppy: Okay, I'm green light, so I'm carryin' you guys!

Bobby: Will you be okay trying to lift up both of us, Hoppy?

Hoppy: Don't worry. I can hold you two just fine! Watch!

*Hoppy is gesturing Kickin to put his feet on her hands*

Kickin: U-uh... Y-you sure you got this?

Hoppy: What? Afraid I'm gonna drop you or something?

Kickin: Um, n-no! I DID say I was looking forward to this, wasn't I?

Hoppy: Alright... I believe you. *adds quickly* For now. *lifts Kickin up by his feet*

Kickin: *is a little startled* Woah!

Hoppy: Feeling steady?

Kickin: *processing his position and sighs with relief* Yep. Feelin' steady! Thanks, Hops!

Bobby: Oh, but how am I supposed to get up? I don't think I'll be able to climb up to you guys like this...

Hoppy: Oh, shoot- Didn't think about that. Sorry.

Crafty: I can help you get up there, Bobby. I'll just use my horn!

Bobby: Oh, really?

Crafty: Mhm, at least I can try to... Kickin, get ready to catch her by the feet once she lands!

Kickin: At your service!

Crafty: *slowly levitates Bobby*

Bobby: Ooh, I'm flying!

Crafty: Alright, steady... steady... Almost there...

*levitation starts to wear off, but just in time for Kickin to catch Bobby by her feet*

Bobby: Oof!

Kickin: Gotcha!

Crafty: Phew... That could've ended badly. Are you doing okay up there, Bobby?

Bobby: Mhm! That was a nice ride, Crafty! Thank you!

Crafty: *giggles* It's nothing. ...Okay, now that you guys are in position, time to paint!

Hoppy: Alright, I just need to make sure... How long will I be holding these guys for?

Crafty: Oh, it hopefully shouldn't take too long. Though I do like making the details stand out... so... Well... *blushes a bit* A-actually, it might take a little while... *says quickly* Sorry...

Hoppy: A bit of a challenge then, huh? Okay, I can handle it! Just don't take a SUPER long time and we'll be good.

Crafty: O-okay...

*after some time has passed*

Bobby: Are you guys doing okay down there? It's been a little bit now...

Kickin: Never been better, BB. *looks down at ground and shudders* Never been better... W-what about you, Hops?

Hoppy: S-still holding up! No worries about me!

Kickin: You sure about that? Looks like you're struggling a bit there.

Bobby: Are you sure you're okay?

Hoppy: Yep, I'm sure! You guys aren't THAT heavy, so I'll be fine~.

Kickin: Hmm, should I REALLY trust that? I mean, your grip does seem a bit shakier than it was earlier. It would be such a shame if you dropped us right about now. *says quietly with a hint of fear* A real shame...

Hoppy: Oh please. You're only saying this because you're worried I might drop you. You'll be just fine, Chicken.

Kickin: *in a playful tone, offended* Heyyy, I'm no chicken! You take that back right now!

Hoppy: But you ARE a chicken aren't you? How am I supposed to take it back when you're right there, huh?

Bobby: *in a playful tone* You guys... Don't try to argue with each other down there or you might just make me fall over! *giggles*

Kickin: Oh no need to worry your little head, BB. That's not happenin' any time soon. Riight, Hopsotch? Right?

Hoppy: Oh, won't you two quit it? Nothing will make me drop you guys! Not now! Not ever! We're all in this together after all!

Crafty: *sighs and speaks to self* You guys really are like a living traffic light, aren't you?

____________________

Got inspired to make this after I saw posts about this trio, and I agree. As a group, they're underrated af

(The two goofballs who share a brain cell meanwhile the friend trying to keep hold of them both; literally these three)

This is the first written scenario I made for the Critters. Please let me know what you guys think!

❤️💛💚

[slutforstabbings-archive]

Clean Again

Chapter 11: RULED BY MARS read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure to check AO3 for this fic's playlist and other extras! Corey can't put off meeting Veronica any longer. general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter - angst, semi-coerced drug use, detailed description of getting way too stoned 4,618 words @rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm @ethanhoewke dm me or reply to this post to be added to the tag list 💕

The knife Corey gave you makes your purse heavier than usual as you trek across a massive, muddy field with Veronica and Rose. The three of you tried to get to the flea market early but you weren’t early enough to find parking in the paved lot.

“I can’t believe you love him and I haven’t met him yet!” Veronica says

“I know, I know! I want you to meet him, I want everyone to meet him. But he’s shy.” A severe understatement of whatever is going on with your sweet, strange boyfriend.

“Have you ever gone anywhere with him?” Veronica asks as you arrive at the gates.

The sound of the vendors’ radios playing music over tinny speakers - Contemporary Christian, Grunge, Trap, Mariachi - floats to you from beyond the chain link fence. A gentle gust of wind brings you the smells of barbecue and fried food.

“The grocery store?” you supply. “The library?”

“Okay, those absolutely do not count.”

“Then I guess I haven’t. People make him nervous.”

The three of you enter the market. It’s laid out like a maze, but you have it memorized from years of traversing the cramped and crowded aisles. Your feet carry you instinctively towards the tables and stalls you know have the most interesting items and the best prices. Your friends keep step beside you.

“So if you never go anywhere, what do you do all the time?” Rose asks.

“That’s what I wanna know!” Veronica adds.

“We hang out, I dunno. We watch movies, we play video games, I’ve been teaching him some stuff in the kitchen when I cook for us…” You trail off, realizing that nothing you could say about your time with Corey would make it sound interesting to someone who isn’t there, who hasn’t experienced him like you get to. “You know, it’s not about what we do. It’s about spending time together.”

“The dick must be out of this world,” Veronica responds.

“Oh my god,” you say.

“V!” Rose chides at the same time.

“ For your information the dick is stellar ,” you hiss. “But so is his personality,” you continue, returning to your normal volume. “I genuinely just like to hang out with him, no matter what we’re doing.”

You peruse a few stalls without saying anything to each other except Wow! Look at this! and Oof, prices just aren’t what they used to be . But Veronica isn’t giving up that easily.

“For real though, don’t you ever get bored?” She demands, rummaging through a bin of vintage happy meal toys.

“Nope,” you dismiss her.

“But don’t you want to spend time with him like, at places? And events?” Rose asks.

“Of course I do! But my relationships have had some boundary problems in the past, if you hadn’t noticed. I’m trying to respect his limits.”

“All I know is if I hadn’t seen him that one time, my belief in him would be limited,” Veronica jokes. “Like that boyfriend who ‘went to another school’ in seventh grade.”

“Fuck you!” You say, cringing but laughing, remembering the boy you made up out of pieces of pro skaters and bass players to feel cool. “I promise you’ll get to meet him ASAP if you never bring that up again.”

“Deal!” Veronica says, setting a tiny Betty Spaghetty back into the box in front of her and sticking out her hand. You clasp it in your own and shake it vigorously.

When you get home Corey is sprawled out asleep on the couch in his boxers, the crocheted blanket you keep in the living room hanging off of him. Last night when he woke you up he seemed exhausted. Though he ravished you with kisses, you could feel his limbs getting heavy on him and you gently coaxed him to slow down and go to sleep. This morning when you woke you slipped from his arms and got ready, thinking the thing with the knife must’ve been a particularly vivid dream, or the confused invention of a mind still half asleep. Until you went to kiss Corey goodbye and saw it there on the nightstand, folded up, handle glittering under the lamp that never got turned off. Your lips on his skin roused him and he insisted on getting out of bed and walking you to the door. You told him he should stay comfortable, go back to sleep, but he refused. As he kissed you goodbye, he put the knife in your purse to make sure you had it. Then, it seems, he passed back out on the couch.  

You know he needs the rest, and you're not exactly eager to hold up your end of the deal with Veronica, so you do your best not to disturb him, every sound feeling impossibly loud in your small apartment. He finally wakes up in the early afternoon. You’re in the dining room doing some hand sewing tasks with headphones on when he shuffles in. You don’t realize he’s there until he’s behind you, plucking the buds from your ears. You jump up from your chair and spin around in surprise. 

“Jesus, Corey!” You scold. “That’s the kind of shit that’ll make me use that knife on you! Or a fucking seam ripper.” You brandish the tool in your hand at him, then set it on the table. Corey smirks.

“How was the market?” He opens his arms to receive you for a hug. 

“Pretty good. I’ve got some cool stuff to show you later. Veronica was kinda on one though.”

“About what?” he asks the top of your head.

“About meeting you.” You say it like an admission of guilt. And you do feel guilty, because you already know what his reaction will be, before he groans and deflates in your arms, before he pulls back to look at you with a pained expression, before he asks his question. 

“What does she wanna meet me so bad for? I’m nothin’ special.”

“Corey. You are something special. I wanna show you off! And she’s my best friend. It’s honestly kinda weird that she hasn’t met you yet. I want to hang out with my two favorite people, together .”

He groans your name. You put your hands on his cheeks and rub his temples with your thumbs, trying to encourage him to relax his sour face. It doesn't work.

"Look, I know of a couple of restaurants that are super quiet during the week, we can grab dinner somewhere where we'll be the only people, and it'll be so chill." 

“Why can’t she meet me here?” He asks like a petulant child.

“If you really want me to, I'll convince her and we can all have a nice night in. But she thinks it’s weird that we never go anywhere, and it’ll make a better first impression on her if we hang out somewhere else.”

Corey looks into your eyes for a moment, seeming to search for something. It’s not clear if he finds what he’s looking for or gives up, but his lids flutter closed and he sighs.

“Somewhere really quiet?”

“Yes, I already know exactly where. There’s a pub that we all like that’s always totally dead on weekdays. It’s super cozy and the food is really good.”

He rests his forehead on yours in defeat. “Okay.”

In the evening you text Veronica.

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

It’s Wednesday. Corey goes home to his own apartment after work. He showers in his little phone booth shower, the tiny bathroom filling with dense steam. He shaves his face, careful not to fuck it up with trembling hands. Towel wrapped around his hips, he digs through his clothes, unsure of what to wear. He has to force himself to complete one step of the getting ready process at a time, stuffing his phone in his pillow case to quell the urge to text you and ask to change the plan. Dread boils in his stomach. He lights a cigarette, and then another one, drinking them more than smoking them in his desperation. When he’s feeling as ready as he thinks he ever will, he climbs on his motorcycle and speeds to your apartment, rolling through stop signs and accelerating at yellow lights, trying to compress the ride as much as possible. His tires cut a deep groove in the gravel of your driveway as he screeches to a halt in his usual spot.

“Bathroom!” He hears you call as he lets himself into your apartment and takes off his shoes.

He walks into the bathroom and sees you sitting on the counter. Your hair is wet and held back with a headband. You’re dressed in nothing but the largest t-shirt Corey has ever seen. You look away from the mirror where you’re doing your makeup and give him The Smile, but it barely dents his anxiety. He gives you a quick peck on the lips and when he pulls away he walks to the other end of the bathroom, stalking back and forth like a predator in a too-small cage. 

“You’re awfully early,” you say, digging in your makeup bag.

“I just wanted to spend some time with you alone.”

“Aww, Corey. It's gonna go great,” you assure his reflection as you do your eyeliner. “You don’t need to be nervous. Veronica is gonna love you. I don’t know how anyone could meet you and not love you.”

“You’re biased,” he replies miserably. 

The pacing is just making him more anxious, so he leans against the wall next to you while you finish your makeup and blow dry your hair.

He follows you when you go into your bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks at the floor while you get dressed. Despite having sex, showering together, and sleeping tangled in each other’s limbs with every inch of your bare skin sticking to his, he still feels like there’s moments when he’s not supposed to look. You don’t seem to think anything of it, but it just feels respectful to avert his eyes while you shimmy into your underwear. He hears a zipper going up and your bare feet enter his line of sight. Your toenails are painted the color of dried blood. 

You squeeze his chin with your thumb and pointer finger, encouraging him to look up at you. Corey's only ever seen you dressed up to go out from a distance, or at the end of the night when your makeup has been reduced to a smattering of colorless glitter and you've long ago pulled your sweat-damp hair into a bun. He's a wretched bundle of nerves – he's not sure he's been this anxious since the first day of his manslaughter trial – but even so, he’s taken by seeing you like this, fresh and up close, for the first time. He doesn’t know fashion words but he can tell you’re doing something, and doing it well. For one flickering second he’s glad this is happening, feeling stupid for not joining you out before now. He wants so badly to see you in your element, looking like a model and doing the violent dance you described the first time he noticed bruises on you that he hadn’t left with his mouth. 

As you lean in to kiss him, soft and warm and tacky with tinted balm, Corey wishes he had the power to stop time. To freeze this moment, avoid all the hazards of being asked unanswerable questions or the waitress being so sure she’s seen him somewhere before, to remain safely trapped in your sticky kiss for all eternity like a bug fossilized in amber. No such luck. You pull away and bring your thumb up from his chin to wipe the transferred makeup off his bottom lip. 

“I love you,” Corey says, fearing in his gut it’s the last time he’ll ever get to say it.

“I love you, too,” you reply, and it’s even scarier that it might be the last time you ever say it back.

When you pull up to the pub Corey recognizes it. He’s been here, watching you, parked in the shadows down the street. He’s seen you laugh and toss your hair, silhouetted in the window under the neon Krelborn’s sign, pregaming for a big night, and watched you struggle to sit up straight when you came back hours later to satiate your munchies. 

You parallel park behind an idling Volkswagen Jetta. He waits for you to turn the car off, but you don’t. Instead, the Jetta goes dark and silent. The driver steps out of their car and opens the rear door of yours.

“Good evening, y’all!” Veronica lilts as she slides into the backseat.

“Hello, hello!” You sing back, twisting in your seat to face her. “Veronica Hand, this is Corey Carpenter. Corey, Veronica.”

Veronica leans forward between the seats and offers her hand to him. “So nice to finally meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he says, shaking her outstretched hand. Corey tries to smile a nice, normal smile. He’s acutely aware of his body language, feeling Veronica’s eyes, knowing she’s assessing him already. 

On the drive here he’d asked you if she was interested in true crime. You shrugged and said just the normal amount, as if there was one. When you wanted to know why he asked, he reminded you of what you said the first night he came over. It’s just my friend checking in. She’s nervous about you coming over, 'cause you could be a serial killer or something. You assured him it was a bad joke, and that texting to check in standard even if your date’s vibes are in no way serial killer-y. You quoted one of the films from the teen drama-comedy night you arranged last week, though he couldn’t remember which one. That’s just like, the rules of feminism! You said.

Somehow the conversation failed to make him feel any better, any less like he would be under a microscope every second he was in Veronica’s sight.

“I know you’re nervous so I brought a little something to make the night more fun for everyone,” she’s saying, pulling a small, flat, silver box out of her purse. She pops it open and removes a single hand-rolled cigarette. It’s made with such skill it takes Corey a second to realize it’s a joint, it’s so different from the ones he refused in high school. 

He looks to you and you return his gaze.

“Do you want to?” You ask. 

He scans your face, conflicted. He had a lot of fun smoking with you, but that was in the safety of your apartment. No strangers. And no chance of being seen by the cops.

“We won’t get in trouble?”

You and Veronica both laugh. It stings his already raw nerves.

“The county decriminalized it a couple years ago,” you inform him. “Plus, this neighborhood is super chill. That’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah, this place is a well kept secret, so don’t go spilling the beans.” Veronica points at him. 

Corey forces a little chuckle.

“Okay,” he says, feeling helpless. Being steered towards saying yes makes him realize he wants to say no. He really can’t afford to lower his guard tonight, not even a little bit, not even for one second, but his only reasonable protest was deflated by decriminalization. What other reason could he give to reject Veronica’s hospitality? He’s learned the hard way how poorly that goes over down here, making enemies by accident at work. His only option is to acquiesce. 

Veronica lights the joint and takes a drag, then holds it out between the front seats. You take it from her. The three of you pass it around and the inside of the car clouds. Corey takes it every time it’s offered, despite already starting to feel the way he felt the other night. After a few more rounds you hesitate to pass it to him.

“You doing okay, lightweight?” You ask him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Terrific.” 

If he’s terrific, it’s in the original way of the word – full of terror. He’s sweating and his tongue feels like it’s the size of a hockey puck. His heart beats against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. His stomach turns like it’s being wrung out by invisible hands. You study him for a moment, then pass the joint back to Veronica instead of him, cracking a window. The tiny current of cool, fresh air feels glorious, but it’s not good enough. The car seems to be getting smaller and smaller, like he bit into a cookie that said Eat Me.

Once the joint has burned down too short to hold, Veronica places the roach back in her cigarette case and slips out of the car. You roll the window back up and turn the key. Corey tries and fails to open his door, clawing at it, on the verge of a panic attack.

“Hey,” you say in a soothing voice, putting your hand on his thigh. “If you’re feeling sick, or freaking out, that’s normal. You just went a little overboard. A hotbox is a lot for your second time. Just breathe. It’ll pass in like, 10 minutes.” You lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek. 

Corey’s head pounds. His fingers tingle and he can still feel your lips, like your kiss left a chemical burn. He tries to ask to go home, but he can only produce a barely audible croak, and you’re already closing your door and joining Veronica on the sidewalk. He opens the car door and nearly falls out, struggling to get his footing under Veronica’s baleful eye. He suddenly feels very sure that she’s onto him, that she knows everything about him already. If he lies to her she’ll catch him red-handed, and she’ll tell you everything. She’s going to be a problem , he thinks. 

Veronica leads the way into the pub, to a booth in the back corner. The interior looks like it was put together with a $15 budget. The tables, booths, and chairs, all mismatched and clearly salvaged, cracks in the leather patched over with green tape, rest directly on the plywood subfloor, which has been painted a powdery-looking black. Above the bar, the beer list is written on a chalkboard in cramped, messy handwriting. A single speaker on a shelf weakly broadcasts a song with beautiful, sparkling guitars, and vocals like the singer is being attacked. Corey thinks he might like it under different circumstances, but right now the juxtaposition only serves to set him even more on edge. 

Mercifully the restaurant is almost empty. The only other people are the employees, a couple near the door with their heads together, and a solitary man at the end of the bar with a pint of dark beer in front of him. You and Veronica make small talk. You lace your fingers with Corey’s under the table, and he tries to focus on the sensation of your small, warm hand in his palm while he waits to come down a little. 

A girl brings menus and a glass of water to the table. She greets you and Veronica by name and sets the cup in front of Corey.

“You look like you need that,” she says. 

“Thank you,” he rasps. 

You and Veronica order your drinks and an appetizer. The waitress didn’t give him a straw, so Corey lifts his glass to his lips with a shaky hand and chugs. Then he gets paranoid about having bad manners and sets the glass down, blotting his lips with his hand. Veronica looks at him with raised brows. 

“Cool ring,” she says.

“Thanks.”  

“Pretty unique. Looks vintage.”

“Uh, it was my dad’s.” Corey can’t help but think of the teen movie marathon again, imagining Veronica’s interest as plastic, and as soon as he’s out of earshot she’ll whisper to you that it’s the ugliest effing ring I’ve ever seen . When he blinks his eyelids feel like sandpaper. It’s so fucking hot in here. Has it been 10 minutes yet? 

“Veronica loves vintage jewelry,” you say. “She found some really cool shit at the flea market the other day. There was this Victorian bracelet the seller didn’t even realize was super rare.”

“Yeah, I almost felt bad about how little I paid. Almost.”

“Almost,” you echo, nodding.

Corey finishes his water, drinking more slowly. He can feel it sloshing unpleasantly inside him every time he moves, but he’s never been thirstier in his life.  The waitress delivers him another glass with the appetizer. 

“How long have you lived here?” 

“Year and a half,” Corey feels his mouth say. 

It’s like his brain has been split in two. He isn’t paying attention, the vibrations of the very molecules he’s made of are so loud he can’t focus on anything but that and the washed out, crackling sound of the speaker. Yet he’s giving coherent responses, answering Veronica’s questions before they even register. 

And Veronica asks him a lot of questions. Veronica bombards him with questions.

“Where are you from?”

 He already told you Illinois, so he has to be honest, and when she asks for the name of the town, the part of his brain doing the talking is relieved he wasn’t stupid enough to tell you that too. He just says it’s rural and small, not the kind of place people have heard of. It’s not a lie. No one would have heard of it, if it wasn’t for Michael. Still, it’s a risky move. She lets him get away with it. 

“Do you like it here?”

“It’s better than home.”

“Where do you work?” He tries to be vague but she weasels the name of the shop out of him, saying “Oh, where? There aren’t any VW dealerships in town and my current guy always complains when I come in.” 

Maybe it’s not the car they’re complaining about , half of Corey’s mind thinks.

“How long have you been a mechanic?” “How did you start working on cars?” “Did you go to college?” “Why only for two years?” “What did you plan to major in?” “What made you interested in that?”

When his food is set on the table, the sick feeling he’s been battling since the third time the joint was placed between his fingers is immediately replaced with gnawing hunger. He devours his own meal in record time, all concern about manners gone, before he starts stealing your fries, sliding them one by one off your plate in an attempt to be sneaky. You catch him almost right away, but you just laugh and put your plate where it’s easier for him to reach. Veronica finally lets up when she and Corey both have their mouths full. 

While she’s still eating he starts to feel all the water he drank, and he’s pleased to have an excuse to ask you to let him out of the booth before she can start up again.

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

You crane your neck to watch your boyfriend’s broad back disappear around the corner towards the bathroom. “What are you doing?” You ask as soon as he’s gone.

“Trying to get to know your boyfriend.”

“Why are you asking him a bunch of shit I’ve already told you?”

“I’m making sure his story’s consistent.”

“And why are you doing that, Detective?” You’re frustrated. The night hasn’t been terrible, but it hasn’t gone how you hoped at all. You wanted Veronica and Corey to hang out, not play Interrogation. You know she’s not endearing herself to him by acting this way.

“I don’t know.” Veronica picks at the label on the glass bottle in front of her. “He was so resistant to meet me, I wanna be sure he isn’t hiding anything.”

You heave a sigh. “I really appreciate that you’re worried about me, V. You’ve seen me through more relationship bullshit than you should have had to. But Corey doesn’t have any of the red flags that Hurley and Orin did. You can’t make him guilty by association.”

“I’m not! I’m making him suspicious by association.” She laughs. “But I’ll chill.”

“Thank you.”

Over her shoulder you see Corey leave the bathroom and slip out the front door, already pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket

“What do you think though?”

“I haven’t gotten enough from him to really know. He’s pretty… terse.”

“Thinks a lot but doesn’t say much. Remember when I said that was his vibe?”

“Yeah, back when he was just Mr. Library.”

“Also I think we greened him out a little.”

“Oops,” Veronica says with a grimace.

You wait five, ten, fifteen minutes for Corey to come back inside. Veronica remarks on how long he’s been gone, and you’re just about to stand up to go find him when he comes back through the door.

“So,” she prompts as he settles into the booth, on the outside this time. “What’s your sign?”

“Seriously?” You ask with a snort.

“What? I don’t believe in it that much, I just think it’s fun,” she defends.

“I don’t know my sign,” Corey says.

Veronica looks to you, silently asking if you can fill in the gap.

“Um… I don’t know either, I never remember which dates are what.” The statement is true enough, but you’re using it as a cover. A more honest reply would be I don’t know Corey’s birthday . What the fuck? How are you just now realizing you don’t know his fucking birthday? You sink into the booth.

“Well, when were you born?” Veronica asks.

“April 18th,” Corey says. If he realizes this is the first time you’ve heard that date, he makes no indication.

“Ah. An Aries.”

“What does that mean?”

“Aries is the ram. Named after the god of War, ruled by the planet Mars. Aries can be aggressive, impulsive, quick to explosive anger, impatient. They love instant gratification and dangerous situations.”

“Wow, super insightful,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. You want out of this conversation, out of this restaurant, now . You don’t want to process that this is how you found out a major piece of information about the man you’ve been dating for months with an audience. “That’s why I don’t fuck with it. It’s always just a list of mean adjectives.”

Corey tries to take your hand under the table, but you keep your fingers curled under so he can’t slip his between them. You’re not sure if you’re mad at him or not, if you should be mad at him or not.

“There’s positives too! Aries are really passionate. They love a challenge. And they’ll fight like hell on behalf of their loved ones,” Veronica offers.

“Good to know,” you say with finality.

The waitress, your friend Shelly, approaches the table. She looks between the three of you with curiosity, sensing the vibe has changed. “Dessert?” She asks.

“Yes, please,” Corey says.

She lists options, cakes and pies provided by a bakery down the street. Corey asks for a slice of chocolate cake.

“To go, please,” you add.

Veronica shoots you a look across the table.

“Just tired.” You shrug, trying to seem casual.

She doesn’t buy it. The two of you just look at each other until Shelly returns with Corey’s cake in a plastic container. She sets it on the table with a disposable fork and the check. Veronica breaks eye contact to reach for the check, but Corey’s already holding it, fumbling to get his wallet out of his pocket. He hands Shelly a wad of cash and tells her to keep the change. You cross your fingers he’s not too stoned to do the math for the tip.

[icedteaandoldlace]

20 questions for fic writers - tagged by the fantastic @frosty-the-killer-doll ☃️🔪🪆

How many works do you have on ao3?

13.

What's your total ao3 word count?

72,472

What fandoms do you write for?

The Flash, Glee, and Gossip Girl.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Flying Free (or Free Kurt - Emma Pillsbury Style) ((Glee obvs))

Heartless (Glee)

Smoke and Mirrors (Glee)

Maybe Our Real Soulmates Were The... (Flash/Arrow)

As Frightened As You (Glee)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

It depends. Direct compliments, yes, I'll reply to say thank you. I'll also answer questions, or drop little bits of behind-the-scenes info if there's something fun attached to a detail that a reader pointed out. If the comment is simply "wow!!" or "oof" or something else that doesn't really call for a response and that I don't have anything to add to, I'll just leave it as it is.

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Toss up between two:

Heartless ends with Kurt getting hit with another wave of grief after having Finn's letterman returned to him, and while he's hugging it and sobbing, for a second it feels like Finn's hugging him back.

The Longest Distance Between Two Points Is Arm's Length ends with Cisco accidentally vibing a moment from earlier in the fic, and misunderstanding what's happening in it. If he'd had context, he would've realized he was seeing proof that his mom loves him, but instead he takes it as a painful reminder that he'll never be enough for her because he's not Dante.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Alive Again. Just two dorks playing in the rain, on the brink of falling in love.

Do you get hate on fics?

None so far.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Absolutely not.

Do you write crossovers?

Not usually, but I have a few. Maybe Our Real Soulmates Were The... is considered a crossover fic by AO3 and FFN's standards, but not by mine. My most ambitious crossover (and the one I'm most invested in) is Preppy In Pink, which is gonna be so much fun when it's ready for posting.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I certainly hope not. Doesn't look too likely, though.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Pretty sure I haven't had that happen, either. It'd be cool though.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Smoke and Mirrors started as a few lines of dialogue that @kurtbastian-land had sitting in her notes app that she didn't have a full story developed for, and posted on Tumblr for anyone who wanted to expand on it. I wrote a very dramatic continuation (the majority of chapter 1), and then @jwmelmoth gave it a happy ending (chapter 2). But then she realized we left a couple loose ends untied, so the two of us collaborated on how it should end, and wrote a few more chapters together.

What’s your all-time favorite ship to write for?

I honestly don't know. I think I have the most WIPs for Kamisco at the moment, but Barrisco and Kurtbastian are both incredibly fun as well.

What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I started a crossover AU ages ago where Kurt Hummel ends up with Eric van der Woodsen. I don't think I'll ever finish it, but I like to reread the snippets I've already written every now and then.

What are your writing strengths?

Viscerally describing emotions, setting a scene, nailing characters' voices.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Titles, titles, titles, and titles. Oh, and also titles. They HARD!! Also, I'm very bad at following my own advice to write badly and edit later. I want everything to sound pretty immediately! This is how I get stuck on the same paragraph for weeks with a whole big chunk of the fic still unwritten.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Not something I'm going to attempt a whole lot of in the near future. I have already slipped a little bit of Spanish (+1 word of French) into a couple fics, but only like a single word/phrase at a time, spoken by bilingual characters in mostly English sentences. There are also a few spots where a character says more in Spanish, but I don't write the actual dialogue, I just imply a general idea of what they're saying. I'd love to include more, but I'm not about to make a fool of myself with Google Translate—I'm sticking to very minimal Spanish until I can speak it better.

First fandom you wrote for?

First fandom I finished a fic for was Gossip Girl. As for first one I started writing a fic for, it was either Gossip Girl (not the same fic) or Boy Meets World (a still unfinished Shawngela fix-it).

Favorite fic you’ve written?

I mean, A Little Help From Your Friends is pretty hard to beat. It's got everything—humor, angst, fluff, ambiguity, movie references, ROOMMATES!! And funnily enough, I gave it a title with a little help from my friend, @daftydraw (and by "a little" I mean she suggested the whole title and I ran with it).

And tagging: @starstruckpurpledragon @fictionandmusic @orangesunsets12 @thequeenofshebasays @queer-cheer @elledelajoie

[risu5waffles]

Gallery Show

So, i had some left over dioramas from the old R15F days that i'd used for title cards. They were just cluttering up my popit, 'cause i couldn't do much wiv them, on account of account name shenanigans meant i wasn't technically the original creator, so the only way to change them was to brute force get rid of bits using destroyers, and it was all a pain in the arse. i'm not certain holding on to them was contributing to my profile corruption issues, but... like... why keep 'em either, i thought? Figured i'd toss together a quick and sloppy video to give 'em one last day in the limelight. Which, i suppose is their only day in the limelight, since all the R15F videos are perma-vaulted. Seeing as i didn't add any editorial to the backstage stuff, here's as good a spot as any.

Oof... giffing things really tanks the quality. Like, i always relearn that, and then i forget it again. It kind of works here tho'; the low quality helps sell the idea that they're watching a screen, and not an actual hallway wiv some rapidly alternating white & black semi-opaque sticker panels to give it a flicker. This is one i needed to modify wiv a destroyer, i was originally in my costume from The Before, and that wasn't going to fly, but i couldn't even grab onto the SackBot to switch the outfit. Destroying the old version of my self feels like an apt metaphor. The cop in the movie thinks they're the hero, but they're totally getting et, by the way.

i always liked the idea of fantasy places/creatures finding real world things to be fantastic. Our kids are dressed up as a medic, nurse, and insurance adjuster for their version of Halloween. This set always makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and i'm really proud wiv how it turned out.

This one's alright, i guess. i never really felt happy wiv the camera here. It was really hard to get everything i wanted in the shot, and have the camera low down at kid level. You can see more easily in the backstage part of the video, but the backwall is lined wiv those exercise mats they'd hang on the wall of gyms? Did your grade school have those? i swear, they were ancient when i was a kid, and i bet if that school is still standing, they're probably still getting used. The idea here was, like, a culture festival kinda thing? This class made a big ol' cardboard castle, and students could challenge the dragon? It's hard to tell because of the drawbridge chain and the teacher's shadow but the two kids on the right are fighting because the sign is badly misspelled.

This is another one that i wound up liking a lot more than i expected when i first finished it. Just a couple of danger doctors studying a mystery cube. Simple, compact, not overly busy wiv detail; it just hangs together well, or at least it feels like that to me. The backstage is similarly simple. Well, at least if you consider about twelve berjillion material tweakers to remove shadows to be simple.

This one's the reverse of the last i feel like. When i first made it, i was all, like, "aww dip! This is so cool!" The longer i look at it tho' and i really feel like i overegged the pudding. Like, those masks didn't really need to have the mouths on them. Just the swirly diamonds would have been fine really. i liked the head on the table, which i managed wiv almost the same technique old horror movies would have used, a camera angle to hide that the body is just dangling there underneath. Well, that and a physics tweaker so the SackBot didn't collide wiv the table. Old fx folx woulda had to cut a hole.

[pentition]

(knives out spoilers Again)

same anon who sent the ask about the ring -- your answer was incredibly thoughtful and i'm always blown away by the level of detail you go into! i just wanted to add that, apparently, the only other means of obtaining the diamond ring are via gifts from other bachelors after marrying them (namely ernest, owen, and unsuur). with this in mind, it's so hard to believe the ring isn't intended for something explicitly romantic. i just Have to know what they were cooking here

Hello again! Welcome back, welcome always to come back! And thank you!! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ I know Pathea's games have cool lore and characters with their own level of details, but I'm an absolute sucker for delving more. It makes my DM/GM and editorial brain go ZOOOM when I'm given questions on story/character designs and developmental potential because that's... my life. Lmfao So really, thank you. My brain is made happy with these things.

That's so interesting!! I didn't know that, I was actually mulling over the diamond ring vs engagement ring and realized I didn't know where the prior came into the picture. That's delicious information, thank you!

It felt like some means of a romantic gesture initially. I forgot to add that they could have been separate gifts for his 12 SEPARATE lovers (I'll never get over his wording). Like he was collecting them all gifts when this happened - provided he was being honest about it. Which I'll be bitter about if that's canon and not just Pen being Pen - because if it's canon and folks that romanced him didn't get to react... It's bad either way but that has an extra oof.

But idk, I still feel like it was Pathea's coding/programming to not have an alt drop available. Which if that is the case it still makes me go ??? at the implication it was intended for builders that romanced Pen. Because where is that narrative going??? What is being cooked... what are they building in there?

I am starving for more context and content. I really and truly hope everything with Pen isn't just over. The potential with his character... I crave. :')

Also I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions!!

[bi-demon-ium]

Ok so 🍌, for a start

Also ⚡️- maybe from an older published work of yours?

And finally 🌈 but I’m going to bend the rules a tiny bit - Could you post a quote/detail from a published work that you hoped people would notice/mention but no one really did? If there’s any that you can think of lmao

KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH!!!! HERE

favorite funny quote from a wip

“You have a possessed guy in your basement?” Sticky said, voice a sort of distressed almost-shriek.

“Possessed like demons?” Kate said, sounding torn between awed (oh, man, was that cool) and thoughtful (already planning, determined).

“Unlikely,” said Number Two.

“That wasn’t a no,” pointed out Sticky, looking increasingly distressed.

“Very unlikely,” said Number Two, as if that made it better. Sticky made an upset noise and took off his glasses, beginning to polish them.

i'm not actually sure i'm going to use this but i PROBABLY will and it IS funny, if distressing in context

wild card: dealer's choice of quote from a completed work (older!)

ok here's a super long one bc i was just thinking about this again today<3

“It’s my fault,” spilled out from him like he couldn’t stop it, almost hysterical, a keening edge to it, “He’s gone, it’s my fault, I—I betrayed him, I’m—"

Milligan didn’t know what to do. He wanted to—to help him, to ground him, comfort him, but he didn’t know what to do.

Finally, half on instinct, he reached forward and lay a hand on his cheek, gentle but firm, cupping his face in a way Milligan hoped would ground him back in reality.

Mr. Benedict jerked slightly, but didn’t flinch away, blinking away tears as he finally focused on Milligan.

Once he seemed to register who he was seeing, he blinked again, tears catching on his lashes, face still flushed, and seemingly without realizing, leaned into the touch.

“Milligan?” he asked, voice small and uncertain.

“Yes,” said Milligan, relief overwhelming him and making his shoulders sag. “Yes, I’m here.”

Without meaning to, his thumb gently wiped away a tear. He supposed he couldn’t object to the instinctive move, not with how Mr. Benedict’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into it more, something shuddery and small in his breath.

When his eyes opened again, uncertain and teary but a little more focused, he said, very softly, “Have you seen Nathaniel?”

Milligan’s heart fell. “No,” he said again, and this time, his thumb swiping gently over his cheekbone was purposeful. “No, I’m sorry.”

-- from "feverish"

asker's choice: a detail i hoped someone would notice but no one mentioned (not bending the rules at all! those were just examples, any request works--although i suppose i did say wip in the original post, i meant to change it or add another for published works then legit forgot 😩)

im sure there was something but i can't fucking remember it so here's less a detail no one noticed and more just like, a bit/moment i really liked that no one mentioned. doesn't mean no one saw it , but like. yeah 😩

in ch3 of petals the last line like. oof. i don't know why i just like a touch of dramatic irony. and then like.

in ch4 of affectionate gestures<3 there's this bit that i just think is very cute and it's super long but i kind of just meant this "scene" so. yeah dfkgjfdg

She remembered one time they’d been in the garden when it hard started to rain—lightly at first, but turning into pouring surprisingly fast—and her dad had draped his jacket over her—warm and far too big and surprisingly comforting—and tucked her into his chest, sheltering her briefly—do we run for the door, he said over the pounding rain, or do you want to stay outside?

As he said this, his hat nearly flew away in the wind, and he barely grabbed it on time.

(It was very warm in his arms, despite the chill of the water and the wind, and between that and the jacket wrapped around her, it was hard to feel the pounding rain at all.)

No rain boots, she shouted back, and so they’d ran for the door, laughing and both of them soaking wet.

He looked kind of ridiculous, long hair plastered to his face and dripping wet, grinning widely down at her—her own hair was soaking wet and in her face, too, her hat was completely sodden and heavy with water—and he laughed, loud and bright and warm.

He had a real dad kind of laugh, like—like Santa Claus or something. Booming and happy. It brought back lingering echoes of memories, mostly-forgotten, a memory-of-a-memory, ghosts of her childhood. But it didn’t hurt, only made her feel a little warmer.

It was nice to remember things, even tiny things.

Mr. Benedict rounded the corner (“It’s raining,” Milligan deadpanned, and he said, “I can see that,” with laughter in his voice, although he didn’t seem close to passing out) and then Kate had immediately booked it towards him—oh no, no no no no, he laughed, skittering back, actually jumping over the couch (and visibly regretting it immediately) to get away, but she chased him anyway, dripping arms outstretched.

Rhonda watched all of this from the couch with great amusement, and said absolutely nothing (a staunch ally!) when Kate and Milligan exchanged a silent agreement and managed to trick Mr. Benedict into running directly into Milligan while attempting to dodge her throwing her soaking wet hat directly at his face.

He yelped in surprise—still laughing as he fell directly into Milligan who was, of course, soaking wet, meaning he was immediately dampened as well—and finally fell asleep.

Kate crashed into him on the other side, sandwiching him in and leaving him effectively trapped, even as Milligan was holding him upright.  

When he woke, Milligan looked him in the eye, shaking his head a little—don’t you dare, he said, but he couldn’t stop smiling, and Kate made sure he couldn’t squirm away—he shook his head, not unlike a wet dog, nearly slapping both of them with wet hair, and the look on his face was hilarious—

It’s one of those moments where later it will really hit Kate that she’s part of a family now. Whether it be bickering with Constance, or playing games with Rhonda, or building something with Number Two, or these times with Mr. Benedict and her dad, she really was part of a whole family now.

And she had Reynie and Sticky, too, and even Ms. Perumal and Martina, and she wasn’t alone anymore.

just.....them all being a family......oh......

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Go the Distance

Prompt: Hello, I absolutely adore your work 🥺😍🥺 your Sanders Sides angst is just so goooood!!! If you're up to it, I'd love to request a fic <3 Virgil has noticed [side(s?) of your choice; they're all good choices, I can't decide ;-;] has been distant and avoiding him and he just can't figure out what he did wrong but it's actually because [side] loves him and are trying to take some time to 'get rid of/push down their feelings' The angster the better but don't push yourself ^ Feel free to add or change whatever Have a great day and no worries if you don't do this 💜💜💜~@im-an-anxious-wreck 💜🖤

Thanks for the prompt babe you’re the best

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, some lite™ angst

Pairings: prinxiety, background platonic dlampr because found family dynamics motherfuckers

Word Count:  4191

Virgil and Roman's relationship hasn't always been, well, great. But it's been getting better!

Or, at least, it was.

Listen, Virgil knows he and Roman haven’t exactly had the most…painless history. Virgil’s introduction to the series was Thomas telling Roman his dream was to get rid of him and, well, Roman was first and foremost loyal to Thomas. Then the whole…insult thing, ducking out, and the absolute mess of the callback wedding debacle, it’s not exactly been smooth sailing.

 But—okay, and maybe they’d been a little harsher about things than absolutely necessary, and maybe Roman got hit with the consequences of their fights more than Virgil, and maybe Virgil hadn’t exactly been…overwhelmingly accepting of all of Princey’s little ticks.

 But they’d still been talking!

 After the wedding, no one was on good terms with anyone save Patton and Janus—and wasn’t that the shock of a lifetime—and Remus and Virgil. Because they made the smart choice and decided ‘nope, fuck that, I’m out.’

 It was a good choice. You have any idea how high their scores are in GTFO now? The first rundown’s a fucking cakewalk.

 Anyway.

 They’d been talking! Virgil still doesn’t know exactly what happened right after—he saw the video, of course he saw the video, but Roman sunk right to his room and there’s a good twelve hours between that and the next time Virgil saw him—but Roman had come out and approached him!

 Probably because he was still hurt by the end of the video—which oof, Virgil does not blame him for, that was harsh—and his only options were Logan, Virgil, and Remus and Logan, um, didn’t want to see anyone for a while and Remus is Remus.

 Side note: those two have been getting on better. Something about their twin Creativity thing meant Remus knew that Roman was hurting bad before even Thomas did.

 But Roman did seek him out, asking him quietly if he had a moment, just a moment, to sit together. Virgil had shrugged and passed it off as nothing only for Princey to literally sit on the floor and not make a fucking noise. He’d frowned and poked his shoulder, asking if he was alright.

 “Perfectly fine, Dark and Stormy,” Roman had said lightly, “and I’ll leave you in a moment.”

 “But you’re…” Virgil had waved to his silent form. “…not acting like you normally do.”

 Roman had laughed. “And here I thought I’d never hear you say you missed me being loud.”

 “Now let’s not jump to conclusions.”

 Sure enough, a few more seconds had passed and Roman had gotten up, quietly bid Virgil good day, thanked him, and left.

 You bet your ass Virgil sunk straight into Patton’s room to ask hey what the fuck did you do to Roman.

 Patton had sighed and said that they’re not sure what to do now—‘they’ being Janus and Patton. Virgil, still recovering from the whiplash of those two being close had shaken his head and told them to get it the fuck together.

 If he sunk into Remus’s room to ask how to take care of Roman, that’s his business. It’s also his business if he tackled Princey in a hug two minutes later.

 So. Talking.

 Roman, for all he talks, doesn’t really say much. The few things he does say are easily passed off as jokes, off-handed comments that no one really pays much attention to.

 Not that anyone pays nearly enough attention to Roman, come on, guys, he makes it easy.

 But Roman talked to Virgil. He’d come in and sit and Virgil would sit next to him, trying to make sure his arm didn’t burst into flames from where it was pressed against Princey—the dude’s a fucking space heater, okay?—just to listen. Some of the time it was Disney rants—okay, most of the time it was Disney rants—but some of the time…

 “Virgil?”

 “Yeah?”

 Roman looked down at his costume. Today was repair day, unofficially called when Virgil’s hoodie ripped during the night and Roman’s sword cut through his sleeve. Virgil looked up from his own mass of fabric, needle stuck in carefully so he wouldn’t prick himself. He frowned at the look on Roman’s face.

 “What’s up, Princey?”

 “Do you think my logo looks bad?”

 Virgil blinked in shock. Roman didn’t look up and see the surprise on his face, instead running his thumb slowly over the patch on the costume.

 “What the fuck are you talking about, Princey?”

 “It’s so complicated,” Roman said, still looking down, “Logan and Patton have really simple ones. You have a pretty simple one.”

 “Janus doesn’t. Remus doesn’t.”

 “Yeah, but they’re…”

 Virgil frowned deeper, putting his hoodie on the ground and shifting closer to Roman. The prince didn’t even look up, still clutching his logo in his hands.

 “They’re what, Roman?”

 Roman swallowed. “…allowed.”

 A growl sounded from Virgil’s throat before he knew what was happening.

 “And you’re not?”

 “Hmm?”

 “And you’re not allowed, Roman?” Virgil gripped his shoulder. “Look at me, Princey.”

 Roman looked up. Virgil swallowed another growl at the despondent look on the prince’s face. Instead, he gripped Roman’s shoulder tighter.

 “No one,” he said firmly, “is allowed to tell you your logo is bad. You hear me?”

 Roman blinked.

 “I mean it, Roman,” he said, softening his voice a little, “it’s you. It’s yours, no one’s allowed to tell you it’s wrong.”

 “So that’s…okay?”

 “Yeah, Princey, it’s okay.”

 “Oh.” Roman looked back down at his costume. “Okay. Thank you, Virgil.”

 “Anytime.”

 Virgil would come to be astounded at how much he means that.

 Because, really, now that Roman’s talking? Virgil’s fucking shocked that they didn’t realize how much Roman actually has to offer.

 First off, Princey’s smart as hell. Sure, L’s the resident braincell but you can be big of brain and dumb of ass at the same time.

 If Logan tries to tell you he’s not a dumbass sometimes he is wrong.

 Roman can puzzle solve with the best of them. Do you have any idea how much brainpower it takes to write a story? A script? Understand how all those moving parts fit together and make sense as a whole? Virgil sure as hell didn’t. He spent one afternoon trying to help Roman only for it to end up as Roman explaining what he was doing and Virgil frantically trying to keep up. Don’t even get him started on how impressive the Imagination stuff is.

 “It’s my job, Fall Out Brood,” Roman laughs every single time Virgil expresses how fucking cool this is, “have to be good at something.”

 And Roman is. He’s good.

 Second: Patton may be the heart, Logan may be the brains, but no one is as good at reassuring him as Roman. Probably has something to do with the Creativity gig. Roman had asked, politely, if Virgil would be comfortable telling him what to do when he gets really anxious, whether to leave him alone, get him somewhere safe, get him things, what have you. Virgil had told him, bemused, only to be shuttled into somewhere that screamed safewarmcomfortableeverythingisokay the next time he had a panic attack. Roman, with the lack of shame truly becoming of a theatre kid, had no problems cheering him up by loudly declaring he would fight whatever shadowy figures plagued his little nightmare, swatting at the air with his sword until Virgil’s sobs had turned into giggles. He never made Virgil talk about anything if he didn’t want to, didn’t try to sit and work through things if they weren’t ready, and never touched him unless he’d gotten the okay. The first time Virgil told him he’d be fine with receiving hugs in the aftermath was the warmest he’d felt in years.

 Princey gives really good hugs.

 Third: Roman’s fucking funny.

 Remember the whole ‘smart as hell’ thing? Know how Logan’s funny as fuck too when he lets himself be?

 Virgil’s lost count of how many times he’s had to gasp out for Roman to shut the fuck up because his sides hurt too much from laughing. He ends up sprawled across the fucking floor or the couch or Princey’s bed, dying very happily but painfully because Roman won’t stop making him laugh.

 Most of the time it’s due to something they’re watching and Roman’ll notice some detail that he picks apart until they’re both howling or Virgil will make one sarcastic comment that turns into a full fucking bit for like…ten minutes. Roman will just keep riffing off of the smallest thing until he’s laughing too hard to keep going—not very likely—or Virgil will flail out desperately and smack him—much more likely.

 Princey said he makes fun of the things he loves.

 …maybe that’s why he doesn’t make fun of Virgil anymore.

 Virgil curls tighter around the pillow, clutching it to his chest. As he rubs his cheek against it, he grimaces. It’s too rough. It’s not warm enough. It doesn’t smell right.

 They’d been talking. It had been good.

 But that was before.

 Before Roman had cautiously approached Logan with an apology, the offering of a new planner for him, the promise to listen to him, hear him out, give him space to speak. Logan had accepted.

 Before Roman had opened the border between his and Remus’s side of the Imagination, sending a little puppy scuttling over to his brother’s castle with a note, a dagger, and a vial of acid. It returned as a kitten with a beautifully poisonous rose.

 Before Roman had finally, finally, after days of trying, opened the door when Patton knocked, letting him come inside so they could talk, about everything that happened since…well, ever. They hadn’t stopped hugging long enough to walk down the stairs.

 Before Roman had let Janus, Janus, take care of him.

 And now…

 Now Roman didn’t want to be in the same room as him.

 It feels as if they’re walking on eggshells around each other again, Virgil appearing in a room only for Roman to completely disappear, getting up and leaving a conversation entirely just to avoid him, Virgil knocking on Roman’s door only for Roman to shout that he’s busy, not to come inside, Virgil, trying, trying to figure out where Roman’s gone, what’s happened, only to receive the cold shoulder.

 A problem none of the other Sides seemed to be having.

 He clutches the pillow to his chest.

 Did he—did he do something wrong?

 Does Roman—does Roman not like him anymore?

 Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed so hard about talking to the others. Roman needed space, needed time, he didn’t need someone else breathing down his neck. He should’ve let Roman set the pace, listened more, been kinder to him when he needed reassurance.

 Maybe he shouldn’t have made Roman think it was his fault that the others were taking so long, or suggested that if he wanted things to get better he should try talking first. Roman had been taught by everyone else that things were his fault already, Virgil didn’t need to jump on that train too.

 Maybe he should’ve been kinder to Roman, less focused on making the others understand that they hurt Roman. Everyone in the Mindscape knew that Roman was hurt, Virgil should’ve helped fix that, taken care of Roman, not pushed the blame onto everyone else.

 Maybe Roman didn’t like what he had to say about Disney films. They were Roman’s comfort watches, the last thing he needed was for someone to cruelly rip away his enjoyment of one of the few things he could enjoy.

 Maybe Roman didn’t like Virgil’s way of taking care of him. Virgil never pushed, never did Roman the courtesy of asking, like Roman did with him, just assumed he knew best how to comfort someone and left it there. Roman might’ve needed more hugs, more time, less distraction, just something other than what Virgil gave him.

 Maybe Roman didn’t like how much Virgil ended up hoarding him to himself. Not letting him go to the others for comfort, just to work things out. Maybe he thought Virgil was just keeping him upset so he could hang out with him more.

 Or maybe…

 Virgil muffles his sob in the pillow.

 Maybe Roman needed or wanted him anyway.

 Maybe Roman was just waiting until he could get the comfort he actually wanted. Maybe he waited until the others were easier to talk to so he could go back to what he really needed. Maybe Virgil was just a placeholder until Roman could get hugs from Patton and Remus, talk with Logan and Janus, not him. Never him.

 Maybe that’s…okay.

 It’s not, it won’t be fucking okay for a long time, but one day, it will be okay.

 Virgil curses and throttles the pillow in his arms, wishing for it to be real, to be warm, to be a chest of white and gold and a splash of red, for it to wraps its arms around him and say it’s okay, shadow-ling, I’m here, I won’t leave you, shh.

 But it’s just a pillow.

 Has his room always been this cold?

 Have Disney movies always looked this flat?

 Has music always sounded this gray?

 Has Virgil always been this alone?

 He can hear them in the living room below him. He can hear Roman and Logan throwing quips back and forth, can hear Remus tackling his brother into the wall, and Roman protesting. He can hear Janus scolding Remus and checking to make sure Roman’s not injured, can hear Roman wave him off gently and go right back to verbally sparring with Logan. He can hear Patton laughing too hard, falling off the couch and begging the two of them to let up, let him breathe, can hear Roman coo and call him sweet, adorable, in that soft voice he only uses when he’s talking to someone he cares about.

 Can’t hear any of them worrying about where he is.

 Maybe it’s better this way.

 He got greedy, took too much of what was never his to take, what wasn’t given to him freely. He latched onto the first thing he thought was for him and didn’t stop to think that it wasn’t. He may think he’s been included in the famILY but he knows he’s still an outsider.

 He may be Virgil now but deep down he’ll always be Anxiety.

 So here he will stay, in the cold of his room, in the dark of his face smushed into a pillow that will never be real. He will stay and he will be happy.

 But not today.

 He sniffles and smears his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie, not bothering to pull away from the pillow long enough to wipe tears properly. His limbs start to protest as he hugs it tighter, tighter, tighter, but it’s no use. He can feel his own arms through the pillow. There isn’t enough—there’s too much give in the pillow. It’s just a fucking pillow but it’s not enough.

 Another laugh from downstairs and Virgil growls, burying his head in the pillow until he can’t hear himself think.

 Can’t hear anything but his own muffled sobs ringing in his ears.

 Can’t hear anything other than the thought swirling around and around his head that he’ll never be enough, that he’ll never be wanted, that he’ll never be anything other than Anxiety.

 Can’t hear the soft knock at the door.

 “Virgil?”

 The voices in his head must be getting pretty powerful because he’s certain he can hear Roman calling for him. He buries deeper in the pillow.

 “Virgil? Virgil, can you hear me?”

 Yes, he thinks, yes, I can hear you, which means I’m not crying hard enough.

 “Can I come in, shadow-ling?”

 Yes, he thinks, come in and make me forget that you don’t need me anymore.

 He must really be losing it because he thinks he can hear the door open and close again with a soft click, followed by a sharp intake of breath and a soft coo.

 “Oh, shadow-ling,” the imaginary Roman murmurs, “come here, little Stormcloud.”

 Oh, his imagination is being cruel to him right now because the sensation of warm arms around his waist and shoulders fucking burns. He buries his face in the pillow until he can’t tell which way is up anymore, not sure how he’s tricked himself into imagining Roman’s cradling him but too unwilling to let the illusion go.

 “That’s right, Stormcloud, relax for me, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh, you’re alright,” the imaginary Roman keeps whispering in that cruelly soft voice, “you’re doing great, shadow-ling.”

 Virgil wants him to be real. So bad he aches from it. But he knows he’s not.

 What happens next breaks his fucking heart.

 The imaginary Roman kisses him.

 It’s chaste, a barely-there brush of his lips against his forehead but it tears a whine out of Virgil’s throat before he can stop it. The imaginary Roman hushes him gently, pressing another kiss to the part of his cheek not buried in the pillow and it taunts him with how real it feels. The slightly chapped lips, the warm rush of air as Roman breathes, the light brush of his nose as he pulls away.

 It’s too much.

 It’s too much and he wants it to be real so badly but he knows the instant he pulls away it will vanish and that might just break him.

 Then he realizes the imaginary Roman is talking to him.

 “Breathe, Stormcloud, you’ve got to breathe,” he coaxes, “I know it’s tempting to stay buried in a pillow all day, but you can’t breathe properly like that, sweetheart.”

  No, no, don’t call me sweetheart, I’ll break.

 “Shadow-ling, Stormcloud, my darling,” the imaginary Roman says instead, “come on…”

 Well, now he’s disappointing imaginary Roman too. Figures. He can’t do anything right.

 “Of course you can,” the imaginary Roman pleads, “just breathe for me, shadow-ling, I’m right here, I’ve got you, you can keep your eyes closed if you need to, just breathe.”

 Another whine. Another kiss pressed against his head. The whine grows louder.

 “Shh, shh, my darling,” imaginary Roman murmurs, “breathe, come on, just—trust me, okay? Can I ask that of you, Stormcloud?”

 And goddamnit, this is why Virgil can’t do anything.

 Virgil trusts him.

 So he prepares himself for heartbreak and lifts his head.

 “Thank you, shadow-ling,” imaginary Roman—wait, he’s still here?—murmurs, rubbing his back, “there you go, now just breathe—oh! Oh, come here, lean on me, I’ve got you.”

 Having listed to the side horribly, Virgil lands against a solidwarmsafereal chest and—and—

 “R-Roman?”

 “Yes, my darling,” not imaginary Roman says, still kissing Virgil’s forehead, “I’m here, I’m here.”

 White-hot rage burns Virgil’s tears.

 He lets out a yell and shoves, not caring that it throws them both horribly off-balance, threatening to send him tumbling to the floor. He hears Roman cry out, trying to keep ahold of him, but he scrabbles and gets his hands around the bedpost and pulls.

 “Virgil—Virgil stop, you’re going to hurt yourself—“

 “Why do you care?” The rage coats his tongue. “You fucking left, you—you—you fucking didn’t care about me anymore, you decided you didn’t want me anymore and you fucking left so don’t try and care now!”

 “Virgil—sweetheart, I—“

 “Don’t fucking call me that!” He keeps his eyes squeezed tight. “You didn’t give a fuck about me when you left, when you got your fucking family back, you think—you think you can just waltz back in like you didn’t abandon me?”

 “Virgil—“

 “Because you did, Roman!” Virgil blindly shoves at where the prince was before, knocking him into the wall. “You fucking left me as soon as you got the others back like I—like I never did anything for you and now you—now you can’t even look at me.”

 “I’m looking at you now.”

 Virgil laughs.

 He throws his head back and howls until his chest and throat ache.

 “You didn’t give a shit when the others started talking to you. You just fucking up and abandoned me like you never cared about me in the first place. You replaced me with them or—or abandoned me as your placeholder and I’m fucking hurt, Roman.”

 “I know.”

 “Then why did you do it?”

 Silence.

 Virgil’s heart stops.

 No.

 No, no, no, no—

 He fucked up.

 He fucked up so bad.

 Roman left.

 Roman’s not here anymore.

 Roman left again, he made Roman leave, he—he fucked up so bad, he shouldn’t have yelled, he’s fucked up, he hurt Roman, no, no, no, no—

 On instinct, his hands hook into claws.

 Only to be caught by warmsolidreal hands and brought to something soft.

 “Don’t,” comes Roman’s softsaferealhurt voice, murmuring in his ear as he holds him still, “don’t scratch, sweetheart.”

 “Don’t—“

 “I know, I know,” Roman says immediately, “you said not to call you that. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.”

 …what?

 “I didn’t realize I was hurting you,” comes the voice again, “that’s no excuse, I know, but please, Virgil, I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to abandon you.”

 Virgil swallows. “What the fuck do you call it then?”

 “I didn’t want to push my luck.”

  What?

 “You were being so good to me, Virgil,” Roman murmurs, oblivious to the internal struggle Virgil’s currently facing, “so kind, so supportive, that I…I realized I wanted to ask more from you. Things I had no business asking. And the longer you kept on being you, the harder it was to resist the urge to push and risk shattering everything you’d let me build with you.”

 “What—“ Virgil swallows— “what the fuck did you want?”

 Roman stills in front of him. With his eyes still shut, he can’t tell what’s going on, but when Roman speaks next his voice is hoarse.

 “Before I ask,” comes the whisper, “I want you to know that you have every right to say no. You can push me away, shove me out of your room, stay angry at me for as long as you want. I’ve hurt you, badly, and I have no right to ask this of you. I want you to know that. That I’m okay with you asserting that right.”

 Fuck, Princey.

 “…what do you want?”

 A pause. Then a soft rush of air, right on his face.

 “May I kiss you, Stormcloud?”

 Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

 “R-Roman?”

 “That’s it,” Roman murmurs and oh, his mouth is right next to Virgil’s, “that’s what I want, shadow-ling.”

 He shifts a little until Virgil can feel Roman’s warmth.

 “That and everything that goes with it.”

 “Why—why did you leave? I-if that’s what you wanted?”

 “Because that would mean to push,” Roman says immediately, “and the last thing I wanted was to push you away. I thought if I could…rein it in, control it, I could…I wouldn’t hurt you.”

 A soft chuckle.

 “Look how well that turned out.”

 “But the others—“

 “I needed Remus to tell me what was going on,” Roman says wryly, “Janus to point out that I was okay in wanting something, Patton to help me figure it out, and Logan to kick my ass into doing it.”

 “To…to ask me?”

 “Yes, Stormcloud,” comes the whisper, “to ask you.”

 “And if I say yes?”

 He can feel Roman’s lips turn up.

 “…then I’ll kiss you, Stormcloud.”

 “Are you really here?”

 The question bursts out of him before he can stop it, immediately biting his lip in reprimand for letting it.

 “Open your eyes, Virgil,” Roman says softly, “look at me.”

 He shakes his head, not wanting it to be imaginary. Not now, not after this. Roman squeezes his hands.

 “Look at me, Stormcloud,” he whispers, “look at me.”

  Fuck it.

 Roman smiles at him, real and warm and soft and here. He squeezes Virgil’s hands again and takes the smallest step closer.

 “I’m here,” he says, wrapping Virgil’s arms around his neck, “I’m right here, shadow-ling.”

 He’s here.

 This won’t fix everything. But it’s one hell of a start.

 “Ask me again.”

 “May I kiss you, Stormcloud?”

 Virgil shakes his head. “Not like that. Ask me properly.”

 Confusion dances on Roman’s face before realization hits. His smile widens and he brings a hand to Virgil’s head. Virgil clutches Roman tight as he gets dipped into the prince’s arms. Roman leans forward until his mouth almost catches Virgil’s.

 “May I kiss you, sweetheart?”

  “Yes.”

 General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness  @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes  @iminyourfandom  @bullet-tothefeels  @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83  @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious  @firefinch-ember  @fandomssaremysoul  @im-an-anxious-wreck  @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch  @enby-ralsei  @unicornssunflowersandstuff  @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams  @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne  @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer  @i-am-overly-complicated  @annytheseal  @alias290  @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions

 If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know! 

[voiceless-terror]

I’m bad at prompts so I have an aesthetic vibe for a fic: dusty library, silver glasses, warm blanket, hot tea, cold voices.

Jon wants to get Martin’s attention. Daisy and Melanie have an unusual plan.

“I think he’s made it quite clear that he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I need...I need to make sure he’s okay. Daisy’s already tried and well, you-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Exactly.”

Jon sighed. He needed to trust Martin, he knew this. But how could he, when he faded more and more each day? When Jon couldn’t reach him, couldn’t know he was safe? He needed to touch him, make sure he was still solid, still there. That Jon still cared. And if Jon could just break through-

“He won’t let me talk to him. And I don’t know what to do.” The words came out more plaintively than he would’ve liked. Melanie gave him an unimpressed look, Daisy leaned back on the couch. He didn’t know why he’d suddenly decided to confess his feelings to these two, perhaps it was the leftover alcohol in his system from their afternoon drink. Basira was off on another lead and Daisy needed the distraction. They all did. And now they were back at the office, bored and lethargic, Jon dodging the paper balls Melanie lazily tossed his way.

“You’ve got to do something,” Daisy drawled, idly picking at her nails. “To get his attention. You’ve got to make him come to you.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Jon groaned in frustration. “If I did, I would’ve done it already.”

“Wait.” Melanie sat up straighter, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I know exactly what to do.” Daisy and Jon shared a glance as she broke into a smirk. 

“And Martin won’t be able to resist you.”

____________

“Is this really necessary?” Jon asked, flinching back as Melanie applied the pink-coated brush to his cheek. “It seems a bit excessive.”

“Stop moving. And yes, if you want to look the part.” Melanie wielded the makeup brush like a weapon as Daisy followed with a critical eye. “Does he look pathetic enough?”

“Hmm.” Daisy leaned forward, uncomfortably close to Jon’s face. “I think he needs a bit more. Just a pinch.”

“Agreed.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jon snarked, leaning away from Melanie’s hands. “I don’t know why I agreed to this. It’s not going to work.”

“You agreed to this because you know it’s going to work,” Melanie insisted, dipping the brush in the compact. “Trust me, Martin won’t be able to resist doting on you if you look properly ill. When I came here the second time ‘round, he hovered outside the door the entire time. “Do you need anything, Jon? Can I get you some tea? Are you feeling alright?”

“That’s not what he sounds like-”

“That’s exactly what he sounds like,” Daisy smirked, settling back into the couch. “If you don’t like the makeup, we can always go with option two-”

“I am not letting Melanie punch me, thank you very much.” She still harbored a lot of residual (and rightful, in his opinion) anger from the surgery incident, and he wasn’t willing to be the outlet for it. “How do we know he’ll even see me?”

“He goes down to the library every Wednesday, sneaks in and out real quiet-like,” Daisy repeated for the third time. “Trust me, I know his patterns.” There was still some Hunt in her yet, no matter how much she starved it. Listen to the quiet. He didn’t say it aloud, but from the look in Daisy’s eyes he didn’t need to. “We’ll set you up there. Don’t worry, he won’t be able to miss you.”

“Whatever you say,” he grumbled, batting away Melanie’s hand. “Are you done yet?” She evaluated him with a scowl.

“That should do it.” She shut the compact with a definitive snap. “I was going to add a bit of purple eyeshadow under the eyes, but that might be overdoing it. You already look like a zombie.”

Daisy nodded appreciatively. “Powder did the job. God, Melanie. You’re a pro.”

“Thank you,” she preened as Jon rolled his eyes. “Now, for the finishing touch!” She leaned forward, yanking the scrunchie out of his hair and ignoring his yelp with an air of satisfaction. “Perfect!”

“I fail to see why that was necessary!” His head ached from the sudden pull on his hair, which was now falling down his shoulders in a tangled, ruffled mess. God, I must look insane. He lifted a hand to put it in some semblance of order when Melanie grabbed at it, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, you’ll ruin it!” she snapped. “Martin likes it when it’s down.”

“How do you know that?”

“God, he really is oblivious,” Daisy said with a disbelieving chuckle. “I may have only visited a few times, but even I saw the way he stared at you whenever you so much as touched your hair. It was sickening to watch.”

“C’mon, we’ve got to get you settled. We have to time this perfectly.” Melanie gestured impatiently for him to get up. “Daisy’ll take you up. I’ve got to grab something.” Jon didn’t trust her but in all honesty, what did he have to lose? The things we get up to when Basira’s gone...though I suppose this is significantly better than the Coffin Incident. 

Daisy took his arm, leaning on him for a bit of support as they made their way up to the library. To anyone else it would look the opposite, that he was the one relying on her- Daisy was good at hiding her weakness. “There’s a couch by the front desk,” she murmured as they rounded the corner. “It’ll be right in his line of vision.”

“What if he isn’t paying attention?” Jon worried, watching as the other staff studiously avoided their gaze, side-stepping them in the hallway. The Archives were truly toxic, and no one wanted to anger the heavily-scarred, scowling Archivist and his rabid ex-cop friend. For the first time in his life, Jon was intimidating. He didn’t like it.

“He always pays attention to you,” Daisy insisted. “He just doesn’t want you to see it.” The words put a lump in his throat. He wondered if they were true. He opened his mouth to reply when Melanie scurried up behind them, her arms full of-

“No.”

“Yes.” Melanie pushed into him, impatiently urging them forward. “Trust me, it’ll work.”

“I am not-” He was cut off by a surprisingly strong push from Daisy, landing him on the couch with an ‘oof.’ Melanie threw the offending object around his shoulders- a fluffy pink blanket Jon recognized from its place on Basira’s cot. He tried to worm his way out of it but Melanie gave him a sharp slap on the arm, ignoring his hiss of pain. He looked around, wildly embarrassed by the entire situation to find that the room was strangely empty, which was surprising for the time of day. I suppose everyone’s trying to avoid us these days.

Daisy froze, her eyes narrowing and posture straightening. “He’s coming.”

Melanie swore, running around the corner and coming back with an old, heavy tome she'd snatched off the nearest shelf. She grinned, an almost manic thing that Jon instinctively leaned back from. “The final touch,” she said proudly, not waiting for his answer as she opened the book with a flourish, flipping the pages in front of his face like a fan. He flinched back, utterly confused.

“Melanie, what on earth are you-”

_______

Martin heard him before he saw him.

The scurrying of feet across the hardwood was strange enough, but Jonathan Sims sitting on the library’s best couch, sneezing into a fluffy blanket and looking bleary-eyed and very exhausted was even stranger. Well, not the exhausted part. That was Jon’s normal state of being. 

But there he sat, wrapped in Basira’s fluffy pink blanket with a flushed face, messy hair, and an ashen pallor that could only come from sickness. Martin had seen it before, back when he lived in Document Storage and Jon was working himself into the ground, much like he was doing nowadays. He felt that pang of worry that accompanied those long nights in the Archives, something he was trying desperately to tamp down.

Working for Peter was infuriating and isolating, just as it was supposed to be. He was constantly reminding himself that it was for the greater good, that he was doing something important, protecting his friends. Protecting Jon. But how could he protect him when he kept finding Martin, even though he promised to trust him? How could he protect him when he kept throwing himself headlong into any danger he could find? How could he protect him, when his biggest enemy was himself?

Another sneeze. Jon looked almost confused by it, maybe even offended that it happened. It made him want to smile, an urge he fought down as he tried to remember Peter’s promise to keep them safe if he kept his distance. He hazarded one last glance, sure that he wasn’t in Jon’s line of sight that he noticed one last detail- Jon’s sweater. Incredibly baggy, worn, light blue knit- a color he’d never seen on him before.

Martin’s sweater. And with that, he found himself walking over to Jon almost involuntarily, steps loud and purposeful as they startled Jon from his perch on the couch. And when Jon noticed him he smiled, so bright and happy and obviously extremely out of it if he was having this reaction to Martin. His face really did look flushed up close- he must have a fever, especially if he wandered up here in this state. Martin successfully resisted the urge to feel his forehead. 

“M-Martin!” God, how could he not talk to Jon, when he said his name with such happiness? He fought to keep his voice level and cool as he responded.

“Jon. What are you doing up here?” Jon’s smile dimmed slightly, and Martin tried not to feel guilty. He did not succeed.

“I, um-” Jon stuttered, his usual sign of nervousness as he ran a hand through his hair. His hair, that was mused and tangled and falling in his face. Fuck. “I w-was reading.” He struggled to pick up a particularly heavy-looking book from where it sat on the couch next to him, its title obscured from Martin’s view. “It was getting, er, a bit stuffy down in the Archives.”

A red flag if Martin ever saw one. They rarely left the Archives these days, unless it was for a quick lunch and even then, Jon had to be dragged out bodily. He sighed, trying not to meet Jon’s pleading eyes. And still, he couldn’t help but ask. “Are you...okay?”

Jon looked down to his lap, the blanket half slipping off his shoulders as he fidgeted with his hands. Martin looked pointedly away. “Not feeling very well,” Jon murmured to the ground, looking strangely nervous, maybe even guilty. That didn’t make sense. He must be really ill, if he’s actually admitting to it. Martin hesitated, fighting between what he should do and what he really, really wanted to do. The cold evaporated just a little and Martin had never felt so seen. 

He missed that.

And so, less reluctantly than he would have liked, he extended a hand down to Jon, who looked at it in shock. “C’mon. Let’s get you back downstairs, I’ll make tea.” Make tea. His solution for everything, he remembered Tim deriding. But Jon looked at him like he’d offered much, much more than that. Maybe he had. The hope in his eyes was too much to bear. So when Jon put a thin, scarred hand in his, he looked away, even as he helped him to his feet.

To his disdain and delight, Jon immediately leaned into his side, as if trying to leech warmth that Martin couldn’t provide. In fact it was now Jon who was the warmer of the two- the Eye would not accept the chill of the Lonely, and the fever probably didn’t help. He was like a touch-starved cat looking for a crumb of affection, and god did he want to give it to him. If it were the Martin of a year ago he would have blushed, stammered, maybe even squeezed him back. Now he can only offer him the shoulder, nothing more.

Jon didn’t say anything more than a muttered thanks as they made their way down to the Archives, as if he were afraid of spooking him. More than one staff member they saw stared; Martin had been AWOL except for a few official emails, and was now suddenly the assistant to the head of the institute. To see him with the dreaded Head Archivist must have been even more of a shock. He felt pity- what a pair we make.

By the time they arrived at the archives, Jon had leant almost all of his weight against Martin’s side, making it difficult to maneuver them both down the stairs. No one was there, and he wanted to scold the other three, wherever they were, for leaving Jon to wander in his condition. I’ll fix him tea, get him on the cot and then I’ll go, he promised himself. 

Easier said than done.

He barely managed to pry Jon off of him, and only with the promise to return with a cup of tea did he let go. Never in his wildest daydreams did he imagine Jon to be this clingy, hanging off him like a limpet. As he made his way to the break room he drew the Lonely back to him like a security blanket, albeit a cold one. You can’t stay. You have to go. He looked blankly around the room he used to think of as a safe haven; it was no longer familiar, different mugs on the table, different food in the cupboards, a bag of makeup on the counter. He no longer had a place. 

Jon was sitting up on the cot when he arrived back, cup of tea in hand. He pointedly didn’t meet his eyes as he handed it over, staring at his feet and ignoring Jon’s thanks as he turned to leave. Go go go-

“Wait!”

Damn it.

He turned. “What is it, Jon? I have to-”

“Will you stay?” His face was so open, so vulnerable it made Martin ache with longing. “Just- just for a bit.”

Martin sighed, trying to maintain his stoic façade. “You know I can’t.”

“I miss you.”

“Jon-”

“I know, I know,” Jon replied, voice going quiet. He thought dying would harden the man, but it only seemed to soften his sharp edges. “I’m sorry.” He held the mug between his hands, staring down like it was something precious.

“It’s fine,” Martin replied, though they both knew it wasn’t.

“Will you stay if I don’t talk?” Jon leveled that hopeful gaze at him again and Martin looked up to the ceiling for divine intervention that wouldn’t come. 

“Jon-”

“Please.” He was begging. His eyes were bright, whether from tears or the fever Martin couldn’t discern. But what was he to do, say no? Not when he was like this, not when he was sick. Martin made excuses, none of them particularly convincing even to himself and they certainly wouldn’t be to Peter, but it didn’t matter. He’d already made his choice as soon as Jon said the word.

“Okay. For a bit.” That smile again. Jon said nothing as Martin tentatively sat beside him on that small, rickety cot. He would only stay for a bit, until Jon fell asleep. He had no one to look after him, after all. He would go back up and face Peter later. 

For now, he let Jon rest his head against his shoulder. He let his fingers rise of their own accord and brush the hair from Jon’s face, eliciting a shiver. When he fell asleep, Martin didn’t move. He needs the rest. So he sat, reveling in the warm, heavy weight of everything he’d given up, everything he stood to lose, and knew he made the right decision.

Much later, when he’s faced Peter’s disappointed gaze and a mountain of extra work, he notices the strange, powdery cast on his sleeve from where Jon had laid his head. When he rubs at it, his fingers come back with hints of pink and white. It takes him a moment to put the pieces together- the footsteps in the library, the absence of Daisy and Melanie, the makeup on the counter. He wants to roll his eyes, wants to be angry.

Instead, for the first time in months, he laughs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581141

[robinsnest2111]

i think its so cool that you can sew your own clothes and shit :0 when did you start and what got you initially interested in it? any dream projects you'd like to work on?

ahhh thank you 😊

I started sewing small things by hand when I was around 12 or so. Had a basic understanding of how to use needle and thread thanks to some needlework lessons in primary school lol

Then I got my first computer with Internet access and saw cosplayers and sewing tutorials on deviantart! Of course I wanted to try everything out so my mother sat me down infront of the rarely used sewing machine, showed me the absolute basics and left me to it.

The first couple years of sewing and making cosplays were Rough haha. Had no idea how to do anything The Proper Way and just did what felt right at the time. Which resulted in a lot of hot messes 🙈

Over the years I absorbed any and all nuggets of sewing wisdom I came across (from friends, tutorials, etc.)

I've only recently started to teach myself how to properly use/make patterns and learn the proper terms for techniques and when to use which, thanks to youtubers such as Bernadette Banner and The Closet Historian, and also a needlework book from around 1905 I found on my grandma's bookshelf.

So I still feel like a total newbie even though I've been sewing for 14ish years now. I'm seriously considering saving up for a couple books that show in detail how to properly draft pattern blocks, the free online tutorials I've followed so far have yielded pretty unsatisfactory results 😅

Dream projects? Oof... let me think. Once I've got the basic blocks down and to my liking I want to finally sew the vintage sun/moon/stars blouse I've had planned out for a good year now. Maybe even the cute 80s dress I saw at a vintage store recently to try my hand at using darts to shape a garment.

I also plan on sewing a couple things from the 80s needlework books my aunt gave to me. There are a couple cool shirts, pants and dresses in there I'd like to add to my wardrobe 👀 I might even attempt a quilt or two since I'm always so cold...

Whenever the panini and my health allow I'd like to get back into cosplay and visit conventions again! I'm gonna try to rework some of my old cosplays for the occasion, good thing I lost a lot of weight so there should be enough fabric for me to work with lol Really wanna revive my Toriel cosplay, I've only worn her twice so far ;;

This got pretty long oops 😅

[minijenn]

Is Sora going to be there and be the one who is forced to kill his friends to prove himself once amd for all. Oh and I am not sure if Donad died from the blast since his Heart didn't rise up. Maybe he was unconscious. I wonder if you can add the detail od their Hearts rising up or even have him get stabbed while doing it so that he ends uk disintegrating in the blast due to the power now oht of control due to his fatal wound and the thing that stabbed him even going through his wand as well. Oh and I think these four bits of orchestral music combined would make fitting music for that Zettaflare moment and the aftermath. I know they are not Disney but I wanted to get this out there. Also for the final two links just listen to the first half since for some reason another pice is in their second halfs. Sorry if it's a bit much it's all just coming up so fast I am just so excited for the next chapter. Also there is a bonus fifth and sixth link in there that show my inspiration for it.

https://youtu.be/x_Y2_BN_C4I, https://youtu.be/bxL8hQ0jwyg, https://youtu.be/Kh57Yn_3hiQ, https://youtu.be/OWt2U-bNHh0, https://youtu.be/KK__tQD8as8, https://youtu.be/0-s6_fkLRoM

Oof lol I appreciate th e excitement! Tho I gotta admit the zettaflare scene in Keys is kinda not much at all like it is in KH3, it takes place under an entirely different context and is kind of... less of a major moment I would say? I just wanted to include it bc Donald casting Zettaflare is cool as fuck ahahah

[crystalirises]

The World Moved On, but You're Stuck in the Past

Ah yes, Villain Dream who does not see himself as a villain my beloved <333 Honestly, I'm not really sure what Dream and Wilbur's current evil (are they still villains??? Dream probably not cause the poor guy got tortured oof and maybe not Wilbur cause... I don’t know, is he being evil??? Is he okay??? I don’t know what these characters are up to) plans so just... have this flimsy idea cause I don't know what they're planning XD

TW: Mentioned Blood, Implied Murder, Villain Dream who does not realize he's the villain and so justifies the crimes he did, and Insane Revived Wilbur Soot

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/80235868

He was free.

Wilbur was the first face he saw once he took his first step into the outside world, splatters of green blood decorated the obsidian floor and walls. The revived man was standing with a sword, leaning against it while he waved Dream over with a smile. He tried not to be disgusted by him.

“How does the sun feel on your skin? I remember the day you brought me back, the sun was rising in the distance and I never felt so alive. It’s good to be back, right Dream?” He met the man’s eyes, those dark pools seemingly darker than the day that he had died. He still looked like he’d just recently gotten out of Limbo, and Dream had no doubt that the man had been neglecting his own care. He could only hope that he didn’t have to drag the man’s ass out of Limbo again due to his own negligence. Besides, Wilbur had a point. He looked down at his fingers, basking in the sunlight that shone down upon them. It felt nice against his cheek. “The warden had been difficult to fight but, I guess I just got lucky. You know, I made a new country.”

“D-did… you?” He coughed, pressing a hand against his mouth. It had been so long since he’d spoken. He felt cool glass touch his skin, glancing over to see that Wilbur was handing him a water bottle. Dream didn’t hesitate to snatch it from the man’s hand, drinking the water quickly even if it meant he’d had to pause every now and then just to cough. He hadn’t had clean water in a while. Wilbur watched him with narrowed eyes, a smile on his face before Dream noticed what the man was now holding. His mask. He reached out to grab it. “Another L’Manburg—?”

“L’Manburg is now a fucking crater.” He flinched, a memory of Quackity flashing in his mind. His scars still stung, even if he was used to the pain. Wilbur pressed the mask against his hand, rolling his eyes while a sneer stretched across his face. “This new country will be better. It will.”

“... if you say so…”

“But, let’s not get on the wrong foot here. We’re friends now, allies even, right Dream? You brought me back from that shithole and I paid my dues by setting you free? But who’s to say that our little friendship should stop there, hm? Y-you know? I-I mean you’re all alone now, like me.” Dream gritted his teeth at the reminder, his hands curling into fists. How far he’d come. Now he was at the bottom with Wilbur Soot of all people. No best friends to hang out with. No mother to cry to. No fiance to love and hold. And all because of children who couldn’t realize their place in his world. “So I was thinking. You need a place to stay, hm? Well, why not stay with me!”

He raised a brow at the suggestion. Allies with Wilbur? And with a country involved? That was not going to end well. Dream glanced over at the prison, his throat drying and his knees buckling under the weight of his fears. He didn’t care for Wilbur, but what choice did he have? “Deal.”

“Good man!” He recoiled when Wilbur wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Wilbur’s stare stayed on him for a while longer, and Dream could already tell what he was thinking. He scowled at the thought. He didn’t need the man’s pity. So what if he was thinner? He could still beat the resurrected fool in armed combat. “Y-you know, Quackity has his own nation too.”

“I know.” Las Nevadas, he’d heard Quackity mention it before, and even the warden had mentioned it once. Wilbur had a determined look in his eye, a dark one that Dream knew all too well. Except somehow he felt that they had swapped roles, Dream had directed Wilbur to cause L’Manberg’s destruction, and now Wilbur was directing him. He sighed but followed after the madman. It wasn’t like he had anything else on his schedule. But he wasn’t sure if he could even face Quackity after… Dream placed the mask over his face. He would not let Wilbur see his worry or his doubts. He needed an ally, especially now more than ever, even if it meant having to help Wilbur in the destruction of another nation. “What plan of attack are you proposing? What did Quackity do against you? I will join you Wilbur but I would like to hear an explanation first.”

“He didn’t want me in his nation.” And oh how the world changes. Dream tried not to scoff at the ridiculous answer. He’d felt the same way when L’Manburg was made, who was he to judge a clearly unstable man? Wilbur had stretched out his arms, resting them against the back of his head like a man who had nothing to stress about. Dream didn’t like how it felt to stand next to him. He felt short, weak. He clenched his teeth together, feeling them grind against each other. Dream could only hope that Wilbur didn’t make him his lackey. He would kill the man and send him back to Limbo if he so much used Dream like that. “He let Purpled, Sam, Foolish, and some weird slime monster into his nation. He… he even stole my son from me… the fucking asshole.”

Fundy was with…

“You created a new nation to spite him?” Dream looked away, wishing that he had his old lime jacket instead of the dirty prisoner outfit that he wore. The warden had made sure that the uniform didn’t come with pockets… after the first incident. “Must you get into another conflict?”

Dream stopped listening once Wilbur began his tirade on Las Nevadas and how he wanted a rivalry with Quackity. He didn’t care for the resurrected man’s shenanigans. Dream was free, and that was all he needed Wilbur for. Getting a home and an ally were added bonuses. He nodded along, pretending to listen while his mind drifted to what Wilbur had mentioned. Fundy was in Las Nevadas, and he sided with Quackity. His heart began to beat even faster in his chest, an ache spreading over his entire body. How long has it been since he’d even last seen his fiance?

He should pay him a visit.

 ---

 “Should I add breaking and entering into your list of crimes or should I message Sam and let him see for himself?” Those weren’t the first words he had expected to hear once he’d managed to sneak into Fundy’s little cabin. He had tried knocking, a lot, but nobody had come to the door. Dream had checked through one of the windows and had found Fundy curled up in bed. He hadn’t come there to talk… not really. He just wanted to see Fundy again. The fox hybrid glared at him from the end of the small bedroom, his claws out while he clambered to a sitting position. His eyes were narrowed into slits, and Dream only had a second to realize why Fundy hadn’t begun to growl at him. There was a baby fox hybrid next to Fundy, but they were fast asleep. “Get the fuck out of my house. Don’t think I won’t hesitate to call the warden on your ass.”

“I wanted to see you.” Fundy rolled his eyes at his words, shaking his head before plopping back down on the bed, careful not to actually disturb the sleeping kid. Dream tried to keep himself from prying, but it was hard not to. He hadn’t seen his fiance in so long, and now that he has, there’s a lot of details to take note of. For one, Fundy was living in a cabin far away from where anyone could find him. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, and despite being threatened, Dream had noticed the fox hybrid’s sluggish movements. The way his eyes seemed to blink open and close like he was processing that Dream was really in front of him. Not to mention, Fundy had a kid. When did that happen? “Wilbur broke me out a few weeks ago—”

“Why?” He stopped, glancing over at Fundy who had curled up again, a hand resting on the back of the kid’s head. Fundy’s eyes were closed, his breath harsh and filled with controlled rage. Dream leaned back against the wall, shoes scraping against the floor while he adjusted his mask. He used to be comfortable not wearing his mask around Fundy, but now, he couldn’t even fathom what they were to each other. He swallowed down the bitter taste in his throat. He did what he had to. No matter what he had to lose in the end. Still. Seeing Fundy this way, seeing the world move on without him, it felt like he had been drenched in lava. How dare everyone move on? Did his words mean nothing? Did his actions mean nothing? Had they not thought of what he had meant at all? Everyone moved on, and didn’t bother to listen to him. Fundy had turned to glare at him, a tired yet furious look in his gaze. “Why the fuck would you bring Wilbur back?”

“I needed someone to help me escape from prison. Wilbur would have done anything if I’d asked him to—” He jumped before a pillow could slam into his face, glancing over at Fundy whose glare hadn’t wavered. He wasn’t sure if it was his reflexes or Fundy’s exhaustion that saved him from getting hit. Dream sighed, placing a hand against his chest. This is why he hadn’t wanted to talk. He wasn’t a fool, he knew how his own fiance would react to him being free. “None of you would have helped me, anyway. Wilbur was my safest option. Besides, I memorized the revival book and I wanted to see if it worked. I know Eret and Phil tried to bring Wilbur back before—”

“You’re playing god again. I’m not surprised, you’ve always been like this, haven’t you?”

“What…?” Dream glanced over at Fundy, slowly moving to pick up the pillow that had been thrown his way. He handed it over to his fiance who quickly grabbed it from him. “I don’t…”

“Since the start, we’ve all been puppets in this game of yours, haven’t we?” He watched Fundy hug the pillow closer to his chest, the fox hybrid burying his face. Maybe he couldn’t stand to even look at him. “This whole world, our lives, we were just dolls for you to play and discard once you’ve gotten bored. Wilbur had been the perfect doll, doing what you wanted in the end. Tommy is your least favorite, isn’t he? Since he’s always getting in your way? You hate him.”

“I hate the trouble he’s caused.” He huffed. It felt like no one really understood him. Dream leaned back against the wall, knowing that the longer he stayed near Fundy, the higher the chance he’d get his mask scratched. “Tommy’s with Wilbur over at his new nation. He’s untouchable if I want to keep my alliance with Wilbur, but I believe that I might be able to co—”

“You’re still the same Dream who got imprisoned, glad to know you haven’t changed a bit. Gods, what did I ever fucking see in you…” That stung. Dream glanced over but Fundy had chosen to lay back down again, nuzzling his chin on top of the younger fox hybrid’s head. A part of him couldn’t help but envy the display, wondering if he and Fundy would be married if he had only succeeded and hadn’t been imprisoned. Whose kid even was that? Dream stood up, catching Fundy’s attention again. In a better world, he could have shown everyone that he had been in the right. Then his best friends would still be his friends. Then his mother would still see him as her duckling. Then his fiance would have still married him and they could be living in a quaint cabin together. “What was I to you Dream? I was a puppet too, I know, but what role was I suppose—”

“I want you back.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it was too late. He was only glad that his face was covered by the mask. Fundy stared at him, an incredulous look morphing across his face with every second that ticked by. He watched Fundy pull the kid closer to himself, like he was scared of… of what Dream would do. “Can’t we try again? I could show you my intentions. I-I could convince you why I’m in the right. We-we could work together! We don’t need Wilbur or Tommy, it could just be us! Everyone’s moving on, and everyone’s changing, so why can’t we try again? This would be a new chapter in our lives. Please. Please, come with me. Please, star.”

“You hurt my dad. You hurt my uncle. And now you’re asking me to go with you?”

Fundy laughed, shaking his head. “Fuck you.”

The fox hybrid sighed, turning away from him. “Get out before I call the warden.”

A heavy air fell over the room.

Dream sighed, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Fundy. Goodbye.”

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

Yogurt, you are there in spirit

AKA sleeping while dads argue in front of you

[friskyjackalope]

Dragonheart :: Buildertopia Project Journal 2

Well well well…here we are again. I actually remembered to do an update…it’s not a HUGE one (I hop between projects, and also did all the tablet targets between last post and this one.), but it’s still something, so…GOOD JOB, ME! *butt pats*

First up, is the ‘Hub’ which is pretty much my favorite thing here. I love the blank white blocks. Works well for minimalist/modern, and since I’m just building for function and not form for this, blank blocks are perfect, and white isn’t eye bleeding.

I kinda have a builder boner for storage systems. Like, can we all just talk about how freeing it is to have an empty inventory and go to an explorer shore—and it doesn’t matter if you take your golem and level the place—you have room for 40bajillion stacks of swampy soil. >.>

Like, it’s basement wetting, alright?

…I play this game too much.

ANYWAY, if you want to know more about how I broke down this Hub and what I put in it, leave me a note—if not, no big.

Keep reading to see what I’ve been up to!

The Warehouse District

This is the over arching shot of both finished buildings, the groundcover, and some decorating. I still have a few more buildings to add, but the town’s lively hood is done! Fucking nuts that these two relatively large structures made it to 100% so fast, but thanks to years of Minecraft training giving me Storage ideas I don’t mind the trek to grab different decorations.

On that note, anyone else habitually steal the crates/barrels on the docks at every Explorer’s Shore? No? Just me? Ok, moving on

Wood Mill

So, this was the second building I worked on after the Stone Mill. I think that I like this one a little less, too…mainly because all the little things that make this build cool, I figured out doing the Stone Mill. There’s a small toilet under the stairs, and if you go to the second floor (how I got the inside shot), it’s got a balcony over the work area.

Not sure what I’ll name it, just yet, but the devil’s in the details for this one.

Draven Dragonheart’s Stone Mill (DD’s)

This was the hard one. I wasn’t sure starting out what materials to use…I don’t especially enjoy the concrete block, but for a basic structure for a budding town, it would have been perfect, and I cannon this building is the oldest in Dragonheart.

I know I keep mentioning Minecraft, but…dammit—I learned so many good concepts there, that are amazing for DQB2! Like using depth in your builds…it’s a lot easier to do in DQB2 because you’re not JUST dealing with square blocks and imagination. You have actual items, and it’s…oof.

There’s another builder boner.

The inside shot for this building is my favorite out of all of the inside screenshots. The piles of earth and rocks, the furnaces in the back and the grass. it looks worn down, and well worked.

BIG CHUNGUS aka The Technicolor Dream Cave

Yup…built the mountain. Another mountain. (Friendship mountain in my friend’s town is still in progress, I digress.) Again, it’s hollow, but I’m working on filling it with pathways and fishing holes for the elders.

Most of the cave was made using colored chalk, and then I used the trowel to replace with Umber. Now…I’m all for the ease of this method, but this was before I got the buildnoculars, and I had to remove the chalk that didn’t get changed one by one after nerd poleing up to the roof….which you can see from the inside shot, is kinda high. >.>

Next mountain I build is getting made once—not three freaking times.

((Also, for those of you who watch streams on Twitch—I do stream my building on occasion. Now I’m not saying ‘lawl subscribe’ because I’m trying to “get rich”. I don’t even have a schedule on there. I literally only stream when I feel like it.

I just want people to talk to in chat while I play, because as you can tell, 695 words in, I kinda love this game!

If not, no pressure, I’ll still update here! ))

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

Danganronpa IshiMondo Hogwarts AU idea

Hi all! So, the other night I was lying in bed, thinking about IshiMondo (as one does), when I got this random idea. It just kind of was a random musing at first, but the more I thought of it, the more invested I got. What was this idea, you ask? Well, those of you who read the title of this post will already know. 

IshiMondo at Hogwarts. And... that’s about it, ha. 

The idea quickly went from a “ha, cool idea” to an “I must have this.” And I would like to say that-- while I know Harry Potter has its flaws (and J.K. Rowling can bite me)-- I still adore the series, while also acknowledging the flaws and downfalls. 

I did write a one shot fic of IshiMondo at Hogwarts, but this post isn’t about that. This is just about my headcanons of what house each student would be in, their blood purity, their prefect status, as well as how it would work having the Danganronpa characters be in Hogwarts. If you feel excited about the fic, don’t worry, it is completed with 25k words. I wrote frantically the last day and a half to complete it, ha. I had no plot in mind when I started, just wanted a IshiMondo Hogwarts story, but I got a pretty solid plot idea after writing for a little bit, so I hope y’all like it. 

I don’t know when I’ll be posting it, just because I have a bit of a backlog of fics to post, oof. Probably sometime next week, after some more editing. 

Anyway, if you are interested in the Hogwarts AU idea, feel free to read on to the rest of the post. It’s a little rambling, so apologies about that. But I’m just super psyched on this idea, ha. And I always focus on useless details when I think about thing, oof. 

(I will add a read more here, just to not have an insanely long post clog your dash if y’all don’t care, ha.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyway. The first thing I thought about was which house each student would be in. And this... was surprisingly easy, really. Some of the characters I was a bit stuck on, but was still able to put them in a house and feel good with it, even if for some I’m like “ehhh, they asked the hat to be in that house, lol”. 

One small issue I found for fitting the Danganronpa characters into Hogwarts was the fact that the 88th class only had 16 students, which would be ridiculously small for a Hogwarts year. I explain this one away by saying the war just made their year smaller, since I wouldn’t want to add any students to their year, really. If you go by their canon birth years, 1993 (other than Hiro, ha, though in this AU he’s the same age as the rest), they’d have been about 4 or 5 during the war in 1998, so it would make some sense for their year to be smaller. Also... if you’re wondering why 16 Japanese students ended up in a British school... shhhh. That’s the biggest hand wave in all Hogwarts crossover AU’s. 

Anyway, here’s the houses I put them in. I wanted 4 per house, since there are an even 16 students in Danganronpa, so 4 per house makes sense. I also initially wanted to have 2 girls and 2 boys, when possible, but it didn’t work out for most of the houses. Ah well. 

The students houses, as well as “blood purity” and prefect status, since my fic takes place in fifth year:

Hufflepuff: 

Makoto (half-blood) 

Taka (pureblood) (prefect, duh) 

Sayaka (half-blood)

Hifumi (half-blood, muggle mother) 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Gryffindor:

Mondo (muggle born)  (prefect)

Sakura (half-blood) 

Leon (half-blood) 

Hina (half-blood) 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

Slytherin:

Junko (pureblood)

Mukuro (pureblood)

Byakuya (half-blood- pureblood father, half-blood mother) 

Celeste (half blood- pureblood mother, half-blood father) (prefect)

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

Ravenclaw:

Kyoko (half-blood) (prefect)

Hiro (muggle born) 

Toko (half-blood)

Chihiro (muggle born) 

~~~~~

Houses defense:  

I honestly feel that these houses are pretty representative of the characters, for the most part. But here is some evidence, which yes, I did put thought into, ha. Please go with the assumption for the houses that the hat also takes into account what qualities the students personally value, even a bit more than what qualities they may or may not possess. This is just how I personally view the hat working in HP, because otherwise... well, it doesn’t make much sense, since everyone has at least some quality of each house. 

Taka, I firmly believe, is absolutely a Hufflepuff, duh. Not only does he value hard work above literally all else, but he is fiercely loyal and does his best to be kind, even if he doesn’t always succeed. More than that, while he is intelligent, he absolutely does not value intelligence, since he hates geniuses, which eliminates Ravenclaw. He is ambitious, but he is the legit opposite of cunning or sly, ha, so Slytherin is out. And while he is brave, he is not at all reckless, nor do I think he values bravery much, so no to Gryffindor. Thus, Hufflepuff through and through. 

I also feel confident with Mondo’s placement. He’s totally a Gryffindor, oof. He’s so hotheaded and reckless in canon, always running headfirst into things without thinking it through first. And with his thing against being weak, he tends to make up for it by being recklessly brave, not to mention how he’d have to at least fake bravery with his position as a biker gang leader. He doesn’t really fit in the other houses either, since he’s not super ambitious, he doesn’t really value intelligence (I like to imagine that he is intelligent, but he wouldn’t value it, which I personally view as being important in Hogwarts houses), and while he is loyal, he doesn’t value hard work or kindness, really. Thus, Gryffindor. 

I think I got Slytherin house pretty spot on, ha. Junko is totally a Slytherin, given how she... literally created an entire killing game and deceived her entire class. If that’s not ambitious and cunning, I don’t know what is... I don’t know much about Mukuro, but I imagine she’d want to be with her sister if nothing else. Byakuya and Celeste are total Slytherins, given their ambition and drive for success. 

Ravenclaw I was a bit confident about too, other than Hiro. But Kyoko definitely has big Ravenclaw vibes, with her inquisitive and sleuthing nature. She seems to be one to value intelligence, too. Chihiro is an intelligent character, who also values intelligence, so that also fits. Same with Toko, though I suppose she could possibly go with Slytherin... but I don’t view her as very ambitious, honestly, when you take away Genocide Jack/Jill, which I usually try to do (people with DID are not serial killers, thank you very much). Now, Hiro... this was one I was a bit stuck on. I contemplated putting him in Hufflepuff, since he has the whole, you know... stoner vibe, ha. But I think Ravenclaw does fit him. While he doesn’t have good grades and isn’t portrayed as being very intelligent, he is a talented clairvoyant in canon, and if he were in a world with divination, I firmly believe he’d be an excellent divination expert, which is a form of intelligence. He also has big Trelawney vibes, who is a Ravenclaw, ha. 

The rest of Gryffindor I wasn’t super sold on, but I feel they fit. Sakura is certainly brave, even if she’s not super reckless. I think, though, that she’d want to be in Gryffindor and would ask the hat to put her there. Since she doesn’t have any strong ties to any other house (she is ambitious and loyal, but she’s not either thing above everything else), I think the hat would respect her wish. Leon I honestly wasn’t sure on, since I don’t know too much about him as a character, but I wanted him and Mondo in the same house, so... yeah. Plus, he has the whole rebel vibe, ha. Hina I almost had in Hufflepuff, but that would have messed up the 4 per house thing, so I changed her to Gryffindor. I do think it fits, though I don’t know too much about Hina, since I never finished playing the game and don’t know her later game character much. Early on, she seems to be one to be willing to fight for what she believes in, though, so Gryffindor would prolly fit. 

Hufflepuff was also a bit of a struggle for me, but I think Makoto definitely fits. He’s very friendly and kind, as well as loyal, so I think Hufflepuff fits him well. Now, Sayaka and Hifumi... eh, I felt it fits a little, since neither really strikes me as having many qualities of the other houses, but I was not super sold on either. Sayaka is ambitious and can be cunning, but she just... doesn’t really strike me as a Slytherin, and I also don’t think she’d want to be placed there. Hufflepuff is more of a cutesy house (I say as a proud Hufflepuff, so don’t @ me), so I do think she’d like the house more. And with not having many qualities of the other houses other than Slytherin, I think the hat would also respect her wishes. Now, Hifumi... I had considered him for Ravenclaw (switching him and Hiro), but I just didn’t think that fit all too well. He doesn’t really have qualities of any of the houses, in my opinion, which then instantly would put him in Hufflepuff, since Hufflepuff is more than willing to take any student. Which I personally view as a good thing, ha, so please don’t think I’m putting down Hufflepuff. 

~~~~~

Blood purity: 

Now, the whole blood purity thing I didn’t put too much thought into other than who I think would be bigger with ‘muggle’ things than others, like Chihiro. Hiro I had be muggle born just ‘cause, though, ha. Most I had as half-blood, just because it seemed a good middle of the road thing. Junko and Mukuro are pureblood since Junko seems like she’d be a snob about it, while Byakuya and Celeste just have a single pureblood parent mostly because of a throw-away line in the fic I wrote, ha. I didn’t feel it mattered too much with all of the rest of the class other than Taka and Mondo, though, since blood-purity is kind of a meh thing. 

However, with Mondo and Taka, I did put some thought into their blood purity.

Taka I had as a pureblood since I think it makes sense, given his cluelessness with popular culture in canon. This can translate well to him just not knowing muggle things. Also, I thought that having his grandfather be a Death Eater would also work out, as that would give him a very good reason to dislike the man and also gives him a big reason why he doesn’t want to be like him. It makes more sense than his grandfather being Minister of Magic and having a scandal, since during the time Taka was a child in this AU, Fudge was Minister of Magic, and then the other dudes whose names I forgot. 

Mondo, though, I think would work best as a muggle born, especially considering his brother’s biker gang. I like to imagine that Daiya still has the gang in this AU and that Mondo would be at least an honorary member, so having Daiya be muggle worked out well. Plus, it would add to the IshiMondo dynamic, giving Mondo the ability to teach Taka about the muggle world, kind of like I have him teach Taka about popular culture and all that in my other IshiMondo fics.

~~~~~

Prefect defense: 

Before going into the individual characters, I wanted to mention that I chose to have only one prefect per house mostly due to how few students are in the year. If there was one boy and one girl per house like in canon Harry Potter, that would be half the year as a prefect, which... makes no sense, ha. I was originally gonna have that before realizing that it made no sense. So, one per house in their year. That’s still a lot proportionally, but imagine the anger if one house had a prefect but another didn’t, so... yeah. While I like the idea that all of the class gets along well, there would still be some inter-house rivalry to consider. 

Anyway... I’m sure most people who saw my list and saw that I made Mondo a prefect would be like “... wait, what?” and think I just had that as an IshiMondo thing. And while, yes, that is part of it, it’s not all of it. Given his position as Biker Gang Leader in canon, I do think that he would do well with responsibility, even despite his disinclination for rules and his quick temper, and all that. And considering that someone like James Potter was somehow made Head Boy, I know that the character being a perfect rule follower isn’t necessarily what gets them the badges. While Sakura would probably make a good prefect, I don’t think she’d want to be one, which is another thing to take into consideration. 

I don’t think I have to explain why Taka is a prefect, ha. 

Now, as for Kyoko and Celeste... with Kyoko, I felt she was the only one of the Ravenclaws I have that would actually be decent as a prefect. I mean... Toko and Chi are too timid, while Hiro is, well... Hiro. And as for Celeste... I actually originally had Byakuya as the Slytherin prefect, given how he’s definitely one who’d want the prestige of the title, but then I realized that there would be 3 boy prefects and only one girl. I think, given how each year in HP had one girl and one boy per house, that there would be an even girl/boy ratio with the prefects, even with the limited number of prefects in their year. Plus, Celeste seems like she’d do as good (or bad, ha) of a job as Byakuya. 

~~~~~

And that’s about the extent of my musing on this all, ha. Honestly, I like the idea, and while I’m sure there are other Hogwarts/Danganronpa crossovers, I don’t think there are any IshiMondo ones. On AO3, at least. I know I didn’t have to sort all of the characters and put this much thought into it, since the fic I wrote was primarily focused on IshiMondo, but honestly? I do like the idea. And maybe, if other people like the idea too, I can write other Danganronpa/Hogwarts crossover fics, though I think it would mostly focus on IshiMondo, since I like Taka and Mondo best. 

For those who stuck around this long, I’ll go briefly over the fic I wrote, if y’all are curious. Like I said, my main desire when writing was that I just wanted an IshiMondo Hogwarts story and that was my primary motivation. I set the story in fifth year, since I wanted to talk about Taka being a recent prefect. As writing, though, I had the idea of making Taka struggle to produce a patronus, given his canon problem with letting himself loosen up. Also, I always headcanon Taka as having had a pretty bleak childhood, which primarily comes from the fact that the creators said when they were coming up with his backstory, they had to stop since it got dark quick, oof. Going along with this, I then figured it would be cute to have Mondo help Taka with it, which brings the two closer. I didn’t want them to be friends or “brothers,” though, so it was kind of a mini “enemies to lovers” thing. 

I didn’t want them to be totally at odds, though, so I also came up with a reason for them to go from enemies to kind of uneasy acquaintances before the fic took place. The reason I gave was that, in the end of their fourth year a few months before the fic started, they had faced a boggart in their defense against the dark arts class and Taka’s was his death eater grandfather, who told him he would never be good and that he was nothing more than a death eater like him, which made Taka cry. Mondo was like... oh shoot... and helped him out, saying that he was actually good, duh. Taka was freaked out by this, since he was like... wait, aren’t we enemies??? And also, you’re a trouble maker, why do I like you??? So he suppressed everything to prevent his fragile world view from crumbling. But Mondo was like... dude... I think I like Taka now, and maybe always did, wtf... which lead to Mondo cleaning up his act over the summer break, and then helping with the patronus in their fifth year. 

Anyway! That was a bad explanation of the fic, but I really like it and I hope y’all do too, when I post it, ha. I mostly just need more Hogwarts IshiMondo in my life, tbh. 

Sorry for the insanely long and rambling post! Hope someone got something out of it, ha. See y’all later!