#muffin explosion art

[silluuuu]

La petite robe noire

salut mes ami(e)s et welcome to Reverb 2024, La petite robe noire! i've had so much fun putting together this story with my artist partner @jadedkappa. it's been such a treat to hang out with you over these past couple of months, even with our crazy décalage horaire de 9 heures !!!

pls enjoy this very silly Art School AU, featuring a Death the Kid POV (a very fun experiment for me haha), lots of shenanigans, and of course, a sprinkle of Soul/Maka. big love to @toweroftunes for betaing and to the @reverbmod team for hosting and reviving this event! check out the beginning of the story below!! <3

If there's one thing Death the Kid hates, it's chaos.

Bound to one of his kitchen barstools, he taps a foot impatiently as he stares down at his phone, the crease between his brows forming a trench of Mariana depths as yet another message lights up his notifications.

He doesn't hate group projects, in theory. In practice, however, he is forced to remember the company he keeps, his hailstorm of a cohort of classmates and the inevitable chaos they incite at every turn. He wants to rip his hair out - though he knows this would disturb both his haircut and his perfect dye job, so he refrains. Sporting an off-kilter coiffe feels like he's breaking some kind of art school law. The rule of thirds for the scalp, as it were.

Ping, ping, ping! He reaches across the kitchen island to silence the phone, fingers clenched around a lukewarm cup of coffee that is doing nothing to combat his frazzled nerves. His screen continues to betray him with a whack-a-mole assortment of pop-ups, new windows appearing faster than he can close them.

It's not even technically a group project - he'd elected to bring his friends into this, though he's the only one getting a grade. As a fashion design student, he needs to be able to 'play nice with others', as his father had so cheerfully suggested throughout his youth. Over the years, he had mostly succeeded in fine-tuning his people-averse personality to make that happen. In this particular instance, the handsome compensation he'd offered them had certainly helped to grease the wheels.

The true chaos had started with the unfortunate development of this group chat. As much as this project is his brainchild, that had not been his idea.

It'll be easier to keep in touch with people! Liz had said. We can be creative together! Patty had said. You can stay organized, Liz had added at his continued reticence and, forever beholden to the concept of organization, this argument had been compelling enough for him to cave.

The chat is decidedly disorganized. Black Star has been sending them byte after byte of explosion noises with no end in sight, for seemingly no reason at all. Liz drops Instagram makeup tutorials every ten minutes - most of which seem suspiciously targeted at her own makeup needs instead of their project, but he digresses. Patty has been sending eyeshadow swatches, which she's been practicing on everything skin-like in the house - a definition that, he'd recently discovered, can differ greatly from person to person. In entirely related news, he must now deep-clean all of his silicone muffin tins after this project is done.

He's wading through chaos, up to the waist of his perfectly-pressed pants. He feels like a puzzle with pieces scattered every which way, and the most important ones are still lying under the table, invisible to the eye and impossible to meld with the others.

Choose a classic piece of clothing, and promote it through a printed poster and a video advertisement. This is the task he has been set, and while he's assembled a qualified team for both the poster and the ad, he's still lacking in both article and model for said piece. Without those two things, he's a sitting duck in his little chaos-pond.

At this moment, Liz walks in, surveys him in his state of many discomforts, and offers him a metaphorical hand.

"Do you want me to show you how to turn off notifications?" she says, expression deadpan.

Read the rest on AO3 :D

[muffin-snakes-art]

Does he get snacks and rest immediately? -> https://www.tumblr.com/muffin-snakes-art/728550741165408256/work-break-doodle-that-has-nothing-to-do-with-my?source=share

Yes absolutely! Here is them napping after the explosion

[shmeatdrawz]

He sip good tea,,

[waltwhitmansbeard]

sneakily drops a box of muffins and maple ginger cookie in your ask box

Good morning :D

Whenever you have the chance, may I ask Spring Prompts - 31. helping each other out, and to make it different, anyone from C2?

Thank you <3

31. helping each other out NOM NOM. idk if you'd exactly call this "helping each other out" but eh whatever.

Honestly, Caduceus is so lucky to have a friend like Jester. After the Nein Heroez limped into Nicodranas for some repairs (a hurricane followed by an encounter with a pod of merrows made for quite the one-two punch for the poor ship), Jester had decided she didn't want to wait around for the job to be done and instead spent several days pestering Caleb via Sending to teleport her and Fjord to the Blooming Grove for a visit with their favorite firbolg family. Three nights of near-constant telepathic songs about cupcakes later, and here they are, Jester and Fjord, ready to bring joy and baked goods to the Clay family.

The first thing Jester notices, of course, is how plain their little house is. Most of the damage that had been done during the confrontation with Trent Ikithon has been fixed, but no artistry was put into it. It's just plain stone and wood—and that can't do.

"Caduceus?" Jester asks in her most sweetest voice as she forces pastries from Nicodranas into Clarabelle's hands. "Do you know what I was thinking?"

"Rarely if ever," comes the dry reply. Caduceus is bent low over the stovetop, boiling water for tea.

"I was thinking that maybe it would be nice to have some color."

"But you're already so colorful, Jester," Clarabelle remarks. She pops the croissant into her mouth, and Jester grins as her eyes narrow in happiness.

"Not for me! For you! For the Blooming Grove!" She bounces over to Caduceus. "Listen. I brought all my paints with me. Fjord said I didn't have to but what does he know?" She glances out the window to see Fjord chatting with Colton about something boring, probably. "I'm thinking...a big mural, with lots of flowers and butterflies and oh! Maybe some bees? Something really pretty for all your dead people to look at!"

Caduceus sighs, and she's not sure if it's the usual sigh ("I don't know, Jester...") or her favorite sigh (the sigh of giving in, perfected by Fjord). "Well, y'know, Jester, the Blooming Grove, it's kind of...a sacred place..."

"And what is more sacred than art?" She flaps a hand in Clarabelle's direction. "Clara, tell him I'm right."

Her eyes go wide. "I...uh...I mean..."

"Okay okay okay, not a mural then. Maybe...I paint the front door? Something really pretty and welcoming."

He sighs again, and there it is! Her favorite sigh. "Just...make sure it's okay with my mom first?"

"Of course, of course!" She throws her arms around him, happy to note he's not a rail-thin as he once was, but still nearly knocks him off of his feet. "You won't regret it, I promise!"

It takes little time to convince Constance to let her paint the door. She mostly just gives Jester that indulgent smile she's come to rely upon and sends her on her way. So Jester stands before the door, her paints spread around on the little front porch, her tongue between her teeth as she surveys her canvas. The door needs to be bright, it needs to be inviting, and it needs to tell all of the spirits here in the Blooming Grove that they picked the right place to spend the rest of eternity. It also needs to pay homage to the Traveler, because even though Caduceus serves the Wildmother, it cannot hurt to have an extra set of eyes watching over this place.

And so she gets to work. It takes her all afternoon, stretching and stooping and swirling her paints around, transforming what was once a plain wooden door into an explosion of color and life. Clarabelle comes out to watch, still munching on some pastries, and at one point Fjord moseys over to remind Jester that this isn't their house, which, duh, that's why it was so dull before! The sun is making its way down into the tops of the surrounding Savalirwood by the time she's finished. She steps back to admire her handiwork, paint-stained hands proudly on her hips, before covering the doorway with the tarp she'd been using as a dropcloth. "Oh Clays! C'mere!"

One by one, the Clays and Fjord gather, the latter clearly nervous about whatever she was going to reveal. Jester claps her hands together. "My beloved Clay family, I would like to present to you a Jester Lavorre original: your front door!"

She whips the dropcloth away to reveal her grand creation. The door is no longer a door, but rather a slice of the Blooming Grove itself. From the bottom, all manner of wildflowers of yellow and blue and red and pink lick up from whispers of green grass, overgrown and buzzing with the tiniest crawling things. A few crooked headstones just peek over the tops of the petals, and between them, framed by the towering trunks of the Savalirwood, is a family in silhouette, five figures with floppy ears holding hands, draping arms around each other's shoulders. Jester employed some of her magical paints to create small butterflies that really flit around their heads, and a few birds dancing between the branches of the trees over head. The sun is setting between them, just as it is now, in real life, and it casts a warm glow over the entire scene.

Jester watches the Clays intently, anxious for their reaction. For a long minute, they just stare in silence. Then Caduceus slowly walks up and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "It's wonderful, Jester. A real masterpiece."

She beams. "Thank you, Caduceus!" She tackles him into another hug, and he laughs, patting her back. "And look!" She releases him and rushes to the door, pointing down to the flowers in one corner. "See?"

Caduceus peers down, and a bemused smile appears on his face when he spots it: the petals of one flower perfectly overlay with those of another to form the shape of a dick.

"The Traveler is with you!" Jester whispers.

"You're with me, Jester," he drawls. "That's what really matters."

The rest of the Clays come to congratulate and thank her for her artistic contribution to their home, and yeah, Jester thinks as Constance hugs her tight, Caduceus is so lucky to have such an amazing friend like her.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Asteroids

Debut: Asteroids

Yeah! Asteroids! Asteroids from Asteroids! Can you believe the game was so popular that they launched a bunch of chunks of rock and metal into space to make them real? Fiction indeed affects reality! Asteroids was certainly an extremely popular and influential game. But what about the titular Asteroids themselves? Why doesn’t anyone talk about those Asteroids anymore? Let’s find out!

The whole deal with the Asteroids is that when shot, they break into more, smaller Asteroids. What can this mean for their physiology? Is this a marvel of rapid biological regeneration, something that can be studied to allow us to cheat death? It is not! They are rocks!

There are also even smaller Asteroids! They appear the exact same way. They’re really just asteroids. I mean it. Even I think it might be futile to try and find any Lore about them... but it won’t stop me from trying! Let’s look at the manual!

...Okay, I looked. There is really nothing. There are just asteroids, and the player shoots them. But check this out! Official art of An Asteroid, from one of the flyer! I like it. It’s a little bit cute, with its shape. It looks like the top of a muffin. A crunchy burnt charcoal muffin.

Really, Asteroids is just funny to me. It is named after the fact that there are Asteroids in it! You shoot the Asteroids! That’s all! Sometimes there is a UFO but this post is not about that. Pretend I never said there was a UFO. I wonder if any concerned parents considered this game to be violent. There is shooting and explosions, but it’s all Some Rocks. It’s too bad there was never a cartoon adaptation to anthropomorphize the asteroids... but I think it’s never too late for that! Asteroids and the Cosmic Adventures would surely get people talking about Asteroids again, which I don’t think they have been doing!

Asteroids as a game isn’t really much of a series or franchise, but it does have quite a legacy in games, inspiring a whole genre of monsters! It doesn’t really matter what kind of entity these enemies are, as long as they split into a bunch of tiny things when fought. I would say little Motley Bossblob counts as one of these, since it splits into lots of little blobs! And here, we see a unique aspect of some Asteroidslike enemies, where they can reform back into their bigger state, requiring the player to defeat as many little ones as they can when they have the chance! Maybe they will add this feature, in Asteroids 2. And then they will add it to real asteroids.

The moral of the story is, asteroids are nothing to be afraid of. In fact, they’re more scared of you than you are of them, with your species making a fun time out of destroying them! The next time you encounter an asteroid, just leave it be, and it will do the same to you. Don’t hurt it, but also don’t feed it! It could lead to the asteroid putting itself in danger, going right up to spaceships hoping the astronauts inside will give it some Cheez-Its. Respect them from afar!

[xtruss]

Hebrew Wasn’t Spoken For 2,000 Years. Here’s How It Was Revived.

The religious language that lay dormant for millennia is now global, used by millions of people around the world—including in China.

— By Allie Yang | May 11, 2023

The Codex Sassoon, the oldest and most complete Hebrew Bible, is set to go to auction this year. Religious texts like this one were a major factor in keeping Hebrew alive for two thousand years. Photograph By Wiktor Szymanowicz, Anadulo Agency/Getty Images

Today, Hebrew is a thriving language—used by millions of speakers around the world to communicate all their thoughts and desires.

That may have seemed almost impossible less than 150 years ago, when the language was thought to exist only in ancient religious texts.

For some two thousand years, Hebrew laid dormant as Jewish communities scattered across the globe, and adopted the languages of their new homes. By the late 1800s, Hebrew vocabulary was limited to archaic and religious concepts of the Hebrew Bible—and lacked words for everything from “newspaper” and “academia” to “muffin” and “car.”

Here’s a look at the bumpy road to modernizing Hebrew and the debates that surround its continuing evolution today.

Girls learn ancient Hebrew in Samaria, a region in modern day Palestine 🇵🇸, in the early 1900s. Photograph By American Colony Photographers, National Geographic Image Collection

Hebrew Never Really Died

The Jewish people were once known as Hebrews for their language, which flourished from roughly the 13th to second centuries B.C.—when the Hebrew Bible, also known as the Old Testament, was collected. Hebrew was used in daily life until the second century B.C. at latest, experts believe.

But beginning in the second century B.C., Jewish people became increasingly ostracized and oppressed. Through the rise and fall of Rome, the Middle Ages, Renaissance, and beyond, they were forced to migrate around Europe and adopted the language of the country they were in. They also formed new languages like Yiddish, which mixed Hebrew, German, and Slavic languages.

Still, the Jewish people were known as “People of the Book.” As part of traditions like studying the Torah and reading it aloud, Jews continued to learn Hebrew to read from the Bible and written Hebrew lived on for more than a millennium mostly through religious practice.

There were exceptions: more educated Jews exchanged messages in Hebrew, sometimes between merchants for records of business, says Meirav Reuveny, a Hebrew language historian at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. A 10th-century trove of documents showed that some women, a group generally confined to domestic duties at the time, also wrote letters, exchanged legal documents, and recorded business in Hebrew. From the 10th to 14th centuries, there was an explosion of secular Hebrew poetry in Andalusia, Spain.

Eliezer Ben-Yehuda reads at his desk shortly before his death in 1922. Historian Cecil Roth famously said, “Before Ben‑Yehuda, Jews could speak Hebrew; after him, they did.” Photograph By Lebrecht Music & Arts, Alamy Stock Photo

Waking The Giant

In the 19th century, most Jews in Europe were still second-class citizens when a new movement emerged that looked to Hebrew as a way to inspire hope through the Jewish people’s glorious past, Reuveny says. Hebrew revivalists wanted to expand the language beyond the abstract concepts in the Bible—they wanted to use it to talk about modern events, politics, philosophy, and medicine.

Among the leaders of the movement was Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, credited as the father of Modern Hebrew.

“One person cannot invent a language,” Reuveny says. “But he makes a good hero, something important for a social movement.”

Ben-Yehuda was born in 1858 in Lithuania, where Jews were heavily discriminated against and violent pogroms terrorized Jewish communities regularly. When Ben-Yehuda traveled to Paris in 1878, he was empowered by the growing Jewish nationalist movement he witnessed there.

He believed Jews needed a country and language to flourish. He moved to Jerusalem in 1881, where he and his wife made the decision to only speak Hebrew—despite missing words for essential modern items and concepts. They raised their son Itamar Ben-Avi to be the first native Hebrew speaker in almost 2,000 years.

In the beginning, Hebrew went through growing pains: the language needed many new words. Ben-Yehuda made a dictionary of new Hebrew words (including מילון, or milon, the word for dictionary). Hebrew newspapers across Europe invented their own words, too, Reuveny says.

Left: A shop on New York City’s Lower East Side in 1940 is covered with signs written in Yiddish, which primarily uses the Hebrew alphabet. Photograph By Charles Phelps Cushing, Classicstock/Getty Images

Right: A boy learns the Hebrew alphabet as a member of a Black Jewish congregation in the Harlem neighborhood of New York City, circa 1955. Photograph By Archive Photos, Getty Images

Many people saw this as an unwelcome change—swapping an ancient and sacred language to a new and strange one. Hebrew revivalists chose a difficult way of life by speaking only Hebrew, before it could meet the needs of modern life.

Gradually, the language was standardized in the early 20th century. The first Modern Hebrew dictionary was released in its completed form in 1922. Hebrew language schools were opened, then Hebrew became the language of instruction of all subjects in Jerusalem schools (the first in 1913).

After the state of Israel was established in 1948, people flocked from all over the world. Many young adults learned Hebrew through the young nation’s mandatory military service, though most families in Israel became Hebrew speakers over one to two generations.

Today, of the 9.5 million people in Israel aged 20 and over, almost everyone uses Hebrew, and 55 percent speak it as their native language. Around the world there are around 15 million Hebrew speakers; in the U.S., there are 195,375.

An Unstoppable Force

Modern Hebrew has changed significantly but still shares clear ties with Biblical Hebrew.

“King David and I could probably understand each other,” says Mirit Bessire, Hebrew language program director at Johns Hopkins University, who points out that it’s not all that different from modern English speakers attempting to understand someone using Shakespearean English.

The growing pains Hebrew experienced as it modernized during Ben-Yehuda’s time are echoed in controversies today. Inclusive language such as non-binary adaptations have proven difficult to adopt as Hebrew is significantly gendered, Reuveny says. Modern words and concepts like “gaslighting” also stir debate about how much outside cultures are affecting the language.

“Language does naturally evolve and grow. It’s inevitable. It’s not in our hands what our language does,” Bessire says.

Language fills the needs of its users, she adds—and today we have more needs than ever as social media and email connect communities of Hebrew speakers far beyond Israel. For example, Bessire says, there are Hebrew communities in China that are not Jewish but have become fluent in the language for business purposes.

“Hebrew is a language of proficiency,” Bessire says. “It's a language that you use for your everyday life, from technology to medicine.”

[callmesausage]

Certain Fandoms i’m in but they’re all in the same school except it’s a british person makin this part one

:D, based on characters if there’s specific lore n shit-

DreamSMP

They’re that one friendship group that somehow manages to be friends with practically the whole school, yet most people hate them (mainly out of jealousy). No one knows how they became friends, and they can range from different year groups. Teachers know each of the students,

Slimecicle is that student who stalks the teacher’s social media. If you posted about how you shat in a sink at the age of 4, he’ll know. He knows all, teacher’s are afraid of him sometimes. 

Dream, Sapnap and George are the popular kids who always get into trouble. They can’t help it, George is colour blind and needs help getting around the school..

Schlatt? He’s the cool kid who hardly actually comes into the school. Most people assume he’s a bit gay, and swore they saw him and Ludwig snogging in the toilets - they deny it, and no one has proof despite their being 2 different times. Most likely asked the teacher if they could bring alcohol to the year 11 prom..

Technoblade, Wilbur, Phil and Tommy. Phil finished 6th form 2 years ago, but teachers confuse Tommy for him, despite Tommy being taller than him (tall year 7? ain’t heard of). Tommy is the kid who likes to mess with the girls. He loVes women, yes, but young Tommy would throw glue in their hair so he could grab their attention... Someone teach this child how to socialise with women. Technoblade is the quiet kid who writes fanfiction in a notebook he has. He hardly talks unless you know him, yet despite this, he has multiple friend groups. He usually walks eVerywhere with Wilbur, and Wilbur claims he’s his bodyguard. Wilbur is the popular kid who does both music and choir. He’s usually ALWAYS lead in the plays, and the teachers definitely loVe his charm. Though, his and Techno’s loVe for explosiVes worry the teachers.

Quackity? has a detention at least eVery day because he and Karl cannot stop talkin or messin with each other, sometimes Sapnap is also there, and the trio together are not a force to be messed with. “Miss we wasn’t talking, what do you mean??” “you three were distracting the class because of the word cum”

Niki?? Perfect student who ends up in trouble because Wilbur dragged her, Techno, Eret and Fundy out of class to grab Tubbo and Tommy to skip school. It’s okay though, she’s smart and usually bakes cakes and muffins for the teachers’ birthdays (ppl at my school do that)

Puffy. Therapist friend. the kid people go to for a therapist despite not being one. Claims Foolish and Dream are her kids and they play along. 

Hannah and purpled are the duo that barely hangs out with them. They got other friends and don’t want to get into their shenanigans, usually late to school so they could play Bedwars

Vikk, Lazar, KSI - the 6th formers they somehow befriended. 

Fundy. The kid that likes to hack into the computers and turn off the projectors because he couldn’t deal with learning how to do ratio and proportions in Maths. Gets called a furry. (i relate)

Foolish? Sweaty art kid. 

Eret. Bi king. The whole school loVes him. Most likely runs some sort of pride club. He knows what teachers and students are LGBTQ+ and is a good person to Vent to.

^ same with eret, except he and VelVet are the gay couple goals

Sam? Similar to fundy, except does it better, usually helps other students in ICT lessons.

Sorry if i forgot someone, i probs did but i cba to do more

[tack-tick]

Technoblade Sometimes Dies

Second and final chapter of my fic. First chapter is here- https://tack-tick.tumblr.com/post/644771793511579648/technoblade-sometimes-dies

Thanks to everyone who read the last part! Honestly wasn’t expecting that many! You have any questions feel free to ask! Have a nice day!

ao3 link- https://archiveofourown.org/works/29849562/chapters/75614876#workskin

It had been three days.

Three days of Philza staying in the van they hadn’t even finished rebuilding yet. He had already moved a mattress into the room for him to stay. He refused to leave until Techno respawned.

He didn’t want him to wake up alone. He could start making things up for him by staying here. It was the least he could do.

Philza sighed as he looked at the set of papers in his lap. One set was five pages long and filled with convoluted details about the surrender. Dream was making sure that there were no loopholes, that was for sure. Philza had already tried to read through it but he was more worried about the other papers.

All it had on it was “Dear Tommy and Wilbur”. That was as far as Philza had gotten on this one and the five others that had been crumpled into balls and tossed over his shoulder.

How was he going to explain this to them? Despite how much they bickered at home, he had seen time and time again that his sons were always loyal to each other. Hell, Tommy would probably rush over here just to confirm it in person. That “The Blade” had actually been beat. If Tommy came then Wilbur would come. Philza didn’t want them to come to this dangerous mess of a server.

He didn’t want to be the cause of his kids getting hurt again.

Philza put the papers aside and nibbled on one of the muffins Bad had made. He had insisted that Philza take a nap along with them, but Philza couldn’t afford to sleep now. He gave a quick glance around the room.

Techno’s old red cape and crown were laying on a table beside the bed, some of the few personal possessions that had been salvaged from L’Manberg. There was also Techno’s favorite book,The Art of War, that Philza had managed to find a copy of. It wouldn’t have all the notes that Techno’s personal copy had but that had been lost in the explosion. He had started a small fire and curtains had been hung up so that the sun wouldn’t be as bright through the holes in the wall.

The only thing missing was Techno in the bed, either asleep or reading the book.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Philza said as he reached for his sword. He held it at the door.

“It’s just me, Phil!”

Philza sighed in relief as he lowered the sword. It was just Tubbo, the kid who stayed with Niki. He was carrying a basket and Philza could smell the scent of fresh bread. “Niki wanted to come but the bakery is swamped,” Tubbo said apologetically.

“Tell her not to worry about it mate,” Philza said as he placed the basket down beside him. Tubbo quickly glanced at the bed before he sat down on the floor beside Philza.

“I got a letter from Tommy,” he said with a frown. Philza furrowed his brow at that. Even though the two boys had only communicated with letters so far, Tommy had already told him that Tubbo would be his best friend. Honestly, Philza believed him and he was only slightly dreading the day the two would meet and most likely cause chaos together. They’d beat Wilbur and Schlatt by a mile. So, it was odd that Tubbo didn’t seem happy about getting a letter. “He, well he asked about the duel.”

Ah, that was why. Tubbo didn’t know how to break the news either.

“Have you told him yet or...?” Tubbo said. Philza looked down at the paper and sighed.

“That’s what I’m working on mate,” he said as he stuffed the paper in the pocket of his robe. As much as he wanted to wear the L’Manberg jacket, he had almost overheated in the thing. The robes were more comfortable, he had to admit that. He looked down at Tubbo, who opened his mouth before snapping it shut.

“What is it?”

“Oh, well I don’t know if it’s the right time to ask,” Tubbo said as he averted his gaze from Philza.

“Ask away, I needed to talk to somebody anyways,”

“Do you know what it’s like?” Tubbo said, looking past Philza at the empty bed. “To respawn that is.”

“Well, I’ve been lucky enough to not experience it myself,” Philza said, the familiar lie slipping from his lips, “but from what the others have told me,”

He looked away from Tubbo and back at the bed. “It’s like you’re drowning in a black ocean and you have to swim back up,” he said solemnly, “but something keeps on yanking you down over and over again. You’re stuck there for what feels like ages, clawing your way back to life.”

“Well that...sucks,” Tubbo said with a shudder. “Thanks for keeping us out of the fighting,”

“No problem,” Philza said. It was true that he’d had to keep Niki and Tubbo out of the country until the war was over, even though they’d both asked if they could join. They were so young, too young to go through the pain of respawning. It was bad enough that Ranboo had gotten involved, the poor kid was still shaken up from The Final Control Room.

Tubbo stood up and stretched his arms. “Whelp, it’s getting late and I don’t want Niki to worry.”

“Yeah, you should get home,” Philza said as he looked up through the hole in the ceiling. He must’ve missed the sunset because he didn’t remember stars being there last time he looked up. “Stay safe, alright?”

Tubbo gave him a nod and walked towards the door before he turned around. Philza gave him a confused stare before Tubbo went back to him and wrapped him up in a hug.

“I may not know him that well, but based on what Tommy’s told me,” Tubbo said, “He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who gives up easily.”

Philza chuckled a little at that. “Thanks Tubbo but trust me, I know,” Tubbo separated from him and gave him a smile.

“He’s gonna come back, I just know it!” Tubbo said and with one last wave he left.

Philza looked back at the bed and yawned. Yeah, he knew Techno was coming back. He just had to wait a little longer.

Philza yawned again as he turned to look at the fire. He rested his chin in the palms of his hands as he looked at the blaze. He saw the world go slightly dark as he opened his eyes back and forth.

“Can’t sleep yet,” he muttered to himself.

He hoped the blaze of the fire would keep him awake through another night. He yawned again.

+

Philza didn’t know when he fell asleep but he woke up to a rough voice.

“Hey, wake up Phil,” he groaned and slowly opened his eyes before he saw someone sitting on the bed. His eyes widened at the person in front of him.

“Techno?”

Even though he had darkness under his eyes and his hair was a tangled mess, it was definitely Techno. Philza could tell just from his eyes, the bright red was dimmer but they still had the same stubborn determination in them. That was good, Philza hoped it never went away.

“Techno, mate I-“ Philza tried to continue but he couldn’t think of what to say. He couldn’t stop staring at him. What in the world could he say? It was his fault Techno had died. It was his fault that Techno had to go through the pain of respawning, something he would never wish on anyone. Let alone one of his boys.

“Are you alright?” Techno said and Philza glanced back at him. Techno had his arms crossed but Philza could see through the tough act he was putting on. Techno kept on glancing around the room and he was clutching tightly at his red cloak.

“Techno, you don’t need to worry about me right now!” Philza said and he carefully reached towards him. He slowly pulled Techno into a hug and frowned when he felt Techno wince as he leaned into him. “Is it sore?”

“Not like it was in The Void,” Techno said with a shudder as Philza pulled him closer. Philza sighed and gave him a gentle pat on the back.

The two sat there in the moment, just appreciating the fact that they were both alive. That they were still sticking together, like they always had.

“Stop calling me soft, Chat,” Techno murmured under his breath. With that, the moment passed. Philza slowly let Tehchno go, being careful not to hurt his shoulder.

“Oh, Chat’s in a frenzy aren’t they?”

“Twitch, yes,” Techno said with a roll of his eyes, “I think they were even louder in The Void.”

“So, you’re saying the all mighty Chat got scared in there?” Philza said with a small chuckle.

Techno gave a quick laugh and then let out a hiss of pain.

“It hurts to laugh, Phil.”

The two became quiet at that. Techno glanced around the room again.

“Oh, been meaning to ask,” he said and nodded towards the thick set of surrender papers that had fallen off of Philza’s knee. Philza picked them up and handed them to Techno.

“Surrender papers, boring to read,” Philza said. All the legal jargon in it gave him a headache. Techno looked at them and smirked.

Then, he unceremoniously tossed them into the fire.

“What the fuck, Techno!” Philza said, trying to keep himself from yelling so as not to wake anyone up. He started to get up to try and maybe save them but Techno grabbed his arm and sat him back down.

“Relax Phil, I’ve taken care of it already,”

“What do you mean by that exactly!”

“What, you think I didn’t have any backup plans,” Techno said with a huff, “Honestly Phil, I’m almost insulted,”

“Techno, what the fuck did you do?” Philza said with a glare. He hadn’t thought Techno had been awake that long but apparently he had just gotten up and started cutting deals with people. Techno making deals was how he had ended up with one less life in the first place!

“I got our independence, that’s what!” Techno said with a triumphant grin.

Philza looked at him and blinked once, then twice.

“How did…?” He said with a shocked stutter, “You aren’t fucking with me, right?”

“I gave up Pigstep,” Techno said, “I made a deal with Dream that if I lost, I would give it up for independence.”

Philza could only gape at him. He knew how much Techno cared about that old thing. Him and Ranboo had fought with Dream over it again and again. Techno might as well be telling Dream that he lost by giving it up.

“Phil, why are you crying?” Techno said.

“Well, I’m partly overwhelmed mate but,” Philza wiped at his eyes as Techno awkwardly looked to the side, “I don’t understand why you’ve given up so much.”

“You gave up your home, your stuff, your life,” Philza stopped with a suck of his breath as he tried to calm himself down. He could feel more tears dripping down his cheeks. The big one was left unsaid but Philza still remembered.

He remembered when Techno had desperately dug through the rubble of his house. How he hadn’t stopped for hours until his hands went raw from the dust and cuts. How he kept shouting Carl’s name over and over again until his voice had gone out.

He’d come out of there with a bloody saddle in his hands and murder in his eyes.

“I don’t want you giving up so much only because of me,” Philza said as he looked at the many scars that Techno had acquired during this war. Scars that hadn’t been there before and wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for him.

“Phil, look at me,” Techno said and Philza obliged. “I promise you I wouldn’t have given up one of my lives for this if I didn’t genuinely believe in what you’re trying to do. Because if I trust anyone to make a government work,” He said with a calm smile, “It’s you.”

Philza let out a watery chuckle. “Jeez, that’s no pressure or anything,” Techno rolled his eyes at that. “But, thanks mate. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Philza suddenly had a slightly disturbing thought. “Techno, how long have you been up?”

“Oh, just an hour I think.”

Philza immediately shot up from his seat at that. He could feel his wings instinctually flap up and his blood pressure was probably rising again. “Bloody hell, Techno!”

“Relax Phil, I’m fine.”

“You’re supposed to rest Techno! So that you can heal properly!”

“Phil, come on!”

“I’m serious mate! Go the fuck to sleep!”

“I mean, I was thinking we should tell the others that I’m currently not dead.”

“I’ll do that tomorrow. You need your rest!”

“But Phil-“

“Technoblade Minecraft,” Philza said with his long-since perfected dad glare. “You go the fuck to sleep right now or I will ground you.”

“You can’t ground The Blood God, Phil!”

Philza just raised an eyebrow at him. Technoblade sighed and carefully laid down, using his thick cape as a blanket. Philza fondly smiled down at him as he tucked the cape over him.

“Phil, Chat wants you to tell them good night,”

“Oh alright, good night Chat and good night Techno,” Philza said. He turned around and went to his mattress that he hadn’t even used yet over the past three days. It was time to use it too as he felt waves of exhaustion suddenly hit him. He laid down and closed his eyes to go to sleep when he heard it. He heard soft breathing from where Techno was.

He was already asleep. Good, Philza had known he would be out fast. He tucked the blanket over himself and closed his eyes to go to sleep. There was a lot to do tomorrow, after all.

Tomorrow, the others will see Techno again. Tomorrow, he’d write that letter to Wilbur and Tommy. Tomorrow, he’d officially invite Niki and Tubbo into L’Manberg. Tomorrow, they’d have the biggest celebration because they were finally free.

Yes, tomorrow was the start of a new beginning for L’Manberg.

[nefskullcritique]

I really don't understand the hate for Muffin, like do you need to shit on everything nef does because you cant acknowledge that bad people can make decent art? I honestly dont know how to take your opinion of Muffin in when I have a lot of demon ocs with similar traits (horns the same color as skin, no nose but still has nosebridge etc) like?????? I feel kind of personally attacked in a way, as whiny as that sounds.

?? it's not that they make decent art?? idk how you see their art as decent??

it's not that they made her either, the design itself isn't appealing to me. there's something very off about it. they've gotten lazier and lazier with their art and their need for explosive colors is eye burning. i'm capable of putting personal biases aside. i literally just do not like the art.

[pickybearcub]

Getting to know Spiderboy: Chapter 15

Pairing: Peter Parker x OC (platonic) Genre: Friendship/ Adventure/ Family Story summary: Ten minutes. Ten minutes was all it took. She found his backpack in the alley and left before he got there. Now, before Peter knows it, Ned thinks he has a secret girlfriend and Spiderman has to be her kibble runner.

Chapter warnings: Flash is still a jerk. Cuteness and fluff near the end. A/N: Made some art for this chapter (will post later). GIFs not mine, story dividers by @whimsicalrogers​

Catch up here

Ned: Liz invited me and Peter to a party at her house!

Nadia was a little surprised. Why wasn't Peter the one texting her this? A thought later and she chuckled. The teenager was probably still freaking out slightly.

Nadia: You know, I'm actually going there tonight too. Liz ordered some cupcakes for her party.

Ned: Oooh! What kind?

Nadia: That's a surprise. :)

She typed out the text and sent it to Ned before getting back to wiping down a few tables. Her phone buzzed again, but she finished cleaning up and headed to the back room of the café before she took out her phone again to read the text.

Peter: You're going to Liz's party? I thought you agreed to swap patrols today?

Nadia: I told Ned I'm delivering cupcakes.

Nadia: Don't worry, I'll be long gone before you even get there.

Peter: Oh, ok.

Nadia: It's going to be a party full of high schoolers. Why would I stay?

Nadia chuckled before shooting one last text to Peter and getting back to work.

Nadia: Have fun. You deserve to relax after dealing with Ned the whole day. And talk to Liz!

Nadia: The cupcakes are one of the recipes we made for the bake sale. I give you permission to share it. ;)

Nadia prepped the cupcakes and tied the boxes together, three in each hand. She pulled up a Google street view of the address she was given on her phone. Since the party was in the suburbs, she could easily open a portal somewhere she wouldn't be noticed. The sun was just beginning to set when she arrived at the house. Knocking on the door, Nadia was greeted by the smiling face of a short blonde-haired girl.

"Hi!" The girl chirped.

"Hey. I'm Nadia Capelli and I brought over some cupcakes for Liz Allan." Nadia replied, holding up the boxes in her hands.

"Oh! Here, let me help you with that!" The blonde hastily took one set, before stepping back and calling over her shoulder, "Liz! The cupcakes are here!"

Nadia noticed that a few other students had already arrived and were loitering around the living room, hallway, and backyard.

There was a bit of shuffling before the familiar face of Peter's crush popped out from where Nadia assumed the kitchen was. "Nadia!" The younger girl smiled and rushed to the doorway, taking the second set of boxes from the older girl.

"Come inside! Uhm, the pizza won't get here 'til a bit later, but we have some soda in the kitchen." Liz invited, stepping aside.

Nadia shook her head and gave an apologetic smile. "Oh no. I couldn't. Besides, I'd be a bit out of place with all of you kids." She chuckled.

"You make it sound like you're fifty." Liz laughed. "You can't be that much older than us, Nadia. Aren't you eighteen? Nineteen maybe?" She guessed.

"Older, actually." Nadia grinned. Liz looked a bit surprised.

"Really?" She shrugged. "I swear you don't look like it. Anyway, how much do I owe you again?" She asked while reaching a hand into her pocket. Her brow furrowed before she turned around. "Betty! Is my purse in the kitchen?"

"Hey, actually," Nadia called Liz's attention. "Just give the payment to Peter. He can hand it to me tomorrow or I can get it from his aunt." She held out a piece of paper listing the prices of the different muffins and the total bill.

The girl seemed a bit unsure, "I'm not really sure if he's coming to the party, though. He's been a bit busy lately with his Stark internship. Ned mentioned he was thinking of quitting the school band too." The same blonde girl from earlier appeared behind Liz, holding a purse. Betty gave Liz her bag and took the boxes of cupcakes in exchange.

"Really? I didn't know." Nadia frowned. One of the reasons she'd agreed to take turns going on patrol was so that Peter wouldn't feel the need to quit his extra-curricular school activities.

"You seem really close to Peter," Liz said casually as she pulled some bills from her wallet.

"Hmmm?" Nadia was pulled from her thoughts. She smiled fondly after a second. "Yeah. He deals with me badgering him into running a few errands every once in a while. He's sweet."

Liz paused while she counted the money before she handed it to the older girl with a smile. "I think it's nice he has someone else other than his aunt watching over him. He mentions you a lot during decathlon practice. That's how I remembered the cupcakes you sold during the bake sale a few months back. Thankfully, my mom still had your card."

Nadia nodded, "I think both he and Ned try to talk me up a little too much hoping they'll probably get a batch of free pastries in return." Both girls chuckled. "Thanks again for ordering from me. Just shoot me a text again if you ever want to buy some cookies or brownies too." With that, Nadia waved and started down the driveway. "Have a good party!"

"Thanks! And take care!" Liz waved back before going back inside. She left the front door open because a few more of her friends from school were walking up the driveway.

"Who was the college girl?" Flash Thompson asked from the doorway of the kitchen as he poured himself some soda. "She was pretty."

Liz rolled her eyes slightly. "Peter and Ned's friend."

He almost choked on his coke. "Y-You mean she's Parker's babysitter?" He shook his head before saying disdainfully, "That's totally unfair."

Liz sighed and ignored Flash, pulling another pack of plastic cups from a cabinet.

Peter's nerves only grew worse as they drove up to the house in the suburbs. He would rather be training with Nadia or going on a split patrol with her rather than be here. Music was playing loudly in the background, lights were flashing from inside the house, and a lot of people were milling around.

"This was a mistake. Hey, let's just go home." He pleaded with May, but then she started lecturing, and he jumped out of the car not really wanting to hear more of how he was "flowering". He cringed at the word.

He felt like a hypocrite when he used to tell Nadia that she had a responsibility when it came to using her powers, yet here he was with his suit under his clothes. All for the sake of popularity.

His resolve to just be plain Peter Parker during the party was wavering, but he slowly conceded to his fate when May drove away and they walked up the path to the house. Seeing Liz made another part of him made him rethink the decision and maybe just show up for a bit as his vigilante self. However, the thought of how disappointed Nadia would be really bothered him.

Peter began to argue with Ned about "spidering it up".

Whatever resolve he had to just be himself that night crumbled to dust when Flash called him that stupid name and started spewing taunts from the DJ booth, loud enough for everyone, even the neighbors, to hear.

Before he knew it, he was on the rooftop of Liz's house, practicing what he would say when he showed up as Spider-man.

"God this is stupid…" Peter muttered to himself, running a hand over his face. "What am I doing?" He looked down at the living room, where Ned was looking around, waiting for him.

 Responsibility.

Using the suit as a party trick was the absolute opposite of that word.

Happy already didn't take him seriously. If he found out, and he definitely would with all the social media, that he made an appearance at a party as Spider-man, it definitely wouldn't help his case.

And Nadia… Peter wouldn't be able to face her. She was always understanding of him, but she would still be disappointed. Peter didn't want that. She was one of the only people who treated him like he could handle himself.

He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when an abrupt explosion caught his attention.

"The hell?..." He wondered to himself, pulling on his mask. He was just starting out to the site of the blast when his phone started ringing, Nadia's teasing face on the screen.

::Hey, Peter… I know you're at a party, but-::

"I saw it." He huffed as he ran across a sprawling lawn of grass, the sprinklers going off. "I'm on my way to check it out."

::You're on your way?:: There was a pause before Nadia came to a conclusion. :: You had your suit with you… Why would you?…:: She trailed off, suspicion in her tone. :: Nevermind… The priority is recon right now. That blast looked powerful, be careful. I'm also on my way.::

-----

Nadia had conjured a portal based on her best estimations of where she'd seen the blast. Luckily, the explosion left a hum of energy in the air that she could track. The second blast that crackled through the air helped too.

She had hoped that her choice of location to wait for the arms deal to happen was closer to the actual site.  That was the catch with knowing things. You knew general plot, but not exact times or locations for a lot of things.

She did her best to get to the site of the explosions as quick as possible, but when she got there, Peter was already getting dragged off by a van that seemed to be filled with weapons.

Thank the gods she'd practiced racing with Peter, otherwise, she would have been completely left behind. Chasing was not really something she was adept at.

"Spider-man!" She called after him as he was dragged down the street, cringing every time he crashed into something.

The vigilante looked to the side and saw glimpses of Nadia sprinting and portalling after him every few seconds.

She'd tire herself out quickly if she kept it up.

When a man inside the van started shooting at Peter, Nadia narrowed her eyes in determination. Not having enough time to levitate something as she kept following, she conjured a large sphere of magic in one hand before launching it forcefully at the back of the vehicle.

The car jerked roughly, most of the sphere hitting the inside wall, but some magic making contact with the man holding the weapon. It disoriented him enough to make him lose his grip on the alien gun. It tumbled out, onto the street, then into the yard of some house.

Peter continued to collide with trash cans as he was dragged on with the driver of the van steering erratically to try to shake the vigilante off.

It was then that Spider-man slammed forcefully into a small brick structure at the side of the road, forcing him to let go of the line he had connected to the van. When he tried to attach another to the back of the vehicle, the door broke off.

"Great…" he said sarcastically, putting up his arms in frustration.

Nadia appeared beside him immediately, panting slightly. "I can't keep up a chase like this. I'll find a way to get ahead and make a barricade a few streets over."

"Good plan. Okay, I'll take a short cut."

They shared a nod before they quickly went their separate ways, Peter leaping over an iron gate and Nadia once more portalling away.

The young woman had to conjure several more gateways before she put enough distance between her and the van to have enough time to start a barrier spell. The trap was just about ready when she heard Peter yell "Surprise!" as he leapt from the roof of a house. However, his voice was drowned out by the sound of what Nadia could only describe as the roar of engines.

The partially erected wall she was building dissipated as the van drove through it. She watched in horror as Peter was lifted high into the air too quickly for her to do anything but scream.

Peter struggled against the metal grip on his body, panicking at the height he was being carried to. Below him, he could barely make out the sparks of Nadia's magic as she tried to portal after him… Then, he was too far up to distinguish between the lights of the city and the signs of her sorcery.

He couldn't fly. It wasn't a power he had. Even physically enhanced, a fall from this height meant that he would be dead. There was a series of beeps coming from his suit before he was dropped headfirst. A parachute deployed just as he started falling, tangling him in the material as he fell through the air.

Helplessly, he struggled, trying desperately to untangle himself. Panicked yells and panted breaths left his mouth.

He saw glimpses of the sky, the surrounding city, the blackness of water below him. He thought he saw wild flashes of green over the lake before the parachute blinded him again.

There was some relief in his mind that he would land in water, but a part of him knew that falling from over a thousand feet high, even into water, was like landing on solid concrete.

A warmth suddenly enveloped him, accompanied by a bright green glow that lasted a few seconds. His freefall seemed to slow. The next split-second, he hit something solid, though nothing close to what he expected.

He felt his body being re-positioned in the air before there was a loud splash and he was surrounded by cold and darkness.

The plunge into the water was a shock. He struggled again to free himself from the material of the parachute, however, the task was a thousand times harder under water. Helplessness was beginning to flood him as he continued to sink.

There was another bright flash of green and for a moment, a sound similar to rushing wind met his ears before he was free of the parachute. The material was ripped to a thousand tiny shreds that were floating in pieces in the water around him. He swiped his hands around frantically to clear his field of vision.

Even though his mind was a bit foggy from the lack of air, he had enough sense in him to grab hold of the white-masked form that was being weighed down by her robes.

He held her arm tightly as they both kicked up towards the surface of the water, desperate for air.

Something dove in after them and the two would have attempted to attack on reflex if they weren't so drained. It took a moment for them to process that it was Iron Man. The hero had the two vigilantes sandwiched together, back to back in its grip as he flew over the water.

Metal hands were secured underneath Peter's armpits and Nadia was behind the teen, arms clinging around Iron Man's neck.

They were set back down on top of a dome-shaped jungle gym in what looked like a children's play area. Nadia immediately huffed and slid down to the ground, lying flat on the grass.

Peter would have panicked again, but Nadia put up one finger and groaned faintly. "Fine. Tired…"

She barely heard Peter recounting what happened, only to find out that he was talking to an empty suit.

:: You should be thanking your little trainee and the fact that this place has WiFi, otherwise, you'd be toast.::

Drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, she caught snippets of the two arguing about taking down the man with the wings, the weapons dealers, and something about college.

The suit turned to Nadia, scanning her. :: Sabrina's vitals are stable, but it looks like she conked out.::

"Wh-What?!" Peter hopped down to the ground and knelt next to where Nadia was splayed on the grass.

:: Mr. Stark is no longer connected.:: A female voice reported.

Peter jumped up, "W-Wait!" he tried as the suit turned and flew off.

His shoulders dropped, "That's awesome…" He grumbled before turning back to Nadia's sleeping form. "H-Hey, Nadia…"

"Mmmm…"

"Are you okay?" He asked, concerned. He pulled off her mask gently, noticing that the right side was cracked.

"Just… just tired." She mumbled, eyes half opening. Peter was glad to see that her hazel orbs were mostly clear.

"Can you stand?"

"Mmmm…" She hummed softly in reply, holding out a hand which the teen used to pull her into a half-sitting position.

"H-Hey, Nadia! S-Stay awake!" He raised his voice when he noticed she was leaning into him with her eyes closed again. She was still soaking wet from their fall into the lake. "We need to get you home." He whispered mostly to himself, noting how she was shivering.

Unlike him, Nadia didn't have a heater in her robes. He shook her shoulder, relieved to see that it seemed to wake her up for the moment. "Can you conjure a portal?" She nodded tiredly.

It took longer than usual and the portals sparked out twice, but the third one was stable. Stevie was barking from her living room on the other side. Peter pulled Nadia's arm over his shoulder when she didn't make a move to stand on her own.

"I can walk…" The young woman complained, though her eyes were barely open.

"Sure you can." Peter chuckled, walking slowly through the gateway, grass turning into soft carpet. It was a good thing Nadia's apartment was somewhat warm compared to the playground.

"Couch… you need to get back." She ordered as firmly as she could, feeling exhausted.

He did as directed and set her down on the sofa. The teen looked at her a bit worriedly as she leaned her head back on the couch, sighing deeply.

"Just exhausted. Swear… Few minutes…" She made a rolling motion with her hand. "Go…"

"I will, but…" He walked to her bedroom first, then her bathroom, coming back with one of her oversized shirts, flannel pants, and a large towel. He draped the shirt and pants on the back of the couch and the towel on Nadia's head, ruffling the cloth to absorb the water in her wet hair.

"Peeeeeterrr…" She slurred, putting her own hand on the towel and looking up at him with her eyebrows furrowed. "I can do it..."

He shook his head and continued drying her damp locks. Nadia gave up grumbling and just let him do as he wanted. After a minute, he stopped, pulling down part of the towel to around her shoulders. There was a pause, and they were both still. "Thanks… For-for you know… for catching me." 

Nadia only smiled softly and nodded.

"Any time. Now, I can do it." She repeated her earlier statement. "Go…" She swatted at his arm and weakly kicked the side of his leg toward the still-open portal.

Peter put his hands up in surrender, taking a few steps back. "Stevie, make sure she dries off, okay boy?" The dog barked before jumping onto the couch and nudging his mistress with his nose and paws until she sat up. Her posture was incredibly slouched, but she still managed to glare at Peter. The heat of it was dampened by her drowned look and the fluffy purple towel wrapped around her head and shoulders.

Satisfied, Peter waved, smiling, and walked back through the portal.

---

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[justanotherwannabeclassic]

prompt # 4: long distance relationship

for @distant-rose

prompt 4: long distance relationship

Bekka didn’t tell him how long she would be gone. 

Did that make her a bad girlfriend? She wasn’t good at the whole serious relationship thing. The last time she tried, it imploded in her face. Would this be the same? No, said the fierce voice in her mind, the one she barely recognized anymore, the one that had been in hiding since Sinister ripped her open and tore her apart. Matt loved her. He told her that he understood her need to go back home to New Orleans. He promised that he’d be waiting with her with open arms whenever she returned. 

“Distance doesn’t mean that I’m not yours, Becks. I’ve been waiting so long for you, what’s a thousand miles?”

What was a thousand miles? It meant no late night dance sessions as they swayed to the music of Billie Holiday. It meant that she couldn’t stir him from sleep to taste her new muffin recipe. It meant no lazy kisses or passionate nights twisted around each other in bed. She wouldn’t fall asleep to the sound of--

“No, not that. I’ll call you every night, if you want. I’m fine with that,” was what he said in response to that before kissing away the doubt curling around her heart. They’d be okay.

.

The past few months had been hell for her family, nightmare after nightmare, their worst fears almost come to life. Almost. Almost. Almost. They were all alive, which is more than other families can say. They were all alive, but bruised and broken -- Bekka with her peach fuzz hair and surgery, Irene with her chest cracked open and the surgery scars, and finally Olivier, who had disappeared into his own head and down a bottle to deal with the weight of it all.

It was partially why she was heading back home. After her kidnapping, and the mission gone awry that had lost Olivier six members of his team and landed Irene on the operating table, she sensed her family needed her. Irene was already down there, curling in on herself as she healed from the trauma. Olivier stayed in New York. He had the school and the team, El and a ring burning a hole in his pocket. He didn’t need them. 

But Irene needed her, and perhaps, Bekka needed Irene. Bekka knew the strength in wrapping herself in the stability and love of family. It was, in many ways, how she survived her first horror with Sinister. The second go around, she’s allowed Matt to shoulder some of her pain. Still did, even if he was miles and miles away. Irene didn’t have that. The failed missions cracked open her chest and exposed her insides in more ways than one, and she’d been forced to do what none of her siblings could fathom. She’d buried a friend. 

Irene needed Bekka and the comfort of family more than Bekka needed the strength of Matt’s arms around her. 

.

This was the breakdown of the LeBeau siblings:

Olivier was the oldest and acted as such. He was the one who shouldered the responsibility of the family, even when no one asked him to, even when he shouldn’t. 

Bekka was the oldest daughter, the second child. The less she dwelled on herself in comparison to the others, the better. Everyone called her pretty. Olivier called her reckless. Sylvie and Luke called her fun. Irene just rolled her eyes. 

Irene was the typical middle child, and she acted as such, lashing out this way and that until she got what she wanted -- not that Bekka ever really cared to find out.

Luke thrived in chaos, fitting considering how he came into the world. He tested boundaries, then retested them. He thrived with potential with none of the ambition to harness it. 

Sylvie was the youngest and sweetest of them all. If she didn’t resemble them all, Bekka would have sworn she was adopted.

“My Royal Flush,” her father would say. It was both silly and perfect. It was her family.

.

Bekka wasn’t always the best sister to Irene. 

She loved her fiercely. She would kill for Irene, and would die for her. But for much of growing up, that was where Bekka’s kindness ended. They were sisters, close enough in age to know how to press each other's buttons, but not far apart for Bekka to have the maturity to know when to ignore. 

Their personalities clashed something fierce. Bekka mirrored her mutations, explosive and bright, demanding attention regardless of whether you wanted to grant it. Irene was quiet, introverted, muted like her white, white hair, and envious too. Bekka was pretty. Bekka could pass as normal and disappear into the crowd. Irene, their father’s red eyes and white hair, had no chance in hell. And Bekka, too caught up in her own sense of superiority and desire to define herself hadn’t let her forget it. 

After all, there was some truth when they said teenage girls were a certain kind of cruel.

She ought to apologize for some of that, but those sort of words weren’t her strong suit. El would know what to say, El her soon-to-be sister, the one who always reminded Bekka that time with your family. But El and Bekka were barely on speaking terms nowadays, something that tapped at the fragility of Bekka’s heart. El didn’t approve of what Bekka was doing with Matt. El didn’t approve of a lot of what Bekka was doing these days. It was confusing and fraught, because El was her best friend. Bekka tried to talk to Wendy, the team therapist and empath, about the whole thing, but Wendy had only reminded Bekka that El was probably stressed managing Olivier’s downward spiral. As for her situation with Matt, “She was friends with Matthew long before you came into the picture, and she’d discouraged you from pursuing him in the past. Maybe that should tell you something.”

Maybe Wendy was right, but Bekka wasn’t willing to focus on that. She had too much on her plate to navigate the complexities of her friendship with Eleanor Rogers; instead, she turned inward and focused on her sister by blood, the sister who had nearly bled out on the battlefield and again on the table. 

She’d almost lost her younger sister. She wasn’t about to blow that chance.

.

The thing about being an utter nightmare of an older sister meant that Irene was as skittish as a colt when it came to Bekka’s affections.

“I’m not dead. You don’t have to be so nice,” Irene told her one afternoon, after Bekka offered to bake her favorite cookies. 

“I want to be nice.”

“Yeah, right.” Did Irene have any right to believe her?

“You’re trying and you’re there. That’s what counts,” Matt assured her. Matt was an only child. The closest thing he had to sisters were Kass and El, and he didn’t meet either until he was an adult. He didn’t -- couldn’t -- understand the minefield she was navigating. She still thanked him for trying.

Because of her own traumas, and there were many, Bekka was a bit of an insomniac. Matt was too, which after many late nights conversing in the DOL headquarters kitchen, was how they became friends. 

Irene was young. Irene still tried to sleep. From the stillness of her own bedroom, Bekka could hear her sister tossing and turning, crying out too for Chrissy. Bekka was not Chrissy, but she could still provide support. She slid through the dark and crawled into bed with Irene, and allowed her to shed her tears against her chest.

They didn’t speak about it in the morning.

.

Time spent at home in the garden district of New Orleans was a startling change of pace from New York.

Bekka hadn’t realized how much she’d grown accustomed to the ambient noises of a thriving city and the speedy efficiency of the North. Still, she relished in the comfort of Southern hospitality and accents that mimicked her own. 

She especially enjoyed spending time with her family. New York kept her busy with the Daughters of Liberty and friends, filming baking videos with Marty, spending late nights with Matt, and curling up on El and her brother’s couch during one of El’s many patented movie nights. Those times were nice, and she missed them, but time spent with Sylvie, her parents, and even Irene filled a void she never realized existed.

She spent afternoons learning proper motorcycle maintenance from her mother. She created art with Sylvie and listened as her littlest sister spoke about her dreams. She trained and played cards with her father, and spent countless hours in the kitchen as a reward as they made their favorite meals.

“I’m glad you’re home, p’tite,” he father told her one such night as they hovered over jambalaya. 

She considered his words. Trauma and fear brought her here, and she missed her people in New York terribly, but… “I’m happy to be home, too.”

.

She kept up with her baking, only this time without Matt by her side or Marty providing commentary for their video series. Even without them, baking was his refuge, the perfect task for clearing her mind and allowing creativity to take hold. Sylvie made requests and her parents supplied her with ingredients. 

After a week, Irene even wandered in to watch her work. 

“I’m hopeless with baking,” her sister admitted as she studied Bekka's latest batch of chocolate muffins. 

“Nobody’s hopeless,” Bekka replied. “I can help teach you, if you’d like.” She thought of Matt and the early days of their friendship. “I’ve been told I’m a good teacher.”

Irene shook her head. “I’d rather not.” Rejection. Or not. “But I can watch?”

“Of course you can.” How could Bekka say no?

.

Baking was not the answer to bonding with Irene, not entirely. Nor were the late nights holding each other and crying in bed. The answer was art and ink, the flowers in Momma’s garden, and the pictures of Olivier hanging in the living room. 

The answer was a tattoo.It was something Irene mentioned off-hand, how she wanted something to cover the scars and a memorial to those she had lost that fateful date. 

“That’s a beautiful idea. I’ve always wanted a tattoo,” Bekka admitted. She felt like porcelain on the inside, ready to crack at any moment, but her skill was hard as steel. “I’ve always been envious of Oli and his ink.”

Irene studied her carefully before offering an olive branch. “I can help with that.”

Olivier’s mutation could suck the souls and psyches of a person with the touch of his skin. Bekka could manipulate kinetic energy to create explosions and had nigh-invulnerable skin. Irene could negate all of that. “You’d do that?”

Irene shrugged. “Sure.”

From there they researched artists and designs. Irene wanted poppies on her chest. Keeping with the theme, Bekka chose Magnolia flowers for her design. She refrained from telling Matt. There was something precious about having this experience solely with Irene. As much as she cared for him, she needed this moment with her sister, and Irene needed it as well. They held hands as the needle pierced them and beauty was painted on their skin. 

No one could take that from them.

“What do you think?” she asked Matt after it was finished, once it could not no longer keep it a secret. She adjusted her phone so he could better see the magnolias curling around her thigh.

“Different. I’m going to have to get used to it, but it’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Irene and I got them together. Just her and me.”

She watched Matt smile from over a thousand miles away. “I’m glad you can share that.”

.

“Who’s that you keep talkin’ to all hours of the day and night? And don’t say no one, because I’m your Momma, and you’re too old for those kind of lies.” 

She hadn’t told her parents about Matt. Not because she wanted to hide him, but because she wanted to navigate the newness of it all before inviting too many people in. El’s skepticism clanged around in the back of her mind, making her timid to announce the good news; but, Bekka knew she couldn’t hide Matt forever, nor did she want to. 

That realization shook her to the core, because there was a non-small part of her who wanted to shout it from the rooftops. This was a first for her, a previous kind of thing that she hadn’t felt for anyone else. Not like this. 

She couldn’t hide the blush coloring her cheeks when she made her confession, “Matt. We’re kind of together now.”

Bekka waited for the penny to drop quite like it had with El. Instead, she watched a smile bloom across her mother’s face. “Are you now?”

“Yeah. Just for a couple of months now, but we’re together.”

“Are you happy, Sug?”

“Very,” Bekka said without thinking. “He makes me very happy.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Her mother pulled Bekka into a hug and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “That’s all I ever wanted you to be.”

“I told my Momma about us,” Bekka said over the phone that night. 

“How’s that go?” Matt usually excelled at hiding his feelings, but he couldn’t ramp down the nervousness in his voice.

“Good. She’s happy for us. She likes you.”

“That’s great.” A beat. “I’m glad you told her about us.”

“You’re important to me. I want people to know that. I need people to know that.”

“You’re also important to me. More than you realize.”

.

Bekka found it telling who contacted her during her sabbatical in New Orleans.

Marty was a reliable comfort with his constant streams of texts and pictures.

TJ, her cousin, checked in and reported on the goings-on of the X-Men and Xavier Institute. The DOL chat remained lively, and her teammates made sure to keep Bekka abreast of team development and drama. Meredith Pryde-Rasputin had even managed to pull herself from the foxhole of her grief to check in. Meredith had buried her sister, whereas Bekka could hold hers through the pain of it. Bekka doubted she would have the same strength. 

Luke, ensconced away safely at Xaviers, mostly bitched about Olivier and classes. El remained quiet, a rare text here or there. Olivier never messaged her at all. Bekka tried not to let that get to her. She mostly failed.

Matt kept his promise as well as he could. With his job, there were times when he was whisked away by the demands of being a secret agent overruled his own desires. He made sure to tell her when he would be disappearing, even if she didn’t know for how long. He’d call her the first moment he was free, and that was enough. 

.

She should have known that it would be a mission that brought her home. The universe wouldn’t allow her to make that sort of choice out of her own volition. She was a superhero, that was the way the world worked for people like her. No rest for the wicked or the divine. 

Matt played the messenger. “We need you back, Bekka,” Matt said, his voice telling her everything and nothing at all. He wouldn’t call her home, not unless it was an emergency and they’d explored all other contingencies. “It’s El. She’s in serious danger, and Olivier isn’t… It’s bad, Bekka, we need you as backup. I can’t tell you what’s going on until you get here, but...we need you, and I think you’d want to be here too.”

El, her supposed best friend. El, who belonged to Matt long before Bekka ever had a chance to lay claim. El, who her brother wanted to marry. El, her almost -- no, no almost about it -- her sister. Not by blood, but in the other ways that mattered. They might not be in the best space -- an angry, raw, confusing space -- but Bekka didn’t turn her back on family. Not to mention, Olivier needed her too. “I’m in.”

“Good. We’ll send Nocturne to you.”  They never sent TJ for travel assistance unless the situation was totally dire. “I’m sorry you’re coming back to this.”

“I’m a big girl, Matt. I can handle it.” She had to be.

“She’ll be there in ten. See you soon.” The line died.

She had just enough time to give a rushed half-explanation to her parents. She watched as the color drained from their faces at the mention of Olivier before she disappeared to find her uniform. As she dressed, she overheard them calling their people. Her parents might be retired, but they were still well-connected. She had barely gotten dressed by the time she heard the familiar crack of TJ’s arrival. 

Bekka was just about to go to her when she heard her name, and saw Irene rushing to her. Irene pulled her into a hug, nice yet unfamiliar. “Be safe,” she said, “and take care of Oli.” 

“I will.”

She emerged from her room to see TJ talked to her parents in low voices, “...keep Stark from blowing them all out of the sky…” before they noticed her. Something like relief washed over her face when she saw Bekka.

“It’s really you, thank God.” She reached out her hand. “Come on, we need to go. I’ll give answers when we get there.” 

Bekka said goodbye to her parents and cast one last look over her shoulder to Irene before TJ pulled her through space and time all the way back to New York City. 

Matt was waiting for her when she, woozy and disoriented, appeared. 

“You’re home,” he breathed. 

She nodded in confirmation. “I am.”

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Hanging around an old timey town

If I were to describe Tenney in one word, it would be cloudy. Idyllic would probably be more accurate, but I feel like that’s too vague. Cloudy’s a bit of an unusual description, I admit - especially when it's not used to describe the weather. 

What I mean by cloudy is that it’s a charming, almost dreamlike place. Like a mix of cottagecore aesthetics with the gardens and woodland creatures as well as colorful pictures of the sky in various shades of pastel. Imagine sitting outside, surrounded by flowers underneath a colorful sky, getting lost in a book while the breeze blows gently in your direction and the sun beams gently from above.

When you visit a place like Tenney, a day trip does not do it justice. No, in order to get the full idyllic, cloudy, and zen experience, you need to be there for at least two days. A short escape to turn to when you need a break. Spending the hours doing mundane stuff that’s rewarding really goes a long way.

I’m here with Jenny, Clarry, Lyndi, and Louie, who are in need of a vacation. The four came over from Chariott, where they were helping their uncle Ludwig move into a new house. 

Ludwig is what happens when you combine a mad scientist, a chaotic inventor, a mischievous magician, and a disaster bisexual into one lanky bespectacled guy. He’s either super brilliant or beyond baffling or somewhere in between. Either way his chaotic energy is contagious. Pretty much everyone in he’s ever spoken to told him “Ludwig no!”, in which he responds with “Ludwig yes!” and the results wildly vary depending on whether or not explosions were involved.

So the family has been spending the past week helping Ludwig bring various gadgets and gizmos from various labs scattered across the globe as well as some that are outside of that scope. After spending over a decade as a traveling adventurer/scientist, Ludwig decided that it was time to finally settle down. Chariott was his second choice, a remote island off the Diamond Coast, not too far from uncharted territory. His second choice was Rainbow Shores, another remote island, but it’s one of many places where he’s sorta banned from - meaning he can visit but not overstay his welcome.

Not surprisingly, Ludwig underestimated how many labs he set up so Jenny called up some reinforcements like Isabelle and us campers. Turns out he has a base not too far from Wizpire so we spent a day there packing all his stuff. While I find Ludwig’s stuff to be fascinating, going through everything and putting them in boxes felt like sticking my hand in  a sink full of dishes to find utensils and not knowing there’s a knife in there. A couple explosions aside, it went smoothly.

Louie and the triplets have been helping Ludwig for two and a half weeks straight. Finally, two days ago, they were done. The place is still a mess, but Ludwig has his own ways and insisted that his nieces and nephews take a break.

That’s why I planned this trip for them. Then after spending a couple days at Tenney, they’ll be staying at the campsite on the newly renovated second floor of the cabin for a week. Knowing Jenny, she’s made a mile long itinerary, and knowing her sisters and cousin, they won’t stick to it. I’m sure we’ll find a happy medium.

We left Chariott around 5 am with Jenny insisting on driving the whole way since the others were passed out in the back. I offered to take over but she declined, which I didn’t mind too much since she’s a morning person and I’m not. Though I feel kinda bad for having her drive since she’s supposed to be relaxing - then again, she does find driving relaxing, especially on a day like today when there’s no traffic and we’re taking the scenic route.

From Chariott to Tenney, the drive took about three hours. Once we got settled in the Bed and Breakfast, we were ready to take on the day! 

One of the things I love about Tenney is the outdoor workshop classes it offers. From cross breeding flowers to hand lettering to culinary arts to building carriages - there’s no limit to what kind of new skills you can pick up! 

We went to a morning workshop session, where Jenny and I made journals. As in we made our own paper, made the covers with linen we designed, hand stitched the pages - literally the whole thing is made from scratch! It’s a lot of work, but I enjoyed it a lot. Clarry made a bunch of cute stickers while Lyndi and Louie hung out at the beach, where we met up after we finished making our creations.

Around noon we set up a picnic at the beach, taking the time to enjoy the sights and sounds surrounding us. The food, like pretty much everything in this town, is made from scratch. Fragrant jasmine rice from the fields, fruits and veggies picked at the peak of ripeness, flour from the wheat fields to the mill - it’s amazing how much work is put into everything!

A while ago I started following Lia Yi, a vlogger from Tenney who makes videos about her everyday life. Watching her bake bread or work on her garden or using her handmade paints to decorate a canvas while classical music (pieces composed by her) plays in the background is super relaxing. We had the pleasure of meeting her while taking a stroll in the community garden, where she gave us a tour and showed us her latest projects.

After lunch we stopped by the library, which looks like a greenhouse except it’s full of books, and hung around the lounge for a couple hours. Lying on a branch surrounded by vibrant greens and pastel pinks while on my laptop listening to music and scrolling social media makes me feel like I’m one of those lo-fi girls. Speaking of which, I’ve been really into lo-fi lately and it’s been doing wonders with my creative output in terms of art journaling.

Then we headed to the orchard/bakery where we picked fruits and made pastries. It was super cool to see how much work goes into making lemon poppyseed muffins and cherry pies because, like I said, everything is made from scratch! We also learned how to make lingonberry jam, rose, and ice wine, which was super cool as well. 

The villagers are always more than happy to show us around and teach us how to make stuff, another reason why I enjoy visiting Tenney. Even making dough at the bakery (something I have a love/hate thing with) was more relaxing than usual. Something about going back to our roots and doing things the old fashioned way - I guess doing all this stuff by hand is kinda like a form of mindfulness. 

Before we knew it, night had come. Since we were at the bakery, we made dinner paired with rose and dessert. A quick trip to the B&B to drop off the jam and wine crates and a walk around town square followed, leading to a two hour karaoke session at the rec center. 

Clarry’s latest hit, Somewhere in Your Mind, was one of the selections on the machine, which she found flattering. When she came up to sing it to see what would happen, a couple villagers immediately recognized her and she gave her fans the VIP treatment. 

It took a couple cocktails but Clarry convinced me to step up to the stage and sing some tunes. I like watching people sing karaoke but ask me to go up there I’d be like no way. Unless I’m in a group and/or slightly buzzed, then maybe.

So we hung out at the rec center until it closed around 1. After karaoke, we went to the arcade, where Louie and I fought to the death in a sword fighting game, Jenny had to wrestle Lyndi away from a VR game when things got too intense, and Clarry beat the high score in a ukulele game. 

Then we got back to the B&B, where we hung out a bit at the lobby sharing drinks and stories for about an hour before heading off to bed. Jenny’s starting an internship at Viola Francois in August and she’s super hyped about that. Clarry has been busy with her newest songwriting partner on her upcoming album planned to be out next year. Lyndi started getting into tik toks and has been making a bunch of vids that have gone viral. And Louie’s taking it easy after surviving freshman year at Seashore Path as well as reconciling with his uncle, who he has a love/hate relationship with. 

Maybe it’s because I’m super tired, but this bed feels like I’m floating on a cloud. The mattress’s even kinda lumpy like one - and super soft too, I must say. 

[split-n-splice]

And now for a series of events following the previous fics Bad is Good and Good is Bad and The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie. Step back and give those a read&review if you haven't yet!

This fic explores the younger years with Drakken and Shego, from slice-of-life to the life-threatening, set before the meddling of any nosy redhead teen hero. Beginning with an introduction to villainy after forsaking heroism, and rolling with the punches with a splash of family ordeals, substance abuse, enemies, rivals, thrills, woes, baking, killer plants, little brats, jealousy, grudges, and trust.

More info in the end notes!

Chapters: ??? Word count: ???,??? Warnings: violence, language, and substance abuse in the forecast, scattered showers of fluff and a chance of lewd, guaranteed Drakgo!

[ Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3 ]

1. Runaway or Abduction?

The turn of events didn’t feel real.

This time last Friday, Shilo had been mopping up the art project her three younger brothers had made of breakfast. Her herculean older brother had made up an excuse that he was running late, which she didn’t call him out on because he would have caused more messes than cleaned if he were to crowd her in the kitchen.

She could be doing it all again, or she could be loitering around her hometown, or she could be paying the private gym a visit at the island base of a superhero team she’d forsaken.

Had she stayed, she might not be feeling so wretched from medication withdrawals or side effects. In the same vein, abdominal pain could have been explained away as cramps related to the experimental drugs.

Numb and mute from the shellshock of it all, she stared out the tinted window at the blur in her daze and let a hand flutter lightly over her tender stomach, but she withdrew it quickly and grimaced in discomfort. She’d hurt herself with her own freakish superpower earlier, worse than any punch to the gut she’d ever received.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant for the skull that had been caught in the middle of it.

The fresh image of her huge brother’s body crumpling at her feet flashed behind her eyelids every time she shut them or so much as blinked. Whispers behind her back were a distraction, but they were unappreciated, and she shoved the grisly thought from the forefront of her mind long enough to shoot a glare back at the gossipers.

“…looking greener,” a henchman was muttering to Dr. Drakken, to which Dr. Drakken concurred in a grumble she didn’t quite catch. The runty subordinate clad in a red jumpsuit took notice of her frown, and sat back in sheepish silence under her glare.

The unkempt blue man behind the wheel let his scowl drift across to her then, and Shego didn’t like his eyes roaming her over so thoroughly. “Please don’t tell me you’re carsick,” he called over curtly.

They’d only left Go City behind half an hour ago, and it was far too soon for chitchat or remarks. She grunted in lieu of an answer before slumping against the window. She couldn’t honestly say she wasn’t feeling sick.

Her palms burned, but not in the way that was second nature to her. Just in case, she tucked her hands safely into her armpits. Having a list of warning signs memorized, she racked her brains for any serious withdrawal symptoms, but came up with nothing too explosive. She was just being paranoid, she decided. Paranoia was a withdrawal symptom too after all, wasn’t it?

The fear of combustion lingered as she tugged her sweater to let some air reach her clammy skin, the unbuttoned collar of her uniform beneath doing little to aid in cooling her down. A cracked window helped, but not much.

Straining to ignore the trapped heat rising beneath the layers she wore in addition to the worries plaguing her mind, she focused intently on watching the passing scenery. Flocks of birds, the blur of trees, fields, and small towns slid by uneventfully.

Inevitably, the growling stomachs and dreary huffs of the three moody henchmen behind her became hard to ignore. Her own stomach was starting to feel particularly hollow by now, but she prepared herself to ignore it too. Despite her stomach’s disagreement, her appetite was shot.

Ultimately it would be Dr. Drakken who would dictate when breakfast would be served, and no whimpered complaints from his crew would make it come any sooner. A stop at a Cow-n-Chow drive-thru was in order mere minutes before the noon menu change.

The blue boss took it upon himself to order for his cronies without consulting them. Shego remained slumped against the window, content with keeping her silence. She could give him a hard time later if she changed her mind, she decided. If he needed her talents that badly, he’d just have to comply.

Her mouth was watering anyway, but not in anticipation of food. She had to swallow back bile. The driver said something, some sort of inquiry, but it went in one ear and out the other as she fixated on little birds in the hedge, too busy steeling herself against the wooziness that came with the smell of sausage and egg wafting into the rig.

There was the snapping of fingers and she cast a peek at Dr. Drakken from the corner of her eye before realizing she was being addressed. “For future reference, I expect to be listened to when I speak,” he groused.

“Sorry, did you say something?” she deadpanned, blinking lazily over at him as she turned.

He grunted curtly and gestured to the menu board outside. “Choose something already, or I’ll pick something for—”

“I’m not hungry.”

The man scoffed in exasperation and shook his head. “How am I not surprised?” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Despite her refusal, a bag of hot food was plopped in her lap a minute later. It wasn’t until the henchmen had already wolfed down their meals that she finally took a nibble of a hash brown she’d been allotted. It took the edge off the hunger pangs, but certainly not the nausea. She didn’t touch the muffin sandwich she’d been given. Keeping down the hash brown alone was tough enough, but it was decided she’d better eat while she had the chance.

She didn’t know how long they would be on the road. She never asked.

Come evening, the interstate had taken them across multiple state lines and she’d grown painfully bored of staring out the window at the ever-changing views and of listening to the latest twisted rendition of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. Before another droning round of chants could recommence in the back, Shego commandeered the radio, finally shooting Dr. Drakken a hostile glare when he tried to stop her. His demand for quiet time went ignored.

The blue man groaned miserably as if she were subjecting him to torture as she scanned for an appealing station with the least static. It seemed everything was bound to get under his skin right now. “Put a sock in it,” she carped in reply to his noises of displeasure.

Done tweaking the radio, she idly investigated rest of the dashboard, switching on the air conditioner – it was a hot evening, and she’d never stopped burning up – and peeking in the empty ashtray in hopes of finding a cigarette butt to salvage. Curiosity drove her to poke around in the glovebox, maps and napkins hiding a few trivial items like a disposable camera, pocketknife, aspirin, pens, and a lighter.

The camera was quickly confiscated for flashing the man, which was to be expected. He was still blinking away the spots when he shook at it her, chiding her not to mess with his things. He threw the camera back in the glovebox and slammed it shut, only for her to pop it open again a second later to fish out the next item of interest.

He grunted his disapproval and grimaced, but otherwise kept his complaints to himself for the moment as Shego sat back to turn an old pocketknife over in her hands.

It looked like some novelty item a boy scout had dropped in a parking lot eons ago, and by some turn of events had found residence in Dr. Drakken’s glovebox with the rest of his junk. The aged handle had a dull finish and the metal was tarnished by rust, the blade’s hinge no exception. The edge was blunt, chipped, and bent.

Something flitting in the darkest reaches at the back of her mind eluded her efforts to call it forth into the light. Like a word on the tip of her tongue, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Her brow knitted together as she brushed her thumb back across the worn blade.

Dr. Drakken’s agitation got the better of him suddenly and he reached over to pluck it from her, grumbling, “Give me that. It’s not a toy.” He stuffed the dingy pocketknife into his pocket instead of tossing it in the compartment with the camera.

“It’s dull enough it might as well be,” Shego retorted, and kicked the glovebox shut herself as she threw her heels up on the dash. She expected the man to make another complaint as he watched her with narrowed eyes, but he kept his mouth shut.

She heaved a sigh and turned up the radio, sitting back to nod to the beat of any given song it had to offer.

As she listened, watching evening thunderheads build ahead, she couldn’t help picking out the occasional song she knew her brothers enjoyed. With nothing else to occupy herself, the drudgery of the trip was making her crack, and she caught herself humming and muttering along more as time drug on. She could only hold fast to her reservations for so long.

“You got a fast car. I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal,” she mouthed along idly, and her eyes stung with the unanticipated threat of tears. The memory of her dweeby brother Milo strumming along on their mother’s guitar filled her daydreams and made her chest ache.

Glaring at the console, she swallowed the lump in her throat and changed the station, but it was no better. Finding another was a lost cause when clear stations were few and far between.

She skewed her eyes shut, recalling videotaping Hugo just last year, standing before a foggy mirror in a towel with her hairbrush substituting for a microphone as he sang and danced with Cyndi Lauper playing over a boombox. She’d played hooky that day to catch him for blackmail. The home video was still hiding somewhere in their VHS library in the living room.

No matter what tunes came on, fond memories of her family came with them. There wasn’t a single hit on the air she hadn’t heard in their company.

As an electric guitar resounded over the speakers, Shego leaned back with a heavy sigh and mouthed, “Oh my god,” as she accepted the defeat. There was no way she was about to hit any high notes at a time like this, so she nodded along and mumbled to Welcome to the Jungle under her breath. She smirked to herself, thinking back to a time when her brothers had been too sheepish and uptight to admit to liking it.

Reciting the opening lines to herself, she turned up the volume and watched Dr. Drakken’s brow furrow in silent aggravation. Becoming a thorn in his side helped her forget about her brothers now. A devious smirk crossed her as nodding turned to rocking. She strummed the air playfully, but he was set on being a stick in the mud and refused to join in, so she threw a look back at the henchmen, taking notice of the youngest among them squirming just slightly with a knee bounce, a slight nod to the rhythm…

She’d found a new target.

Eyes on the henchman and nodding to him, she waited for a response as she tried to impishly coax out the young man’s playful side, but he only fidgeted with his hands as his face flushed red. She wasn’t sure if she was honestly flirting with the poor disciplined fellow or if she was doing it purely to push the driver’s buttons, gauging how much she could get away with.

She found out pretty quick – less than two minutes in, in fact – where the line was drawn when a particular sound slipped out while miming the suggestive utterance of the vocalist, aimed at Bobby or whatever his name was.

Dr. Drakken might have been busy watching the road, but he must have been keeping an eye on her antics too because he switched off the radio in the next instant and snapped his fingers with his glare fixed in the rearview mirror at the henchman directly behind him.

“Hey!” Shego objected in reflex, turning a sharp scowl at the grouchy blue man.

“Do you remember what I said last night?” Dr. Drakken asked suddenly. “About appropriate conduct?”

Her face heated. “Uhh,” was all she could utter. She found herself crossing her arms and frowning out at hay field, unhappy with reprimand and embarrassed to have last night’s near misconduct brought up.

Dr. Drakken made another of his weird grunts and rolled his eyes, shooting her an incredulous look. “I wish you could behave like a lady,” he said almost pleadingly. Shego couldn’t decide if it sounded more like a nice way of telling her to grow up or a request for modesty.

In any case, just for that, she slumped ungracefully and threw her feet back up on the dash. “Chill, geezer, I’m only playing,” she retorted.

His brow furrowed deeper at the comment and he flicked another frown her way. “I’m sorry, but I’d like my men focused on their tasks, not on getting a piece of ass from a coworker,” he bit back crudely. “And I know there’s someone back there with just that on his mind.”

Bobby or whoever shrank shamefully while the other two cocked their brows at him as if this were news to them.

Dr. Drakken flapped a hand dismissively. “They can cloud their heads on their own time,” he said with an air of distaste. “Same goes for you, but my men are off limits. Remind me to put that down in the contract.” He rubbed his temple with a pensive frown.

Shego raised her brow at him. Since when did wrong-doers abide by contracts? She didn’t question it aloud. Instead she snorted, “Wet blanket, much?”

He didn’t dignify it with a response.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, she dropped her seat back a bit, a mischievous thought in mind as she leaned back. If messing with the boys was out, that left one man he hadn’t specified. She stretched her arms above her head and wrapped them around the headrest behind her, arching her back as she stretched and let a completely innocent sound slip from her lips a second time. The man beside her remained unfazed, though she felt a few roaming glances from those in the back, and she hastily realized with certainty that they weren’t the eyes she wanted checking her out after all.

A sense of shame set in quickly in the absence of interest in her puffed chest or the little wiggle of her hips. Heat bloomed over her face. What was she doing? She suddenly felt childish. In some small aggravating way, it was humbling to be reminded that she wasn’t as irresistible as she liked to believe. A little reassuring as well that the rogue doctor wasn’t some common pervert with the predictable shifty motives for spiriting a girl away.

The embarrassing display wasn’t worth it anyway. Her abdomen ached more than before, the throb reminding her of her treason. More than her ego was bruised.

Feeling dumb and frustrated, Shego didn’t wait for Dr. Drakken to decide when they’d earned radio time again. She pulled her go-bag from the floorboard, digging into the bottom of the backpack to find something to ease the silence. A walkman wasn’t exactly an essential, but she was glad she’d brought it along anyway. She pulled on her headphones and turned her eyes up to the sky.

Thunderheads were roiling overhead now, ugly and dark and turbulent, and looking much the same way her stomach felt. A bleak darkness had fallen with the downpour they were heading straight into now, which meant there would be even less to see.

She hadn’t heard the end of it from Dr. Drakken yet apparently, because when she dug into her bag again to find a pack of smokes he turned a challenging glare on her, which she glanced at and ignored. Popping a stick in her mouth and lighting it up with her own flame, she drew out the first drag and watched his eye twitch as she found yet another of his buttons to push.

Before she could react, he’d snatched the squashed pack of smokes from her hand and tossed them in the back, uncaring that it nearly struck one of the henchmen in the head.

Shego pushed her headphones back, shooting daggers over at the man. “Got a problem, dude?” she snapped.

“It’s impolite to smoke in the confined presence of non-smokers,” came his cold rational answer.

Slumping, Shego groaned loudly. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re all a bunch of pansies.”

“You can take a smoke break at the next gas station,” Dr. Drakken promised.

She groaned again in disdain, yet she took a last puff and smothered the cigarette in the unused ashtray without another word in complaint. It just wasn’t worth the effort. “Does anyone have any gum?” she asked instead.

The youngest henchman timidly pulled something from a pocket of his overalls and glanced to Dr. Drakken for a nod of approval before he handed Shego a stick. She was sure to make him regret it, abusing the small gesture by popping the gum as loud as she could for the sole purpose of grating the blue man’s nerves.

She had to be bored out of her mind if she was this dead set on harassing a guy who’d just bailed her out of her own personal hell and offered her a job with perks, but she decided he’d just have to excuse some misbehavior. It served him right anyway for shutting off the radio and spoiling any entertainment she might find on this damn trip.

At one point he had to push her back over to her seat as she was hovering too close for comfort, leaned too far over the center console to study the needle of the illuminated gas gauge creeping closer to E. Granted, she was also fishing for a reaction whilst smacking on gum.

One of the henchmen leaned forward then, and she heard him mutter to Dr. Drakken, “Are you sure you can take on a kid?” The comment stung, but blasting the henchman in the face would prove nothing.

Dr. Drakken rubbed at his temple. “It’s a phase,” he responded in a grumble, speaking about her as if she weren’t even there.

Shego passed up the smoke break offer at the gas station, just as hesitant to leave the rig as she’d been all day.

There did come a point amidst a break in the storm however when she finally willingly climbed out, taking advantage of the stretch break in the parking lot of a roadside coffeehouse on the way out of a small town they’d detoured through. She’d only been comfortable enough to leave the vehicle without fear of being ditched when the crew boss walked off to the order window, his men following eagerly like a line of ducklings.

She shouldn’t have reflexively turned down another offer for sustenance, and she was inwardly berating herself for it. After a minute of watching the crew dilly-dally and contemplate the selection, she gravitated toward them.

Cutting the line, she went straight to Dr. Drakken’s side at the window. She didn’t sugarcoat her demands. “Can I get an apple fritter?” she asked flatly, giving his sleeve a tug.

His eyes narrowed unjustly at the barista rather than the source of his agitation. “I don’t care what you buy,” he dismissed.

She snaked an arm around his elbow then. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” he dismissed, and Shego shifted her stance to lean against him and waited. After another moment of scowling at the menu as if in a tense standoff with it, he breathed loudly through his nose and looked over to her. “Nnng, fine. Whatever you want, I don’t care. Just get off of my foot.”

Obliging, Shego smirked, feeling quite pleased with herself. “Apple fritter and medium latte,” she chirped to the barista.

“And I’ll have a co—hot chocolate,” he stuttered. “And a scone…”

Shego was about to remark if he had a caffeine aversion too to go with his anti-smoking policy when snickers from the crew broke out, and she glanced over her shoulder instead. The muffled laughter didn’t go unnoticed by Dr. Drakken, because he shook her off his arm and whirled on them. “Is there a joke you’d like to share with the class, Lux?” he sneered at the larger man, arms crossed and fingers tapping.

The men clammed up and the middle guy – Lux – muttered sheepishly, “No, boss.”

Shego took in the sight – three cringing men dressed like janitors submitting to a guy no more threatening than themselves with his rumpled blue suit and disheveled mullet – and she wondered what Dr. Drakken had ever done to earn the respect. He could put on a fierce villain-worthy glare, but besides that, what could they have to fear other than being fired?

She probably should have taken their ducked heads as a warning sign, but she smirked up at her blue escort instead. “I’d like to know what was so funny,” she egged as he turned back to the window to pay.

He waved her off with a grunt. She took her half of the order from the barista as Dr. Drakken stalked off to scarf down his.

As she followed, one of the goons gave her a tiny tap on the shoulder, and she paused to shoot a look back at the youngest of the henchman.

“Cocoa moo,” he whispered behind his hand with a nod to Dr. Drakken, and she got the sense there was an inside joke she was missing.

The inside joke had infected her brain in the time it took her to cross the parking lot. She was sure she’d never heard the term before, yet it rang a bell, and the bell continued to toll as she leaned in through the passenger-side window.

The blue man was back behind the wheel, leaned against his own open window as he watched passing traffic and sipped his hot chocolate. Shego watched him and the lights flickering off the lenses of his glasses, and she chewed slow and pensive as the bell chimed away from the back of her head.

Shego finished her apple fritter before wondering aloud, “What’s cocoa moo?” Sure, she had a hunch, but hearing him say it might prove entertaining.

She smirked at the man’s tensing shoulders, but then he rolled his eyes and huffed. “Chocolate milk,” he answered flatly.

“And that gets your goat?” she scoffed, but the bell was ringing louder.

As she raised her latte to take another sip, the sleeve of her sweater slipped down, and the bruising of her restraints from this morning became hard to see past.

Shego didn’t hear his answer. Her heart was beginning to pound, and caffeine wasn’t to blame. The blood drained from her face like the tide before a tsunami. He said something louder to get her attention, something questioning, and her eyes darted up to his face.

She dropped her latte on the ground and was yanking open the door in the next instant, climbing in on her knees as she had last night to grab his face. He shouted in surprise this time, nearly spilling his hot cocoa when she grabbed him to snatch off his glasses.

“Excuse me!” he spat beneath her, offended, but she barely heard his protest as she stared at the ugly twisted scar curving beneath his left eye, the old stitch poorly healed over.

A long-forgotten fever dream rushed back to her.

“You!” was all she could sputter. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she leapt away when he grabbed for her sore wrists. She slammed the door to put something between them, hands flaring with a green blaze oozing between her fingers, a misfire leaving an ugly dent in the door.

From a distance now and ready to fire, to shoot to kill or whatever it took, she shouted, “Who are you!”

The blue man rubbed a cheek where her nails had left little indents. “Dr. Drakken,” he slowly enunciated, palms exposed in peace as he eyed her hazardous hands. “That hurts, you know,” he went on, not sounding too wounded. She could change that. “I introduced myself and gave you my card and everything – I thought you’d know my name by now. You’ve only been riding shotgun with me the past few days.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught the henchmen abandoning their orders as they took notice of the commotion. They weren’t charging in to Dr. Drakken’s defense yet – good – if they did – they’d regret it, if they lived.

Blood thundered in her ears. “That’s not what I mean!” she spat at the wide-eyed blue man. “Stop fucking with me. What is this? Some kind of revenge scheme? Where are you taking me?”

“Put those away, Shego,” he coaxed, gently gesturing with his hands for her to lower hers. He didn’t need to talk slowly to her like a damn mental patient. “We’re going back to my office—”

Henchmen sneaking up on her didn’t go unseen, and she took a leap away from them, jumping back toward Dr. Drakken and the SUV as he shouted at them to halt.

Her heart was hammering, chest heaving, her breaths coming in short erratic gasps. Panic was fire in her blood. She’d fought alone before – what was so she so afraid of now? Maybe it was the fact a man had just stepped out of one of her worst nightmares, and she’d been foolish enough to throw her life away for him – and now she was surrounded and hundreds of miles from help. But she had her fire this time, and combat training. She wasn’t helpless.

She whipped back around to the blue man. “You kidnapped me,” she accused, reeling.

“What are you going on about?” he nearly laughed. “You came with me on your own accord. Remember?”

“I remember how you got that scar,” she spat venomously. “I didn’t forget that.” Well, maybe she had a little – the memories of the worst days of her life were awfully dim. But now, it came back to her in broken bits and pieces – namely being smuggled out of a laboratory by a young doctor only to deliver gratitude in the form of a blade to the face in a blind panic. The whole ordeal had long been chalked up to a bad dream, and no one ever talked about it after that because there were more important things to worry about than how she’d come to be found in a rest stop hundreds of miles from the lab where she’d been sent have her newfound freak powers studied.

Shego swore she could feel the knife in her clutch, sticky with blood as it had been all those years ago, but there was only glowing plasma seeping from her fists now.

Dr. Drakken’s eyes went dark now as he touched his face again, and she was braced to blast his head off when he reached for the floorboard – but it wasn’t for a gun or anything harmful. Only his glasses, which he pushed back up onto his nose. He fixed a glare on the henchmen still looming behind her and gave them a wordless nod to send them off. When they’d retreated out of earshot, he leveled his dark stare on her.

“Shego, get in. I think we need to have a chat.”

She was hesitant to approach, but the man kept his hands in sight, placed on the wheel. She didn’t get in though. Only leaned through the window. “What do you want with me?” she asked lowly, hating how her voice shook as she crossed her arms to reign in the urge to blast him.

“We’ve been over this. Nothing’s changed,” he said evenly. “I’m not out to double-cross you—”

“That’s exactly what a double-crosser would say.” Her paranoia wouldn’t be brushed away so easy with smooth talk. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Why do you think?” he said with a sick amusement in his snort. “I was only curious how long until you figured it out yourself. I didn’t mean anything by it. It took you a little while, but well done, Shego. Do you want a gold star with that?”

She remained impervious to the dry flattery. Her nails dug into her arms as she growled her displeasure and glowered harshly at him.

Dr. Drakken’s eyes flicked down to her hands, but then a toothy smile crossed his mug anyway. “Honestly, I should be thanking you,” he chuckled, turning to inspect gnarly scar in the rearview mirror. “Sure, it hurt like a son of a bitch, but it’s helped to pull my look together quite well. So, it was a fair trade.”

“Repaying you for busting me out by stabbing you in the face was a fair trade?” she scoffed skeptically.

He shrugged. “For starters, someone feared me for the first time in my life,” he said casually. “One might say you gave me a taste for it.”

Her skin crawled as she digested his statement. She wanted to blast him for the remark, but she recoiled instead, gripping the door as the jade glow began to bubble from her hands again. “Are you saying you get off on preying on helpless girls?” she hissed. “You molested—”

“Hey, now! I never laid a hand on you,” he shot vehemently, quick to snap back in defense. “Not in that way, anyway.”

“You were breathing in my face and touching me when I was unconscious,” she retorted with a hostile lilt. She wasn’t the only one raising her voice now. She didn’t remember everything – but she remembered that much. It was a long time ago. The details were sketchy.

Dr. Drakken flung his hands above the wheel in exasperation. “You sleep like the dead! I was afraid you were dead! You wouldn’t wake up. I was doing you a favor by taking off that damn electric collar. Ungrateful brat.”

Collar – she vaguely remembered a collar, but not so much how it came off. She tried to rekindle a rage. “I warned you they were coming and kept my mouth shut about you,” she defended. At least, she was pretty sure she did. “Don’t fuck with me, Dr. Drakken, because I’ll have you know—”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted impatiently. “You’re far more potent and dangerous than before. I know this. That’s part of the appeal, frankly.”

Taken aback, her heating hands cooled and her brow smoothed just slightly. “If you know I’m a bigger threat, then why are you coming back for me now?” she uttered, bewildered.

The man shook his head in exasperation. He took his hands off the wheel, and she almost snarled at him to keep them where she could see them, but he only crossed his arms over his chest to slump back.

“I didn’t come to Go City for you,” said Dr. Drakken. “It just so happened that you caught my eye again. Only this time I think I’m ready for you. I’d still like to have your firepower on my side and you need somewhere to go. We both have something to offer the other here.” He gestured to the air between them, fixing her in his deep scowl. “What do you say? Do we still have a deal, Miss Go?”

She eyed him, weighing the risks and how trustworthy a villain could be. If he’d wanted revenge – well, he could have done something by now. He’d had opportunities but he hadn’t taken advantage of them. She didn’t rule out the possibility he was only biding his time to get her back to his lair, where most villains kept their contraptions that passed as torture devices.

Time would tell.

In the end, she decided she’d extended her trust in him this long. A little longer, a few more state lines, or however long it would take, wouldn’t hurt. She was a big girl and she had an innate means of defense. She could handle herself if this decision lead her into trouble.

“It’s Shego,” she reminded crossly.

Dr. Drakken hummed pleasantly in lieu of a laugh and turned the key in the ignition, signaling it was time to go. He’d won, and the bastard knew it.

Shego laid claim once more to the shotgun seat beside him.

 A/N:

So this chapter was amputated from the last fic, but then it took root and took off.

It's meant to be ups and downs in their younger years, because I really like the idea that they were friends (or more? ;3) before they toughened up and got serious, like they legitimately were the old married couple by the time show took place. LOL I have my reasons. Selfish selfish self-indulgent reasons, because this was never meant to see the light of day.

It's sort of a everything's-the-same-except-AU inspired by a few minor details in the show, although I'm trying not to go against anything that the show itself could disprove. I take info from interviews with a grain of salt.

[phoenotopia]

2019 March Update

"ZOOM!" ... the sound of a passing deadline...

The end of March has come and I'm checking in as promised. We've accomplished a lot in the past 4 months. We did complete the final dungeon, its bosses, as well as the optional "forbidden forest" dungeon and its secret town. Unfortunately, we didn't reach so lofty a height as having completed the entire game. Sorry if I got everyone's hopes up!

So what's left to do? An odd ~20 something leftover rooms to be completed (the game will number around 600 level files total). One optional end-game boss for completionists. And then a LOT of dialogue & cutscene writing and playtesting.

Then comes the outside development stuff : getting an ESRB rating, trademarking the game's title, getting a website up, speaking to my contact about possible promotions, reaching out to journalists, and so on. Since this is my first commercial title, there's a lot of uncharted territory that I can't accurately gauge how long it might take.

Still, the finish line appears very close - I'm eyeing it hungrily - but like a dying beast in its last death throes, I suspect the game will manage to surprise me with unforeseen developments. So rather than give a date again, I'll just say we're intently focused on it. Please bear with us a while longer!

==== PICTURES ====

Here are some snapshots of the past months' progress. To avoid being too spoilerific, I'll keep the shots mainly to areas that are most similar to the flash game. The really new areas will be a surprise.

(Harpies like to live in high places)

(Arcs have now become "Trolls" to draw on their mythical ability to turn into stone)

(Some harpies will aid the player given the right incentive)

(The Spa returns. Swimming in it will restore health)

(A secluded fishing spot)

(battle in a terrarium)

(a place beyond comprehension)

==== MUSIC ====

Will and I regularly discuss which songs to bring back, redo, or upgrade. Lots of circumstances can affect the final pick. In one interesting case, Will wanted to replace a song, but I wanted the original because I'd gotten a lot of emails from fans asking about it. In the case of the Monster's Twilight Village, we still liked the base melody and went for an upgrade. The new version of the song is 4x the original's length! Hard to believe the flash game made do with just a 30 second loop. Give a listen to the improved Twilight Village Theme.

==== WRITING ====

(Compare the old pumpkin muffin description vs the new)

One of the new shifts in development is that I'm writing a lot more. This time around, I'm putting more care and time into it. In a fast case scenario, an item flavor text just takes 5 minutes. In the worst case scenario, bridled by writer's block, an item flavor text can take half an hour! There's only so many ways you can describe raw meat of varying sizes. I'll try to find some trivia that can add to the world in some way, and I'll research the proper terminology and ingredients. For instance, did you know that common ingredients in Dog biscuits are bran, bone meal, and fat? You did? Well, expect to find that bit of trivia again in the upcoming Dog Biscuit's description!

(There's a satisfaction in describing an item well. The best descriptions are not too short, not too long... they're betterer)

==== THE LUNAR ARTIFACTS ==== 

Since the adventure sends Gale through a bunch of old ruins, it seemed sensical to have Gale find old artifacts and relics. These artifacts would give insight into their builders' history and culture. As these artifacts accumulated, we wanted to do more with the artifacts than just have the player dump them at the nearest recycler. So the Quest naturally evolved to involve Antique collectors.

If an artifact is submitted to Astrid, the Antique Collector, she'll add it her shelf. Submit enough unique Artifacts and you may even get a nice reward! Astrid will also share her thoughts on each artifact, divulging more of their history and culture.

(brilliant deduction skills)

NOTE: the above image is a gif. if it doesn’t play, view it on imgur)

==== LAST NAMING CONTEST ====

Since the cast of enemies is now completely rounded out we can also proceed with the final naming contest! (For enemies that I will reveal anyway). The cast of enemies up for naming are actually all robots!

First up is the Borg. A highly intelligent enemy encountered in the final dungeon, capable of wielding laser swords, grenade launchers, and eye beams. As mentioned before, its placeholder name is a bit of a misnomer, since "cyborg" and "borg" imply a human element. These enemies are all mechanical!

Next up are 9 other robots! In quick spitfire fashion, here is their image, their current placeholder(?) name, and their description.

I've had difficulty naming these robots, and I didn't understand why until the whole cast was assembled. There's clearly a relation between some of them, but the family tree gets messy. Some are distant cousins while others seem like fraternal twins. So here are the notable relations between them:

The smart turret and the scrapper have identical shooting behaviors. They even shoot the same bullets. The difference being that one is stationary while the other can move.

Both Flying Mine, Rollo Mine, and Scrapper have spherical shapes. They also all emit a damaging explosion, with the Rollomine packing additional TNT & shrapnel.

Tank bots and Saw bots have similar chassis and can only move on rails.

The Beam Drone could be viewed as a more advanced version of the scrapper.

So how to name these robots? Should the Scrapper be named as a set with the turret? A companion of the Mines? As the inferior prototype to the Beam Drone? OR, should they have wildly different names with no attempt to relate them at all?

I look forward hearing what you guys come up with! Like before, naming entries can be submitted to the reddit thread (LINK) or privately to email ( phoenotopia@gmail.com )

==== FAN ART====

This update's fan arts are all brought to you by Cody G!

(The first foray into a dungeon. It's always neat when you can map an art directly to an area from the game!)

(A nice heartwarming scene between Billy and Gale. I always like night scenes!)

The latest piece is quite exciting since I think it might be the first fanart that shows the new reboot and not the flash game. Enemies like the female Ouroboros bandit and Dragon Snare are new additions. Dragon Snares are quite terrifying when viewed outside a 2D perspective! Thanks Cody!

The next update will come end of May. Til then!

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 1 - Venus et Éclair

La Patisserie de la Rose by George deValier

CHAPTER ONE Venus et Éclair

.

It was a dull, grey morning as Matthew walked briskly down the dull, grey street. It was the ninth morning he had walked to work down this very street, every one the same, every one dull and grey. Matthew was used to being passed over and unnoticed, but in this new, huge city, he felt completely invisible. This place was too large and unfriendly: hundreds of people hurrying past with their eyes on the ground, practically identical in their grey suits with their grey expressions. Grey buildings lined both sides of the street; grey shops and businesses all blended together. And it seemed that every day the sky overhead was dark with the promise of rain. Matthew clenched his hand around his briefcase, clenched his teeth as the teeming crowd pushed past him unseeing. At least his little apartment was not far from his large office block, so this dull, grey, every-morning walk did not take long.

It was a good opportunity, they had said. A promotion to a new position in the big city. And Matthew had never been good at confrontation, so he had simply said thank you, packed up his dull little life, and moved across the country to become another number cruncher lost in a faceless company. He had been here two weeks now, but no one in his office even knew his name yet. He was pretty sure no one even knew what he did.

Matthew suddenly had to dodge out the way of a man not watching where he was going. Just as he fell against a shop wall to avoid a head-on collision, it began raining heavily. Matthew groaned to himself. This day was starting even better than usual.

Matthew put his briefcase over his head and began to look for cover. His eyes darted along the street, looking for an awning or a ledge or any kind of shelter from the pelting rain. And then, like a bright burst of colour exploding into this grey morning, his gaze fell on the most colourful little shop window he had ever seen. He took a few steps closer, fascinated. Variously shaped and coloured cakes and pastries sat arranged like an art exhibit on white-clothed tables and silver tiers: little fruit tarts, pies topped with berries, plates of red and pink iced biscuits, white dusted muffins, cupcakes of every colour of the rainbow. Matthew almost forgot the rain as he stared at the visual feast, his mouth starting to water, his eyes drinking in the explosion of colour. But he quickly began to shiver, realised the rain was soaking through his clothes, and darted into the shop.

A cheerful little bell announced his arrival as the warmth of the place engulfed Matthew immediately. Inside, the burst of colour was even more intense, along with the sweet, delightful scent of melted chocolate and baking bread. The nostalgic sound of Edith Piaf's unmistakable voice flowed softly through the shop; elegantly framed black and white photographs of Parisian landmarks decorated the walls. A glass counter ran across the back of the room, separating the front of the small shop – the word 'cosy' sprang to mind - from a little serving area behind. Matthew felt strangely comfortable in here; oddly at ease as he looked around at the side shelves of even more exquisitely lovely sweets and pastries. He had already eaten breakfast – pancakes with maple syrup and a café latte at 7am sharp, the same as every morning – but he felt suddenly famished.

"Bonjour, monsieur!" Matthew looked up at the voice. The man behind the counter blinked as Matthew turned, his eyes widened, and he looked Matthew up and down. "Well, bonjour!" he said again, emphasising the second part of the word, then leant forward on the counter and smiled brightly. He had wavy blond shoulder-length hair and slight facial stubble on his handsome face, and was dressed in jeans and a flour-dusted apron. And there was something about the way he smiled, the way he leant easily on the counter, the way his dancing blue eyes ran across Matthew's body – Matthew felt himself blushing red, without really knowing why.

"Bonjour," Matthew responded, somewhat hesitantly.

"Can I give you a… hand, by any chance?" Matthew had to pause and wonder whether the blond baker had actually meant it to sound like that. The man winked and Matthew's eyebrows shot up. Oh. He had.

"No, thank you. It's just…" Matthew looked down at himself, his suit dripping rain onto the floor. He was creating puddles all over the shop. "Well, it started raining, and I didn't want to get wet, but… well, it looks like I have anyway, doesn't it. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to drench your floor. I'll just go."

"No!" The man said it so sincerely that Matthew stopped immediately. "No, please," the man continued, softer. "Stay there one moment."

Matthew waited, a little unsure, as the baker disappeared out the back door. He reappeared a moment later with a white, fluffy towel in his hands, then walked through a gap in the counter by the wall and handed the towel to Matthew. Matthew smiled carefully as he took it.

"Thank you," said Matthew as he placed his briefcase down and dried his hair, feeling a little awkward at using this stranger's towel. Now that he was so close, Matthew could see that the baker stood at an equal height to his own, those dancing blue eyes still travelling up and down. He smelt like caramel and spun sugar. And why did he keep looking at him like that? Like he was almost amused, his eyebrows raised and his lips curled upwards.

"But not at all. You are on your way to work?" The man's voice was heavily accented. He could possibly be from Quebec, but something about him seemed undeniably French.

"Yes," replied Matthew. "Or I was, before the rain caught me."

The man tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Let me guess. The suit tells me… investment banker?"

Matthew exhaled sharply in amusement. "Close. Accountant."

The man wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Oh, I do apologise." Matthew rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh. "But please, forgive my rudeness. My name is Francis. Welcome to La Patisserie de la Rose!" Francis held his hand out and Matthew took it in a firm handshake. Francis' hands were smooth with flour.

"Thank you. I'm Matthew." Matthew quickly found himself fascinated by those dancing blue eyes. Just what was going on here? This man certainly seemed interested in him. But then maybe he introduced himself to all his customers like this. "Your patisserie is… well, it's amazing. Do you make all these yourself?"

Francis nodded slightly, his expression pleased and proud. "Every one, my dear. I am an artiste, and these are my humble creations."

"They're incredible," said Matthew honestly, his eyes falling on a fully formed and intricately decorated gingerbread house, complete with marshmallow windows and liquorice latticework and even a chocolate chimney. "I can't believe I've never noticed this place before, and I walk past every day. Of course, I've only been in town two weeks." He realised too late that Francis had called him 'my dear' and felt just a little awkward again. But then, Francis seemed like the type of man who could get away with using endearments like that with virtual strangers. Or the type of man who simply didn't care.

"Two weeks, hmm? That makes sense. If you had been in before, I surely would have remembered."

No, he definitely seemed interested. Matthew had to wonder at the statement. He was not the type of person people remembered. He was not the type of person who was flirted with by complete strangers, either. Beneath the awkwardness and slight confusion, Matthew was also starting to feel strangely flattered.

"So exactly where on earth did you drop in from?" continued Francis easily.

"Just a little town up north. You wouldn't have heard of it… no one has. I must admit, I'm not used to a city this big."

"This is nothing to Paris, my dear." Francis pronounced it the French way, and Matthew nodded to himself. French – of course.

"Paris? I wondered about the accent."

Francis sighed dramatically. "Oui, Paris, the city of my heart, and where I perfected my trade."

Matthew looked over a little table display of exquisitely embellished red velvet cupcakes, then back at Francis with a tiny, uncertain smile. "You are very talented." Matthew wasn't sure if he was flirting back, and wasn't sure if he wanted to. It was definitely not something he was used to.

"You are too kind to say so. But my artwork is not just for looking, Mathieu. Tell me." Francis' blue eyes twinkled playfully. "How can I tempt you this morning?"

Matthew tightened his grip on the towel. How did Francis make those innocent words sound so – well – un-innocent? Matthew swallowed and stammered. He had quickly reached the limits of his flirting ability. "Uh… well, I don't really know…"

Francis smirked and beckoned him with a finger before walking back to the counter. Matthew followed, slightly dazed, his eyes travelling downwards of their own accord. The way Francis walked - the phrase 'sex on legs' immediately entered Matthew's mind, and he mentally slapped himself for thinking something so ridiculous. He placed the towel down on a stool by the counter. Francis reached into the glass cabinet, pulled out a tray of bite-sized desserts, and laid them on the counter. Matthew studied them closely. Perfectly smooth, round, white meringues topped with little red berry tips. Matthew gasped when he realised what they were. "Oh!"

"My own version of the famous Nipples of Venus," said Francis, grinning wickedly. "Or, if you prefer, I have these…" Francis reached again into the cabinet, bringing out another tray of unusually shaped desserts, and laid them beside the meringues with a flourish. Matthew recognised immediately what these were. The miniature log éclairs had two little chocolate orbs attached at one end, and a darkened little sculpted end at the other.

"Oh!" said Matthew again, feeling his cheeks burn bright red. He had to stop himself putting a hand to his mouth, determined not to look like some sort of blushing schoolgirl. What sort of man made pastries like these? He forced himself to look directly at Francis. "Please tell me they're not cream-filled."

Francis laughed lightly, then gestured dramatically over the two trays. "So, Mathieu. Which do you prefer?"

Matthew's eyes went wide and his mouth almost fell open. Surely, he couldn't be asking… Francis winked. Oh. He was asking. The room felt suddenly very hot, despite Matthew's wet clothes. Well. This was one way to ask a sensitive question… Matthew took a deep breath, told himself to man up, and very deliberately reached out and picked up one of the little éclairs. Francis' grin widened. He looked positively thrilled. Matthew suddenly did not know what to do with his hands, with his eyes. Francis looked pointedly at the éclair in Matthew's hand and inclined his head slightly.

"Please. Tell me what you think."

And now came the dilemma of actually eating a pastry shaped like a penis in front of a man he'd just met. Matthew wasn't quite sure if there was a correct manner to do such a thing. But he certainly wasn't about to back down now, so he just met Francis' gaze evenly, and placed the éclair in his mouth. And then he forgot to feel awkward, or embarrassed, or any of it. Because this was the most amazing thing he had ever tasted. The hard chocolate layer cracked between his teeth and gave way to a silky, white chocolate centre that melted on his tongue. The contrast of textures played on his senses, the touch and smell and incredible taste of it; the brief richness of dark cocoa, the sweet burst of flavoured cream, the lingering lightness of sugar-dusted pastry. Matthew couldn't stop his eyes fluttering closed, the final taste like an explosion on his taste buds, and he swallowed almost regretfully. His fingers lingered on his mouth and he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, took a deep breath and sighed. "Oh, wow."

Francis laughed breathily and Matthew's eyes flew open. "Was it good for you?" asked Francis, his eyes slightly lowered, his cheeks just the tiniest bit darker.

"Wow," said Matthew again, unthinkingly. He had never tasted anything like that in his life. "That was the most incredible thing I've ever had in my mouth."

Francis looked quite self-satisfied. "I hear that a lot."

Matthew dropped his hand and laughed shakily. What a completely embarrassing, new, strange, amazing situation. "Uh, I mean... I'll take a dozen."

Francis shook his head and folded his arms. "No."

Matthew blinked his wide eyes, taken aback. "No?"

"No. I could not stand to have you make such a display without me there to watch. It would be a betrayal, darling." Matthew raised an eyebrow. Darling, now? "If you want more…" Francis' expression twisted deviously, "You'll just have to come back." Matthew wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or just really annoyed. He glanced back down at the plate of pastries, but Francis took it away and placed it back under the glass. "Uh-uh. I think I shall allow you… one a day, yes?"

"You can't do that!" said Matthew indignantly.

Francis smirked. "Oh, but I can, dear Mathieu. After all, I need some assurance that you will return to me, don't I?"

Despite his annoyance, Matthew felt a warm glow in his chest. Francis must really be interested in him to go to such elaborate lengths to see him again. Matthew studied the baker closely: his alluring smile and teasing expression, the seductive way he leant against the counter and gazed with heavy lidded eyes. Matthew realised that he wanted to see Francis again, too. He had never met anyone so brazen, so… intriguing. Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes in surrender. Francis grinned in triumph. "Fine. But it's terrible customer service. What do I owe you?" Francis frowned, and Matthew knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. He began to stammer an apology, but Francis just shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Ever the accountant, no? Please, Mathieu." Francis placed a hand to his chest. "All I require in payment is the great pleasure of your company."

At the mention of his work, Matthew suddenly gasped. Oh, he had gotten so carried away… "Oh, no! I'm going to be late!"

"And such perfect timing. It has stopped raining."

Matthew jumped up and rushed for his briefcase. He looked out the window at the clearing skies and saw that Francis was right. "I'm so sorry, I have to dash! Oh no, and I've already been late twice this week… Um, thank you, Francis, and it was nice to meet you, and…" He turned back to see Francis resting his chin on his hand, smiling at him softly. Matthew immediately forgot the rest of his panicked rant.

"Tomorrow, yes? Until then." Francis waved his fingers lightly. "Au revoir, mon cher."

Matthew bit his lip, then smiled across the charming, bright little shop at the bold, captivating French baker. "Yes," he replied, nodding. "Tomorrow."

Matthew stepped out of the patisserie and, before taking off again down the street, glanced back at the door he had just walked out of. There was an intricate red rose carved into the wood. The entire patisserie was more like something from an enchanting little Parisian alley than this grey, industrial street where all the buildings looked the same and no one looked you in the eye. And yet, now, the dull, grey world seemed just a little bit brighter. Matthew spent the rest of the day thinking of Francis, of visiting the little patisserie again tomorrow. And Matthew realised, that for the first time in weeks, he was actually looking forward to something.

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

The Beach Bum

I knew nothing about this movie going in besides 1) Matthew McConaughey and 2) same director as Spring Breakers, which I have never actually seen but takes up the same corner of my brain as other bits of trivia about infamous things like Sharknado or who won the celebrity boxing match between Paula Jones and Tonya Harding (Harding by TKO). You know, I like to roll the dice and go in with a completely blank slate every once in awhile, hoping to be surprised by some quirky indie darling, and this seemed like it would fit the bill nicely. 

WELL STRAP THE FUCK IN BECAUSE IT FIT NO BILL, NOT A SINGLE ONE, NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT. Just how much did I hate this festering hallucinogenic hemorrhoid of a movie? Well...

I can’t think of any film I’ve ever seen in which I hoped the main character not only died, but ceased to exist entirely in the blink of an eye, like George Bailey in It’s A Wonderful Life but without the whole life lesson part. Just completely wiped from everyone’s memory and the earth’s consciousness for all time forever as if he had never existed to infest people’s lives with his aggressively greasy uselessness. 

The plot - if you can call it that - is a series of vignettes centering on Moondog (McConaughey), a hedonist poet, as he wanders, high and piss-soaked, through the world trying to finish his book so that he can inherit the money left to him by his millionaire wife (Isla Fisher). He runs into a bunch of friends along the way, and by friends I mainly mean people he does drugs with who don’t immediately push him off a cliff. They include Jonah Hill, Snoop Dogg, Zac Efron, Jimmy Buffett, and Martin Lawrence. You might be saying, wow that’s a star-studded cast! Surely the movie isn’t all that bad, right? To which I reply, there are 7 Oscar winners featured in the film Movie 43, which is one of the literal worst movies of all time. 

Some thoughts:

Snoop Dogg has 3-foot-long dreadlocks and his character’s name is Lingerie. I don’t have anything clever to say about that, I just needed you to know.

As for Moondog, I am terrified of him. He has all the confidence and self-awareness of the world’s most mediocre man and yet everyone treats him like royalty because he lives “authentically” and is “in tune with his art” and something something “the purity of living every moment to the fullest” and I’m getting terrible acid flashbacks to every guy I ever met at a party who was getting his MFA in poetry.

Why do all these topless women even want to be around him? I bet he smells TERRIBLE. 

Jonah Hill is doing the weirdest accent and may or may not think he’s filming an entirely different movie than the one Matthew McConaughey is making.

I just didn’t expect this much crotch grabbing. Some crotch grabbing, sure, just...not this much.

There’s a long scene set to a Peggy Lee song called “Is That All There Is?” and if that doesn’t sum up my feelings about every crusty shitgoblin idea that went into making this movie, I don’t know what does.

To add insult injury, they FRIDGED ISLA FISHER. That’s a spoiler but you know what, I’m trying to save you from the existential terror of watching this movie and confronting the nihilistic darkness within your own soul as you realize that you are alive and you are spending your precious nanosecond of time on this planet letting this rotting fuck muffin of a movie into your mind and heart.

The sad part is, it doesn’t even make hedonism look fun. And not in a cautionary Requiem for a Dream type way, but in a barely-functioning-alcoholic dad bobbing and weaving at his kid’s soccer game type way. It’s just fucking sad but is somehow being help up here as some sort of pure artistic ideal (all the gross, pissing-yourself-drunk parts included). It’s outdated frat boy chic, and it’s not even a little bit fun to watch.

Zac Efron is wearing JNCOs and listening to Creed. His vignette is probably the most fun, but does it really matter? 

Martin Lawrence as a dolphin tour captain and surely owed someone a favor to take this thankless role.

Did this movie even have a script? Was all of it improvised? It’s all barely connected. I’d say it’s like a Monty Python movie or something, but that would require it to be funny or have something interesting to say.

This is by far the greatest disappointment I think I’ve ever felt at the end of a film, in which the main character DIDN’T blow up in a massive explosion.

Did I Cry? Only afterwards, realizing how much of my life I’d wasted by watching this flaming twat cockroach of a movie.

Save yourself. Please.

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