#speaking of prompts i wrote...

[yourstrulynobody]

Saw a few SolRuin arts yesterday and went: "Oh hey! I remember a prompt I wrote for SolRuin a week ago! I wonder what it is—" I was immediately thrown angst.

Yk, I was hoping to do SAMS art to escape EAPS angst, but nooo that just never happens, does it (T⌓T) (this would take place in "GOODBYE Solar in VRChat")

New Ruin design because I want him to have four eyes (and arms) like Solar and Eclipse do :D! He is, after all, an Eclipse.

The whole backstory for this prompt was: Ruin will always love his Monty and never anyone else, yet he will choose to date an obviously lovestruck Solar just to get the family's trust... not hesitating to break it once his plan is at its final stage.

[stealingyourbones]

I then proceeded to throw 10 different on the spot prompts at @bloggerspam in rapid succession. You cannot escape the WIPs >:)

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the writing prompts;

19. For luck - Rom and Leeta

"And then," Bashir was saying - though in truth, Rom was paying only half attention, far too busy thinking about Leeta - "she came right up to me, and kissed me on the lips!"

"Oh, she did, did she?" Chief O'Brien said, scoffing good-naturedly.

"It's true!" Bashir insisted, though he didn't look insulted by the Chief's doubt. He was smiling into his glass, seeming quite delighted by the disbelieving frown on O'Brien's face.

Rom didn't quite understand what was supposed to be so 'unbelievable' about the story. In fact - "It seems pretty believable to me," he said. "Doctor Bashir's always kissing beautiful women." (Including, at one point, Leeta - though not anymore, Rom thought with some pleasure.)

"Yes, but this one was out of his league," the Chief said, batting his hand playfully across the table.

Bashir just smiled bashfully, ignoring the swipe. "Ah, well. You're right about that. She wasn't really interested in me after all. Turns out, she'd just misconstrued the human concept of a 'good luck kiss'".

"Ohh! A 'good luck kiss'!" Rom said eagerly. Then, after a pause, "Uh, what's a 'good luck kiss'?"

The Chief sat back, idly crossing his arms. "Well, it's pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It's a kiss that you give someone to wish them luck."

"Oh," Rom said, considering that. Luck was always a good thing to have. Perhaps... "Oh! Leeta!" He stood, sending his chair clattering backwards. "I'll be back!" he shouted, then raced from Quark's bar, ignoring his brother's parting shout out dismay.

He needed to find Leeta.

--

"Leeta! Waaaait!" Rom hollered, shuffling through the crowded promenade as quickly as he could manage, chasing after her familiar voice. "Leeta! I need to give you something!"

This would be easier, he thought, if Bajorans could hear as well as Ferengi could.

But, at last, Leeta stopped, turning to find him. "Rom? Rom, what's the matt-"

The rest of her sentence trailed off into a hum as Rom reached up, pulling her down to plant a kiss square on her lips. One of her hands cupped Rom's cheek, soft. Rom didn't really know how long a 'good luck kiss' was supposed to last for - he really should have gotten more details before running off (for example, does it need tongue? Bashir never specified.) - but he thought that this should satisfy it.

He pulled away, grinning toothily up at his wife. "Hi, Leeta," he said.

She smiled down at him, cheeks flushed and lovely as always. "Hi, Rom. What was that for?" she asked, looking bemused and delighted.

"It's a kiss," Rom said, perhaps unnecessarily. "For luck," he added. "It's a hoo-man tradition!"

"For luck? Rom," she asked, laughing, "what are you wishing me luck for?"

Rom blinked. "Uhhh... For your day?"

Leeta beamed at him, and then leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Well, I think it worked. I do feel pretty lucky now."

Rom grinned. "Me, too."

--

(also if anyone else wants to make a request, the ask game is here. i can't promise they'll get done as quick or be as long as this one is, though!)

[mohntilyet]

i’m having illario dellamorte thoughts. what if instead of knowingly betraying lucanis he did it like, unknowingly. idk how this would work but i’m intrigued by what it gives us. illario ‘i accidentally caused my cousin’s death & can never tell anyone’ dellamorte. genuinely grieving. blaming himself. does he take advantage of the year before lucanis comes back?? does caterina still ignore him the whole time?? how different is the canon plotline once rook shows up with lucanis post-rescue…..

anyways i would love your thoughts!!

95% of what i do with illario operates on the idea that he is frighteningly competent so you can see why the way the crows plotline plays out in the game might frustrate me. it’s also this reason why i don’t actually think too much about “illario got lucanis killed, but didn’t mean to do it”, because i like the idea that everything illario does in his life is planned to the second and that he’s too well trained to mess up this badly, if that makes sense. with that being said. 5% of my brain power does sometimes go towards “and what if he just sucked actually” and it was a theory i enjoyed before the game even released. so i have in fact been thinking about this anyway LOL . maybe he tries to honeypot zara, accidentally actually reveals lucanis’ next assassination job, and zara gets rid of him as a ‘gift’. illario is horrified and that gets even worse when lucanis’ body shows up, and he assumes this must be because he spurned zara by leaving her and not having the guts to seize power.

i think we could make his inferiority complex worse. illario’s worst fear confirmed: he is as worthless as his grandmother believes he is, botching something so badly that he accidentally sentences his cousin to death when what he wanted was lucanis just… out of the way for a bit (maybe while he kills caterina. LOL. i still think his resentment of caterina trumps his jealousy for lucanis though those two things are very intertwined its hard for him to differentiate them). so incapable that he got the only person who actually supports him killed, and now he’s dreading the idea of becoming first talon. he doesn’t want first talon without lucanis backing him, and now the only person left is caterina which is suffocating and makes him even unhappier. at least he hadn’t lived through her alone, and now through consequences of his own decisions, illario has no choice but to.

i think that would affect his plans for talon because of how horribly he’d fucked up, and tries to mask it because if he suddenly actually doesn’t want to be talon that would be a red flag for everyone. lucanis coming back would delight him (talon is within his sights again if lucanis comes back!) and freak him out. i think the plotline would actually be pretty similar because of this freak out, so he still shows up to zara’s fight to cover his tracks. lucanis can never know, caterina can never know, because what little faith they have in him will be lost. like he committed fratricide and didn’t even MEAN to😭 ...corpse whispering still happens, and zara is like “ohhh that coward. he can never finish what he started, can he?” + “elaborate.” + “i gave him what he most wanted in the world and instead of being grateful, he ran away.” so lucanis finds out about what happened but feels a mix of “illario, you idiot” + pity because turns out he didn’t even mean for it to happen, and keeps his secret for now, otherwise he’d probably have to kill him.

i also think not meaning to kill lucanis would sour his feelings towards the venatori, who are a reminder of how badly he failed, so the alliance wouldn’t happen. this does mean if the story goes on as it does in canon, he has to take desperate measures another way and kidnap caterina for some other reason but i can’t think of why….. maybe a thing where illario is like “ok. lucanis is distracted by the elven gods. this time i just have to kill nonna for real and then nothing is in my way” and recruits disgraced houses or houses that don’t like caterina to do so? not sure tbh but i don’t believe caterina made it so far without making enemies lol. this would happen post bloodbath + corpse whispering— lucanis leaves his cousin unchecked because while he knows illario didn’t mean for him to die, he has no idea how far he would go to have caterina dead. teia could find out about this and send word to foil the kidnapping and assassination attempt

so ‘murder of crows’ is still about saving caterina, the illario-lucanis fight still happens, but it’s a little more hesitant and lots of “why won’t you just let me kill her? i’m doing this for the both of us”. he’s had to live with being the un-favorite, but never would have thought lucanis would actually pick caterina if it came down to it. with all of his missteps here, i think the final decision (and i think it should be like this in canon anyway) would be to imprison illario or kill him. imprisoning him is just a lot of “i can’t kill illario as much as he couldn’t kill me”, vs killing him as is expected from him as talon, and what he knew he would have to do after finding out about illario's failures. unlike canon, where illario is actually meaning to kill him and can be seen as a 'good crow' despite the sloppiness, here he's like. just bad at everything. the allied traitor houses that went against caterina would also have to be imprisoned or killed. no happy ending at all here, and lucanis still becomes first talon. now that i’ve written it out this is actually probably the worst ending LOL

the above sticks a lot to what is canon to the game (plot points, choices, etc) and i didn’t go very far away from it so it's like canon 3 inches to the left. tho my thoughts on this are not fleshed out* because i think illario works better as an antagonist character that sets things in motion !! not necessarily the villain in a cain-abel story, but a character who opposes lucanis while still not wanting to hurt him. that kind of discipline where he finds a way to get what he wants (first talon) without compromising what he also cares for (family) is so much more fun for me than a man who apparently just loses it and decides to enact a bad plan to get rid of his cousin. if he waited 20+ years to become talon i think he’d be more careful when it came down to it. if i had my way illario would be playing insane 5d chess to rival solas (insert black sails “i once thought that to lead, to be liked was just as good as feared. and that may very well be true. but to be both liked and feared all at once, is an entirely different state of being.”)

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Inquiring minds want to see your take...8 INT Tav meets Haarlep in the Boudoir.

asjdaksjdasd oh my god okay, well obviously taking massive inspiration from your og: 8 INT Tav

this got... impossibly long. don't blame me, blame the two competing peacocks.

Raphael rematerializes within the familiar walls of his bedroom, still pinching the bridge of his nose. He normally prefers to arrive at the front hall, to allow his servants to see and feel his presence in their midst, but today… He’ll grant himself an allowance, just this once. A familiar rustle of wings unfurling has him spinning around, looking for the slightest opening to lash out and satisfy even some portion of his wounded pride. He is not kept waiting long. 

Haarlep’s mockingly dulcet voice lilts out of the shadows across the room, eyes alight with glee. “How was the visit with your dear paramour, Unseelie lord?” 

Raphael raises a clawed fist in their direction, discordant notes like distant screams gathering at the tips. Haarlep leans forward with anticipation, the byplay between them familiar if not yet entirely banal. Just before he releases it, tips them over the edge into simple violence that might ease but not soothe the indignity he has suffered today – and every day since meeting that impertinent, irritating girl – a thought strikes him. He grins, slow and toothy.

Haarlep is far too accomplished a fiend to do anything so obvious as blanch, but they do blink twice in rapid succession, a clear sign of their startlement from one who knows them as well as he. It is not often that he misses a step in their masquerade. 

Letting the accrued magic dissipate entirely, Raphael raises his hands to his mouth in an expression of carefree thought, a fine and cutting edge to it that he knows the other feels. 

“Why, how delightfully cordial of you to ask after her, Haarlep. In fact, she has been doing the same, nigh incessantly!” He watches the other’s face with barely-hidden glee, tracking every visible micro-expression. 

Another blink. Confusion. Haarlep doesn’t see the game yet. And, after all, how could they? That girl is absolutely incalculable. Raphael soothes his vexation with the thought that, at least this time, he can make someone else play the victim to her unique form of nescience. 

A brief mantling of the wings. They have determined their gambit then. With a sultry movement of their arm, Haarlep gestures to themself. “But of course! Who could possibly resist such a delicacy in truth? I am glad to hear the little darling has come to her senses and reconsidered.”

Raphael lets them preen, their eyes still watchful behind their long lashes, a moment longer, then claps his hands sharply. 

“That’s settled then. I’ll be just a moment, and then the two of you can get reacquainted.” He lets some portion of his own power rise around him for just a moment. No need to put too fine a point on it. “And, Haarlep? I do expect you to give a more proper welcome to guests of the House in future.”

Haarlep looks away for that moment, a pretense at nonchalance, but Raphael trusts his message has been received. He discorporates himself with a moment’s thought, feeling a malefic cheer rising as he considers the treat in store for him. 

Haarlep remains where they stand, loath to cede more ground and mistrustful of this turn of their little brat’s whims. They cast back to their first, brief meeting with the subject of his – unwitting and unwilling – current attentions, but nothing materializes that could explain the specific turn of his disposition. She had been too insipid to intrigue, yet somehow survived her visit unscathed where countless others had not. 

Their thoughts are suspended by the familiar metaphysical crackle that heralds the rematerialization of Raphael’s preferred method of conveyance. This time, he does not arrive alone. Held stiff and distrustful within the loose circle of his arms is… her. The moment she sets her eyes on Haarlep, they go limpid and soft.

Raphael speaks, face inscrutable but voice tremulous with his mirth, “See, dear one, I told you I’d had a… crisis of conscience. You’ve worn me down with your keen moral arguments, and I’m prepared to… see sense, and let you speak to Haarlep again.”

Haarlep blinks, genuinely caught off guard for one of the first times in recent memory. What… is going on. 

The girl steps forward, turning back to give Raphael a solemn, approving look, before approaching Haarlep tentatively. It is, however, not with the understandable caution they are accustomed to from mortals, but rather underpinned by something saccharine and soppy. Their well-honed survival instincts prick at them as she opens her mouth, warning them without even a bare moment to flee that whatever comes out of it will be harrowing indeed. 

“I know, Haarlep. I know what you are.” She reached out toward them with  supplicant hands. “You aren’t stuck here. You can be free.”

Haarlep blinks once, then again. “... What.”

She elaborates, but does not in any way elucidate. “I’ve seen this before, you know. It’s not hopeless. Whatever these fey have told you, your nature does not make you one of them. You belong on the Material Plane, with others like you.”

Behind her, Raphael’s face begins to crack into a grin worthy of a true fiend. Haarlep’s distrust is growing exponentially with each passing moment. They paste on a smile and lean forward, “Others… like me. And just what would those others be, little interloper?” 

“Oh, Haarlep…” To his stark disgust, a single tear drips from one eye. Gleeful micro-vibrations emanate from Raphael, propagating a shimmering haze around him. 

She continues on, after a brief pause in which she stares at him mournfully, “A changeling, of course. I’m so sorry you’ve fallen prey to their lies, that you had to find out this way.” 

She clenches her fist, a mawkish determination filling her entire body. “I’ll find a way to free you. I promise.”

[Haarlep.exe has stopped responding.] 

On the resounding heels of the vacuum left by her pronouncement, Raphael vibrates himself into the wall of the next room over. His cackling still reaches them unimpeded.

[accirax]

and finally, here are the last two prompts of DRDTtober 2023! thank you to @librariansrose and @mikmiho for organizing the event, and to all of you for leaving such nice comments on my comics :) i haven't done a -tober event since, like... 2017? so, it was a fun-yet-definitely-time-consuming exercise to try it again.

although there isn't a given prompt for halloween day itself, i still have something drdt related planned to close out the month (assuming i finish it in time... :|) so, stay tuned for that!

[helianskies]

turkporrrrrrt :)

oh yes. i was in the mood for some hurt/comfort. teehee. turkporrrrrrrt >:)

Break

“This seat taken?”

João barely has the energy to move his eyes and look at Sadık, who has found him (much to his chagrin) hiding in a crevice of a local public park, about a ten minute walk from the building they’ve all been herded into for yet another round of utterly boring and fruitless talks.

It feels like such a farce. Keeping up appearances. Playing the game. João just wants to be at home. He wants to be in bed, tucked up in bed sheets while the day passes him by, uneventful, uninteresting, unimportant.

Modern diplomacy is just draining… In every way…

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Sadık decides, helping himself to the other half of the bench.

João takes a deep breath. Knowing the other, he’s ready to launch into some long, rambling, anecdotal conversation, and he isn’t in the mood for that kind of socialising. Yet, as the seconds tick by, the words don’t come. The rambling doesn’t come. The anecdotes don’t come.

João stares blindly at the bushes opposite. They sit about a metre and a half away and form part of a winding wall of foliage in this area of the park that has created convenient pockets of seating for people like João, who like to hide.

Only, the hiding hasn’t quite worked the way he’d hoped.

Evidently.

Still, the talking does not happen. Sadık doesn’t do the talking thing he normally does, attempting to kill the silence stone cold dead with warm, mirthful words.

Rather, a hand appears around his shoulder, and João is gently pulled towards Sadık. His head falls easily upon the other’s shoulder. He doesn’t fight it, and instead, he simply lets himself flop against the other’s body. He is at Sadık’s mercy—a mercy which, so far, does not seem so bad.

“Sorry to disturb your alone time,” the other begins to say a short while later.

By now, João’s eyes are closed and he is effectively resting—almost asleep—on Sadık’s shoulder.

“I wanted to check in on you,” he continues in João’s silence. His hand lightly rubs his upper arm. “Thought earlier on you seemed a bit… not like yourself. Everything okay…?”

João can only hum. He doesn’t have the words to begin explaining how he feels, what’s going on in his head, what he wants, why he tried to go into temporary hiding… Nor does he have the energy to do so. The willpower. The care. He just wants to switch off. Just for a little bit.

It isn’t something he says out loud—no words, no energy—but it seems he doesn’t really have to. Sadık doesn’t press. He doesn’t pry. He merely accepts the silence, and comes to place his head against João’s, a cheek against a crown.

They sit together like that for a few minutes. João’s eyes remain closed. Sadık’s mouth remains closed. They remain still, resting on each other, as the cold steadily begins to creep in on them.

A lifetime seems to pass.

A lifetime, followed by death.

“If you don’t want to come back, I can make an excuse for you,” Sadık offers on a platter. A very pretty, handmade platter. “Something tells me you need rest more than you need any more meetings.”

It’s a fair diagnosis, and a sign that João needs to get some kind of grip. He can’t be mute forever.

So João sits up. His hands go to his face. He rubs down over his eyes so hard his eyeballs ache for a moment. He takes another deep breath. He asks a simple, vital question:

“Why are you being nice to me?”

The other, usually so quick, so witty, so humorous, holds onto his thoughts for a moment. He looks at João, and João looks back at him through bleary eyes, and Sadık gives him a simple, vital answer:

“Someone has to be. Might as well be me.”

It leaves João puzzled—at least, until that starts to take too much energy, and he accepts the bewilderment as who he is today. He decides he won’t ask why he feels the need to be nice, and why it is João he’s chosen as his victim. Not right now. Because, to be honest, the niceness feels like the tiniest flame on a winter’s day.

João doesn’t want to risk it dying and abandoning him to the cold again.

“Is your hotel far?”

“‘Bout five minutes that way,” he responds quietly, jabbing a finger to aid.

“Neat sense of direction,” Sadık muses, now smiling, before he suddenly rises to his feet and turns to look at João. “Come on, then,” he says. “I’ll walk you back.”

“But… But I—”

“You need a break,” the other tells him matter-of-factly. So wise. So… observant. “I want to make sure you get it.”

Arguing is futile. He knows that. He also knows that he can’t sit there on a bench all day succumbing to how he’s feeling; the world isn’t just going to swallow him up magically, so he has to do something. And maybe… Maybe Sadık is right. He needs a break. He needs rest.

A nap sounds kind of good, the more he thinks about it…

Sadık, in the end, does walk João back. He walks João back all the way to his hotel room, in fact, and makes sure he takes off his shoes, takes off his jacket, takes off his badge, and gets comfy in bed. Then he closes the curtains for him and puts João’s phone on silent so no one disturbs him.

“If you need anything,” he says as he returns to the side of the room nearest the door, “just let me know. I’m not far away.”

Drowsy and dazed, João thanks him, grateful for the pillows that cushion his face and start to cradle him. He closes his eyes once more and welcomes the peace he is beginning to feel. At last.

A kiss is pressed to his forehead.

Footsteps pad away.

A door opens.

A door shuts.

[ find the full ficlet collection on ao3! ]

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

[moonshynecybin]

wanna have thoughts about Sepang pre-season testing 2015 and how that photo of the two of them wearing swim trunks happened and what else might have taken place that day/week

prompt 4! because it is my brand i must say that cal crutchlow was also there in real life for the rosquez beach date and we must never forget this. he isnt in this story but please hold that in your mind okay thank you. anyways this story is about considering what it would be like to interrogate your very sexy coworker's control issues while you are slightly sauced and neither one of you are wearing shirts. so it goes.

Vale takes a sip of his drink and looks over at Marc, sprawled out on the lounger next to him, limbs loose and easy in the glow of the sun. His swim trunks are riding up, exposing the pale, tender skin on the inside of his thighs. He's already looking at Vale.

Of course he is.

"So, you don’t like the beach?" Vale asks, to try and get his mind of something else. Marc is— Marc is competition. He shouldn't.

Marc hums. "I don’t like being in the water, it’s different."

Interesting. That's not what Vale expected.

"Why? You can swim." He's seen him in the pool earlier, hollering with his brother and dunking him under the water. Shiny and wet under the Malaysian sun.

Marc shrugs, unbothered, and Vale spends some time with the movement of his shoulders, the cut of his muscles. It's fine. Marc wont be able to see his where his eyes are lingering, anyways. Vale is wearing sunglasses. It's harmless.

"I don’t know what’s in there— I always think there’s a shark or something that's going to eat me." Marc's nose scrunches as he talks, and he looks like he's about to laugh.

"You drive motorcycles for a living," Vale replies, voice light. It seems ludicrous that Marc would be scared of something like a shark attack, with what they both do for a living. With what Marc does in particular.

Marc flicks up his sunglasses to squint at Vale, smile still huge on his face. "So do you, are you saying you aren’t scared of anything?"

"I’m not." Vale answers with a straight face.

Marc laughs. It's easy to make him laugh. "I see!"

Vale nods. "No, I’m very brave."

Marc's still laughing, strong forearm thrown over his stomach now.

Vale really shouldn't.

"But you," Vale sits up, faces towards Marc. He’s a little drunk, Vale thinks. A little pink from the sun, still pale from the winter. “You are very brave.”

"Thank you," Marc takes a long sip from his drink, lips wrapped around his straw. Jesus.

Vale shakes his head. It’s not quite a compliment. “No no no no— you take risks. Not like a normal one of us.” He flips his shades down and slumps back. Looking at Marc is maybe too much right now. “And you are scared of the ocean.”

"I don’t like flying either."

Vale blinks. "What?"

Marc shrugs, the corners of his mouth digging impishly into his cheeks. He blinks lazily, and stretches a bit. Keeps his eyes steadfastly on Vale.

"It’s all… out of my control. On the bike I can ride. I know my lines, I know when to brake, how far to lean. It’s up to me. In the sky? The ocean? It’s up to other people. It’s up to God." He shakes his head. "There's too much chance.”

Vale chews on the the inside of his cheek, turns the idea of that over in his head. "Isn’t the chance fun?" He asks. It is to him.

"No." Marc answers.

"Hm." They stay there for a second, listening to the distant crash of waves. To the unknown quantity that is the sea. Vale thinks about it. Thinks about what it means to be surprised. To lose control. To feel like he doesn't know what's going to happen next. About how Marc makes him feel like that all the time.

He really shouldn't.

"Marc?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

[100-yardstare]

Thinking about The Real World AU again jfldsfjkdflsf

If I were to write this story today I would have put more detail in the beginning. Looking back, I really wish I would have owned the aspect of truly self inserting myself and integrating into the world of Wreck-It Ralph instead of playing on the wish fulfillment type story, but luckily I was able to catch that early on as I started writing Normal, so I guess they do say practice makes perfect, or at least better.

Any theoretical changes I'd make to TRW would be to have made my insert/POV character more involved with the research that was going on instead of being a bystander. Like, I have characters like Steven taking on the "smart guy" role as usual, but I feel like the POV could have taken a better wing man approach, matching and complementing what my brothers insert was like, and seeing things come together. Maybe signs something was wrong before entering the arcade portal.

But tis what it is I suppose. I don't want to mess with it on FF or AO3 because it's an iconic part of my fic writing progression and history, and I enjoy looking back at how far I've come when it comes to writing.

[kalelactually]

so you sit there and you count yourself out from the very start, not even indulging in pretty dreams or what-ifs; because no one else has ever been there to hold you up, and you’ll be damned if you don’t know how to be self sufficient, self reliant, self contained.

[tunastime]

be honest. would y'all ever wanna read a star wars dsmp au. I never finished it but sometimes it calls to me from the wips folder

[fateisfiction]

Woot! Finally got words to my dear friend in our collab. Like 3 weeks late, but I've been more into TF141 than MHA recently, so it took a little bit of encouragement.

Meanwhile:

Asks are open! Requests are open!

NGL, I've forgotten what I have going on, so if you want me to continue something else, feel free to ask. If you don't want your username to be shown in an ask, just say so.

At some point I'll get a masterlist up and all the things I will/won't write for.

Current Fandoms:

BNHA, JJK, HxH, TF141(CoD)

Feel free to drag me into others, but you'll have to give me time to catch up enough to write.

[mythvoiced]

@astremourante | ♥

"I tend to avoid basing my interactions on assumptions," Patrick turns the book in his hands around, a fine hardcover, one of those... old ones, where they avoided, forewent all unnecessary imagery and simply left the letters spelling title and author name, perhaps publishing company, imprinted in gold, a smidge deep enough to allow for a pleasant sensation when you drag your finger across it, feeling the letters dip beneath the pad.

Dracula.

A small, conspiratorial smile shared with himself. Jonathan Harker was... quite something. He almost wishes he could have met him.

Patrick always bases his interactions on his own goals. The escape routes he designs with words and cadence. Jonathan Harker was so very... agitated, wasn't he? Research, brute force, perhaps love helped him win.

Patrick has only words - he thinks, continuing to lie.

"And I avoid introducing assumptions into conversations," in fact, this is perhaps the most direct he's been in... centuries, maybe, even? Rarely does whatever mask he wears slip to reveal the melancholic deadpan beneath. The gentle voice. The nails digging into the flesh of his throat from the inside.

"But...," he opens the book, left forefinger revealing the surprise hidden on his feature at the ink, the dedication, the love noted onto the first page, a copy meant for someone loved to hold, "you don't often behave as though you find it easy, being among people."

[stingslikeabee]

cold,

actions speak louder than words prompts . accepting

The wind had a certain bite at such an impressive height - within the slums, one barely felt it given how the plate structure messed with most of the currents and the seasons to a degree. It could get uncomfortably hot or unpleasantly cold, but it usually was nothing to do with the breeze - fresh air was not a luxury afforded to underplaters.

But now, looking at Midgar from the top of the most iconic building in all of the city, it was as if she was experiencing the metropolis for the first time. When one stood that tall and removed from the landscape composed of glowing reactors, mako particles and a million different lights from housing complexes and other office spaces, it was easy to forget all that was wrong with the city - the poverty, corruption and sickness below the plate; Corneo's cruelty staining all of Wall Market with his garish mansion and horrifying traditions.

Well - not anymore; if anything, the only reminder of the former Don of the slums was the blood that had soaked the floor of his suite and which was no longer removable from the surface without great effort. But the madame didn't care for his house at all - Melissa would have set it on fire if that didn't risk the lives of other residents.

But after Corneo fell to the blade wielded by Hikaru, there was little to no resistance to her own reign. Instead of a caged bird, Melissa felt more of a predatory animal now. A true queen with the most devoted knight at her back, with luminous eyes of ever-present danger and which contained unshakable loyalty for one without noble birth.

And that persisted as his memories start to return - even as Hikaru transitioned to Sephiroth again, former poster boy for Shinra and yet discarded as a failure and a danger the moment he was unwilling to be a pawn, it was too late to put a stop to it all. Corneo's blood was just the beginning and Melissa's cage was the first one to be smashed.

After that, it was only logical that President Shinra's would follow - dripping from the edge of the sharp sword held by digits which had never unlearned the necessary survival skills and that had brought them both freedom. As Sephiroth walked outside to meet Melissa, however, he seemed less focused on the view from the top of the tower and more so on how the brunette shivered from the harsh winds at that altitude.

He didn't speak - Sephiroth just used the free hand to remove his own jacket and placed it over Melissa's shoulders with the comforting weight of his hand. It did break the reverie that the madame had been living in - and she looked at the former SOLDIER with a soft smile on her lips, nodding as thanks and stepping closer to his taller frame. It was a simple gesture: the brunette had additional warmth thanks to his kindness and she wanted to share.

Metaphorically or otherwise - she had only made it as far as she had thanks to him.

In an interesting parallel to their first encounter, inching closer to Sephiroth to offer him some physical comfort in return dirtied her dress with blood - and once again, Melissa didn't seem to mind. Fabric was just fabric - it could be washed or replaced. But this... What they had just done, this legacy of disposed tyrants and freedom acquired after such immense pain?

That form of liberation was just priceless. Other people would call them monsters or evil, sure; but Melissa knew they were just survivors.

[youronlybean]

I don’t have time to watch Chilled’s five hour Mario kart video. But I’m going to anyway.